#JESUS CHRIST shut up rowe

[neonkoii]

happy two year anniversary to the very beginning of my descent into madness (the day i added my hockey guy on social media) (it all went downhill from there)

[sunnymarigolds]

sorry it’s 2:30 in the morning and i feel really strongly about this actually. because the lyrics to hot to go are not EXPLICITLY queer-coded if you take them at face value imo. there’s no spelled out, direct reference to being wlw. and so straight people are taking it and running with it. because how else do you explain my straight coworker doing the dance at me across the pool during my shift tonight? it’s more wlw erasure. don’t even get me started on the lil sophomore at my school using casual to talk about her weird ass situationship with some senior dude who just graduated. because again if you JUST look at the lyrics of casual it’s not clearly wlw. the thing that straight people don’t get about chappell roan is that all of her songs are SOOOOOO inherently queer coded if and when you know what you’re looking for. so it is abundantly obvious to me that the relationship in casual is wlw and that hot to go is referring to like meeting a girl at a bar or w/e. its almost like these songs are the most palatable to straight people in a way because they’re free to misinterpret it however they choose with the lack of using pronouns. and also they clearly never have an issue changing pronouns in the first place (straight girls commenting “this but him” on wlw posts celebrating their partners when the initial poster wanted to say how much they love HER. their QUEER PARTNER.) in conclusion if straight people ever get to super graphic ultra modern girl and/or femininimenon and ESPECIALLY good luck babe the wrong way im actually ******* ******

whoever let chappell roan get to straight people i’m gonna curse your ass fr

[electric-plants]

jesus fucking christ star rail wtf is this pull

[thexwayward]

.

[greatunironic]

eddie wakes up in a strange room. this was not particularly unusual for him, historically: he’d spent most of his twenties waking up in new and interesting places (including a handful of jail cells). but after eddie, the label, and the los angeles superior court system decided it would be best if he stopped drinking and doing blow, it stopped being such a regular occurrence.

so it’s almost alarming to him, now, to be blinking up at an unfamiliar cement ceiling with the raging bitch of all headaches and generally feeling like he got hit by a truck, got whiplash in a crash with the way his neck aches. he’d think he was hungover like all those times before except for how sharp the pain is, bright.

he worries, briefly, he’s relapsed, or someone’s slipped him something. but he remembers what him and the boys had been up to, before this, and he thinks it’d’ve been a strange night indeed if someone roofied a c-list (b-list if he’s feeling charitable) musician at a fucking frozen four game.

because yeah, eddie remembers: they’d been third row, watching the wisconsin ladies clean up and cheering for jeff’s kid sister like she was about to get olympic gold. (she probably would, someday. her and that mayfield girl who played defense were looking down the barrel at a 2026 run apparently.

eddie’s been to a handful of games over the years, when touring and recording allows them to go. he’s resolutely never been a sports guy but he’ll admit, when pressed, that live hockey is pretty dope. to say nothing, of course, of how jeff would probably murder them all in their sleep if they didn’t rep the red and white for lottie.

(and also — and this is between eddie and his god alright — but lottie’s coach? standing back there in his suit, hair styled and dialed, snapping his gum, yelling at the refs? kind of doing it for him, okay. worth the price of admission, even if the tickets weren’t free.)

when he thinks harder — which hurts too — the last thing he clearly remembers was someone from the beavers scoring, bringing their lead to 5-1, and a slapshot from the other team getting out over the boards and nearly taking out some lady’s popcorn. someone behind them in the seats said, “jesus they’re getting desperate, eh?”

then shit goes dark on him, not even a fade to black, but a full on smash cut, roll credits black, and the post-credits scene is where ever the fuck eddie is at the moment. it smells like human and cold and icy hot, so obviously, he thinks, he died and went to hell like all the church ladies said he would back in hawkins, or probably just a locker room. what the fuck?

he blinks at the ceiling, at an interesting water stain on the cement texturing. he’s in the middle of wondering where the rest of his band has gone if he’s here alone, fucking abandoners, when a sweaty redhead with the bitchiest expression he’s maybe ever seen enters his field of vision.

“you’re alive,” she says.

eddie blinks again. “why do you sound so disappointed?”

“yo coach!” she shouts, already on the move away from him. “he’s alive!”

he tries to sit up, but that makes the pain in his head worse, and also draws attention to the fact that his back also hurts. he squeezes his eyes shut and makes a truly embarrassing noise of pain — if pressed, he’d call it a whimper — and a pair of big hands land on his shoulders.

“out, out ladies i got this! hey!, hey, man, don’t move just yet,” says big hands.

“yeah, no problem, i don’t want to anymore,” eddie says. he stirs up the will to open his eyes again and very nearly slams them back shut. because of course the person staring down at him is fucking coach hottie snackycakes himself. he’s even better looking in person, too, big droopy eyes, lips as pink as his bubblegum, and shiny, jesus christ. he’s still got eddie by the shoulders, hands warm through the thin cotton of his flannel and tee — because eddie’s always been more fashion than sense, wayne always said, and it’s even worse now that the paps are on him—

“oh, fuck this is gonna be all over tiktok later, isn’t it?” he moans.

“maybe not.”

“don’t lie.”

