#I have one of them and I named her Marley :]

[twpsyn-who]

Soulmates AU in which when your soulmate is in a situation that can result in their death you get to see through their eyes. Like, I don't know how to explain this- it kind of flashes between what you see and what your soulmate sees. You know those edits where there's a scene going on and there's another one faded in the background happening at the same time? Similar to that. The idea is that you get to see what your soulmate sees too, on top of what you're seeing.

Now, this AU but JeanMarco. With Marco asking the others where's Jean, just for him to start seeing a corpse right in front of his eyes not even a second after asking. Seeing through Jean's eyes as he's trying to get hold of that gear and stuff. And once Jean's safe, once it clicks that you know his best friend is his soulmate Marco can't wait for them to graduate so he can you know tell him that.

Then, you know. That happens. And Jean is so fucking confused because he keeps seeing Annie crying, looking down on him. Only when Annie starts getting off the gear, when his soulmate starts moving around trying to get away he starts panicking, starts moving around faster than before. And maybe he's too late. Or maybe he shows up in time and kills the titan. I don't know. That's not where I'm trying to get, but to the second option AKA Marco pulling an UNO reverse on Annie because he's a smart sneaky bastard like that and being like 'Hey you can't kill me, my soulmate will know it was you' which makes her stop trying to take off his gear. Reiner keeps telling her to do it, Bertholdt keeps yelling about that titan coming closer, but Annie... she has seen things, at some point. Flashes of moments that weren't hers, happening right in Trost- right in that moment. And she didn't give them too much thought until that moment, until it got confirmed that it has nothing to do with her titan powers.

'What do you mean by that?' she asks, because she needs to know more. Because she wants to know more. And Marco starts explaining how it works. Tells them that he has found his soulmate, that they will put all the blame on them for his death. Reiner doesn't believe him, keeps insisting that he's playing them around - he, and anyone born and raised on Marley, has never heard of something like that before, it doesn't exist - but Annie tells him to shut up and to let Marco go. Cue to the plot of any fic in which Marco doesn't straight up die after finding up their secret.

Anyway I don't know man, just,,, We need more soulmate aus for JeanMarco. That's an order.

[maddiezcomfyzpace]

Build A Bear German Shepherd :>

[niklenakle]

I ran out of tags before i could list all the rune factory girls im really sorry ill do better next time...

Hello, tumblr user. Before you is a tumblr post asking you to name a female fictional character. You have unlimited time to tag a female character, NOT a male one.

Begin.

[eddiernunson]

Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways to Torture Him | Older Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Harrington!Fem!Reader | 18+

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Summary: The stories of Eddie Munson, front man of Corroded Coffin and his music filled the Harrington household, his albums on shelves and picture frames hung of your dad and him, young and dumb. You're home for the weekend, which so happens to be the same weekend Eddie is in Hawkins on a personal errand. The longtime crush on him bubbles to the surface as you meet him, giving into the temptation of small summer dresses and bubblegum gloss for the fun of it. Until your dad is called in to an emergency work meeting. Then the fun of torture becomes temptation.

Warnings: Older Rockstar!Eddie, Harrington!Reader (Steve's daughter), multichapter build up, excessive use of nicknames, no use of y/n, use of marijuana, perv!Eddie

Describes: long hair, shorter than Eddie by a few inches, reader is described to look like her mom (can be ANY race) with Steve's freckles. No skin colour, body shape/type

Word count: 5.3k

P2 Will Be Up Next Thursday and every Thursday from then on!

The sounds of the morning Saturday cartoons fill the living room, background noise as you scroll through your phone while slowly working your way through your bowl of cereal. Droplets of milk occasionally drip onto your lap, landing on your bare thigh as the videos you scroll through don’t seem to compute. 

For the thousandth time you spill milk on your lap, you huff out of annoyance as you wipe it off with the edge of your sweaters sleeve. Maybe scrolling through your phone and eating something with liquids wasn’t a good idea for someone as klutzy as you.

From the kitchen, your dad walks out as he uses a T-towel to dry his hands. “You listening, sunshine?”

”Huh?” You blurt out, the video you were half paying attention to still playing. 

He breaks into a smile, shaking his head as he tosses the towel over his shoulder. “Guess not. You have any plans this weekend?” 

You shake your head, wiping your mouth of the excess milk of this bite when you had scooped too big of a bite. “Naomi is working for the summer and Marley got stuck watching her little brother all weekend.” 

Coming home to see your dad for the week is nice, granted it would probably be nicer if you could see either of your 2 friends. You’d have to settle for Steve being extra doting on you, given you’re only one of four of his kids in the house for the moment. What you would give to have your snot mouth brother in town just for two seconds to make the extra big house just a little bit smaller.

He nods, rubbing his hands together. You can see the slight hesitation in his eyes, watching the cartoon as if he had forgotten the conversation which he had started. 

“Dad?” His brown eyes switch to you, smirking at your expectant face. 

“Right. I was hoping you’d be out of the house a bit more,” he sighed, popping his knuckles anxiously. ”I have an old friend that will be staying with us for the weekend. I thought if you were out of the house it might make things slightly less awkward.” 

Your eyebrows furrow, curious as to what he might mean. You’ve gotten to know any old friend of his that might be expected to stay for the night, ducking their many attempts to ruffle your hair over the years. The only person you’d let do it ended up being Robin, as she is the coolest person you’ve ever met. 

“Why would it be awkward?” The question has a sarcastic bite to it, garbled by the cereal in your mouth. 

He sighs, placing a hand in his brown locks, ruffling them as he tucks his lips in. “Well, because it’s one of the friends you’ve never met.” 

There’s a few of them, having never made their return to Hawkins, you never had a chance to meet them. A few names from the stories your dad has told you over the years flicker through your mind, one name in particular standing out from the rest. 

Well, it's the only name that pops through your head.

His likeness on Late Nite TV interviews charming the audience, his solid tenor voice playing on the speakers during family barbecues, his band’s name plastered on some of the albums in your dad’s collection. 

You’ve heard stories, seen the photos of him and your dad together, but he’s never come around before. 

“Who?” You ask, your heart palpitating at the very thought of the long haired angel who haunted your dreams making his first in-person appearance. 

“It’s Eddie,” he answers, crossing his arms as his eyes switch back to the tv. “Eddie Munson, that guy in Corroded Coffin I’ve told you stories about?” 

You roll your eyes, fighting the smile that threatens to take over your face. “I know who Eddie is, dad. His name comes up every time his songs are on the family speakers. Given how many stories I know about him, is a lot!” You tease him, satisfied by the quick twist of annoyance across his face.  

“Not like I heard you complaining about those stories,” he chuckles, playfully feigning a throw of his T-towel at you. “He needs to come into town to help his uncle move into a retirement home. Wayne has finally given in, despite needing to be in one for at least a decade,” you blink at him, giving him that same deadpan stare he has given time and time again. He’s taught you well. “Right, so. He will be staying for the weekend.”

You nod, putting down the bowl on the coffee table as the remaining contents are only the milk and soggy cereal. What a nightmare of textures. 

As you lift your phone to unlock it again the day of the week flashes as a reminder. “So, he‘ll be here tomorrow?” 

He hisses, reaching out his hand for said bowl. You pass it to him, the silence would be awkward if it weren’t for how easily it rolls off his shoulders. 

Steve Harrington makes his living off of awkward moments. 

“Short notice I know,” he apologizes, in so many words, “I offered to him a few months ago when he brought it up, and he called the other day looking to cash in on the favor.” 

“And you said I’d be yours for the weekend. You liar!” You accuse, playfully crossing your arms at him. 

Your dad shrugs, walking back into the kitchen. “It seems I have double booked Chez Harrington for the weekend, but it won’t be so bad.” You hear the sound of the bowl being put in the water in the sink. 

You pretend to be annoyed, because it’s what he expects of you. The truth is since you were old enough to find someone hot Eddie Munson has intrigued you. On the occasion you have found yourself staring too long at magazine spreads he has been featured in, letting his sweet tenor voice enwrap you whole as you turn on his music. Sometimes he bares a love bite or two on stage, smacking you in the face with envy. 

This weekend is bound to be torture for you, a vision of a rock god whose body and chisled arms you’ve practically memorized by now up close in person with all those sick and twisted thoughts bouncing around in your head. To him, you will be nothing but a school girl with a crush. 

You’re surprisingly okay with that. 

“Ah, yes, an unruly rockstar coming over for a weekend. I think I’ve seen this film before, and I didn’t like the ending,” you sing the last part, smiling cheekily as he scoffs. 

“Taylor Swift references aside, he’s really gotten over his party hard rockstar days,” he insists, “or at least, that’s what he tells me.” 

You nod cynically, narrowing your eyes. “Fine. Not like I can tell you to refuse your friend a place to stay,” you shrug, acting a little too much. Relax, take it easy. You don’t need to overact out an emotion. “We have more than enough rooms.” 

“Well, your sisters don’t like to come home for whatever reason and your brother is gone away at camp for the summer, so, yeah, I guess you can say that,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms back at you. 

“Oh, I thought he’d just stay in the spare bedroom,” you tease, your arms flailing as he pushes you over on the couch in one last retaliation. 

The following afternoon there’s three knocks on the door, announcing the arrival of the person you’ve been waiting for all morning. You might have dressed for the occasion, a flowy summer dress that shows off your tits and just enough of your bikini top to keep him wanting more. 

You’d hoped the shine of your sunscreen on your skin will work in your favor, purposely messy hair and pretty lip gloss will do just the trick. 

You open the door, despite waiting a few seconds for your dad to come down so you didn’t have to, but the guest was impatient, knocking another three times and calling your dad’s name. 

“Alright, alright, coming!” You call out, swinging the door open to a real life legend. 

“Ah! Little Harrington!” He startles, his brown eyes wide, only adding to how comically yet gorgeously frazzled he is. 

But it’s not entirely comforting that the first thing he does when he sees you is jump. 

“Sorry, just thought you lot were gone for the summer,” he chuckles, fidgeting with his rings. Two seconds in and you’re already leering. 

“Decided to crash,” you shrug, stepping back so he might enter. “Not many places I can stay at for free that also have a pool.” 

He barks out a laugh at your attempt at humor, looking around your father’s admittedly sweet diggs. “Jesus,” he swears under his breath, dropping his gym bag on the floor. ”Forgot how big the Harrington house is.”

You laugh under your breath, keeping a comment to yourself. 

A V forms between his brows, having seen the thought cross your mind. “What?” 

“Nothing,” you dismiss, a tight lipped smile slowly spreading across your face. 

“I know a classic Harrington comment when I see one, spit it out,” he smirks, crossing his arms and raising his brows expectantly.

The comment spit it out raises a few images, but bite your tongue and ignore them.  

You raise your brows back, challenging his demand. You almost win, but the need to make a sarcastic remark, the one you inherited from a long line of sarcastic Harringtons, wins. “You’re a rockstar, aren’t you? Don’t you have a big mansion of your own?” 

He scrunches his nose, as if turned off by the idea. “A house, maybe. But a mansion? For one person? That’s excessive.” He moseys back over to the door, bending over the threshold to grab something from out of sight. His guitar. The prized one he wrote the song chopped full of innuendos Tasty Lick about. He carries it by the neck, the red and black pattern even more vibrant and captivating in person. 

You could say the same about him, especially how no photo seems to do him justice. The stubble on his chin is faint, but it’s there, looking ever so scratchable. His hands are rough, calloused from the hours of guitar playing. His forearms reveal a patchwork of black and white tattoos, all wrapped in a gothic theme or horror of some kind. 

You’re still leering at him. You should’ve known this would be a dangerous game. 

“Well what did you do with your riches, then?” You rebuttal as you peer up from under your lashes at a set of chocolate eyes that has your breath catching. 

“A really nice tour bus, good security,” he starts walking towards the kitchen, hands in his jeans pockets as he continues his observation of the surroundings. “As of recently, a damn good retirement home.” 

You smile at that, how charming it is that he’d rather spend his well earned dough on comfort for himself and others. It only adds to the boyish charm that overflows from him. 

“Oh, and a nice little red sports’ car,” he adds, completely nixing your previous thought about him. 

“I can make you something to eat if you want, you probably had a long road trip,” you offer him, leaning forward against the island counter.

Eddie’s eyes study you for a moment, his eyes flickering around your face. As they trail across your eyes, lips, studying your scattered moles you’ve inherited from your father, you nearly retract from his intense gaze.

The moment ends, Eddie leaning back in the barstool as he licks his lips in a quick movement. “No thanks,” his head shakes rapidly, sending a ripple down his wavy locks, “I’m good.” 

You hum, cheekily raising your brow. “Dad’s probably in the shower, which means you might be waiting a while for him to blow dry his hair.” 

Eddie laughs, broad smile wide enough to show those dangerous dimples. “Guess nothing really has changed.” 

You push yourself off the barstool, barking out one short laugh as you walk out the wide double doors to where your setup is. 

It’s best not to hover.

There are a few lounge chairs by the pool, each with its own glass table right next to it. Your phone is waiting for you, a singular AirPod right next to it, the music that was playing through the speaker earlier on pause and waiting for you to return. The hot sun blares on the 4th of July weekend, a chlorine blue water stagnant in the pool, just inviting someone to enjoy its icy depth, a shelter from the blaze. 

Your sandals protect your bare feet from the scorching concrete, the sunglasses that rested on your head are no longer forgotten as the sun sends daggers through your skull. 

You lose yourself in your Hot Girl Summer playlist, humming to an indie pop artist’s upbeat track that sounds like summer while mindlessly reading a magazine. Your dad blocks the sun, effectively announcing his presence after you couldn’t hear him over the music blasting in your ear. 

After you wave up at him with a smile on your face, taking the earbud out when he gestures for you to do so. “What’s up?” 

He tilts his head in a jerk move, his face shifting into a bewildered expression in a blink. “A-when did Eddie get here?” 

“Dunno,” you shrug, looking around him towards the double doors. “Maybe ten, fifteen minutes ago?”

His eyes widen, adding to the expression he’s given to you many many times in your adolescence. “And you didn’t think to tell me?” 

You lean back, switching your glance back down to your magazine, oh so coyly. “I figured you were in the shower.” You flip the page to a spread of heartthrobs. Somehow the rockstar has made his way into the mix. “Eddie can wait for fifteen minutes. He’s a big boy.” 

Steve blinks at you, considering this statement with a sour look on his face. “Did you at least offer a drink, something to eat while he was waiting?” 

“Of course I did! He said no. Now go say hi to your buddy,” you gesture back towards the house vaguely, playing closer attention to the glossy pages in your lap. “I’m not the one being rude, anymore.” 

He sighs, turning back around toward the house. The earbud is barely pressed into your ear when he turns back around, his long legs taking him back in quick steps. “This whole display doesn't have anything to do with Eddie visiting, would it?” 

“Display?” You parrot back to him, pushing your sunglasses onto your head. You gesture towards the pool, mirroring that same exasperated look he gave you. “Display? I’m sitting by the pool, like I told you I would. If I wanted a display, I would’ve worn a lot less than the dress I wore when I answered the door.” You pause, indicating to your pink bikini with a flourish. “I would’ve worn a lot less now.”

Steve falls out of his stern father pose, eyes closed as he throws his hands up in surrender. “Aah, okay I get your point.” 

“It’s hot, it’s summer.” You put your sunglasses back on over your eyes, shaking the product soaked hair you worked so hard to make look effortlessly messy. “I’m your daughter, I’m not a display.”

“Right, yeah. Just making sure, sunshine.” He leans in, lowering his voice as if so Eddie can’t hear through the open doors. “I just know you had a crush on him when you were younger. It ain’t happenin’, sweet girl.” 

You pull your head back, your jaw dropping as your dad does what he does best, come up with one more rebuttal just when you thought you’d won the battle. 

He always wins the war. 

It takes a minute for your mind to catch back up to yourself, blinking yourself out of it. “I-what!”

”You weren’t as subtle about it as you thought you were, sunshine!” He calls back, striding back into the house. 

You huff, watching your crystal blue painted toenails twitch as you mull the conversation over in your head. If nothing came of it, then at least Eddie would get to enjoy his view, and you’d enjoy yours. For a moment you wonder if you’re acting pathetic, but you toss your sunglasses and earphone aside, ignoring the glitch in self confidence as you approach the suddenly inviting pool. 

Were the set of eyes you felt on you as you made laps in the pool just wishful thinking?

-

The scraping of the knife against toast fills the kitchen as you slowly spread the strawberry jam, careful not to make more of a mess than you already have. 

“Mornin’’’ you hear behind you, your dad’s shampoo filing your nose as he leans in to plant a  kiss on your cheek. 

“Hi,” you greet him, pausing to ‘clean’ the jam off your thumb. You’re about to ask if he would like some toast when you see his suit on, perfectly tailored with his long hair groomed so specifically you clock it right away. “You’re all dressed up.”

He grins, walking around you to where you had a pot of coffee started. “About that.”

That’s exactly what you figured. “What?”

”Put some toast in for Ed, I’ll tell you both when he comes down,” he instructed, narrowly avoiding your pointedly annoyed stare. 

Your eyes remain on his to make your point, huffing as you place two pieces of bread in, adding more attitude in the action than was probably necessary. Your jaw locks, staring him down as he pours his cup of coffee, chewing on the toast with your arms crossed. 

Although Steve is apologetic, he eventually ignores your glare, wondering how all four of his kids managed to get his same attitude. 

Eventually you grow tired of glaring at someone who’s ignoring you so you sit down, waiting for Eddie to make his appearance as you pout at the kitchen island. 

The smell of his Irish Spring soap hits the kitchen before he does, walking into the kitchen mid yawn and fresh from his shower. Eddie’s shirt clings to his lithe torso like a second skin, showing off just the hint of a tummy with his sweatpants sitting low on his hips. You allow yourself one second to gawk at him and the hairs that peek out of his shirt until you reshift your focus back to your toast, panicking when you notice the jam that has dripped on your hand. Oh, shit again?

“What’s with the fancy get up, dude?” Eddie asks, pouring himself a cup as well.  

“Before we get to that, Sunshine has put some toast in for you.” Steve gestures with his coffee cup.

Eddie’s brows lift, looking just the littlest bit delighted as he turns toward the toaster. “Oh, thanks!” He snaps his fingers into a gun with his thumb and pointer finger, sending a wink your way. You’re mid-‘clean-up’ on your hand, rushing to finish before you nod to acknowledge his thanks. 

“Alright. My partner called,” he means work partner, “he needs help to close this deal. He’s having a really hard time doing it himself.”

”Who did you send?” You ask, knowing a little bit of his work drama. 

Steve hisses, wincing as he says, “Warner.” 

You roll your eyes, shaking your head as the toast pops out of the toaster. “Well no wonder!” 

Eddie has been watching this like a tennis match, completely out of the loop but entertained nonetheless. “What, what’s wrong with…Warren?” 

“Warner,” you correct him, cleaning up yet another spill of jam off your thumb. “The guy sucks. Why Warner, why not Tommy?” 

“Wait, why does he suck?” Eddie asks as he spreads butter on his toast, looking way too entertained about this.

“Because he’s a 22-year-old fuckwit that doesn’t know how to close and only got this job because his dad gave it to him when he retired,” you huff, not at all distracted by how Eddie is eating his toast; like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, savoring every bite. His tongue occasionally pokes out to lap at the butter on his lips, his eyes closed as he muffles sounds at the back of his throat. 

He makes eating toast look depraved.

“Sunshine, you’re 22,” Steve squints, lifting his cup towards you accusingly. 

You scoff. “Yeah but I’m not an entitled dickwad who thinks just because his daddy had a job ‘oh, that’s my job one day!’. He has no experience versus his father who was in the game for 25 years.” You’re very passionate about this, more so than you had even anticipated. “Seriously, why him?” 

“He’s the only one who didn’t take the Fourth of July weekend off because he’s a 22 year old fuckwit with no family.” He takes a large sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter. “Well in any case, you are right. He has no experience and we need this account, so I gotta help him out.” 

“When do you think you’ll be back?” Eddie asks, giving you a fresh whiff of his soap when he walks behind you to sit on the other side of the island. 

Steve crosses his arms and leans against the table, mentally preparing himself before he disappoints the two of you, “Not til Sunday.” 

“Shitty,” Eddie sighs sympathetically. 

“Dad I can only take one week off,” you sigh, having only gotten two days with him. “When you get back I’ll only have one more day.” 

“I know, I’m sorry.” He does genuinely sound remorseful. You know he’d stay if he had any other choice, but he doesn’t. 

“You know anyone else in town who could…” Eddie starts, obviously reminding your dad of something he forgot about. 

“Shit. Hmmm.” Steve’s eyes flicker to you, “Sunshine can do it.” 

You pause mid-bite in hearing your nickname. “Sunshine can do what?” 

“I don’t wanna bother her on her vacation.” Eddie states, dismissing Steve’s offer. 

Your dad saved him off, “I’m sure she’d be happy to help.” 

“What am I doing?” You ask more assertively, finally grabbing their attention. 

Eddie finally speaks first, “Oh, I asked your dad to help me pack up my uncles things. It’s a tedious process, I can get—“ 

“No, she’d be happy to help,” Steve offers again, looking at you and jerkily nodding his head towards Eddie. 

You’d be happy to help, you’re just thinking about the amount of time you’ll be alone with Eddie. Your plan was to keep a safe distance from him, allowing a free show in your best summer clothing while enjoying the hot weather. The close quarters your dad is sending you into sounds dangerous, butterflies erupting into your ribcage as you picture the deafening silence surrounding the two of you knee deep in his uncle’s things.   

“I’m happy to help,” you tell him, getting up to put your plate away. 

“I don’t want to force her into—“ 

“My dad can’t force me into doing shit,” you scoff, ignoring your dads own scoff. Now Eddie on the other hand could demand you to bark and you would. Down on the ground, on all fours. “Besides. You two wouldn’t have gotten any actual organization done.” 

“Thanks,” Eddie lifts his mug, giving you a wink. Your neck hair rises, scanning his arched nose and the rebelling stubble already growing in despite having freshly shaved. His aftershave is intoxicating, the sound of a glass mug clinking as it lands on the counter snapping you out of your daze.   

“When are you leaving?” You suddenly remembered your dad’s presence in the kitchen, funny how fast you forgot about him. 

“I should get going within the hour,” he states thoughtfully, grimacing apologetically when you give him sad eyes. You know it's not his fault, but you’re not the adult here, and the disappointment you feel can’t help but twist your features. 

He puts his hands on your shoulders, petting them with his thumbs. “I do feel better knowing I’m not leaving you all alone in this big empty house.” 

You tense up, avoiding his gaze as you attempt to smile. Being left all alone with Eddie in the big empty house is precisely what is worrying you. Your dad’s constant presence alone is the thing that has prevented you from even being tempted into going any further than elongated stares and late night fantasies. 

“I’ve been alone in the house before,” you say, tilting your head. “You’re about to be alone for the rest of the month.” That sentence just makes you feel sad. 

He smirks, shaking his head playfully. “I meant at least if I’m ditching you for work, then at least I’m not leaving you all alone. I was trying to alleviate my own guilt.” 

“I’ve already forgiven you, old man,” you tell him. “Go, rescue those poor investors from Warner’s slippery hands.”

He pulls you in for a hug, his heartbeat familiar as he leans down to place a kiss on your forehead. Your head is swung back abruptly as he pushes on your shoulders, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, there are worse people to leave you alone than the man that was once on a poster on your wall, hey?” 

That poster was stared down many times, finally taken down when you were about to move away, kept only because of the autograph in the bottom corner.

Regardless, your dad is having too much fun with this. You wonder who would have more fun if Eddie ends up bending you over the couch like you kept envisioning. Said rockstar currently bending over the couch to grab something jolted you back to the present. 

“And who gave me that as a gift after introducing me to his music?” You shoot back, meeting those chocolate brown eyes across the living room. 

“My ears are burning,” Eddie grins, walking around the couch to plug in the amp. 

“Are your keys burning, because I need a ride to the airport.” Steve interjects, smirking at your widened eyes. 

Eddie sits on the couch, one foot resting on the coffee table as he starts playing his guitar absentmindedly. “I am your noble steed at your service, Harrington. Just tell me when.” 

Steve answers with something, probably somewhat sarcastic before climbing the stairs to finish packing. You probably would’ve heard it if it weren’t for how absentmindedly his fingers were moving, individually plucking the strings as his other hand shifts easily to each corresponding chord. 

He is delicate with the instrument, expertly working her and zoned out as the guitar’s gentle tune fills the house. His many years spent playing is evident through how easy he plays the melody, getting lost in the song with his hands working idly. If it weren’t for his eyes being shut for the whole time, you would’ve probably pretended to go on your phone. 

His effortlessness of plucking the strings sends a thrill down your spine, has your thighs squeezing tightly together as your mind starts to picture his fingers expertly working you apart. 

“Ow!” 

Eddie’s yelp snaps you out of it, making you jump as you hurriedly switch your glance back to your phone. He chuckles as he sucks his sore thumb, the very same one the guitar string snapped on. “Sorry, did I scare ya?” 

“No,” you answer, sounding not at all convincing to yourself. Eddie lifts his brow to you, his face comically twisted as he continues to tend to his wound. “Okay, maybe a little.” 

He chuckles, smirking as he adjusts the guitar on his lap again. “Poster in your room?” 

Fuck, you were hoping he didn’t hear that, despite him being in earshot. 

“Well it was signed and it just so happened to be one of my favorite albums.” Despite your nerves tickling the surface right under your skin, you do your best to seem unfazed by his magic fingers.  

His brows furrow, delicately playing a soft rock melody. At least, you think it's soft rock. “Which one?”

”Hell’s Angels,” you answer candidly. You do like the songs of Freak! More, but you specifically requested a poster of Hell’s Angels because of the dark look in Eddie’s eye while he’s looking directly in the listener. 

There may have been a night where you placed it perfectly on the wall so it appears he’s between your open legs to make it easier to picture him glancing up at you while he—

He tilts his head dismissively lifting one side of his upper lift in a sneer. “Not my best. If I had to pick a favorite, and don’t tell anyone I said this, it’d be Freak!” 

You blink in surprise, grinning to yourself as you listen to the gentle strum of his guitar. 

“I do remember sending that poster off though, Steve never mentioned who it was for, I just figured It would earn him some serious brownie points for a girl he was chasing.” It feels so weird to hear about your dad dating, even after all these years. 

“Nope,” you shrug. “Just his favorite daughter.” 

“Shit,” he laughs, a hiccup in his guitar play, “if you wanted an autograph you should’ve just asked. Only takes me two seconds.”

Your mind buzzes with the offer, probably a throwaway comment of his, but just the offer alone is enough to send you almost on a mental spiral. 

“Alright!” Steve saves you in the nick of time, running downstairs with a gray suitcase occasionally colliding every few steps or so. “Let’s go, Munson!” 

“Ok,” Eddie sets the guitar aside and turns his amp off, a stripe of skin nearly irresistible as he stretches. Aware of the company in the living room, who actually paid no mind, you memorize the pattern of his delicious looking treasure trail. God what would it feel like to nuzzle into those pretty little hairs. 

You’re still gawking. 

“Dude, leather jacket with sweatpants?” Steve reprimands, one eyebrow tilted as he looks at Eddie perplexed.

You hate to say it but he really makes it work. 

“What? Not like I’m really going anywhere,” Eddie shrugs, patting his pockets for a double check he has everything.   

The former glances at you, pointing at his friend. “Look at this get-up.” 

You pretend as if you hadn’t already, giving Eddie a one over. You take advantage of it, really taking your time. “I’ll give him a break, he wears leather pants on stage in 100 degree heat,” you answer, crossing your arms. “Just this once though. Don’t let us see you slacking again.” You were going to add a Munson at the end of it, but you figured it’d go too far. 

A chorus of soft laughter from both of them fills the room. “Yes ma'am,” he salutes, sending a jolt down your spine. Oh, that’s something you’ll need to dissect…eventually. 

Two steps away from the door, your dad turns back towards you to initiate one last hug. You let out a hum of contentment, giggling as he tells you to take it easy on Eddie. 

“Safe flight,” you wish him, one last squeeze until he reluctantly lets you go. ”Text me when you land.” 

Eddie appears with his hair in a low and loose bun, some curly strands framing his face. “Alright, Harrington. Get ready for your mid-life crisis.” 

The slick, low car that takes up one half of the driveway right next to your father’s Mercedes SUV stands out, probably one of the only flashy things he owns. (However, he also paid someone to drive up his van when he realized he still needed to move an old man’s house worth of clutter and valuables.)

As you watch the car drive to the end of the ridiculously long driveway, you can’t help but feel like a decision has been made for you. 

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood turn to one. There is no more coke or pepsi. The radio will only air one station.

Being alone with Eddie Munson suddenly feels like a temptation. 

You just hope he has the good sense not to feel the same way.     

-

Thank you so much for reading, remember replies and reblogs are the best way to support fic writers on tumblr

I'm so sorry how much of this was in the preview, I tried to give what was in the fic but I have most of the whole thing done and I can't wait to see some reactions to the later bits. Particularly the filthy smut

main taglist: @alastorssimp @mmunson86 @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

taglist for Ice Cream, Bikinis, and Other Ways To Torture Him: @emxxblog @transparentenemypenguin @stylesxmunson @ali-r3n @mediocredreams @miaajaade @dreamerjj @prestinalove @pretty-pink-princess

[writingwithcolor]

How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work. 

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework. 

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom. 

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth. 

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well. 

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation. 

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact. 

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim. 

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular. 

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them. 

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters: 

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context. 

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence. 

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text. 

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.  

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

~S

[redvexillum]

@crackrodent I really am using your requests as tribute for my Kinktober/Flufftober, lol. This is my very first Adam ask and I'm sorry, I can't kill Adam! You know how much I love Adam! That's it *rolls up sleeves* imma show you what happens when you mess with the d1ckm@ster! Rawr! 😈

Special thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for being my muse for this story. Bless you. I had way too much fucking fun writing this. 💖

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, reader is fox demon for plot, sinner!adam, d☆ggy style, reader has a potty mouth, adam is the dickmaster, an☆l play, sp☆nking, hair pulling, multiple ☆rgasm (f!receiving), sq☆irting, rough s☆x, bl☆w job, big d☆ck adam, dom/sub undertone, so much f☆cking banter istg please shut up, adam being adam, adam figuratively sucking his own dick, toxic masculinity just oozes out of adam but the sex is hot af tho, adam is kind of a loveable idiot (?), I really went overboard here...sry kit (but not rly ayyy 🤣), CRUFTTY (crack + fluff + smut)

Building a sandwich was fucking art.  

The bread had to be perfect – moist and soft, but not so soft that it turned into a soggy mess under the weight of the toppings. It needed strength to hold everything together, to create a flawless bite.  

Every ingredient was handpicked by yours truly, each one deserving its place. The crispness of the lettuce, the savoury crunch of bacon, and the creamy balance of mayonnaise all had to align just right. Too much of anything, and the delicate flavour of harmony would soon collapse into a desolate heap of failure.  

It was your first day at “Hazbin Hotel,” a place with the dumbest fucking name you’d ever heard. Redemption, they called it. A program to save sinners, to help them earn their way to heaven. So far, all you’d seen was a ragtag crew of lunatics who wouldn’t have spent five minutes together unless they had their own selfish reasons for being here.  

Not that you gave a damn. You were here for one thing: free rent and free food. Your pointy ears twitched at the sound of manic laughter echoing through the halls. Niffty? Swifty? Whatever the hell her name was, you didn’t care enough to remember.  

All that mattered right now was your sandwich.  

Your orange tail, fluffy and tipped in black, swayed behind you as you worked with precision. The smell of freshly fried bacon lingered in the air, and a satisfied shiver ran down your spine. You squinted, eyeing the perfect amount of mayonnaise that dropped onto the bread with a soft plop. A sense of pride bloomed in your chest as you spread it evenly, knowing this was going to be the best fucking sandwich you’d ever made since coming down to Hell.  

Your lips stretched into a grin as you placed the final slice of bread on top, your tail flicking back and forth in anticipation. 

This was it. 

Perfection.  

Nothing could ruin this beautiful moment.  

Until, of course, all hell broke loose.  

As you stepped into the lobby, plate in hand, you barely had time to process the chaos before you. Your feet skidded to a halt, and you almost dropped your sandwich. The sandwich you would’ve committed six counts of murder for. 

“Holy shit!” you yelped, barely saving the plate from tumbling.  

There, right in front of you, was Niffty – or Swifty – going full psycho mode, cackling like a maniac as she repeatedly stabbed the newest guest. The guy was on the floor, writhing in agony, while Niffty giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world. “DIE! DIE! DIE! HAHAHA!” she screamed, her voice high-pitched and sharp.  

The blood splattered in bright red streaks as her tiny form hovered over him, the blade of her dagger glistening with every wild thrust. You watched, half in horror, half in disbelief, as she continued her assault with a grin that could only belong to someone completely unhinged.  

It wasn’t until Charlie – or was it Marley? - rushed in, shouting and waving her arms, that the scene started to settle. “Niffty, stop!” she yelled, scooping up the small, crazed girl with a panicked gasp. The dagger slipped from Niffty’s hand, clattering to the ground, blood still dripping from its blade.  

Huh. So, the girl’s name was Niffty.  

Noted.  

You picked up your sandwich, sinking your teeth into it, and damn near moaned right there in the lobby. The crisp, salty bacon mingled with the fresh crunch of lettuce, all balanced perfectly with the smooth creaminess of mayo. The bread was just the right kind of soft, with a subtle sweetness that tied everything together. It was like biting into a small piece of fucking heaven, even if you were in literal hell.  

“Oh, fuck,” came a groan from the man on the floor, interrupting your moment of sandwich bliss. The shitty guy who’d just been stabbed was slowly getting to his feet, looking dazed. “What the fuck!” he whined, wincing as he touched his back, his fingers now slick with blood. “That fucking hurts, like, real bad!”  

You rolled your eyes. Drama queen. This was hell, he was going to regenerate in a couple of minutes anyhow. You looked at him, and you almost dropped your sandwich, again.  

This guy.  

This fucking guy.  

Why was this fucking guy here, of all places? 

Marley – no, Charlie, fuck, whatever – chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry about that,” she said, flashing a nervous grin. “I, uh, forgot to tell Niffty that you’re not a bad guy anymore and at least she didn’t stab you with Angelic Steel!” she smiled way too brightly, as if that would somehow smooth things over.  

The man groaned again, straightening up with an exaggerated wince. “Ugh, I was never a bad guy,” he huffed, raising his hands in a condescending little air-quote gesture. “I was chosen and ordained by the big man upstairs to do what was right.” His nose shot up in the air like he thought he was some hot shit, and he crossed his arms with the kind of arrogance that made you want to punch him in the throat.  

You didn’t give two shits about the conversation. Hell, it was taking every ounce of self-control not to rip his trachea out right then and there. Of all the scum in hell, this asshole was the worst.  

Before the hotel, you’d made the horrible mistake of matching with him on Vinder, thinking maybe you could enjoy a no-strings-attached fling. 

Big fucking mistake.  

Your eyes twitched at the flood of memories. His obnoxious, open-mouth chewing. His laugh – raucous, loud, and so fucking embarrassing in public. And the way he’d slapped your ass during the first date like he fucking owned you.  

Chauvinistic.  

Pig.  

Every fibre of your being hated him.  

Well, almost everything.  

Your fingers tightened around the plate; the half-eaten sandwich forgotten. You hated him with a passion, but you couldn’t deny one thing: he had a huge cock. And, fuck, he knew how to use it. No matter how many times you swore it would be the last time; you kept crawling back, falling into the same damn cycle.  

One more fuck turned into two, then three, then how the hell did this happen again?

You were a goddamn addict – specifically, addicted to his dick. If you could slap a paper bag over his head, tie him up, and just ride him without hearing his obnoxious voice, that would be ideal. But you had no fucking self-control, and now here you were, in this weird-ass hotel,probably a cult at this point, hoping for a clean break.  

Adam – fucking Adam – caught your eye. His lips curled into a wide grin, teeth flashing like he’d just found a new toy. His red eyes sparkled in the dim light as he swaggered toward you, arms wide open. “Sugartits!” he called out, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. He moved in for a hug.  

You ducked under his arm, shooting him the nastiest scowl you could muster. Your ears flattened against your head, tail dropping between your legs in a stiff, unamused twitch.  

“You two know each other?” Marley – Charlie – whoever, asked, looking between you both with a raised brow and growing curiosity.  

“No,” you said curtly, biting into your sandwich again with more aggression than necessary.  

Adam, of course, couldn’t resist. “Oh, you could say I know her very well,” he said with a shit-eating grin, waggling his eyebrows like an idiot.  

“Ew,” Marley muttered, grimacing without even trying to hide her disgust.  

You groaned inwardly. Of all the fucking people in hell, why did it have to be him? 

Before you could even form a word, Adam’s fingers wiggled playfully, his lips curling into an “O” as he honed in on your sandwich like a predator eyeing its prey. “Aww, babe, you shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, snatching up the sandwich you had poured your soul into for the last thirty minutes.  

“Wha-Wait-” you sputtered, horrified, as he stuffed the sandwich into his mouth in two massive bites, crumbs tumbling from his lips without a single ounce of grace.  

“Oh, hmm,” he chewed noisily, his cheeks bulging with food as he smacked his lips obnoxiously. “Ya know, I think you-” smack, smack, smack – his disgusting chewing noises clashing with the image of your sandwich being annihilated. “You may have put too much mayonnaise,” he continued, crumbs flying as he spoke with his mouth open. “So, I’d give it a 4 out of 10.” 