“listen, eddie — it is eddie, right?” asks coach hottie. “i’m steve. coach harrington. faughnsie — lottie, i mean — she said you’re eddie. her brother’s guitarist? what do you remember?”

“more like he’s my singer,” he says, “but sure. and not much.”

“well, you’re gonna be okay,” says coach hottie — steve. “it really wasn’t that bad, and it was probably too fast for anyone to get it, unless they already had a camera on you. you took a puck to the head when one popped up. i’d apologize but it wasn’t one of my girls who did it, so. anyway — you weren’t out for long, which robbie says is good — she’ll get a look at you in a second — but you got your bell rung pretty good. and you’re gonna have quite the shiner, trust me.”

“speaking from experience?”

“oh, yeah. closer and faster too.” he gently raps his head with his knuckles. “too many concussions too early ended my nhl days, in fact.”

“oh. oh shit, sorry, i—“

“don’t worry about it, man, it happens,” he says. “and if it hadn’t, i wouldn’t be here.”

“at the frozen four.”

“yeah, sure, that too.”

“what?”

“what?” steve waves him off. “anyway, i’m just glad to see you up, ish, and talking. looked pretty scary, from the bench.”

“i really don’t remember,” says eddie. “but i’m sure i’ll see it on tiktok later, like i said — at least, my unconscious, bleeding form.”

“i got up there pretty fast, so i doubt it,” says steve.

eddie blinks, twice. “you—?”

“you were behind my bench, and you. well,” he says with a shrug, but he’s clearly a little embarrassed, finally putting those hands away — weapons of eddie destruction, he thinks — and shoving them into his pockets of his tight slacks. “i should be getting back out there.”

“do you? you’re murdering them pretty good, unless i black out and missed them getting four more goals,” eddie says.

the corners of steve’s eyes crinkle when he smiles. eddie thinks he might just pass out again. “no, we’re still gonna cinch it, i think. looks bad, though — first time coach missing the final period so’s he can hit on the cute musician who got his clock cleaned by the biscuit.”

“oh,” he says. swallows. “uh.”

steve’s crinkly, smiley eyes go wide. “unless—“

“no less!” eddie shouts and then immediately winces. at a better, less damaging to his more than slightly concussed noggin, volume, he says, “more, actually. because pretty sure i shouldn’t be left unsupervised, and i’ve clearly been abandoned by the band, so—“

“so,” says steve.

“coach, two minutes!” someone calls.

“so, i was hoping maybe i could keep hitting on the hot hockey coach back at his?”

“i’m at the ramada inn,” he says, “and i got tape to watch for the finals.”

“i live for room service,” eddie tells him seriously. “and i’m suddenly very into wisconsin sports teams.”

“coach! go time!”

“yeah?” he asks.

“yeah.”

“COACH!”

he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “i gotta — but, uh, later?”

“pick me up in twenty?”

“probably more like half an hour, with stoppage,” he says.

someone bangs on the door. “COACH!! let’s boogie!!”

with one last look, wide eyed and smiling, steve leaves. eddie watches him go. he’d heard hockey players were caked up but lord — eddie is about to convert to a new religion, or maybe found one, over the stretch of those slacks.

“damn,” he says quietly.

“gross,” a woman says. eddie startles and looks to the side, where a lanky brunette with a bob and an undercut is staring at him, unimpressed. she’s in some get up that screams athletic trainer, and there’s a white board in her hand.

“how long have you been there?” he asks.

she raises an eyebrow. “long enough, and honestly, i don’t know if that counts as a you rule for him, or a you suck for you,” she says and does not elaborate when he asks. “also don’t look at him like that. it’s steve. he’s basically my sister.”

“yeah? any tips then?” asks eddie. “i promise i’ll only use them for good. well. mostly.”

“god,” she says with an expansive eye roll. “you’re gonna be a nightmare, aren’t you?”

a cheer goes up outside the room as the teams, presumably, take the ice again. eddie, head throbbing, concussed, embarrassed, grins. “sure hope so,” he says.

[estellan0vella]

Strawberries And Heaven: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 9.8K

CW: Simp Jisung (he's down bad), wingman Minho, wingman SKZ, Minho being a menace (standard), mention of masturbation General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The corridor smells faintly of disinfectant and coffee, a mix of sterile campus life and caffeine dependency that permeates Miroh College. It's Thursday afternoon, and that means two things: Jisung has Criminal Psychology at 3:00 p.m., and he's about to see you. The one girl who somehow, against all odds, has managed to drag him to this godforsaken lecture hall every week without fail.

Jisung shifts the strap of his backpack, pulling his black beanie down a bit further as he turns to his left and sees Minho, his best friend and self-proclaimed emotional support stalker, walking along beside him. Minho glances at him, rolling his eyes as they weave through the crowd of students lingering in the halls.

"Are you sure you have to come?" Jisung mutters, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. "It's one class. I don't need babysitting."

Minho snorts, adjusting his own baggy jeans that hang over his black boots. "Are you kidding? I have to see this so-called 'angel' who's got you dragging your ass to a lecture you'd usually skip. You've actually gone soft, dude."

Jisung rolls his eyes, tugging his beanie lower to hide the faint blush that creeps up his neck. "Soft? Fuck you, man. You don't understand. I can't just talk to her."