The low, primal growl that erupted from your throat felt volcanic, like every ounce of rage you’d bottled up over the miserable dates and hollow excuses was bubbling to the surface. 

You were fucking done.  

Every humiliating dinner where he’d “forgotten” his wallet, every time you’d fucked him to deal with your frustration with him – it all flashed through your mind in an explosive torrent. Without thinking, you grabbed his collar and yanked him down to your level.  

“We need to fucking talk,” you growled, teeth clenched, venom practically dripping from your words.  

Dragging him towards your room, your eyes narrowed in disgust as Adam shot a wink at Marley, fingers raised in an unmistakable gesture for “fucking.” Of course, he thought this was just some sort of game.  

No amount of good dick would make you compromise on your self-respect–-

And yet, here you were, kneeling naked in your room, your mouth wrapped around his thick cock, the taste of him flooding your senses. The worst part? You didn’t even remember how the hell you got here.  

“Oh fuck, you missed my cock, didn’t you babe?” Adam groaned; his voice thick with smug satisfaction. His hand gripped the base of his cock while his other fingers curled into your hair, tugging hard enough to make you gasp. “Open that pretty little mouth for me. Say your prayers like the good girl you are,” he crooned, his voice dripping with arrogance.  

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.  

You hated him. You hated how he could still make you fall to your knees with just a look. One second, you’d been screaming at him, ready to shove a 21-inch dildo up his ass, and the next, he had his cock out, and there you were – sucking him off like nothing had changed.  

Fuck.  

Your lips stretched painfully around his girth as he pushed deeper into your mouth, groaning as your warmth engulfed him. His soft, pudgy stomach pressed against your forehead as he shoved his fat cock all the way to the hilt. Your throat tightened around him, gagging slightly, but the reaction only made your pussy throb with need. The taste of him was heady, familiar, and it brought back memories of the way he could fuck you into oblivion, no matter how much you hated him.  

“That’s it, babe, suck it nice and deep,” Adam grunted, his hips thrusting forward as he buried himself deeper in your throat. “Bet you fucking missed this cock, huh? It’s been too long since you had a real man inside you.” 

You rolled your eyes, choking back the desire to tell him to shut the fuck up. If he would just be quiet for one goddamn second, you’d probably cum just from sucking his cock alone. But no, he always had to run his mouth.  

Then, his foot pressed firmly between your legs, the top of it rubbing directly against your slick pussy. Your breath hitched as his smug grin stretched wider, his eyes locking onto yours. “Go on, babe,” he taunted, his voice low and teasing. “I want to see you hump like the needy slut you are. Show me how much you fucking need it.” 

The words should’ve made you furious, but instead, they sent a shudder of arousal through your body. Your hips moved on their own, grinding down against his foot, your wetness soaking his skin as you rode him like you were desperate for release.  

You should hate this. You should hate him.  

You do hate him.  

But goddammit, you don’t hate this. 

“Mmph,” you moaned around his cock, your voice muffled by the thick shaft filling your throat. Your hips bucked wildly against his foot, the pressure building inside you faster than you’d like to admit. The musky taste of his pre-cum sliding down your throat made your whole-body clench in anticipation, bringing you dangerously close to the edge.  

“That’s right, sugartits,” Adam groaned, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Look how good you are, sucking my big, fat cock.” The grin on his face was full of smug pride, and you could practically see the self-satisfaction swelling in his chest.  

The words “fuck you” echoed in your mind, but the moment his foot sped up, rubbing your clit in rapid strokes, your defiance crumbled beneath the weight of pure pleasure. The sharp edge of it cut through you, sending heat spreading like wildfire as your body tensed. Then, the first orgasm ripped through you, crashing like a wave and leaving your nerves buzzing in its wake.  

A muffled moan escaped around his cock, your spit trailing down your chin, your eyes rolling back in your head as your hands dug into his thighs for support. Fuck, it felt good. Fuck, it’s been too long.  

Adam pulled his cock free with a wet pop, and you barely had time to catch your breath before your legs trembled, the aftershocks still rippling through you.  

But just as you started to get your bearings, the world spun as he flipped you upside down, blood rushing to your head, disorienting you. His cock was right in your face again, and your brain struggled to catch up.  

“Wh-what the fuck are you doing?” you screeched, grabbing onto his bare hip for balance, your legs flailing helplessly in the air like a fish out of water.  

“Relax, babe. I’m going to eat you out,” he said simply, his breath hot against your dripping folds. He didn’t wait for your reply. “Now, shut up. Either suck my cock or wait your turn like a good girl for your second orgasm.” The condescension in his voice made you want to punch him.  

“Fuck you,” you spat, but your words were cut short as Adam ground his cock against your cheek, the heat of him searing��into your skin.  

“You’re not that – ah – ah – fuck!” The insult died in your throat as your knees buckled, legs trembling with the sudden rush of pleasure. His tongue was already working between your folds, lapping at your wetness with obscene slurping sounds, like he was a dog drinking from a fountain.  

“Oh fuck, I’ve had better, you know,” you gasped, but even as you said it, your vision blurred from the lightheadedness, the blood pooling in your head making you dizzy. Your words rang hollow.  

Adam didn’t respond with words. Instead, he shoved his thick tongue deeper inside you, practically fucking your pussy with it. The roughness of his beard brushed against your sensitive clit, sending shockwaves through your body that had you trembling.  

“Fuck...fuck...” you whined, unable to stop the involuntary moans spilling from your lips. Your hand instinctively found his cock, pumping it with desperate need. You fucking jackass. You hated how his scent, his cock, his fucking presencehad this kind of power over you. The desire to ride him until you couldn’t walk for days burned in your gut.  

You hated everything about him – his cocky attitude, his smug grin, his fucking voice.  

But fuck, his cock? His cock almost made up for it. Almost. 

With a loud curse, as his mouth latched onto your swollen clit and sucked with relentless abandon, you felt yourself losing control. Your mouth opened wide, taking him back inside, your head bobbing back and forth as he fucked your mouth in rhythm with his tongue devouring you.  

The pressure from hanging upside down added to the dizzying pleasure, the blood rushing to your head making you lightheaded, while the taste of him hit your tongue. You needed both hands to grip his cock, stroking it harder, faster, desperate for his release – desperate for something to satisfy the ache growing inside you. Every orgasm he gave you left you unsatisfied because you knew the only thing that could truly wreck you was him fucking you senseless.  

As he always did.  

Your stomach clenched tight, thighs shaking as Adam moaned into your cunt, the vibration sending shivers of delight through you. His nose nudged against the base of your folds, his breath hot and heavy. “You gonna cum again, bitch?” he growled, his voice muffled, but the meaning was clear. The vibration of his words only pushed you closer to the edge.  

You hated how right he was. Fuck, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you cum again. You wanted to prove he wasn’t that good, that he didn’t know your body inside and out, that he couldn’t make you sing like a fucking instrument in his hands.  

But it was like he could read your mind, taking your challenge as an invitation. He bucked his hips, pistoning into your mouth harder, while his lips and tongue attacked your clit with reckless fervour. Saliva dripped from your mouth, your face flushed and wet with the effort of keeping up with his pace.  

It was only a matter of time. Your body betrayed you, your ass clenched, your legs spread wider, and with one last pulse of his tongue against your sensitive nub, you exploded. Another orgasm hit you, more intense than the last, your muffled cries of release vibrating around his cock as your body shook in his grasp.  

Tears blurred your vision, streaming down your face as waves of pleasure coursed through your body, leaving you breathless. The world spun once more as Adam laid you down, your back hitting the mattress with a soft thud.  

Your chest heaved, breath ragged, and your left leg twitched with the aftershocks pulsing through your still-throbbing core. The only sounds were your gasps and his own laboured breathing, tangled together in the humid air.  

Through bleary, tear-filled eyes, you glared up at him. “Fuck you,” you managed to spit out between shaky breaths.  

Adam, ever the cocky bastard, stroked his cock, slick with your spit, his hand gliding smoothly along his length. “Babe, that’s exactly what I’m about to do.” His smirk was infuriating, and all you could think about was shoving his face between your legs, smothering him with your pussy until he couldn’t talk anymore. God, you wanted to suffocate him with it. Death by cunt? Sign me the fuck-up. 

Why did he have to be such a colossal dick? The thought barely crossed your mind before his knees sank into the mattress, the bed groaning under his weight.  

“It you didn’t - hah – talk so much, you’d almost be tolerable,” you shot back, each word laced with venom.  

He burst out into bright laughter. “Tolerable? Baby, the way you worship my cock, you’re practically my most devout follower.” His sharp grin caught the dim light, and you couldn’t help the eye-roll that followed.  

“Holy fuck, you’re the biggest douchebag I know, I can’t even – ah!” Your words turned into a yelp as he slammed his hips against yours, burying himself deep inside you, aided by the slick remnants of your previous orgasms and his saliva.  

“Feel that?” he huffed, rolling his hips against your oversensitive clit, his voice dripping with smugness. “Look how fucking needy you are, bitch,” his grin widened as he looked down at you, eyes gleaming. “How many other cocks have tried to fill you since me? Any of them as good?” His hips slammed into yours, the wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin filling the room.  

“Tell me, huh? Bet none of them could do this.” He pulled out, teasing you, before driving his cock back in, deeper, harder, the tip nudging against your cervix.  

“FUCK!” you screamed, legs instinctively spreading wider, your body arcing up to meet his. “You’re - ugh – such – a – fucking – ugh – ASS!” Each word was broken by the force of his persistent thrusts, the bed beneath you creaking in rhythm with his movements. It was like the damn thing was protesting as loudly as you were.  

“Good?” he smirked, filling in the blanks for you with every thrust. “Sexy? Amazing? Fantastic?” His pace quickened, clearly getting off on his own damn ego. If there was one thing he’d come from, it was the sound of his own bullshit.  

“All - ugh – you're good for – is your dick,” you growled, strands of hair sticking to your sweaty face, your skin slick with the sheen of your effort. You hated him, hated how smug he was, how cocky – and fuck, how right he was about how good his cock felt.  

Adam pulled out, his cock rock-hard and glistening with your arousal clinging to him. He gripped your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and pressing your face into the mattress.  

Your heart skipped. This was the position that always wrecked you. Every.��Single. Time. 

“That’s why,” he lined up, the blunt tip of his cock teasing your entrance, “they call me the Dickmaster.” He punctuated his words by thrusting into you in one fluid stroke, filling you completely, pushing deep until he hit your womb. Your back arched as a shameless moan tore from your lips, your body curling from the overwhelming fullness.  

“FUCK.” You nearly screamed. “Dickmaster? Are you fucking serious?” But despite the sheer cringe of the nickname, your body betrayed you. You moaned, louder, longer, as he thrust into you. The pleasure mixed with the sheer absurdity of it all.  

He was so fucking cheesy. The cringiest man alive. Dickmaster? More like Cringemaster. And yet, here you were, being dicked down by this walking embarrassment, moaning like a bitch in heat. The passion you felt for him, the anger, the lust – it all mixed into a chaotic storm, burning hot inside you.  

“Fuuuck youuu,” you wailed, voice trembling as Adam’s hips resumed their brutal, punishing rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves through your body, his hand coming down hard on your ass, the crack of skin-on-skin only fuelling the fire that was already burning through you.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you sobbed, the sting from each slap merging with the pleasure, searing through your core as the heat radiated across your skin. You were sure his handprint was branded on your ass, marking you as his.  

The pleasure built and built, his heavy balls slapping mercilessly against your clit with each thrust. It was overwhelming, your body trembling in a puddle of your own arousal, tears, and drool. 

Why did you keep coming back to him? Out of all the sinners you could fuck, you always crawled back to him for a taste of that damn dick.  

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” you chanted mindlessly, your cunt squeezing tight around him as another orgasm threatened to break loose. But just when you were on the edge, he reached for your tail and yanked. Hard. 

“YIP!” you screeched, the sharp, high-pitched squeal erupting from your throat as the flames of your arousal were doused instantly. You whipped your head around, glaring at him over your shoulder. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” you barked, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that you were on all fours, impaled on his cock with your ass still up in the air.  

Adam’s eyes widened, his expression morphing from confusion to realization. “Oh shit, so that wasn’t your butt plug?” he asked, cock still buried deep inside you, pulsing against your fluttering walls that betrayed the fury burning inside you.  

“WE’VE BEEN FUCKING FOR OVER HALF A YEAR, YOU ASSHOLE,” you snapped, baring your teeth in a snarl. “YOU EVEN FUCKED MY ASS! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I’D BE WEARING A BUTT PLUG NOW?” 

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his hips didn’t stop rocking gently into you, sending shivers up your spine despite your anger. “Babe, it was an honest mistake,” he said before licking his fingers and sliding one thick digit down, pressing against your ass. “Let me make it up to you.” 

Before you could protest, his finger was already pushing past the tight ring of muscle, sinking into your ass as your tail stiffened in response. “Oh, fuck,” you groaned, your resolve crumbling as the pleasure returned full force. His finger curled just right, rubbing the thin wall separating your pussy from your ass, sending jolts of ecstasy through both holes.  

“Remember when I took your anal virginity?” Adam’s voice was smug, but the curl of his finger had you moaning instead of cursing him out. He pumped his finger slowly, in sync with the thrusts of his cock, his breath ragged with excitement. “You told me you hated anal, but look at you now. Begging for more.” 

Your head dropped onto the mattress, your tail wagging unconsciously as he added another finger, stretching you wider. You closed your eyes, trying to block out his annoying voice, but your ass wiggled back against him, betraying your need for more. “Fucking hell,” you whimpered, completely undone.  

He laughed, the sound deep and rich. “Told you. After I finish with your pussy, I’ll give that ass some love too. They don’t call me the dickmaster for nothing.” His voice was maddening, but the way his fingers curled inside you made you forget how much you wanted to punch him.  

Your ears flicked back, frustration mingling with desire. If only he would shut the fuck up, you would’ve come already – twice, even.  

“Babe, you want my load that bad?” Adam cooed, his voice breathy as his cock twitched inside you. “You wanna be my cum dump?” he chuckled, fingers and cock working in perfect, relentless tandem.  

“Sh-sh-shut up,” you moaned, voice low and trembling as your walls tightened around both his cock and his fingers. You were so close, teetering on the edge. 

If he would just stop talking... 

He pulled his fingers out of your ass, leaving you gasping at the sudden emptiness. His wet fingers gripped your hips, pulling your ass up higher as he pressed his weight down on you. Then, he started to fuck you hard – exactly the way you liked it – each brutal thrust forcing you down into the bed.  

Your breath came in broken gasps, each thrust stealing the words from your lips as his cock filled you completely, forcing your slick walls to stretch for him. The bed creaked and groaned under you, matching the wet slap of skin on skin, the rhythmic pounding filled the room. Your stomach clenched, thighs quivering as you squeezed your eyes shut, knowing you were about to explode.  

When his cock hit your g-spot again and again, your moan rose low and long, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You babbled incoherently, swearing and pleading for him to fill you.  

And he did.  

He always fucking did.  

Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded your pussy, painting your insides as the pleasure ripped through you, wave after wave. You were wrecked, ruined, and thoroughly fucked – just the way you wanted it. 

He pushed your body down, rolling you onto your back and stretching your thighs wide apart like he was prepping a canvas for his masterpiece. The thrill of being exposed sent shivers down your spine, and before you could catch your breath, his lips found your aching, sensitive clit.  

His fingers dove into your cum-soaked folds, the squelching sounds echoing in the air, making you feel like a goddamn wet sponge. You were so close to the edge of another orgasm that your muscles quivered with anticipation. Your head tilted back, pressing against the bed, and you gasped as warmth flooded out of you, mingling with Adam’s thick, syrupy load.  

“OH FUCK, FUCK!” you cried out, fingers curling tightly against the bedsheets, heels digging into the mattress like you were trying to anchor yourself to sanity. His mouth continued to suck at your oversensitive bud, relentless and teasing, even as you drenched him with your essence.  

You peeked open your eyes to find him grinning like a kid in a candy store, his face glistening with your juices, and it sent a fresh wave of heat rushing to your core. The feeling of him latching onto you was intoxicating, pushing you to new heights as your walls pulsated around his fingers, unable to tell whether this was yet another orgasm or simply an extension of the last.  

“ADAM!” you screamed, practically sobbing as your body jolted and convulsed under his ministrations. Pleasure poured over you, and your breath came in heavy gasps, your mind slipping into a blissful haze. His fingers curled perfectly inside you, mashing your g-spot like he was playing some twisted game of whack a mole, keeping you suspended in a state of everlasting pleasure.  

The last thing you registered before the world faded away was Adam moaning your name, his voice vibrating through your very core like a damn choir.  

When you fluttered your eyes open again, your body was still bare and sprawled out like a starfish on the bed. You heard that familiar sound of suckling, and looking down, you couldn’t help but groan at the sight – his familiar mop of brown hair nestled between your thighs, still focused on drinking you up like a man starved for 40 days and 40 nights. 

Pleasure washed over you in soft, slow strokes as Adam continued to eat you out. “How long have you been down there?” you asked, voice hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.  

His head popped up, lips and chin glistening with your arousal. “Dunno, but they do call me the ultimate pussy eater,” he said with a cheeky grin, like he was the fucking king of the world.  

You dropped your head back against the bed, trying to stifle a laugh. “No, they don’t,” you muttered, breath hitching as his tongue parted your slick folds again. “Fuck, we can’t keep doing this,” you whined, instinctively opening your thighs wider to give him better access.  

His fingers gripped your hips, anchoring you as his tongue burrowed deeper into your pussy, pressing against your inner walls, exploring every inch like he was on some treasure hunt.  

Naturally, he didn’t listen to your protests. He continued to slurp and lick, devouring you like a feast, and you should have stopped him.  

You really should have.  

But as a jolt of pleasure shot up your spine, tingling all the way to your core, a soft, breathy moan escaped your lips.  

Fuck, this was bad. You had come to the hotel knowing you had little self-control around him, and at this rate, you were destined to fuck him every day.  

Your body, soft and pliant, refused to budge; instead, you pushed your hips deeper into his mouth. “Fuck you,” you murmured weakly, as he coaxed another sultry moan from your lips. “This will be the last fucking time, I swear,” you insisted, squeezing your eyes shut as he pushed you closer to the edge of pleasure.  

But deep down, you knew you had said it was the last time so many fucking times that you’d lost count of your own vows.  

You hated him, yes.  

But fuck him and fuck yourself. 

You didn’t hate this. 

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

ATSV Fun Fact!! - Mumbattan Cultural Details

Gayatri & Inspector Singh follow the Sikh Religion

Have you ever heard of Punjabi Sikhs?

If you don't know - Sikhism is a religion that originates in northern India, specifically Punjab.