"Oh, right. You're so experienced with, what was it, every other girl on campus, but when it's this one? You're hopeless. Just go up and introduce yourself. You're good at that. Aren't you the guy who once convinced a chick to lend you her psychology notes with a wink and a compliment?"

"Just tell me you want me to die of embarrassment," Jisung says flatly. "Look, it's different. She smells like strawberries and—" He waves his hand vaguely, struggling to find the right words. "I dunno, heaven?"

Minho stops dead in his tracks, eyebrows raised. "Strawberries and heaven? Jesus Christ, Jisung. You're in deep, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Jisung grumbles, leading them into the lecture hall and gesturing to the seats at the back. "Just keep it quiet, yeah? She's probably already here."

Minho follows, his grin almost wicked as he surveys the room from their vantage point in the back row. "I bet she's not here yet. Relax. You look like you're gonna puke."

"Thanks, man. Real encouraging," Jisung mutters, slumping down in his seat and folding his arms over his chest. His leg bounces slightly as he waits, eyeing the clock that ticks towards 3:00.

The door to the lecture hall creaks open, and just like that, you walk in, casually strolling to her usual seat two rows ahead.

Jisung freezes, his gaze locked on her as you move, the clinking sound of your silver rings faintly audible you brush a strand of hair back. You are wearing faded, low-rise mom jeans that fit you perfectly, a white camisole with lace hems, and a shell-shaped clip holding your hair up in a messy twist. And those hoop earrings, the big silver ones that seem to catch the light just right, make your whole look glow.

Minho follows Jisung's stare and lets out a low whistle. "Damn. So, this is her, huh? I'll give it to you. She's hot. Definitely too hot for you."

Jisung's elbow shoots out instinctively, landing in Minho's thigh with a satisfying thud.

"Ow, fuck! Jesus," Minho bites back a groan, clutching his leg as he glares at Jisung. "What the fuck, man?"

"Keep it down, jackass," Jisung mutters under his breath, trying not to draw attention. "You weren't even supposed to be here, remember? You're a vet major, go learn about cats or something."

Minho's laughter is barely muffled as he holds his leg. "Nah, you're not getting rid of me that easy. I need to see you crash and burn, maybe. Or, if you manage to pull this off, I get to witness a miracle."

"Don't you have a dog to neuter?" Jisung hisses, but Minho just grins and leans back, crossing his arms.

The professor begins setting up, shuffling through notes and connecting the laptop to the projector, while you settle in your seat. Jisung can barely breathe as your scent drifts back towards him. Strawberries. Damn it. Every time, it's like he's being hypnotized.

"See?" Jisung whispers, nudging Minho. "Strawberries and heaven. I swear."

Minho just smirks, leaning closer to Jisung. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. You're totally whipped. She hasn't even looked your way once, has she?"

Jisung slumps, his gaze locked onto the back of your head. The seashell clip is pearly and white, almost glowing against your hair. His leg starts bouncing again.

Minho shakes his head. "Dude, seriously, just say something. You're acting like she's a unicorn or some shit. She's just a girl."

"She's not just a girl," Jisung snaps quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You wouldn't get it, okay? Look at her. She's different."

"Different how?" Minho raises an eyebrow, still whispering. "She dresses like she's straight out of a 90s rom-com."

"Exactly!" Jisung says, eyes lighting up. "She's, like, a 90s dream. She's cool. And she's smart and beautiful. She's my 90s dream girl"

As if on cue, you shift slightly in your seat, glancing down at your notebook, fingers tracing over the page absently as you twist one of your rings.

"Look at her, man," Jisung breathes, sounding almost dazed. "She's right there."

Minho watches him, clearly unimpressed. "You're fucked."

"Thanks, Minho," Jisung mutters sarcastically, but he can't keep the nervous excitement out of his voice. "Look, can you just chill? I'm this close to getting her attention."

"By doing what, exactly?" Minho scoffs. "Staring at the back of her head and hoping she telepathically realizes you're in love with her?"

"Dude, shut up!" Jisung hisses, but his cheeks flush, and he slinks down in his seat, trying to keep a low profile. He watches as you tap your pen absently against your notebook, seemingly unaware of the small, stifled chaos unfolding behind you.

"Right," Minho mutters, trying to keep a straight face. "When you're done writing sonnets about her scent and staring at her hair clip, let me know if you plan on actually talking to her."

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up," Jisung grumbles, but his eyes flick back to you, lingering.

Minho glances at Jisung, a mischievous glint in his eye, and without warning, snatches Jisung's pencil case from the desk, stuffing it into his own bag before Jisung can react.

"Dude, what the—" Jisung starts, reaching to grab it back, but Minho holds up a finger, silencing him.

"Trust me, you'll thank me later," Minho whispers, leaning forward until he's right behind you.

With a quick tap on your shoulder, he flashes you his most charming smile as you turn around, your expression polite albeit a little surprised.

"Hi," Minho says smoothly, "Sorry to bother you, but my dumbass friend here totally forgot his pens and stuff. You wouldn't happen to have a couple to lend us, would you?"

You blink at Minho, then at Jisung, who's sitting with a wide-eyed, slightly mortified look, glaring daggers at his so-called friend.

But you're unfazed, a warm smile spreading across your face as you nod. "Oh, yeah, sure! Here." You dig into your bag and pull out two pens, holding them out to Minho with a little laugh. "Good thing I always over-pack."

Minho takes the pens with a wink. "Now, aren't you just the sweetest?" He flashes another grin. "I'm Minho, by the way. And you are?"

"Y/N," you say, a soft smile playing on your lips. You turn back in your seat but hesitate, glancing back at Minho with a curious look. "I don't think I've seen you in here before."

Minho leans back, adopting an air of nonchalance. "That's 'cause I'm just auditing today. Thought I'd check out what my good buddy here's been raving about." He gestures towards Jisung, who's trying to look anywhere but at you. "I'm minoring in animal behaviour, and apparently, you're discussing the nature versus nurture argument today? I figured I'd see how you forensic folks tackle it compared to my animal kingdom friends."

You nod, genuinely interested. "Yeah, today's lecture is about the developmental aspects of criminal psychology. It's fascinating, really. Some parts overlap with animal behaviour when you consider instinctual behaviours. It's cool to see how psychology adapts across disciplines."

"Right?" Minho nods enthusiastically, playing it up. "But my good buddy here," he places a firm hand on Jisung's shoulder, and Jisung finally meets your eyes, looking equal parts shy and frustrated. "This is Jisung. The one who seems to have forgotten basic lecture etiquette and all his own pens."

You turn to Jisung, your smile soft. "I know. We've had this class together since the start of the semester."

Jisung's eyes widen. "You know?"

You nod, pointing subtly at the front of his notebook, where his name is scrawled in black ink. "Yeah, your name's on your notebook. Hard to miss, honestly."

Jisung's cheeks redden, and Minho has to press his lips together to keep from laughing at his friend's reaction. He shoots Jisung a sidelong glance, a smirk dancing on his face.

Turning back around, you give a small smile, "Anyway, enjoy the lecture, guys."

As soon as you're facing forward, Minho leans in close to Jisung, whispering, "She's acknowledged your existence, man. You're welcome."

Jisung clenches his fists, shooting a fierce glare at Minho before delivering a swift punch to his thigh, harder than before.

"Fuck!" Minho barely contains his yelp, face contorting in pain as he clutches his leg. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"Keep your voice down," Jisung mutters, his face still flushed. "And don't ever pull something like that again, you asshole."

Minho smirks through the pain, rubbing his leg. "Oh, come on. You should be thanking me. You didn't exactly look like you had the guts to make a move yourself."

"I don't need you meddling, okay?" Jisung hisses. He glances at you again, a bit more emboldened now, seeing you jotting notes, completely absorbed in the lecture. He feels a weird thrill knowing that you know who he is. That you remember his name. She knows my name, he repeats in his head, almost in disbelief.

"Sure, you don't need me," Minho mutters under his breath, chuckling. "That's why you've been stalking her with your eyes for the past few months like some lovesick puppy. Face it, dude, you're completely whipped."

"Shut up before I give you another dead leg," Jisung warns, his gaze shifting nervously as you turn your head ever so slightly to stretch, your face calm and focused. He's both relieved and mildly disappointed you didn't catch him staring.

Minho just leans back, folding his arms smugly as the professor starts the lecture, his voice booming through the hall. Jisung tries his best to pay attention, but his eyes keep flicking back to you, noting the small details. How you twirl the pen absentmindedly between your fingers, how your silver rings catch the light, how you bite the inside of your cheek when you're deep in thought.

He's completely lost in his thoughts, only halfway aware of Minho smirking beside him, until the professor's voice jolts him back to reality.

"Mr. Han," the professor calls, eyebrow raised, and Jisung snaps to attention, his heart hammering. "Care to share your thoughts on the influence of early attachment theory in criminal psychology?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, of course." He clears his throat, scrambling for words while he can practically feel Minho's eyes burning into the side of his face. "Well, uh, early attachment theory basically suggests that the bonds formed in childhood can affect...um, behaviour patterns later in life. So, if there's a, uh, lack of healthy attachment early on, it can potentially influence-"

"Very insightful, Mr. Han," the professor interrupts, looking somewhat surprised. "It's encouraging to see you're paying attention."

Jisung sinks down in his seat, feeling Minho's barely restrained laughter beside him.

Minho leans over, whispering, "Congrats, you managed to bullshit your way through that without sounding like a total idiot."

"Thanks for nothing," Jisung mutters, hoping he can make it through the rest of the lecture without any more mortifying incidents. But then he catches you glancing over your shoulder, a hint of a smile on your lips, and he has to look away quickly to hide the stupid grin spreading across his face.

Minho nudges him, not missing a thing. "See? She's looking at you, dude. Progress."

That night in Jisung's room at the Alpha Phi frat house is filled with the flashing lights of Mario Kart on the TV and the sounds of brutal competition. Jisung's focused, leaning forward, button-mashing like his life depends on it, but Minho? Minho's lounging back, one hand on his controller, barely trying.

Jisung's character hits a banana peel, spinning out on the screen. "Oh, for fuck's sake! This stupid fucking game!"

Minho laughs, glancing over with a smirk. "You're terrible at this, dude."

"Shut up. You distracted me!" Jisung grumbles, tossing the controller on the bed beside him. "You're one of those lucky players. No skill, all luck."