The turban Gayatri's father wears - along with his last name 'Singh' implies that her father is most likely a Punjabi Sikh.

I notice this the first time watching ATSV and was like 'wow that's so cool :)'

It only hit me today that 'Oh wait I don't think a lot of people know about this very-specific, rarely-mentioned religion maybe i should say something,'

And because I LOVE yelling about world culture, LET'S GO!!!

[a SHORT essay where I explain the basics of Sikhism, a religion built on equality and justice. And details in The Singhs design, and exactly why Sikh Representation matters]

So What's Sikhism about?

Often mistaken for Muslims - Sikhs are actually a non-Abrahamic religion, with 20 million followers worldwide.

But even with so many visible practicing members, most people know very very little about this beautiful religion!

Sikhs believe in equality and unity - and defending the oppressed. Their book of faith, The Guru Granth Sahib Ji, is called 'Guru' for a reason - Sikhs see the book as not just a code of conduct, but as a living, breathing teacher for every practicioner;

From Wikipedia on Guru Granth Sahib: Sikhs since then [1708] have accepted the Guru Granth Sahib, the sacred scripture, as their eternal-living guru, as the embodiment of the ten Sikh Gurus, the highest religious and spiritual guide for Sikhs. It plays a central role in guiding the Sikh's way of life.

The Guru Granth Sahib is the spiritual leader of Sikhism, and it's treated as such.

That's why in Gurdwaras - their place of worship - it's treated as such, being clothed and held in ornate structure, constantly fanned throughout it's readings (the fan you can see in the left picture).

They believe that by following the Guru Granth Sahib Ji, they can cultivate compassion, peace, and harmony in their communities, while diminishing 'Mara' - concepts like hatred or violence.

Sikhs believe that every Sikh should revere themselves as champions of unity. And because of this many Sikhs have the same last name -

Kaur for women (Meaning Princess) and Singh for men (Meaning Lion).

Having the same last name also does away with the Indian caste system, making it another point of equality.

In ATSV Gayatri last name is Singh. However from my understanding, her name would most likely be Gayatri Kaur in reality.

I think they kept her last name as Singh as a deliberate choice to keep her initials as GS, like Gwen Stacy.

So is Gayatri Sikh?

Maybe - most likely.

But we can't be sure. Mainly because of her hair.

Gayatri has a short bob haircut, and while that might not seem like it matters, it does!

In Sikhism there are the '5K's - different aspects Sikhs wear to show their faith.

Notice the first one?

'Kesh' is the practice of leaving ones hair completely uncut. That's why you may see a lot of Sikh men with long, long beards!

And hence, the large turbans.

It's done as respect for God's creation - leaving it unaltered.

[Fun Fact! - Rastafarians, a Jamaican religion, also don't cut their hair for this reason. Think Bob Marley. Rastas call God - Jah]

So, Gayatri having short hair means she doesn't keep Kesh.

However, Sikh is a super accepting and open religion, and it's main focus is on acceptance of difference, not conformity - so she could entirely follow the faith without doing all of any of the 5Ks.

Also, if you're curious about the steel sword K - Kirpan, yes that's a thing!

Sikhs of all genders are encouraged to carry a small ceremonial blade with them.

Instead it's a symbol of the commitment to fighting for what's right - and defending those who cannot defend themselves.

A Kirpan can ONLY be used to defend the life of yourself or others, which is incredibly rare.

Why is this all so rad, cool, and important?

If you haven't noticed by now, Sikhism is a religion driven by justice. Not just in theory, but in really life as well.

That's why you may see many Sikh police officers and politicians, even here in the West. Most of them wearing the emblem on their turbans.

In fact, Canada has SO MANY Sikh politicians, that in 2019 they elected 18 of them.

For centuries Sikhs have been dedicated to justice, and developing systems of support, whether that be political involvement or feeding those in need.

The biggest Gurdwara (a place of Sikh worship) The Golden Temple feeds over 100,000 people A DAY.

For FREE.

It's a practice called Langar. A communal meal anyone can enjoy. And of course, Langar food is vegetarian.

Making Inspector Singh a Sikh - and showing him saving people and being warm to his daughter on screen is great representation for a community so often overlooked! Despite the fact they are over 20 million practicing Sikhs.

It's a great detail for Indian and Punjabi representation in specific. It accurate shows their beliefs and commitment towards helping others, no matter the cost.

And from what we can tell, this choice came later in development. We know this because ALL of his concept art shows him with a turban, not keeping Kesh.

It seems like someone later on down the line said 'Wait if his name is Singh I think he's Sikh and if he's Sikh then we're gonna have to redesign him and make that obvious oops'.

That, dear audience, is why you always have an Anthropologist in the writing room. Or some amateur anthropologist like me :)

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

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I really enjoyed writing it!! Sikhism is one of my favorite religions and if you have never heard anything from the Guru Granth Sahib I HIGHLY recommend it, it's very optimistic and compassionate. Sikhnet(.)com is also a great resource!

I have no idea if this will pique anyone's interest, but I hardly ever see Sikhs reflected in media and I know many many people may confuse them with Muslim, especially since many women Sikhs keep kesh and cover their hair as well.

But if you ever wanted to know the difference, here it is! If you read this far, thank you SO MUCH. And if you're a Sikh and reading this, I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

As usual, here's a photo of Hobie for your travels.

BYE.

[simplyjake]

Enha hyungs w / idol!reader !!

summary: tbh its pretty self explanitory, fem!reader

a/n guys maybe at one point ill write for maknae line but also idk so dont hold me to it, not proof-read

Heeseung

Let’s say ur in aespa

So rmbr the drama challenge they did

Instead of winter it was you and karina right

OUUUU ik he was giggling when you asked him to do the challenge with you

At the end of the challenge he puts his arm around u 

He looks at u like you hung the stars one by one

Heeseung pls this is gonna be posted later

ITS WORSE AT AWARD SHOWS

When you are on screen performing 

He has the biggest heart eyes and a slight smile pls

Its like he dgaf if yall get caught

Definitely interacts with you in public when he can

He wants to see all those ship edits

Invites you to his concerts and you invite him to yours

Once bought like 500 albums so he can get all of ur pcs and inclusions

Ur honor he was being silly!

And in luv w you!!!

Jay

Okay stayc member i see u

He learns how to play ur songs on guitar

Such a cute supportive bf

You guys have sm matching things tgt

Phone cases, hats, jewelry and more

Surprisingly no one has caught on yet.

He lurks on stayc twt for updates when hes away on tour

Even tho he can just text u himself

You accidentally left your jay signed album in the open on live

EVERYONE WAS FREAKING OUT

“Omfg yall since when did y/n and jay know each other”

” Wait but the signed album? Do yall rmbr when we caught them w matching hats but no one batted an eye WHAT ABT THIS”

Call jake for the dating rumor damage control selfie

Anyways he has all ur albums and you have all his

He found out you voted for him during Iland days and sobbed

Staycs number 1 fan, will fight ANYONE for that title

JAKE

Worse than heeseung when it comes to hiding things

Oh lord here we go

“My girl- i mean my friend” its rover.

On live streams he uses this to promote your group without looking suspicious 

“Have you guys heard le sserafims comeback? It’s so good”

“Oh Y/n? Yeah her part was amazing as well”

When he sings your part of the song it has u blushing on the other end of the phone

Once you were on a live, you forgot to let jake know

You were showing some photos that youre gonna post on instagram and all of a sudden

Is this love by Bob Marley aka the ringtone you have for jake

And his contact name “yunie<3” pops up

Quickly you decline the call and look sheepishly to the camera

Hoons time to do the selca damage control.

He accidentally liked a y/njake post on twt on the main acc tho

Ruh roh 

Sunghoon

Definition of nonchalant 

Nonchalant king if u will

Well besides that one time when he was mcing

And your group purple kiss was with him and wony

He was definitely getting side eyed by the fandom after sending you quick glances and a smile!!

Other than that baby hes an illusion

He dont know you

Well at least to the cameras, he doesnt know you

Otherwise hes the sweetest bf to ever bf

Sends you flowers to your dressing room after performances

Always claps whenever you guys win an award

Once a camera was pointed on him at an award show during your song

But he pointed to ur group telling them to focus on yall instead

UGH i love supportive bf hoon!!

Ofc your one of enhas biggest supporters as well

No one knows this but you have a secret sunghoon fan acc

He thinks its cute, a way to publicly say u love him

Without it actually being public yk

[szasfuckingwife]

SOUNDGASM

RICHBOY!EREN YEAGER x RICHGIRL!READER

WARNINGS: SMUT, Eren calls reader a slut and whore, swearing, Eren is a secret fuck boy, reader has she/her pronouns, no mention of reader’s appearance other than what she’s wearing

SYNOPSIS: Y/N is new to Marley, just moving a few months prior. Her parents are rich doctors and she wants to be a professional golfer. At the country club, Grisha Yeager introduces his son, Eren Yeager to her. As she teach him how to improve his golfing, Eren teaches her one or two new things..

A/N: it’s finally summer time, and this summer me and my friends are going golfing🤭 i hope i find my eren + soundgasm is such a summer song, reminds me of 2016 drake for some reason

It’s 1:25pm at the country club. The sun is shining, the grass was greener than the pockets of the people there. And, above all, a pretty brunette and a pretty blonde are in that field playing a good game of golf.

Eren has his club in hand, his eyes are on the ball. Noticing that he won’t get a good swing from that distance, he scoots himself back a few steps until he finally feels comfortable. His veiny hands latch onto the club a little tighter as he takes a deep breath.

“Are you gonna hit the ball or…?” Armin is tired of waiting. He’s been waiting for his best friend ever since kindergarten. Eren had to stay behind a grade? Armin was waiting. Eren had detention? Armin was waiting.

But waiting for his best friend to hit a stupid ball was so damn infuriating.

Suddenly, Eren’s club went sky high before he hit the ball, sending the white sphere flying over the sky. The green eyed boy whistled in satisfaction; he was getting better each day.

Eren turned to his friend with a smug look on his face, “See! You want perfection? Be patient.”

Armin rolled his eyes before the two heard the familiar voice of Grisha Yeager, Eren’s father and the CFO of a tech company.

“Boys! Get in, drinks are out!” He yelled, waving his hand to grab their attention but all they could see was the bling of his Rolex. “Oh, and son? Getting better!”

Eren smiled, flashing his pearly whites.

“Not better than me though.”

This was your first time at this country club since your parents moved states. Not only was it awkward as most of the girls your age played tennis instead of golf, but all the guys who played golf were…facially challenged.

“Sweetheart, smile.” Your mother spoke through gritted teeth. She had noticed your unusual (but expected) awkwardness even when you were driving to the club.

You looked at her before sighing deeply, “Everyone here is just…weird.”

“The girls play tennis. You know how to play, why don’t you join them?”

Oh yeah, join the girls that laughed when they saw my personalised club!

If anything, you wished your mother would stop trying to get you to have fun so much, because all it did was remind you how much fun you were missing out on back home. It was heartbreaking to say bye to genuine friends and say hello to well…the plastics.

“Y/N!”, You heard your father’s voice and instantly turned around to spot him. He waved you over, looking eager and excited.

“Why is he so happy? I’m scared..” You mutter at your mother. She laughs and pushed you to his direction.

You try not to draw as much attention to yourself as you walk despite your very loud father yelling your name. Upon arrival, you see Mr Yeager, your fathers new friend.

He’s also the man that prompted the idea to move states.

Your father enthusiastically put his arm over your shoulder, “This is my daughter, Y/N.”

You stick your hand out to shake Mr Yeager’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you sir.”

“Nice to meet you too. Your father tells me that you’re applying to U of M. What’s got you so interested in Marley?”

If you wanted to be frank, and boastful, you’d tell him that you didn’t apply but rather you got a scholarship. Whether it was nepotism because it was your dads alma matter or if it was your big brain and athleticism, it was the best offer you’ve gotten.

“I heard they do good Neurology courses. I wanted to go to university and well, to put it short, make sure I have a plan B.”, You reply, smiling sweetly at both your father and Mr Yeager.

Grisha nods in acknowledgment, giving you back the same smile, “What’s your plan A then?”

“Professional golf, of course.”

It sounds boring, but golf was one of those hobbies that just never went away. You remember when you were 9, going with your father to the golf course just to see what it was like. When your dad taught you how to hit the ball, you loved it.

As you grew older, hitting the golf ball became your outlet. Like that one time you imagined that it was your teachers head instead of the ball after she gave you a C in a test.

Where others prefer an ice rink or a race track, you prefer your club and the nice smell of freshly cut grass.

“Y/N reminds me of Jordan in ‘88 but instead of a basketball court, it’s a golf course.”, embarrassment filled your body as your dad bragged about you. All you could do was laugh at his strange comparison.

“Ah, my boy does some golf in his spare time. He’s not trying to go pro, I hope, but, he could definitely use some lessons from you if you’re that good. In fact…” He looks around, squinting his eyes. “Eren!”

Right then and there, you pray with every bone in your body that this ‘Eren’ wasn’t those boys you saw earlier. God knows what you’d do to avoid teaching them a single thing.

What came, however, was a surprise. And the surprise came in the form of a boy. Not too old, maybe nineteen. He wore navy shorts and an emerald green ralph lauren vest over a plain white tee.

His hair was gelled in a small bun in the back of head. You don’t mind though, since it gave you a better view of his chiselled jawline. You’re sure it could cut your mothers diamonds at home. His eyes were green. No brighter than the grass outside, no deeper than the vest he was dressed in but some odd mixture.

He’s hot, you thought.

Grisha out a firm hand on his sons shoulder as he introduced you and your father to him, “This is my second son, Eren. You’ve already met Zeke by the tennis court.”

As your father gets into another conversation about Zeke Yeager, all you can do is stare at the curve of his younger brother’s muscles. You wish that he lifted the sleeve of his t shirt ever so slightly-

“What’s your name?”

You looked at Eren, and he looked at you.

His smile was just so…genuine!

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled sweetly back at him.

After your fathers urged you to go outside, you find yourself next to Eren on the kart. He’s driving, riding across the beautiful field.

The sky is honey coloured, the sun slowly descends giving the lake a beautiful shimmer. You’d look at that view, but there’s already a good view next to you.

Eren finally stops the kart before exiting. The both of you get your equipment from the back of the kart and begin to play.

“So…uhh how do you like it here in Marley?” Eren says, grunting after he hits the ball. You stand there, semi criticising his swing, semi fawning over him. “It’s definitely different from Trost.”

You sigh, “Yeah, the air is a little different. And not too many people play golf here.”

Eren looks at you, chuckling whilst shaking his head a little, “Aren’t you glad you met me then?”

You have no idea how glad I am.

You stay silent, instead choosing to smile and getting ready to hit the ball. Eren whistles when he sees the height of your swing. “Where’d you learn how to hit like that?”

After a couple more swings (and misses from Eren), you guys sit in the kart.

“So, where are you applying for university?”, you ask looking up at him. He scoffs, taking a sip of his water.

“No clue. All these offers and all I really want to do is go to Malta ‘n relax.” You notice how careless his face is when he speaks. He must not care that much about his future.

I mean, his parents are rich enough that both him and his brother can live off them for as long as they want to.

You look down, not in embarrassment, but in awkwardness. It’s strange seeing parents not urge their kids to go to university like your parents and Trost parents do.

“What’s your plans?”

You explain how you want to become a pro at golf. Eren listens attentively but, he get’s distracted when the breeze washes over the both of you.

The hem of your sport skirts lift up ever so slightly and Eren’s heart begins to race. For the next few conversations, he can’t stay focused. I mean, he’s just seen the curve of your ass, who could?

As the conversations die down, you and Eren go back to playing golf. It’s Eren’s turn and if he’s lucky, he can get a hole in one. He does what he did earlier: pull his hips back slightly, legs apart, breathe and…

Eren swung and you swore you saw the ball fly into the stratosphere.

“Yeager, I didn’t know you were the athlete.” You chuckle, shocked that he was actually really good.

He shrugs, “I don’t try. I feel like it just comes naturally..”

You roll your eyes as you walk over to him, pointing the end of your personalised club at him, “Teach me?”

Eren licks his lips, trying to find the words to speak but, the look that you’re giving him makes him feel butterflies. “Yeah…come ‘ere..”

You begin with your starting position, y’know the position that has won you regional competitions and a 2nd place in national.

However, you hear Eren scoff. “Don’t know how you’ve been able to pull of holes in one with that position..”

Suddenly, you feel his breath on your neck as he moves your hand up slightly to your upper chest, brushing agains your boobs.

“I don’t want this to be awkward but can you move your hips back ever so slightly..?” Eren chuckles in embarrassment. You do as he says and move your hips back until you feel his crotch against you. “Now, practice your swing without the club…”

Eren was filled with glee as he felt your ass rub up against him while you practiced your swing. “Is this alright?”

“It’s perfect…So fuckin good..”

Your brows furrow and then you finally feel it. His hard cock almost bursting out of his shorts. You didn’t stop your movements, seeing the fun in making him more distracted. He was absolutely mesmerised seeing your ass go back ‘n forth on his crotch.

Suddenly, you stop, sighing with your lips tilted up into a smirk, “I feel like I’m ready now! Thanks for the hel-”

As soon as you tried to walk away, Eren pulled you back against him. You swore you heard his heart beating a thousand times per second, and his cock was still rock hard.

“I can show you a couple more tips.” He whispered in your ear, “Just gotta listen for me, yeah?”

You nod before Eren throws your club onto the ground and pulls you into the kart.

As soon as you both sneak into the lavish looking bathroom, his lips are on yours. Hungrily making out with you, not giving you a chance to breathe. He gingerly moves you against the wall, giving you more breathless kisses.

He feverishly pulls up your lilac polo top, exposing your stomach and sports bra. Nothing comes to mind as he starts to plant wet kisses along your collarbone.

You try to fondle with his dick through his shorts but Eren wouldn’t let you, deciding he wants to make you feel good before he does.

He sits you on the white, pristine counter, pulling off your shorts in the process. “Fuck, you’re so hot…”, he says in a shushed tone. You can’t help but moan when you feel his hands on you, especially when he begins to rub your clit under your panties.

He starts of slow, achingly slow. All you want is for him to ruin you, rough and hard. But Eren is a tease, he wants you to beg for him.

And, he won’t stop till you do.

Eren feels your slick on his fingers and begins to chuckle. You look so cute like this: a whimpering mess, bucking your hips against his hand. He smirks when he hears you mew small ‘Please, Eren’s and ‘it feels s’ good!’s

“You’re such a pretty girl, huh? You’re doing so- ha- so good for me.” He grins. You see him lower himself, peeling of your panties so he’s at face level with your wet pussy. “What do you want, baby?”

You looked at him with jaded eyes, “I wanna cum..”

He shakes his head, tutting. He looked so different to that sweet boy who cheered you on at the golf course. “Manners, princess. What do you want?”

As he repeats his question, he slides a finger inside you. You moan and it sounds like beautiful to the brunette. You try to regain your voice as he stares into your eyes, blankly as if he was bored.

“I want you to make me cum, please.”

He chuckles again before letting his lips meet with your pussy. Eren takes his time with you, you’re not one of those valley girls that he’s fucked dumb in the past.

You’re different, so why should he treat you like them?

Nothing could be heard in the bathroom but your moans and the sound of your wetness against Eren’s mouth. He lapped his tongue at your clit whilst he continued to fuck you with his fingers, smiling against your sex when your fingers rip through his locks.

“Taste…so good, Y/N…” He muttered. You were so so close, wanting nothing more but to make a mess all over his mouth. Eren knows, he can feel you tightening up. “Gonna cum?”

You nod quickly but just then, he stops.

“Eren-” “Shhh, turn around, show me that ass..”

You do as he says, bending over the desks as he marvels at the curve of your ass behind you. You feel Eren strike your flesh a couple of times in awe before he slides his huge dick inside you.

He groans beside your ear as he hears you gasp, “Oh my fuckk…”

Every stroke feels like he was going deeper, kissing your cervix. His hands traveled to your chest as he lifted the bra revealing your perfect tits. You moan louder as he pounces on your neck again, kissing and biting you whilst his fingers were busy playing with your boobs.

“You knew what you were doing when I was teaching you how to swing, hm?” He chuckles. When he sees you nod, Eren slaps your ass again. “Words.”

“Yes!” you cry.

“You knew that it’d end up with you like this, right? You wanted this.” He asks, earning another ‘yes’ in response. “None of your boyfriends at Trost fucked you like this.”

“N-no! No, they didn’t! Fuck!” You moan. He tilts your head so you can look at the mirror and you finally see Eren, topless. You don’t know when he took of his top, and you were too fucked out to realise. “Shit, you’re so deep in me..”

He smiles at your comment, slapping your ass once more, “I know, sweetheart. Look at you. You pretend to- fuck- be a good girl in front of everyone but now look at you.”

You feel his hand wrapped around your throat as he pulls you back. Eren’s cheek is against yours as you both look at yourself through the mirror. Now, he’s fucking you harder than he did before. Harder and faster.

“You’re such a slut, hm?” He kisses your cheek before speeding up his thrusts. Your moans are louder than ever as he continues to ruin you.

“‘s too big!” It’s scary how croaky your voice sounds. He kisses your crown before leaning your head back and forcing your mouth open with his fingers.

“Stick out your tongue.”

And after you did so, a glob of spit fell from Eren’s lips and landed on your tongue. “Good fuckin’ girl! You close?”

Mistakenly, you nod again earning another harsh smack on your ass. “Yes, I’m close!”

“Gonna be a good girl and cum for me?!” He asks, his thrusts are amazingly fast and Eren’s lips are on your neck again.

The sight of him makes you cum alone, sweaty forehead that makes his hair curl upwards, his toned body and veiny hands gripping onto your waist and his green eyes boring into yours.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” you cry out. When you reach your climax, Eren doesn’t stop.

If anything, he thrusts deeper, chasing after his own orgasm. Your whole body shakes in his touch as he whispers the most filthy things in your ear.

“This pussys fuckin’ mine now, you hear me? I’m gonna be the one that makes you a slutty mess. You’re gonna come to me when your horny, yeah? Anytime, baby, just say the word and I won’t wait to fuck you like the whore you are.”

Although you know you shouldn’t, you nod again, your voice is too broken to respond.

He pulls out and grabs you, forcing you onto your knees. Immediately, you let Eren put his thick cock in your mouth, fucking your face just as quickly as he fucked your pussy.

You feel his thrusts get sloppier as you finally see the white ropes of cum shoot out of his cock onto your face. He groans out so many expletives but you’re too busy finishing him off to hear, making him shake at your mouth still sucking him.

Once he’s done reaching his climax, the two of you look at each other for a moment before laughing. You both look a mess, Eren with his mouth red from kissing you so hard and sweaty from…well, fucking you.

You look like a real pornstar, Eren thinks. If it wasn’t for you very obvious ambition in golfing, Eren thinks you’d make a great model.

“We need to get back…” You whisper, “They’re gonna kill us since we left all of the equipment there.”

You stand up and reach down to get your clothes, he helps you dress and dresses himself. Eren takes a tissue and wets it with water before cleaning his cum off your face.

“Next time, I’ll fuck you in the kart. And after that, I’ll fuck you on the field.” He whispers, causing you to giggle.

[dead-dolphins]

𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

Summary: In the hellish trenches of Marley, Eren is haunted by thoughts of Mikasa. Unable to resist, he finds himself touching himself as he stares at the mirage of her created by his mind.

Word Count: 1797

Read under cut.

Dear @juloved Happy Birthday, July! 🎉 I just want to take a moment to tell you how much your friendship means to me. You’ve been such an incredible source of support, always there to encourage and inspire me, no matter what. Your artistic vision is something truly special, and I’ve learned so much from you—not just about creativity, but about how to be a better friend and person. You bring so much light into the lives of everyone around you, and I’m so grateful to have you in mine. I hope this day is filled with all the love, joy, and magic you deserve.  Cheers to many more years of friendship, growth, and beautiful moments together. 💖 Also, I wrote something small for you, and I really hope you like it. It’s just a little piece, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about, and I wanted to share it with you (since you kind of encouraged this at some point haha). 😊 Ro.

This trench was a wretched place. Cold mud clung to his boots, weighing them down with every step, while the bitter, metallic tang of blood mingled with the acrid stench of gunpowder, lingering in the air like a constant reminder of death. Eren’s fingers dug into the wet earth, gripping the damp soil as though it might anchor him, but even the ground seemed to betray him. His body felt like stone—heavy, immobile, and numb from exhaustion. The battle raged in the distance; the occasional rumble of artillery and the sharp crack of gunfire barely pierced the suffocating fog of silence around him.

In this moment, in this graveyard of lives, it was the oppressive quiet that consumed him. The chaos of the world outside—the war, the carnage—blurred into distant echoes, insignificant against the suffocating weight of his thoughts. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the rough stone wall of the trench. The jagged edges scraped his skin, but he barely felt it. Pain had long since become meaningless. Over the years, he had learned to block out the shrieking thrum of war, to numb himself to the horror gnawing at his sanity. Survival had demanded it.

But tonight, his mind refused to be silenced.

Tonight, all he could see was her.

Mikasa.

Her face and her voice haunted him like a phantom he couldn’t escape. “What am I to you, Mikasa?” he had asked once, his voice a ragged whisper of vulnerability he would never admit to anyone, not even himself. It was a question that had gnawed at him, clawed at his soul, but one he had always feared hearing the answer to.

When she had said “family,” his world shattered. He could still feel the weight of that word, heavy and sharp, like a jagged splinter lodged deep within his chest. Family. That was all he could ever be to her. She hadn’t even hesitated, hadn’t seen the longing in his eyes or the silent plea written in his every breath.

Family. It was the cruelest truth she could have given him. A truth that sliced through him with such brutality he wondered if he could ever recover. His breath had caught in his throat, his chest tightening, but the words he needed—the ones that might have changed everything—died on his tongue. The realization hit him like a blow: he would never be more to her than what she had already named him.

The next day, he had walked away. He left her behind, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like an unbearable burden. The finality of it—the certainty that nothing would ever be the same—settled over him like a thick, suffocating fog. He had chosen this path, convinced it was for the best.

But now, in the cold silence of the trench, he knew better.

He would never be her love. He would never be the one to hold her, to stand beside her. He had let her go, and now he was paying the price.

The memories wouldn’t let him go. Mikasa’s smile, soft and warm, still lit up the darkest corners of his mind. He could see the way she had looked at him with quiet intensity, as though she could see straight through him, holding him together when everything else in his world was falling apart.

He had let her slip away. He had taken for granted the one thing he now found himself aching for. Now, all that remained were the fragments of a truth he could never speak aloud.

She would move on. She would live her life, build a future, without him.

And he? He would be bound to this war, to the mission he had chosen. When it was all over—when the dust settled and the world moved on—he would be forgotten.

Mikasa would never be his.

Never.

So, with that true burning in his chest, Eren squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the pain, the fatigue, the suffocating weight of the war. But in the darkness, her face appeared once more—vivid and clear, like a cruel temptation he couldn’t resist.

Mikasa.

Her image materialised before him, standing in the midst of the trench, as if she had stepped from his mind. The cold air seemed to wrap around her, but her presence was warm, alluring. She stood just beyond his reach, her dark eyes fixed on him with a quiet intensity that felt like it could pierce through him. 

And because he was still a man, despite being a fool, Eren couldn’t deny the effect such a lovely image had on him. It wasn’t just emotional, nor was it spiritual—it went deeper, stirring something raw and undeniable within him. It was physical, primal, a pull that tightened his chest and set his blood alight. Something carnal that only a man in love and painfully doomed like him could feel.

The bulge in his pants grew with every passing moment as his appreciation for Mikasa deepened, and suddenly, the need for her became unbearable—so overwhelming it consumed his every thought. The grime and sweat that clung to his body only seemed to heighten his craving for human connection, for the touch of someone who could momentarily alleviate the crushing solitude of his existence in this unrelenting war. 

His hands trembled as they reached for the front of his trousers. He cursed under his breath, but there was no stopping it—not now. He needed this. He needed to feel something, and the image of Mikasa his mind conjured was the only thing that could bring him a fleeting sense of completeness. So he imagined her standing before him in the damp trench, naked and exposed, every curve of her athletic form etched in his mind. Her breath quickened as she stood there, the contours of her body becoming all too real in his desperate thoughts.

He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, letting them drop to his ankles. His cock, thick and long, sprang free, standing at attention like a soldier awaiting orders. The tip was a shade darker than the rest, already glistening with precum that formed a delicate strand as he began to stroke himself. He thought of her tight, wet pussy, the way it would clench around him if he ever had the chance to bury himself inside her.

Mikasa, with her sculpted abs and powerful thighs, was the embodiment of everything he desired. He envisioned her leaning over a bed, her ass, firm and round, pressing against his groin as she whispered sweet nothings that sounded like moans of pleasure. Her voice was a symphony that resonated through his body, setting every nerve on fire. He knew that if he ever had the chance to fuck her, it would be an experience that would be etched into his soul. An experience that would be too hard to forget.

Soon his hand moved faster, his strokes becoming more erratic as the tension grew. He could almost feel her hand around his shaft, guiding him in and out of her warm, velvety depths. Her walls would tighten around him, urging him closer to climax, but he knew he couldn’t cum yet. He had to hold out, to savour this moment of stolen pleasure amidst the chaos of war. His breath hitched as he pictured her leaning back, giving him a clear view of her tight, pink asshole, puckered and begging for his touch. It was something he had never seen before, but the thought of it sent his mind reeling.

With his eyes growing cloudy, he pictured bringing his other hand to his mouth and licked his fingers before reaching down to trace circles around her tight little hole. She gasped, and he knew he had found a spot that made her tremble. He pushed his middle finger in slowly, feeling the resistance before she relaxed, allowing him to delve deeper. Her moans grew louder, and he knew she was close, too. He added another finger, scissoring them apart to prepare her for what was to come.

“Mikasa,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Take me in.”

Her body tensed, and she pushed back, taking him to the hilt. He could feel her cunt clench around his fingers, her muscles rippling with pleasure. Her breath was hot against his neck, her teeth grazing his skin.

“Eren,” she moaned, her voice a sweet agony.

At this point, he didn’t know if it was real or just in his mind, but he didn’t care. All he knew was that this was what he needed, what he craved. The feel of her tightening around him, the sound of her gasping his name. He could feel himself getting closer, his balls drawn up tight against his body. But he wouldn’t let go yet. He wanted to feel her come apart first.

He curled his fingers inside her, hitting that magical spot that made her legs tremble. Her breath hitched, and she bit down on her bottom lip to keep from screaming out his name. Her ass was like a vice around his finger, squeezing him as she rode the edge of ecstasy.

“I’m going to cum,” she whimpered in his mind, and the words were like a trigger.

With a roar, Eren pulled his hand away and stroked his cock, his cum spurting out in thick ropes. He pumped himself dry, his body shaking with the force of his release. As he came back down, his breath ragged, he realised that the only thing he wanted more than freedom was her.

When it was over, he felt no relief. Only emptiness. He slumped back against the wall, his hands falling limp at his sides. The night around him was still, the distant echoes of gunfire a faint reminder of where he was, of the war that had stolen everything from him.

He stared at the sky, his vision blurred with unshed tears. She would never know. She would never know how much he wanted her, how much he had always wanted her. And now, as he sat in this trench, surrounded by death and despair, he knew he would never have the chance to tell her.

He had chosen this path. He had chosen to leave her behind, to protect her in the only way he knew how. But it had cost him everything. It had cost him her.

The thought was a dagger to his heart, twisting with every beat. He would never see her again, never hear her voice, never hold her hand. She would move on, live a life free of the burden he had become.

And he? He would die here, alone in the dark, clinging to the memory of a love that would never be.

[coolprettyleo]

truth, dare, spin bottle - jack hughes

wc: 2.1k

tw: parties, slight angst, falling, drinking alc, cringe games, hs friends

jack hughes x oc

so highschool au

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

jack watched as marley sat at the corner of the rink fiddling with her camera. it had been two weeks since she started working with the usantdp boys and he was making no progress in the plan of how to get the girl.

he had only managed to awkwardly flirt with her while she stared at him clueless. he was pretty sure she didn't even realize he was flirting.

"you like taking pictures?" he asked the girl as she nodded.

"yeah, it's pretty cool" she mumbled

"you going to the party on friday?" he asked, trying to desperately hold a conversation with the girl.

the thing about marley, though, is that she's never been romantically involved with anyone, ever. so anytime a guy tried to flirt with the girl she would shut down.

"i don't like parties," she said

"have you ever even been to a party?" he asked teasingly as she blushed embarrassed

"i never have time. plus i have a football game that day-"

"it's going to be after, obviously,"

"sorry i rather sleep, to be honest," she said a bit dryly coming across as a bit bitchy but that only made jack want to pursue the girl ten times more,

"well think about it, i'll be there" he said with a charming smile before walking away.

leaving the girl to sit with her own thoughts. she had never been interested in attending any party that consisted of drunk teenagers, but something was screaming at her to go, and she wondered if it had anything to do with the blue-eyed hockey player.

___

marley and her friends sat around the lunch table on friday as brady talked about driving arrangements. usually, the girl would sit quietly and eat her lunch at times like these; her friends knew the girl wouldn't go, but she had considered going.

"where is it at?" she asked curiosuly as her whole table shut up.

"by lowes. why? do you want to go?" oliver said excitedly.

"oh my gosh. it's happening," as her best friends squealed.

"i have a shirt that will make your boobs look awesome"

"i'll bring you some seltzers"

"please let me curl your hair"

"you can come in our car"

her friends let out excitdly. they had been begging the girl to go to a party since they started, and she always shut down any ideas, so when planning to go out, they knew not to ask the girl. so today was a big day for the friend group. their baby was finally growing up in their eyes.

"GUYS!" she raised her voice at her overly excited friends

"i was just wondering," she said as she put a fry in her mouth as they all eyed her suspiciously.

"you never just wonder," oliver pressed.

"one of the hockey guys told me to go-" she said before being cut off by squeals and the guys letting out 'no ways' and snickers. all surprised in their goody tissues friend.

"that makes a lot more sense now," her friend jackie said.

"which one" mary nosily asked looking behind them at the table where the hockey players sat.

"don't make it obvious," she groaned at her friends, who all turned.

"we just need to make sure he's good for you marls" brady told the girl as they let out snickers.

"if I tell you guys, you can't say anything or even look their way," she said as they all put up pinkies.

"I think his name is jack," she said as the girls squealed and the guy's eyes went wide.

"dude your set for life if you get with him"

"he's cute!!"

"he's projected to go number one"

"you have to go tonight"

her friends all flooded her with thoughts she hadn't even thought about. he wasn't inviting her to get with her, right?

"It's not like that. he was just being nice." she calmed her friends down as they all looked at her like she had three heads.

"oh sweet innocent marls, you have so much to learn" marnie said wrapping her arms around marley as the friend group snickered and nodded at the girl.

___

marley walked out of the football game with no intentions of going to that party.

"marley!" she heard and turned to see brady jogging up to her with oliver and garrett in tow.

"we're meeting the girls at jackies to pregame, you're coming with us," garret said

"hell no. my leg hurts so bad, I landed from my toe touch awkwardly," she complained as they rolled their eyes.

"i don't care. you're going tonight." oliver smirked as he gave the guys the go. garret reached for her cheer bag before oliver threw the girl over his shoulder. brady with keys in hand.

"guys don't be annoying" she squealed

"if you don't have fun tonight, we'll never make you go to a party again," brady said as she groaned.

"at least make sure my ass isnt out" she said feeling inscure knowing there was people most likely watching them.

she felt oliver flip her skirt down and hold it as they walked to the car, not knowing the certain boys that were watching.

"are they a thing?" cole asked as jack watched like a kicked puppy

"i didn't think so," he said as trevor patted his back

"that would explain why she wasn't really flirting back with you," he said as jack slightly glared.

"let's just go," he said before driving away.

___

marley walked into the party a bit tipsy. she was already two drinks in with a seltzer in hand as she looked around. it was a shock for the girl to see people she thought she knew making out, hitting vapes, and feeling up on each other at every corner.

she followed her friends deeper into the party as her eyes roamed the party, hoping to find the hockey player who had told her to go. she soon found him surrounded by his friends with a beer in hand, looking as handsome as ever.

instead of going up to him and making her presence known like she thought she would, she hid behind oliver.

"what are you doing?" he laughed at the girl as he followed her line of sight; he truly did see her as a younger sister, and the fact she was so nervous about a boy was so funny to him.

"I'm feeling insecure about being here," she told the boy as he frowned.

"you shouldn't, you're one of the hottest girls in school it's no surprise he has a thing for you," he said as she looked at him odd

"how do you know he has a thing for me?" she pressed as oliver threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm a guy, marls," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. she rolled her eyes and took another sip as she went to dance with the girls.

meanwhile, jack was watching the two with a glare,

"do you want me to ask garret if there a thing?" alex asked as he followed his gaze to marley. he was friends with the lacrosse player and he knew he would tell him if he asked.

"i don't think they are" cole said before jack could even respond.

"it's fine guys-"

he was cut off when the guy in question came to dab alex up, going around the group to be polite.

"hey, question, which of the girls in your group is single," he said as he looked at the dancing girls.

"aside from marnie, all of them. except I know jackies seeing one of the football players"

"oh," alex said as jack allowed himself to relax again

"why do you ask?" he said

"thought they were cute," alex tried to to play it off. jack could have sworn he saw garret look at him.