"Uh-huh," Minho says, scooting to the edge of the bed and looking over at Jisung. "But I think we've got more important shit to talk about."

"Do we?" Jisung eyes him suspiciously. "'Cause I'd rather just forget the disaster that was today's lecture and how you spoke to her more than I did."

"Yeah, no, we're not forgetting it. Actually," Minho says, setting his controller down, "we're making a plan. You need an action plan, and I'm gonna help you."

Jisung raises an eyebrow, almost laughing at the audacity. "You're going to help me?"

Minho grins, sitting up and nodding, deadly serious. "Yep. What kind of best friend would I be if I let my friend sit around pining like some tragic little Shakespeare character? You, my friend, need a strategy."

"Strategy," Jisung repeats the word as though it's foreign like Minho just told him to build a rocket to the moon. "You realize that I have no idea what I'm doing here, right?"

"Exactly! You are amazing with women for casual hook ups but genuine feelings? You are useless. That's why you have me," Minho says, crossing his arms. "I've got a plan."

"Oh, you have a plan?" Jisung sits up, eyebrows raised. "You're really taking this seriously, aren't you?"

Minho scoffs. "If by seriously, you mean I'm not gonna let my friend completely fuck it up, then yes."

"Right," Jisung mutters, rolling his eyes. "And what is this master plan, Minho?"

"Oh, no, no," Minho says with a smirk, wagging a finger. "I'm not telling you what it is just yet."

Jisung sighs, flopping back on his bed. "Great. So I'm supposed to just sit here and trust you?"

"Absolutely," Minho says, smug. "But don't worry. I'm not a complete asshole. I want my confident, borderline cocky best friend back. You're like this-" He gestures vaguely at Jisung like he's pointing at some hopeless little creature. "Weird, hopeless romantic now."

Jisung grabs a pillow and flings it at Minho, who dodges with a laugh. "It's not my fault, okay? You saw her. She's- She's unreal."

Minho raises his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. And hey, I'm all for it if it means getting you out of this sad sack of shit phase. If I have to help you woo a girl who dresses like she's in the Spice Girls, then that's what I have to do."

Jisung pauses, frowning. "Spice Girls? Nah, she's more of a Sugababe"

Minho rolls his eyes, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes, I do," Jisung says, almost begrudgingly. "I need it, obviously."

"Then she's a Spice Girl," Minho declares with finality, earning a reluctant laugh from Jisung.

"Fine, Spice Girl," Jisung mutters, rolling his eyes. "But seriously, you better not fuck this up for me. I'm trusting you, which feels like a massive mistake."

"Hey," Minho says, raising a finger, his tone mockingly offended, "when have I ever let you down?"

Jisung snorts. "Need I remind you of the infamous barbecue incident?"

Minho waves his hand dismissively. "That was different. And technically, you were the one who set the grill on fire."

"You handed me lighter fluid, you idiot!" Jisung argues, laughing despite himself.

"Okay, but that was in the past," Minho says, grinning. "This is the present, my dude. And I'm telling you, I've got this. We're going to break you out of your sad little funk, and you're gonna have that confident Han Jisung swagger back in no time."

Jisung flops back against the bed, sighing deeply. "You think it's really that easy?"

"Trust me," Minho says, his smirk turning into something more genuine. "It's easier than you think. Plus, it's you. You're funny as hell, weirdly charming, objectively hot, and at least on the same planet as her intellectually. She's got no chance."

Jisung rolls his eyes, but he's grinning now. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm basically irresistible."

"Exactly," Minho says with a satisfied nod. "But seriously, dude. I'm not letting you mess this up. It's gonna be fine."

Jisung's grin fades just a bit, a hint of nerves creeping back in. "I just- I don't know, man. I've never felt this way about anyone before. She's just different."

"Of course, she is," Minho says, his tone a little softer. "And that's why you're gonna let me help you. Tomorrow's a new day, Jisung. In no time, we'll get you in front of her without you sounding like a total fucking loser. And trust me, you're gonna thank me."

Jisung rolls his eyes but feels a sense of relief he hasn't felt since this whole crush started. "Yeah, yeah. Just remember, no fuck ups, Minho. I'm trusting you with this."

Minho grins, reaching for the controllers. "Just leave it to me. Now, shut up and get ready to lose again."

It's one of those brisk fall days on campus where the chill in the air contrasts with the bright sun, casting golden light on the trees scattered across Miroh College. You're strolling across the courtyard, books clutched to your chest, barely paying attention to the buzz of students around you.

"Y/N!" someone calls out.

You turn, mildly surprised, to see Minho weaving through the crowd, jogging to catch up. He's got a cocky half-smile plastered on his face, and he's holding something in his hand. As he comes to a stop in front of you, slightly out of breath but still looking annoyingly composed, he holds out his hand, revealing the pen you lent him in class the other week.

"Here," he says, grinning as he offers it back to you. "Didn't think I was actually gonna keep it, did you?"

You laugh, tucking the pen into your trouser pocket. "Honestly? I kind of figured you'd forgotten about it. But thanks." You give him a curious look, noting the way he's standing there as if he has more to say.

He clears his throat, a little too casually. "So, are you free right now?"