"we're getting bored; we were planning to play spin the bottle upstairs in a bit; you should bring the girls," alex said nonchalantly.

"I'll let them know," garret said before walking off.

___

the upstairs bedroom reeked with beer as marley stood in the corner. when garret asked if they'd be down to play games with the hockey players, her friends were quick to jump at the opportunity.

"whoever the bottle lands on, you have to choose between truth or dare," trevor said, putting the bottle in the middle and spinning it, for it to land on mary.

"truth," she said

"who was your first kiss" trevor smirked.

"austin logan" she said. marley blushed because if she got that question, she would have to voice the fact she's never kissed anyone.

mary spinned the bottle for it to land on the one and only, jack hughes. the girl looked at marley and smirked. as jack mumbled 'truth'.

"whose the hottest girl in this room," she asked the boy who only smirked while looking at marley

"marley love" he said without skipping a beat holding eye contact with the girl as the boys clapped him on the back and let out 'whoops'. the girl blushed crimson red not knowing how to react.

"i'm gonna go refill my drink," she mumbled to her friends before basically speeding out of the room.

leaving everyone to stare at each other. jack felt horrible after seeing the embarrassed look on her face, so when marnie stood up to chase after her, he told her he had it and went after the girl.

"marley!" he said over the music as the girl turned around.

"oh hi jack" she said a bit chirpy

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. I do really think you're the hottest girl," he explained as she kept a straight face

"thanks, you are too- well not the hottest girl; but like your cute too not that you arent hot, because you are. but I'm not calling you a girl or anything" she finished with a gulp as he smiled down at the girl. she was tipsy and he could clearly see that.

"yeah?" he said hoping she'd keep rambling. he loved her voice and could listen to it for hours.

"mmhm," she said, looking at his lips, an act that didn't get noticed by jack.

"you wanna go back? or we could go somewhere quieter-" he said hoping this was his moment to make progress.

"actually, if you're not drinking, you think you could take me home?" she asked, feeling like going home.

"completely sober, yeah," he said, flashing the girl his keys as she smiled and went to bid her friends goodbye.

___

the two entered jack's car with an uncomfortable silence.

"so how was your first party," he asked the girl as he drove.

"everything I thought it would be, to be honest," she said as he smiled.

"i'm glad you had fun-"

"oh my gosh! can we stop for tacos!" she said as he drove by a whole bunch of taco trucks.

"you have a curfew?" he asked a bit skeptically, knowing the girl wouldn't normally be out this late.

"no, my grandmas asleep. I should be fine," she said as jack pulled over and wondered why she lived with her grandma. he just wanted to know her.

"don't open the door," he said as he saw her reach for the door

"what?" she giggled at the boy as he ran around the car and opened the door for her.

"I'm being a gentleman," he said smugly.

"someone has a crush," she sang as he rolled his eyes.

"as if i haven't made that obvious" he sassily told the girl as she laughed

"well, i never knew! you're not as good a flirter as you think you are" she told him as he gasped

"I mean, you're here," he quipped back as she let out another laugh. Jack felt a rush of adrenaline, knowing he had caused that.

"I- you have a point," she said, accepting her defeat.

the girl ordered, and as she reached to pull out her card, jack was already handing the cashier his card.

"jack-"

"it's on me" he said as he smiled.

"i feel bad, i made you drive me and now you're buying me food-"

"you can repay me with a date," he told the girl as her eyebrows raised.

"you're serious," she said, looking for any form of jokiness, and all she saw was a hopeful look.

"why you barely even know me"

"I want to know you," he said, and the girl could squeal. He knew all the perfect things to say, and she was finally getting why all these girls would jump headfirst into a guy.

she smiled at the boy before outstretching her hand,

"deal"

[inkedinfusions]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐞𝐲 | eren jaeger chapter 9

⊱𖣂⊰ | In which you fall into a fictional world with the key to Pandora's box.

── ★ ˙ ̟ . 🗝 .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist

⊰– prev   next–⊱

𝟎𝟗 | 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐬

chapter word count: 3.5 k

content warnings: blanket warnings

a/n: Hi everyone, its been a whilee. The hell that is exam week is over, so I finally had time to sit down and write. I had a lot of fun writing the main cast's reactions, and I swear by now I've seen the episode 'Brave Volunteers' like fifty times. Every line of dialogue in that episode is branded onto my brain. Anyway, I hope ya'll like the chapter and characterization! Another thing, I don't know if it was clear or not but last chapter Yelena did NOT tell them all of Zeke's fifty year plan. In 'Brave Volunteers' its stated in the government scene that they should accept Yelena's offer so they can hear the plan So that's that lol. Like always, a big shout out to my beta reader, who not only proof read this chapter but was also the reason I understood calculus. Everyone say thanks P. Also title mention!

Thanks for reading!

𝐈𝐓 𝐌𝐈𝐅𝐅𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 they don’t use your name. The girl is not the worst thing you’ve been called –no, that honor went to unnamed Marleyan guards– but your name is one of the few things you have left from your home.

Your name, your face, your old clothes. Your name and your face are always with you. The first is always implicit, a faucet and a pillar of your identity, a reminder of who gave you the title. The latter is a statement of who came before you, and even if they were nonexistent in this universe, you still bear the likeness of their figures.

On the other hand, your clothes are the only thing that you can be physically separated from. The risk from bringing strange garments to the island far outweighed the small comfort they would bring you, and so you were outvoted in your request to bring them with you. Zeke kept them, somewhere under the floorboards, or wrapped in darkness at the end of an old closet, or in between the house’s foundations.

Eventually moths would eat away at them, your face would change into something your family has never seen. But your name would remain constant, a brilliant flare for those that knew you in the before.

So yes, being called the girl miffs you a little bit.

“I’m afraid we can't do that,” Yelena says, keeping up the pretense that being separated from you is detrimental to the volunteers.

“No, no, we insist!” Hange says with a smile, and you’re not the only one that notices a slight edge to their voice. “I can only imagine her merit, given it was you who insisted on waiting for her at the beach.”

With their cheery smile, Hange manages to bring attention to the fact that you were important to the volunteers, while also indirectly stating your status as a perceived pawn. Levi is less discreet with his facial expressions. He has been glaring at Yelena ever since she started singing praises about Zeke. It's cold, quiet, and could be easily passed off as being part of Levi’s general distrust of strangers, even his resting annoyed face, but it stems from something much more personal, given her ties to Zeke.

“As her guardian, it would be unbecoming of me to abandon her so soon after our journey,” Yelena says.

“Guardian?” Hange asks, turning to you. “Were your parents victims of Marley too?”

“They’re… not around,” you say. “Anymore.”

You don’t confirm nor deny the causes of your family’s absence. In a way, it was you that was taken by Marley, not the other way around. It felt as if the universe was playing a big joke on you, stripping you of your family, bringing you to an unfamiliar territory, loading your back with the burden of knowing. You are well on the road to becoming a shonen protagonist, and hopefully one who got what they wanted in the end.

“So you see,” Yelena says, “I couldn’t possibly leave her to fend for herself.”

“What they were trying to say,” Levi says, toeing the line between interrupting and being patient, “is that she would be much more comfortable were she to comply.”

The unspoken threat and implied future whereabouts of the Volunteers hangs in the air. You know Yelena is letting it simmer for a moment, before she inevitably agrees. She and Onyankopon share glances, discussing something that has already been decided.

The plays that are now being created in the chess board have been scrutinized already, chances and paths to the end have already been calculated, and most if not all valuable players have already been scouted. Both Yelena and Onyankopon have very different ideas of what the endgame entails, but the road to getting there is similar in both iterations.

“You can’t fault my faction for being cautious. We trust your people to take our plans and transform them for the betterment of the island, but Y/n is a special case. I trust you understand, given your own young charges.”

Yelena places her teacup on the table, reveling in the unobstructed march of the circumstances she has weaved. This woman knows the strands and how to thread them, and her strengths lie there and in her almost complete view of the full tapestry.

“I would like to request that she is free to seek us out, should she wish to.”

“She’ll be escorted,” Levi counters. “One on one rendezvous will not be permitted.”

“I expect nothing less. We look forward to working with you, for the betterment of the nation of Paradis. Please make sure to opt in sooner rather than later, as it would be a shame to not share the plans we carefully designed before arriving.”

Yelena smiles that unsettling grin of hers and a deal is struck. She and Onyankopon rise from their seats, and you, Hange and Levi accompany them just outside the tent flaps. Onyankopon turns to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing in a comforting fashion.

“It won't be long, okay?” he says. You've only known him properly for a day, which most of it was spent separately, him on the deck as a soldier, you hidden away with the cargo. But you assume he must feel some sort of responsibility towards you, someone young whom he must leave with strangers in order to ensure the help they are offering is accepted. You nod as he retreats, giving Yelena space to approach you.

And you understand his worries and his concerns, and you know they are well founded even if they aren't exactly accurate. If what Eren told you and if Hange’s and Levi’s reaction is of any indication, then you have some sort of tentative immunity in the eyes of Paradis.

The question is, what does the island’s government expect in return? How far does Eren’s knowledge of you extend? How much has he shared?

You are taken by surprise when Yelena pulls you into a hug, dwarfing your figure with her thin frame. You hesitantly return the gesture, and put your arms around her. If Zeke’s hug felt secure and grounded, hers feels suffocating and cold.

Your head starts to hurt again, and you squeeze your eyes shut so your brain has one less sense to process. It helps somewhat, and only adds onto your guardian–charge charade with Yelena.

“Stay focused,” she murmurs in your ear, before pulling away. “I’ll see you soon” is her final farewell, and she and Onyankopon are taken away by other Scouts, about to be reunited with the other Volunteers and unfortunate soldiers.

You look at their retreating figures when Levi’s gruff voice interrupts your thoughts.

“Get inside,” he says. “It's almost dawn, and you need to report to us before the brats arrive.”

You mouth brats? while you follow them inside, grunting when Hange decides to tackle you gently, putting their arm around your shoulders.

“I'm sorry we didn’t ask you directly,” Hange starts chirping, their voice moving faster than their mouth. “We didn’t know you would arrive so soon, and less so with people from the other side of the sea…”

Their voice trails off as they stare at you expectantly, making you squirm. Their half hug is nice though. Comforting and full of energy you seem to be quickly depleting from.

“Get off the kid, Four eyes,” Levi says, taking a seat and bringing his cup, holding it by the rim. “We need her report.”

“Oh!” Hange exclaims. “Of course! Come on, come on, take a seat–”

They lead you to the middle chair, and you sit down in front of the pair, not quite knowing what to expect. You need to report to us versus we need your report. Something you are required to do versus something they are looking for. Choices in spoken words often talk louder than the voices expressing them, so you hope this is a spark of future mutual trust.

They ask you to confirm Yelena’s plan and you recite back the small spiel in its entirety. Specific questions are posed and you answer them to the best of your ability, still carefully abiding only by the limited information brought forward by Yelena. You purposely stutter on some, if only to keep your cards close to your chest. Nonetheless, sometimes you trip over your words truly just because you’re nervous.

“And what's in it for you?” Levi asks. Hange makes a move to scold him for his lack of tact, but you wave off their concerns.

“I want the same as you,” you say. “The island’s safety.”

“And why you?” he presses.

That throws you in for a loop. Their questions made it seem like they knew something was up with you, but now you don't know if they’re referring to why you, as in why you a teenager, or why you as in what tools you have at your disposal that made you the ideal asset.

“Didn’t Eren already tell you?” you ask, because it's better to fall short of the question than to reveal extra information that will surely make its way to their higher ups.

Levi narrows his eyes. “So you know.”

“I met him at the beach, just when I got off the ship,” you confirm. “We didn't talk for long, but he told me to tell you my name. I assume that's because you already know about me?”

“Right on!” Hange says. “Eren hasn’t spilled a whole lot, but it was enough to convince us that you were someone who wanted to do right by Paradis.” They finish off their explanation with a grin, and you revel in the way it calms you down. Even Levi, who plays the bad cop in the interrogation, is surprisingly not as antagonistic as you expected him to be.

“I do,” you say. “I know you have no basis to trust me but a few words, but I really do just want to help. And i understand if you want to keep me at arms length–”

“Don’t be silly,” Hange says. “You’re our ally now! And you didn’t hear it from me but there's no reason to be worried for your guardians–”

“Hange,” Levi says, warning in his tone.

“Anyway! I’m sure it would be better for you to stick close to Levi’s squad while we figure out where to place you.”

“Levi’s squad?” you ask.

You whip your head towards the front of the tent when chatter is heard from outside, growing louder and louder, footsteps accompanying them as they approach the entrance. You distinguish teenage voices overlapping the others, seemingly discussing, constantly one upping the others’ contributions. Your heart leaps out of your chest as a hand reaches under the entrance flap and opens it, letting in the soft light of the early morning.

Six teenagers dressed in Scout uniforms come inside the tent, some more apprehensive than others. Jean Kirstein and Connie Springer –if they’re anything like their animated counterparts– decidedly don’t trust you, but their distrust for Yelena is bigger. Sasha Braus looks like she'd rather be snoring on a cot than gawking at you and Mikasa Ackerman is doing her best to prevent her from falling asleep, even if the girl is starting to look more awake.

Mikasa is also pointedly standing in front of Armin and Eren, shielding them as much from your line of sight as she can. You don't take it personally; you know they're her family and you're someone who could pose a threat to them. Still, it is kinda funny. Those two, being the only titan shifters on the island, are probably the ones who should be doing the protecting. But instead, Mikasa takes on that role, and you can't help but admire her for it.

Armin Artlet is looking at you half in awe, half analyzing you. You remember he always advocated for peace, for hearing out the unexpected allies they encountered, and for trying to find a middle ground in the midst of bloodshed and uncertainty. For someone with the tallest and most disastrous titan, he sure does look smaller in real life. His blond hair is still styled into that bob though, and you marvel at how the trio's hairstyles are somewhat similar at this point in time.

Finally, Eren is the last person to set foot inside the tent. Technically, you've already met him, even if you only exchanged ten stilled sentences at the beach. He is the only one that is not the least bit apprehensive of you. Now though, with the light of the day and the lantern combined, you can distinguish bags under his eyes and a strange tension on his shoulders. If you looked in a mirror, you think then maybe you’d see similar attributes in yourself.

“Who’s this?” Jean asks when the group approaches you.

“Y/n,” you say, extending your hand. “Nice to meet you…?”

“Jean Kirstein,” he says, shaking it. “No last name?”

“Oh, it’s…” you trail off.

Many times you have dealt with slow wifi in your world, where computers suddenly forgot they were supposed to be fast and innovative technology, and instead took ages to process or retrieve information. Your brain seems similarly frozen, and you start to panic when you can’t reach the information you seek. You'd have better luck digging a hole in shifting sands with only your hands as tools, than remember it.

It feels like when you are running in a dream, where you sprint as fast as you can, and yet there are invisible ropes holding you back, tying your wrists, your torso, and the air around you feels like jelly, preventing your every move.

The panic and hesitation must show in your vacant gaze when you are too preoccupied with remembering, because Jean awkwardly clears his throat and looks at Levi.

“Where do we take her, sir?” Jean asks.

“I don’t know, show her around. Show her the facilities and don’t cause a commotion or you can expect extra drills extra early. Looking at you, Braus.”

The girl in question splutters, flailing her arms around in defense. Connie snorts and punches her lightly on the arm as they exit the tent. Armin flanks you as you follow the duo outside, eager to know more information on the outside world. Mikasa lags behind for a moment as Levi tells her something, but she joins the group soon enough.

“You said your name was Y/n, right?” Armin asks and you nod. “Do you really come from the other side of the sea? What’s it like?”

“Uh, I dunno? There’s people, buildings, cars…”

“Cars? Do you mean carts?” Connie asks.

“Kinda, but with no horses to pull them. I think it has something to do with pistons and ignition?”

Armin’s eyes get impossibly bigger, impossibly brighter. His face is pulled into an awed expression, and it makes you want to sit down with him and explain everything the new world has to offer. Besides the –you know– animosity towards their race.

“Do you know about the fields of ice? Or the fiery waters?” Armin continues.

“Not personally,” you say. “I’ve never gone to a volcano or frozen plains, but I’ve seen them in photographs.”

“Like Eren’s dad’s picture,” Mikasa says when Sasha pulls a confused expression.

You find yourself nodding. “Yeah, that one.”

Jean narrows his eyes. “You know about that?”

“Uh–”

You messed up. The trouble you have remembering your last name (what the hell, what the hell, what the hell), and the unexpected introduction with the main cast, as well as the lack of proper sleep hits you over the head. You hastily catch Eren’s eye, wordlessly asking him what you should answer. What you’re allowed to answer.

He simply shrugs. “I told you guys she knew things.”

“Oh! Are you also a shifter?” Sasha asks. “Do you get those memory thingies too?”

“I can’t– I’m not,” you quickly amend, “a titan.”

“Bummer.”

“Sasha!” Connie whispers.

“What?”

You chuckle awkwardly trying to diffuse the tension as you walk. They point out various structures, most of them tents. There's the field canteen, the lavatories, the grounds and the tent barracks. “It's fine,” you say after a moment. “It would be easier to explain if I were a shifter.”

“What are you then?” Connie asks.

I’m just someone who likes stories is what you want to say, but you know that will only serve to confuse them further. You quickly go through a list of possibilities that include lying about having royal blood, lying about your parents being shifters, or lying about being part of experiments. The first one can be easily disproved by anyone with eyes, the second is not something that makes a lot of sense, and the third one is just plain reaching.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Eren says, not missing a beat while you’re weaving a lie. “She’s the key to whatever locked up memories I have. I don’t think it's a coincidence I remembered one yesterday, just before the ship arrived.”

“I don’t understand it myself fully yet,” you say, falling into a rhythm with Eren’s explanation. “I just know things I shouldn’t. That's how I knew to find Zeke, and to come to the island.”

The mention of Zeke’s name brings forward a slight tension in everyone’s shoulders, and they exchange glances, as if only just remembering you were someone who was allied with an old enemy.

“You’re with the tall woman then?” Jean asks.

“Officially yeah,” you say. “But Yelena’s always creeped me out.”

“But you’re on their side, is what I'm saying.”

You shrug, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “My… future memories, if you can call them that, have shown me primarily what has happened here. You’re welcome to believe me or not, but I do feel a sense of duty to you all.” If they notice how you changed the island for you all they do not mention it.

“I trust her,” Eren says, breaking the silence.

“We know,” Jean says, rolling his eyes. “You’ve made that very clear.”

Eren shrugs, and you all stop walking on the edge of the tent barracks. Everyone but Mikasa is on cleaning duty for the morning, given she was the one to win some kind of training game the day before. So they send you off with her to the barracks, where you are promised a cot and time to digest everything. You wave at them, and they promise to come back to escort you to the canteen when you wake up.