"Yeah, I don't have another class for a bit," you say, shifting your books in your arms. "Why?"

Minho shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels like he's considering something. "Wanna grab a coffee at the cafe? I could use some advice about a girl, and you seem like the kind of person who knows what to say and gives good advice."

You raise an eyebrow, surprised. "Me? Giving relationship advice?"

"Yeah, I know," Minho laughs, "but trust me, you're more qualified than anyone else I know. Plus, I'm a little desperate and a female perspective will be really helpful. Power of the female gaze and all that"

You can't help but laugh. "Alright, alright. I'm in. Let's go."

The campus cafe is buzzing with the usual lunchtime crowd, and you slip into a booth by the window, tucking your books beside you. As you settle in, Minho sets his bag down, glancing toward the counter. "I'll get our drinks," he says, grinning before heading up to order.

You're only half-watching him until you notice the guy working behind the counter. Jisung, from your Criminal Psychology class. He spots you almost instantly, and his eyes go comically wide, like he's just seen a ghost, or worse. 

Minho sees Jisung's reaction immediately and, with a grin, flashes him a big thumbs up, clearly enjoying the situation. Jisung's expression shifts to something closer to horror, his gaze flicking from Minho to you, then back again as Minho approaches the counter.

"Relax, dude," Minho mutters when he reaches Jisung. "An iced americano for me and a caramel latte for the lady."

Jisung crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at Minho. "I swear, if this is some elaborate plan to fuck with me, I am going to spit in your coffee. Like big time spit, obnoxious amounts that shouldn't be humanly possible"

Minho smirks, leaning on the counter like he's sharing some big secret. "Ooh, I like a little danger. But seriously, I am wingmanning you right now, so maybe hold the bodily fluids?"

Jisung rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but the relief on his face is evident. "Fine. But what's your big plan? Don't tell me you're just-"

"Listen, man," Minho interrupts, lowering his voice and casting a quick glance back at you, who's busy scrolling on your phone. "I'm gonna ask her for advice. Tell her I like this girl in my vet class and don't know how to talk to her, and the girl barely knows my name."

Jisung frowns, processing that. "But that's exactly- Oh, I get it now!" he says, realization dawning on him. "You're trying to figure out what I should do, aren't you?"

Minho gives him a look, exasperated. "Obviously. You think I'd drag her here just for the hell of it? Now, chill. Act natural and I will get your answers"

Jisung lets out a small, relieved sigh, finally grinning. "I'm not gonna lie, this is actually kinda genius."

Minho leans in closer, tapping the counter with a smug smile. "I know. I'm the best friend you could ever wish for. A blessing, really. You wouldn't live without me, well you'd live in the sad little turtle shell you duck into each time you see her"

Jisung smirks, grabbing the drinks and sliding them onto the counter. "Yeah, yeah. I still might spit in your drink."

Minho winks, grabbing the coffees with a smirk. "Do your worst."

He heads back over to the booth, setting your caramel latte in front of you as he slides into the seat across from you, his iced americano in hand. You offer a small, grateful smile as you stir your latte.

"So," you say, taking a sip. "What's going on with this girl?"

Minho sighs dramatically, leaning back and shaking his head like he's in over his head. "Alright, so there's this girl in my vet class. She's cute, no stunning, way too smart, and honestly, I feel like I barely exist to her."

You smile, nodding. "So, like, what's the problem? You're outgoing, funny, objectively good looking with the whole red hair, football frat thing. can't you just introduce yourself?"

"See, I thought of that," Minho says, playing up the thoughtful expression. "But she's, like, different, you know? Not the type who falls for my usual charm."

You laugh. "Oh, really? And what makes her different?"

"She's actually serious about her studies. And she's, like gentle and kind?" Minho looks at you, brows raised as if for confirmation. "Kinda like you. I feel like I'd come off like an idiot trying to get her attention."

You sip your coffee thoughtfully, thinking it over. "I think maybe just be yourself, then? Like, you don't have to be all charming or witty. Sometimes people respond better to honesty."

Minho nods, his expression almost sincere as he takes in your words. "That's actually good advice. So, just like come out with it? Just be like, 'Hey, I'm Minho, and I think you're cute'?"

You smile, shrugging. "Why not? I mean, sure, it's direct, but if she doesn't know you that well, she might appreciate that. People can usually tell when someone's being genuine."

Minho glances at the counter where Jisung's watching like a hawk, pretending to be busy cleaning the espresso machine. Minho subtly raises his eyebrows at him, as if to say, See? This is gold.

Jisung gives him a tiny nod, barely hiding his smile. From his station behind the counter, he watches as you talk, clearly engaged, your whole demeanour warm and relaxed. He doesn't know how Minho pulled this off, but for the first time in weeks, he feels like he might actually have a chance.

Meanwhile, Minho leans in closer, lowering his voice. "Okay, but what if she thinks I'm too much of a goof? Like, if she sees me as some obnoxious frat guy?"

You wave off his concern. "I don't know her, but if she's smart, she'll see past that. Besides, being a little goofy isn't the worst thing. Just don't go overboard, you know?"

Minho nods thoughtfully, leaning back as if he's deep in contemplation. "Yeah, yeah, keep it cool. Show her I'm not just some frat asshole."