Mikasa starts walking to the far left, checking behind her once to ensure you are following her. You jog after her until you reach her, and you fall into an uneasy step next to the girl. Birds fill the early morning air with their chirps, occasionally flying from tree to tree when you get too close to one in your path.

“I don’t know if I should trust you,” she says after a while, and you flinch, expecting her sentiments all the same.

“But I trust Eren,” she continues, “and he trusts you. Armin thinks you are allies that will help the island, but not all of us are as optimistic.”

“I get it,” you say, giving her a small smile. “I know what happened, so I get it, really. I don't expect you all to trust me so quickly either.”

“Don’t let him down.”

“I won’t,” you promise. “Nor will I let you down, if you'll let me.”

She stops in front of a small tent sandwiched between others. You see two cots when you walk in, parallel to each other. There are a few personal items on the one directly to your left, while the right is bare with the only exception of thin sheets and a thin blanket.

“That one’s yours,” Mikasa says, pointing to the one on the right. “I’ll be back in a while to check in on you. Don’t leave without someone from the squad.”

“Okay. See you later?”

Mikasa nods and leaves, leaving behind a slight breeze from where she opened the tent. You step closer to your cot, dropping your satchel at one of its legs. You only had water and a little bit of rations left on it, so you were allowed to keep it. It rattles as it hits the floor, but you’re too preoccupied with finally laying down to properly care.

You groan in satisfaction when your tense back hits the fabric of the cot. It's not the most comfortable place you’ve slept on recently, but it is a welcome luxury after spending more that twenty four hours on the cold floor of a ship’s cargo hold, so it's really no surprise when your eyes close the moment your head touches the pillow.

The first part of your plan, arriving to Paradis, is completed. The second, earning everyone's trust, is going better than expected, thanks to the curveball that was Eren’s knowledge of you. So you let your consciousness rest for a moment, going to sleep in between flashes of stars.

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[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

when i met you (i couldn't measure it)

Ao3 | 2.2k Words | Treasure's POV

(A Firefigher AU one shot)

Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard.

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp.

__

Treasure hates opening nights. William loves the ballet. Porter bums a smoke.

TW: Smoking, shitty friends.

Lil ballet info for you guys: Treasure intentionally dances androgynous parts, ones that both male and female dancers have done in the past. They're noted as playing Clara's younger brother Fritz in their youth (a part I actually got to do once as a little kid) that is often danced by young girls OR young boys. In this production, they're part of the Mouse Army and they dance Coffee, which often has both male and female dancers. While they are noted as dancing en pointe, male dancers have been known to wear pointe shoes on occasion. So really, Treasure's gender is fully up to your interpretation still.

As another note, I used more modern names for the different dances ("Coffee" instead of the "Arabian Dance," "Tea" instead of the "Chinese Dance) since I fully believe that if you can't produce Nutcracker without being weird and racist then you just aren't productive. I saw a wonderful production in which the dancers were in costumes that mimicked the drink or treat they represented instead of loosely racist caricatures. That is the vibe for Treasure's production.

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. There was some vicious, clawing energy that you couldn’t direct, an unpredictability that you didn’t care for. When a show was well run, when you had danced it four or five times in front of an audience and knew the lines of the marley floor, what parts were raised and awkward, slick and worn, you could dance without thinking. That was always your favorite part of it, when your conscious thought could drift away and your body took over. 

Dancing was never about your brain. It was about your body. 

Nutcracker was a touch different. You danced it nearly every year, so the motions of it were never new, just distant enough to be unfamiliar. You had to settle back into the feeling of them, stretching across your skin and muscles. You danced the Mice Army, you danced Coffee or Tea or Peppermint. If it was your lucky year, you’d be tapped for the Grand Pas de Deux and dance your feet raw for six performances before the company went on break for the season. 

It was not your lucky year. A combination of guest dancers and principal promotions left you, the ugly duckling of Dahlia Ballet’s professional company, taking a backseat to the pretty young things that got paraded around in snowflakes. 

You hated opening nights, especially when said opening night heralded a visit from the Ballet’s biggest benefactor. Benefactor sounded very 19th century, but there really wasn’t another word for what William Solaire was to the place. He put more money into the Ballet in charitable donations than the rest of the donors combined, and he had standing season tickets. 

He only came once a year, though, on the opening night of Nutcracker, and took up the empty orchestra box that waited, empty for his return.  

Solaire was set to visit the stage before the performance, and your CEO and artistic director were busy entertaining his weird, rich guy bullshit. You could feel the nervous energy of everybody in the building as you ran through the motions of Coffee one more time before you were called for costumes. 

“He brought someone!” Bridget wacked you with her extended tondeuse, the box of her pointe shoe digging painfully into your hip. You turned sharply, falling out of your formation, and fixed her a pointed look. “Oh shut up, look! He’s hot!” You rolled your eyes and turned, distinctly aware of how little time you had to nail this before you had to move on. Coffee could be a challenging dance; languid and slow, mimicking the twisting steam over a fresh cup. Slow didn’t mean easy. It meant that every inch of your body had to be in your control. It meant that you didn’t get the forgiveness of speed when you fucked up. Fucking up wasn’t an option. 

You flexed and pointed your feet, rose up to releve en pointe, turned in an agonizing circle with your leg in a front attitude. Your shoe caught on an uneven section of the stage. You fell to your heel, raised your head to get your bearings to remember the spot. 

Somebody was watching you. You were a performer. Your body knew when there were eyes on you. You spun your head around until you saw him. 

William Solaire was talking excitedly to the artistic director, motioning to the set dressings with a light in his face. He looked trim and handsome in his tailored tux, and his eyes were fixed with rapt attention on his enthusiastic, if anxious, conversation partners. 

You looked to his right and found the source of your discomfort. Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard. 

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp. 

“Oh my God,” Bridget wacked you with her foot again, “he’s totally looking at me!” 

You turned back to stare at her, your face screwed up in distaste. 

“Jesus Christ.” You snapped. “Are you blind? Are you incapable of turning without kicking me? Should I just move a foot downstage so save myself the bruise?” 

“You don’t have to be an asshole.” Bridget pouted, crossing her arms. She tugged at the hem of her leotard, only serving to prop her bust up even more prominently. She waggled her fingers towards Solaire’s shadow with a grin before turning back to you. “You are such a buzzkill.” 

You huffed, frustrated, and ran a hand over your face before remembering that you already had your stage make-up on. You’d smeared your blush. 

“Fuck me.” You sighed. 

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. Bridget was a bitch, but she was an impeccable dancer. You fell out of a pirouette after four rotations that she took to five. She did lick you twice during Coffee, and she forgot during the battle scene that the toy soldiers and mice were only meant to play fight. You were certain the wack she gave to your ribs with her wooden sword would bruise. 

You hated opening night, but you loved Nutcracker. You always had, since you played Fritz at seven. You sat in the wings and watched the Grand Pas de Deux, counted the Sugar Plum Fairy’s rotations as Cavelier spun her like a top. 

Those fuckers. They were good. Better than you. So was Bridget. So was every other principal dancer in the company. You were falling behind. Plateauing. 

During bows, your eyes drifted to that perpetually empty box to stage right. William Solaire was on his feet, his face lit up in childlike joy, clapping incessantly as the principals took another bow. To his right, just over his shoulder, his mysterious shadow stood as well, clapping slowly, languidly. His eyes were locked on you until the curtain fell. 

Your castmates broke into laughter and applause, cheers and congratulations spread through the softly lit stage. You turned, popped en pointe to stretch out your right hip. Someone caught your elbow and spun you around.  

“You’ve got to get it together on that turn.”  Bridget bitched, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re embarrassing me.” 

You blinked back at her, shock smacked across your face. The world of ballet could be a cruel, unforgiving one. People often spoke directly and without care for emotions, only results. It shouldn’t have surprised you when she decided to make her point in this particular fashion rather than talk to your director or find a nicer way to get it across. You could appreciate her being up front, at the very least. 

“New marley.” You said, tapping your toe against the stage. “New shoes. New show. I haven’t danced Coffee in like… three years. I’ll be fine tomorrow.” 

Bridget narrowed her eyes at you, her delicate features contorting unflatteringly around a frown. 

“I don’t make excuses.” She bit out. “And I don’t fuck up. So…” 

Another dancer caught her shoulder and she turned, falling naturally into the cheer and jubilation of the post-show. She only spared you one more look before disappearing into the crowd of retiring dancers. 

You made your way to the dressing room, only lingering long enough to snag your coat and lighter before retreating again. It was fucking cold outside and it was probably in your best interest to at least change out of your shoes before you went out for a smoke, but you thought that if you spent another second around everybody’s chatter and laughter and fucking noise you’d actually go insane. 

The costume for Coffee didn’t provide the most cover from the elements. It included a pair of sheer, flowy pains and a skimpy vest that barely covered your chest. You shivered as you planted your back against the back wall of the theater and tugged a cigarette from your pack. Fuck, you were running low. You’d have to stop on the way home. Of course. 

“Can I bum one?” A smooth, british voice called from your right. You jumped, alarmed, and turned.

It was Solaire’s shadow, the handsome, blonde man that had spent the entire night intensely staring you down. You were usually off put by guys that stared, but something about him didn’t set off the alarm bells in your head. 

“Its my last one.” You grumbled, pulled your pack back out. Your hands were fucking freezing, and you shook as you attempted to flick your lights. Thin, cool hands spread over yours, plucked the lighter and both cigarettes from between your fingers. 

“Cheers. You were wonderful, by the way.” The man smiled as he brought both cigarettes to his lips, lit them with the same flame, and took the first, bitter drag before passing one back to you. You pressed it between your lips, wet with his saliva, and breathed in deeply. It warmed you up inside almost immediately. 

“I was alright.” You sighed, smoke obscuring the stranger’s face. You introduced yourself, hand extended. He took it in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. It would have been corny if it was anybody else, but something about him was so earnest that you blushed, hot and high in your cheeks, up your neck, the tips of your ears. 

“Porter Solaire.” He supplied, stepping back and resting against the cold brick wall. He had a long, black peacoat over his shoulders, leaving his arms free from its heavy sleeves. Even though he had very little cover from the cold, he didn’t shiver or shake, seemingly unbothered by the winter chill. “And I mean it. I don’t give compliments lightly. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.” 

“I was the weakest dancer up there tonight.” You huffed, tapping the filter of your cigarette against your lips in thought. “I’m not conventional. I don’t have the training that the other principal dancers do.” 

Porter snickered, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Something funny?” You sneered. Embarrassment crept up your chest and into your throat, turning you mean. You hated that about yourself. 

“No.” Porter said softly. “No, it’s just… I don’t give a damn about ballet. It’s the old man’s favorite, I just got dragged along tonight. But every time you were on stage, I was enraptured. I have no idea if you’re a good dancer, but what I do know is that you’re… something.” 

The way he said something sounded dangerous. You wanted to watch his mouth form around the word a few more times. 

The back door creaked open. Bridget stuck her head out into the cold. 

“We’re going to get drinks.” She snapped. “Like… six of us? How big is your car? You can DD, right?” 

“I was about to leave.” You said, gesturing with your half-finished cigarette. 

“Oh, come on.” Bridget said. “It’s enough of a mood killer that you refuse to have a drink, the least you can do is come with. It’s opening night! Come and celebrate with us!” 

“It doesn’t sound much like they’ll be celebrating.” Porter’s voice rose up from behind you. You half turned to look at him. Smoke twirled around him lazily, languidly, twisting tondeuse and attitude turns around his sharp, pretty features. “More like… babysitting.” 

“Oh!” Bridget straightened when she saw him, puffing up her chest in her skimpy Coffee top. Porter’s eyes trailed over her body, but the light that sparked in his grey irises when he looked at you was absent. His eyes took on a sharp, cutting energy that made you shiver. “Hey, you’re with… with Mr. Solaire, right? Do you want to… come along?” She put on her most devastating smile, looking up at him through her lashes. Porter looked down at her, blinked slowly twice before turning his eyes back to you. 

“Do you have dinner plans?” He asked, his face and eyes lighting up. “There’s a lovely little Indonesian place around the corner.”

You looked over to Bridget, who was starting up at Porter like he’d spit at her. Her pretty face was twisted up in disbelief. 

“That sounds great.” You said decisively. “Let me go change and get this shit off of my face.” Porter gave you a sly, curling smile. 

“I’m not complaining about the costume.” His eyes slid to Bridget for a moment, as if to check that she was still watching. The corner of his smile quirked up as his attention fell back to you. One cold hand spread up your exposed ribs as the other snaked under your chin and tilted your face towards his. His thumb traced your jaw, those sharp eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he ducked down. 

His hands were cold, but his lips were warm. Soft and plush, you melted into the feeling of them. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You leaned into him, hand falling to hold onto the lapel of his stupid, fancy suit. Smoke passed between your mouths, acrid, bitter, so fucking warm. 

Bridget was gone by the time you came up for air. 

“Your friends suck.” Porter smiled into your mouth. He didn’t let you go. His cold hands began to warm on your skin. 

“Not my friends.” You snorted. “Coworkers at best. Take me to get Indonesian.” 

“As you wish.” Porter grinned.

[peachhcs]

i was wondering how sam starts to fall and relize that will is worth t her risk? because i know they went on the one date

the 3 times samy's confused about her feelings and the 1 time she isn't

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

samy's afraid to date her best friend in fear of ruining everything, so she spends the entire summer trying to understand her feelings until it finally all clicks.

4k words

wow! my longest fic ever for this series. i loved, loved loved writing this and i'm planning on doing a similar type of style to this soon so stayed tune for that! as always, keep sending in requests, they're so fun to write :)

au masterlist

ONE

sitting at the kitchen island while ellen helped curl samy's hair, the girl's stomach churned into knots for some reason. she was so so excited for senior prom, but her anxiety wouldn't shake. something was tipping the youngest hughes off her balance, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. luke and her mom must've been taking notice of her unusual silence because the girl hadn't stopped talking about prom all week.

"your hair's gonna look so beautiful with these curls," ellen gushed, breaking the silence in the kitchen.

"you think so?" samy wondered quietly, hands fidgeting in her lap.

"oh for sure. i just know you and will are gonna look so amazing," the older woman continued while samy's stomach twisted into knots again hearing her best friend's name.

luke, who stood a few feet away, picked up on his sister's quietness again. he studied her face, gears turning in his brain, the pieces in his head slowly falling together that answered her sudden shyness.

"i think it's so nice you and your friends are bringing some of the guys. i really think they'll have fun even if they don't say it," ellen continued.

samy briefly nodded, her mind stuck on will. "yeah, it will be fun," her eyes met luke's across the way and because they were siblings, he instantly read her gaze.

samy's friends were the ones who brought up the idea about her bringing will to prom. the brunette didn't have a lot of options considering she didn't like many of the other guys at her school. marley suggested "the hot hockey friend" (her words) and everyone else immediately agreed.

sure, they teased samy about will before and always went on about how hot him and his friends were, but the girl never looked past that. she never gave it a second thought until now.

the days leading up to prom have left serious anxious butterflies in samy's stomach for reasons she didn't quite understand completely. her and will texted back and forth like they usually did, but something felt different. there was something different that the brunette couldn't put her finger on it and the more she thought about it, the more she thought about her friend's teasing remarks and the boys' teasing remarks anytime they all hung out.

"okay, i'm gonna let these set for a minute before we start doing anything else," ellen decided as she shut the curling iron off and disappeared out of the room.

the hughes sibling code was that you never brought up anything around the parents you wanted to discuss, so luke shifted himself closer to his sister once their mom was out of earshot. samy met his wondering gaze.

"what's up?" luke asked in a near whisper.

"what?" for a moment samy played dumb. she feared her little bubble of anxiety was coming off as too noticeable.

"you look nervous. like way more nervous than before," the middle hughes casually pointed out. his sister's face flushed.

"i'm not."

"really?" luke didn't believe her. not even for a second. he grew up with her, so he knew every single one of her quirks making it impossible to hide them.

"yeah?" she toyed with her fingers and avoided eye contact—a dead giveaway for the older boy.

"samantha," luke using her full name meant he was being seriousness and wanted her to be serious too.

"i'm just like kind of freaking out and i don't know why," the youngest hughes finally admitted.

the boy raised his eyebrow, "what do you mean by freaking out?"

"like..there's these butterflies in my stomach and my heart won't stop racing," samy tried her best explaining.

"are you nervous for prom?" luke wondered.

"i-i don't know..maybe? i just..it feels weird," words weren't coming easy to the girl. she looked away, feeling embarrassed that she was even feeling this way.

the middle hughes hesitated for a second, thinking back to a few minutes ago when he noticed how his sister grew quiet at the mention of will's name. "does it have anything to do with will?"

the girl's face blushed around the edges, "that's the problem. i think so, but i-i don't really know."

"i mean you're just going as friends. it doesn't mean anything," luke shrugged until he saw his sister's gaze again and something in his expression shifted. "or does it?"

"i don't know," samy nearly whispered.

her brother finally understood what she was trying to say.

"do you want it to mean something?" luke asked.

"i-i wanna say yes..my heart wants me to, but..my head is confusing me. i don't know why i feel like this about will," she looked at luke as if he had all the answers for her.

"it sounds like you may have..feelings for him? or you're starting to?" his words made the girl's stomach drop. feelings?

"feelings?" her thoughts slipped out of her mouth.

"maybe?"

that didn't make samy feel any better than before. luke quickly cut in when he saw her expression drop, "that's not a bad thing. i had a small inkling."

"inkling? will's my best friend..he's like another brother to me. i-i can't have feelings for him," the girl looked over at luke who only shrugged.

"i dunno, just something to think about. you seemed anxious when mom mentioned him and you aren't usually."

"something about this just feels really different and i..i can't understand why. or maybe i do and i don't wanna believe it," samy mumbled the last part.

"is it a bad thing to like him or something?" luke crossed his arms as he drew back off the counter.

"i mean..no. it's not. i just..he's my best friend. that's all i've ever seen him as. i don't know why things suddenly feel so different," samy admitted.

"i get it. just..see how the night goes? see what happens? for all he knows, it's just a friends thing," the middle hughes tried reassuring her. all samy could do was nod and take some deep breaths to ease the racing thoughts.

TWO

the excitement finally started dying down around two in the morning. people drifted back towards their rooms as sleep filled their eyes knowing their hangovers would be pretty killer in the morning. the youngest hughes lingered in the conference room just taking in the scene of what was once a packed room while everyone congratulated the boys on their drafts.

her parents retired hours ago and the older hughes brothers were somewhere in the building either asleep or continuing the party in a smaller room. it was just her in there staring blankly at one of the walls lost in thought until one of the doors cracked open.

"found her," gabe's voice broke the silence. samy's gaze slid to his as he slowly shuffled closer towards her. ryan wasn't far behind.

"you okay?" the darker-haired boy wondered when he got closer. "we've been looking for you."

"oh, yeah. i'm good," samy nodded as gabe plopped onto the couch with ryan on her other side.

"smitty passed out upstairs in the room. no way he was waking up," ryan laughed briefly. samy pictured the blonde in her head and it brought a soft smile to her lips.

"did he tell you?" she asked the two boys. both of them raised their eyebrow like they didn't know what she was talking about.

"tell us what?" ryan wondered, both of their gazes shifting over to the girl between them.

a small flush spread across her cheeks. she for sure thought will would tell them as soon as he got the chance considering how much they were always teasing him for it.

"he..he uh..we kissed," samy mumbled quietly.

gabe and ryan's smiles grew into the widest and biggest the brunette's ever seen them besides when they scored goals during a game. 

"fucking finally! when did that happen??" gabe exclaimed.

"we finally caught each other in the crowd. we went into the hallway and i guess everything just..spilled out," samy explained what the two missed.

"so what? you're boyfriend girlfriend now?" ryan nudged her arm, a large smirk on his lips knowing the guys owed him now.

"uh..no.."

"no?" ryan and gabe exchanged a curious and confused glance. the brunette's gaze fell away from them as she toyed with her fingers.

"we're just gonna like go on dates and see how it goes and if it goes to shit then that's okay and nothing is ruined between us," she shrugged some.

"i don't get it," gabe said.

"it's like a grace period. we go on dates just to see how we'd be in a relationship and if we aren't good, then it's like nothing happened," she saw their glances and for some reason neither of them made her feel good.

"but you guys like each other..so wouldn't that like..not make sense if you don't decide to be official but you still like each other?" ryan raised his eyebrow.

"maybe..but i dunno. just scared," samy's voice softened out which immediately made gabe and ryan's expressions soften too.

"scared? of what? will? he's your best friend," ryan almost laughed before knowing that wouldn't be the right move.

"that's the problem. he's my best friend."

"i'm lost again," gabe's confusion earned a playful eye roll from the youngest hughes.

"i've known will since we were babies. all i've ever known him is a best friend. a brother. these feelings are still new to me and..i'm still scared. i'm scared that it won't work between us and we ruin everything we've ever had," samy's confession had her own heart clenching in tight knots. that familiar feeling of anxiety returned anytime she thought about her feelings for will.

"hey, i get it. when julianne and i started dating i was scared too. she was a really good friend of mine and i didn't wanna ruin that. i mean..we know will, you probably know him better than us, but he's not like that. he'd do anything for you samy," ryan touched her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze while gabe nodded in agreement. a soft smile replaced the small frown on her lips.

she knew when ryan called her samy and not hughesy, he was being genuine.

"i mean, you should've seen him back in october and before he even realized he liked you like that. he'd never do anything to hurt you or put himself in a position to lose you," gabe added.

"i know it's hard to shake the jerky hockey guy persona, but trust me when i say will is far from that. you know that. if you called him needing something, he'd drop everything for you. i know he really, really wants this to work out between you guys," ryan grinned wider.

luckily, the boys' words eased some of the anxiety building in samy's stomach. she hooked her arm around ryan's, giving it a loving squeeze.

"when did you guys become so good at giving advice? i swear you were teasing me two days ago," her words made the three of them laugh.

"i guess we're growing up, huh? we're not kids anymore," gabe's eyes drifted across samy and ryan's glances.

"i'm really proud of you two. i'm gonna miss you being in michigan with me this fall," she ruffled up both of their hairs making them squirm away.

"i can't believe it's already over. went too fast," ryan hummed, leaning back into the couch.

"you can say that again. i can't believe boston's in two months," a sad smile appeared on gabe's lips.

the idea of her best friends being miles away from her made samy's stomach twist into more knots. she lived for moments like these where the late hours made them vulnerable and anything tumbled out of their lips into the open air. these moments wouldn't happen anymore when the boys headed to botson. everything was changing soon and samy wasn't sure how big of a fan she was of all of it—especially trying to navigate her feelings for someone she cared deeply about.

THREE.

samy's heart hammered against her chest with each step she took onto her front porch. one step matched the thud of her heart and the blush rising to the tips of her ears. will's heavier footsteps weren't far behind, insisting that he walked her to the door to make sure she made it in safely.

all of these little gestures were so new to them. samy was so used to the blonde flying out the door passed her after her brothers in an attempt keep up with them. sometimes he'd even knock into her accompanied with a weak apology as he passed through. having him walk her to the house was entirely new territory in their relationship.

the brunette slowly spun on her heel, instantly finding will's gaze already on her. a soft smile sat on his lips as his eyes darted between her own. his shoulder fell against the one of the support beams, hands slipping into his pockets trying to act casual despite the pounding in his ears.

"i had a lot of fun. thank you, again," samy broke the silence first.

"yeah, me too. it was really fun," will agreed.

everything about them standing inches away from the front door where her parents and brothers were on the other side made samy feel like she was in high school again after a first date. the giddy smiles; the racing heartbeats; the awkward waiting and deciding if a kiss goodbye was appropriate while wondering if the older boys were watching them from an unknown location. 

"next time you should show me around plymouth," the girl teased slightly earning a blush across will's cheeks.

"you haven't seen all of it already?"

the girl smiled, but shook her head, "no, not really. i'd love to get your take on it."

"noted. i'll have to come up with an itinerary for us then."

the two shared a loving smile. samy noticed the way will's gaze briefly flicked down to her lips and the action made her heart flutter.

she decided to help him out by slowly inching closer, the small gap between them quickly closing. will caught on fairly fast. his hand slid onto her cheek, directing her chin upwards to meet his soft lips while samy hoped he couldn't feel her rapid heartbeat beneath his palm. 

the blonde used his other hand to wrap around her hip, tugging her impossibly closer while samy's danced through his hair and clutched his shirt. the kiss had both of their heads spinning until they finally pulled apart.

"see you tomorrow at the game?" will whispered with kiss-swollen lips.

the smile he loved spread across samy's own kiss-swollen lips as she nodded, "i'd never miss it."

he reluctantly let her go, watching as the brunette disappeared back into her house. the smile never disappeared from will's face the entire drive back to plymouth.

inside, samy leaned against the door just taking in the entire date. her eyes sparkled, replaying the way will's lips felt against her own—how passionate and sweet he was.

her high continued as she shuffled into the living room where all of her brothers were still awake watching the tv. they quickly met her gaze and the lovestruck expression dancing across her features.

"someone's smiley,"  jack commented in amusement, turning the volume down a few notches.

"maybe it's too early to say this, but i really think it's gonna work out between us. at least, i really hope it does."

the three brothers exchanged a brief glance. they had never heard their little sister talk that way about someone before—not after a first date. all three of their chests warmed seeing their baby sister look so happy despite them never admitting it. 

"that good, huh?" jack smirked some. samy nodded, joining them on the couch for a few moments before going upstairs.

"he's so perfect. he did everything right and..i just.." the youngest hughes trailed off for a moment while her brothers watched her expression slightly fade.

"i sense a but coming," quinn commented. samy met their gazes briefly before looking away.

"not a bad but..i just..i've never felt this way about someone before. my chest..it feels so..so full. it scares me," the girl didn't know how to explain what she was feeling nor was she sure if her brothers would even understand.

samy's words brought luke back to the conversation they shared a few months ago as the youngest sibling got ready for prom. he remembered how nervous she was—how unsure she seemed of it all. 

"remember prom?" luke wondered, meeting his sister's wandering gaze. 

"what about it?" 

"remember how scared you were then too but because you were unsure about the feelings you had for will because of how new they were?" the siblings didn't know where luke was taking the conversation, but they waited for him to go on. 

"now it seems like you're scared because of how you feel. you're not unsure anymore. you know how you feel for will, but it's scaring you," samy glanced at jack and quinn, getting lost in what luke was trying to say. 

"you're losing me," she said. 

"i think being scared of how much you like someone because you've never felt such strong emotions before is all the more reason to fall for them. to go all in," the curly-haired boy shrugged. 

in luke's weird, roundabout explanation, it somehow made sense to samy. she smiled briefly, letting her brother's words really sink in. 

"plus, we've seen the way he is around you. i don't think someone would act the way he does if he didn't really wanna be with you," quinn mentioned. 

samy decided to sleep on her brother's advice, hoping something would give her the sign that going all in with will wouldn't be a choice she regretted. 

THE 1 TIME

goodbyes were never easy. the cooler breeze of august mornings meant the end of summer. june bled into july. july bled into august. august marked the start of a new chapter, but the end of a really good one. the boys' usntdp years were over and all of them were once again packing up their lives to move out to boston to start something new and a bit unknown. samy sat in her childhood bedroom picking out the best memories to bring to college with her. 

even though she'd only be minutes away, heading to college was something the girl thought was still months away. sitting on the floor stuffing clothes and knickknacks into boxes brought a small line of tears into her eyes as august continued slipping away. 

on one of her freer days where she wasn't busy packing her own life away, samy drove up to plymouth to help the boys. it was also an excuse to see them more before they all left. 

she sat in will's room watching him sort his things into boxes attempting to hold herself together for the sake of both of them. if one them cried, then both of them would. her fingers clasped around some picture frames waiting to be wrapped. a smile spread across her lips when she saw what picture was inside. 

"i've never seen this picture before," the girl commented, casting her gaze towards her boyfriend. will's eyes flicked up, crinkling around the edges when he saw what photo. 

"i think it's from like a few years ago. you were at the game and mom wanted a picture," the blonde smiled briefly. 

the two looked awfully young. maybe fourteen or fifteen? will was still dressed in his hockey gear, helmet and stick in one hand with the other wrapped around samy's waist. he must've hit his growth spurt that year because he stood a good few inches above the brunette and samy knew she was always taller than him until he started growing more. the camera definitely captured the joy because of how wide each of their smiles were. 

"it's really cute. are you gonna put it up in your dorm?" samy teased a little. 

"yeah, probably. it's one of my favorites of us," will's response caught her off guard for some reason. 

her boyfriend had his back to her, so he didn't see the longing gaze. when her eyes finally left him and returned the the pictures again, she began realizing just how many were of her and him. the past two years samy hardly noticed what all of his framed pictures were. she just figured they were of family or him and his boys, not realizing over half of them included her smiling face. 

"you're taking all of these with you?" samy wondered a bit softly, referring to the picture frames still. 

will finally met her gaze again, not noticing the emotions coursing through her. "yeah, that's the plan. i don't know where i'll put all of them, but maybe i'll take them out of the frame and put them on the photo wall instead if they don't all fit somewhere," the blonde explained with a brief grin. 

the boy finally noticed samy's sudden quietness and her soft expression. he approached her, pushing some of her hair behind her ear, "you okay?" 

"oh, yeah, yeah. sorry. getting sentimental looking at all of these photos," the girl mumbled out a small lie. she didn't quite know how to put what she was currently feeling into words or how she felt so loved that will wanted to display her everywhere in whatever room he was in. 

"i know. mom keeps showing me all of these baby photos and finding things as we pack up," he rubbed the girl's arm before leaning in to place a gentle kiss to the side of her head. 

"i can't believe summer's already over," samy sunk onto the bed for a moment, eyes on the ground because if she looked at will she'd definitely start crying. 

"it went by way too fast. college came way too fast," the boy chuckled, finding a spot beside her. 

"boston's so lucky to have you, will. you're gonna do so great there," even though being over 600 miles away hurt, the girl knew how much will loved boston—dreaming of going there like everyone else in his family. 

"wish you were coming too," he took ahold of her hand, giving it a lot of kisses which made samy blush a deep crimson. 

"i know, but michigan's always called my name," the girl chuckled while thinking of quinn and luke. ever since she visited for the first time to watch quinn play, 12-year-old samy knew the university of michigan was where she would be one day. 

six years later, the girl was getting ready to move in and start her collegiate soccer career. 

"you know, gabe said he's not excited to live with me knowing how much i'm gonna call you everyday," will joked, trying to lighten the mood. 

in that moment, something in samy's head clicked. she finally looked over at her boyfriend and for the first time, she finally saw for herself that look everyone has told her he's looked at her with since they were kids. his blue eyes were nothing but orbs of a bright sparkle, entirely filled with nothing but love and adoration for the girl sitting beside him. 

"i'm gonna miss you a lot, hughesy. i wish i sucked up my pride and ego and told you how i felt a lot sooner," will admitted. 

his words exploded something inside of samy's chest. it was that feeling she's been scared of all summer, except this time, she wasn't scared anymore. she remembered luke's words about going all in when you felt something as strong as she felt. 

"me too. i wish i caught on sooner," the brunette chuckled, easing her forehead to rest against his. 

"i'm gonna call you every single day, watch every single one of your games, think about you all the time—" will's words quickly died in his throat when samy placed her lips on his. 

for the first time since the two admitted their feelings for one another, samy knew exactly how she felt about her best friend: in love. 

[gimmebackmyskeeball]

MEET LATINA POGUE READER!

latina pogue reader who looks nothing like the crap she likes.

latina pogue reader who is a certified eco warrior, the most expressive girl in The Cut, surfer, stoner & most likely a vegetarian totally has nothing to do with her body dysmorphia, loves a good dirty joke, a ridiculously forward person, looks like a total black cat but actually the biggest golden retriever when you get close to her.

latina pogue reader who has beautiful curls but always straightens them cause it looks ‘more sleek.’

latina pogue reader who totally swings both ways (sometimes she barely cares who she hooks up with, let alone the gender.)

latina pogue reader who always looks and smells rich even though she’s probably the poorest between the pogues (which, considering JJ, is saying a lot.)

latina pogue reader who likes Diet Coke, cherry cigarettes, weed, pineapples, cats, surfing, tanning and sunshine, the color yellow, pink and red, LDR’s music, old camp shirts, physical touches, long hot showers, swimming, skinny dipping, bikinis, surfing, mushrooms, musical movies, slurpees, hot guys, hot girls, her mom, seashells, gold jewelry, waking up late, R&B, sunsets, Bob Marley and Elvis Presley’s music, street lights and riding the dirt bike.

latina pogue reader who never really learned how to drive but forced JJ to teach her how to ride the dirt bike just to get better and spite him.

latina pogue reader who had a tumblr blogger phase in 2016 and sometimes still logs back her account (which is named some ridiculous shit like curvybaby17 or smth) to look at her and Kie’s old pics.

latina pogue reader who has insane daddy issues but truly believes she’s the best of the best, not in an egotistical way, she knows she pulled through all the troubles life gave her, making it all on her own and she’s confident that she can handle everything.

latina pogue reader who has insane motherly nature (being constantly called ‘mama’ by her favorite blonde), her comforting game is top tier— would recommend.

latina pogue reader who absolutely loathes Rafe and The Chipmunks and has bitch slapped Topper on the face before. one of her favorite moments in life.

latina pogue reader who could be an absolute bitch when she wants to…and some of her words are definitely controversial but you couldn’t pay her to care.

latina pogue reader who doesn’t handle disrespect very well and will make your life a living hell if you cross her. (bonus points if she trusted and cared about you to begin with.)

latina pogue reader who is the most confident freak you can meet.

latina pogue reader who is always the loud, opinionated one. she would never let a man beat her in anything. and I mean anything.

latina pogue reader who needs people to perceive her intelligence. she needs them to know that she's smart and not ‘trailer trash’, that she has something important to contribute to the society.

latina pogue reader who is the biggest softie underneath her loud mouth, scary attitude and maneater aura.

i love her and have a whole ass arc for her :(

[sunflowersunite]

Eremika post war headcanons

(in a world where the Rumbling wasn't Eren's fault and he can live well and happy)

once everything is over, EMA hugs one another so tightly that they might burst. They're a bundle of tears and laughter and dust, and they've done it.

Armin became an ambassador to help the island rebound from the catastrophe, whereas Eren and Mikasa returned to Paradis afterwards. That scene where we saw Mikasa leaving Marley after the war-- yeah, that's with Eren (all of him, not only his head). They ran away together, hands clasped, gear discarded. They stowed away on the first ship to Paradis.

They rebuild their old home in Shiganshina and stay there for a while, but as the island thrives, then realise that Shiganshina is getting too crowded. So they move to a cabin in the forest, secluded enough to be at peace. They visit Historia for lunch often (I mentioned Historia in other post war hcs too, and in my opinion, she's a must. Everyone visits Historia post war and they all dine together).

Mikasa doesn't wear her scarf anymore. She doesn't need it, Eren is with her, she sees him every morning and falls asleep knowing he's in the next room. She matures to realise that no one will take him away now. She feels safer. She tucks it away and wears it only in the winter.

They fall into a routine together, do chores, Eren hunts sometimes (Mikasa is better at it, but he stubbornly insists on doing it).

Neither touches on it, but they know that they're not kids anymore. They sense how different things between them are now.

Mikasa already knows how she feels for Eren, she's known for a long time, but feels like he needs space, since he hasn't said anything yet, nor has he revealed a wish for anything between them to change. It's enough for her that they're alive and together.

They're all awkward, they don't know what they are to each other.

Historia is fuming when Mikasa tells her that. "You two aren't together already??"

They turn beet red. Historia berates Eren and Mikasa separately ("don't you realise how much you mean to her/him? Come on, do something! We all knew since we were cadets!"), and they go home like punished schoolkids. They look at one another and crack a smile.

Eren knows how he feels but Mikasa deserves someone better and maybe he's not good enough and maybe he'll mess this up and how do people even do such things, how does he even ask her something like that, how does he tell her...?

Eren searches their old clothes and finds the scarf. He marches up to her, wraps it around her neck, remembering an old promise, and says "I'll wrap this around you, now and forever and as much as you want. For the rest of our lives."

Mikasa is startled and somewhat confused, so Eren has to say it out loud, face red. "I love you Mikasa. Marry me."

And she accepts. She locks him in a hug and spins him around. They get married that same day. They debated on waiting for Armin, but decided that enough was enough and also it was what Armin would have wanted.

Armin returns to visit them with the ambassadors after months. They're not waiting for them at the port, and he immediately knows where to look. He finds them under the tree.

EMA reunite and exchange their stories. ("took you long enough," Armin said. "Surprised you didn't get married first thing when you came home".)

They greet the rest of the ambassadors later. Jean has already started to heal and move past Mikasa, so he congratulates them happily (Eren and Jean drink a little more that night and fistfight, but it's okay because they're all together again).

Mikasa and Eren's firstborn is Carla, with Armin as her godfather.

Their second is Sasha. Connie cried when they announced him the name and asked him to be her godfather.

They grow old together. Levi still manages to kick Eren in the face despite being in a wheelchair. He tolerates their kids (he loves them but don't tell anyone). Hange becomes the crazy aunt (yeah Hange is alive too)

Did I mention they grow old together

They don't work out that much anymore because they live a life of peace. Their physique isn't that ideal anymore (they still look very good but yk) and they don't care. They have a garden and a home and their friends and their kids and each other. They don't want anything else anymore.

Armin tells the world their story. Eren and Mikasa have been asked to sign copies of the book sometimes.

They're buried under the tree but after a long and fulfilling life by each other's side.