You laugh, taking another sip. "Exactly. Just be Minho, not whatever character you're usually playing."

Minho raises his iced americano in a mock toast. "To being myself," he says with a grin. You laugh, clinking your coffee cup with his, and he makes a mental note to remember every word you just said so he can relay it to Jisung later.

The last slide of the lecture fades from the projector, and the usual rustling of notebooks and bags fills the room as everyone begins packing up. You're sliding your textbook and notes into your tote bag, ready to head out, when you feel a light tap on your shoulder. You turn, surprised, and there he is. 

Jisung wearing an easy smile and an outfit that's surprisingly layered, intentional and kind of hot: black trousers, combat boots, a long-sleeve blue t-shirt beneath a grey graphic tee, and a cream-coloured cap, chains around his neck catching the light.

For a second, you're caught off guard; usually, you only ever catch a glimpse of him as he slips into a seat at the back just as the lecture's starting, often a little flustered. But today, he's right here, all grins and casual confidence.

"Hey," he says, his voice warm as he shoves his hands into his pockets. "So, that lecture was something, right?"

You nod, smiling back. "Yeah, Professor Kim really went in on the whole behavioural implications of early attachment theory thing. Like, there was no mercy."

Jisung lets out a small laugh. "Seriously, I thought he was going to lose it when that one guy asked if criminal behaviour could be 'genetically contagious.' Like, holy shit, man, read the room."

You laugh, rolling your eyes. "Oh my god, right? I was ready to crawl under the desk."

"Same," Jisung chuckles, relaxing a bit. He remembers Minho's words from earlier in the week: Just be yourself. And he tries to keep that in mind, despite the slight nervousness bubbling under the surface.

"So, you're, uh, you're always on top of the reading, huh?" he asks, trying to keep it light as he leans back casually against the desk beside yours. "I feel like you could practically teach this class."

You shrug, shoving your last notebook into your bag and giving him a friendly smile. "Yeah, maybe. I just find it interesting, you know? All the psychology behind why people do what they do. It's fascinating to think there are patterns to it, stuff you can study and predict."

"Totally," Jisung says, nodding as if he completely gets it, even though half the time he's barely keeping up. "I mean, it's kinda cool to think that there's a method to what seems like total chaos."

"Exactly!" you say, your eyes lighting up as you lean against the desk, looking at him with genuine interest. "It's like unlocking mysteries in people's minds. Or at least trying to, anyway."

Jisung grins, a little taken aback by how animated you are. He's seen you in class, obviously, but seeing you like this, so close, he feels like he's getting a rare glimpse of who you actually are. And, damn, it's even better than he'd expected.

"I never thought of it that way," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I guess I usually just think, 'Okay, study this, survive, move on.' But it sounds way cooler when you put it like that. Makes me actually want to put an effort in to studying"

You laugh, looking down as you swing your bag over your shoulder. "You know, surviving is honestly a valid approach. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just trying to get through the day without having a mental breakdown."

Jisung chuckles, nodding. "Can't argue with that. But hey, you seem like you've got it all figured out."

You give him a playful look. "Trust me, it's all an act. Half the time, I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Same here," he says, feeling a rush of relief. "I thought I was the only one faking it."

You smile, shaking your head. "Nope. We're all just stumbling our way through. Story of student life I suppose"

Jisung's eyes linger on you for a second longer than he means to, and he suddenly remembers Minho's advice to keep things relaxed but confident. "Well, maybe if I can get some of that magic stumbling hiding confidence you've got, I might actually make it to the end of the semester without flunking out."

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Oh yeah? I'll let you in on a secret, it's just caffeine and pretending I understand what's going on."

Jisung laughs, nodding in understanding. "Noted. I'll double up on the caffeine, then."

You grin, your gaze softening. "Good plan."

After a beat, you glance at the clock. "Anyway, I should probably get going. Got another class in, like, ten minutes, and I'm already halfway across campus from it."

"Right, yeah," Jisung says, moving back a step to let you pass. "Well, thanks for not minding me, uh, ambushing you like that."

"Not at all, it was nice talking to someone who actually listens in the lectures," you say, smiling warmly. "See you next week, Jisung."

You turn and head for the door, giving him a little wave before you slip out. Jisung watches you go, feeling an unexpected rush of adrenaline, and once you're gone, he lets out a long breath, barely containing the wide grin spreading across his face.

He can still hear Minho's voice in his head, saying, Just be yourself. And, for once, that had felt like it was enough.

Jisung practically kicks Minho's door open as he barrels into the room, eyes lit up with excitement. But his enthusiasm stumbles as he takes in the scene.

"Jisung, are you serious?!" Minho exclaims, glaring at him. "You just killed my mood! I was about to bust, man!"

Jisung rolls his eyes, unbothered, crossing his arms. "Yeah, whatever, sorry for ruining your little wank session, but, like terrible porn choice, by the way. Boring as hell."

Minho flips him off as he grabs his underwear, tugging them back up with an exaggerated sigh. "Fine, fine. So what the hell is so important that you've gotta bust down my door like you're the cops?"

Jisung's face breaks into a wide grin. "Dude. She spoke to me. We had an actual conversation! I spoke to her. Like, a real conversation."

Minho stares at him, caught between disbelief and amusement as he pulls his headphones off, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "No shit?" he says, still looking slightly dazed from Jisung's interruption.

"Yeah, no shit," Jisung says, almost bouncing in place.

Minho smirks, his eyes narrowing as he looks Jisung up and down. "Wait, is that why you put actual effort into your outfit today? And the hair, too? By 'styled,' of course, I mean just putting a cap on that mop."

Jisung grins, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, yeah, maybe I tried a little. But, dude, it worked!"

Minho snickers. "So you finally did it, huh? Had a full conversation with her?"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Hell yeah, we did! We talked about the lecture, and, like, I don't know, she was so easy to talk to and she said it was nice talking to me, like she wasn't even weirded out that I started talking to her. It felt so normal?"

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Alright, so now what?"

Jisung blinks, his excitement faltering for a second. "What do you mean, now what? I don't know. Help me?"

Minho sighs, shaking his head as he stands up. "How are you so useless with this? Okay, genius idea, invite her to the next game."

Jisung's face lights up again. "Oh, shit. Yeah! I'll invite her to the game, get her there cheering us on..."

"Exactly, dumbass. I'll help you score a touchdown or two, and you'll look like a total beast. Win-win." Minho smirks, clearly pleased with his own idea.

"Dude, you're the best," Jisung says, grinning. "I'll totally owe you one for this."

Minho claps his hand on Jisung's shoulder, a smug grin on his face. Jisung instantly recoils, cringing. "Ew! That's your dick hand!"

Minho laughs, slapping him harder on the back for good measure. "Hey, that's what you get for ruining my nut, you absolute menace."

Jisung groans, wiping his shoulder with exaggerated disgust. "This is why people lock doors, Minho."

"Oh, like you've ever knocked once in your life," Minho retorts, rolling his eyes. "But wait. You got so far today, and you don't even have a way to reach her? A number? Instagram?"

Jisung's face falls, and he slumps onto Minho's bed with a defeated sigh. "Nope. I didn't even think of it until now."

Minho throws his hands up, letting out an exasperated sigh. "Useless. You're actually useless. This is going to take so much more work than I thought."

"Hey!" Jisung protests, but he's laughing now, leaning back on the bed with a sigh. "Alright, alright, I'll figure it out. You're right, though, I'll need her number. Any genius ideas?"

Minho shakes his head with a dramatic sigh. "Good thing you've got me. I'll brainstorm. But seriously, you better not screw this up."

"You'll help me if I do right?"

"After laughing in your face obviously,"

The sun's dipping low, casting a warm golden glow over the field as Chan has the football team running drills. Again. The guys are panting, practically dying under Chan's merciless watch, their bodies burning from the gruelling set of push-ups, burpees, and sprints he's making them do. Even Jisung, who usually manages to keep his energy up, is starting to feel like his limbs are made of lead.

But as he glances over toward the college track, he spots you jogging, a look of relaxed determination on your face as you breeze through each lap. It's ridiculous. You look like you're gliding effortlessly, not a bead of sweat in sight, while the team grunts and groans with exhaustion.

Minho notices Jisung's gaze drifting. He elbows him, nodding over toward you. "Isn't that your dream '90s girl over there?"

Jisung's attention snaps back, his face flushing as he realizes Minho and the rest of the guys nearby are watching him.

Chan and the others follow Minho's gaze, squinting across the track. You're in a pair of low-rise sweatpants that sit comfortably on your hips, paired with a cropped white camisole with a lace trim, and white sneakers.

Your hair's pinned up in that familiar seashell claw clip, a few strands falling loose around your face. It's the kind of look that would have looked right at home in an old music video, and it's like you walked out of a '90s dream.

"Damn, she doesn't look tired at all," Changbin mutters, still trying to catch his breath from Chan's never-ending drills.

"She's putting us all to shame," Jeongin says, half-laughing, half-wheezing. "How is she just breezing through those laps?"

Seungmin glances at Jisung with a smirk. "Wait, don't tell me you're struggling to talk to her?"

Minho nods with a heavy, dramatic sigh. "It's actually hurting my soul, and I didn't even know I had one of those."

Felix raises his eyebrows, laughing. "Revolving door of women Han Jisung can't talk to a girl? Are we in an alternate universe?"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "Oh, please. You guys are being so dramatic."

"Hey, it's not every day that the great Han Jisung meets his match," Chan teases, wiping sweat from his brow. "Honestly though, Minho, we all doubted you had a soul."

"Thanks, Chan, that's what I go for," Minho says with a smirk. "But yeah, Jisung, now's your chance. Go ask her for her number. And invite her to the game while you're at it."

Jisung looks horrified, glancing down at his sweaty clothes and feeling his hair matted from sweat. "Right now? While I'm covered in sweat?"

"Yes," Minho says, his voice firm. "There's no time like the present. You're gonna overthink it if you wait."

Seungmin chimes in with an encouraging nod, his tone mocking. "Go on, man. Ask her out. Don't worry, you can do it. Maybe."

"Shut up," Jisung grumbles, but he can feel the nervous energy building.

Felix elbows him playfully. "C'mon, this is a moment for the history books. Don't chicken out."

With a mischievous look, Minho cups his hands around his mouth, ignoring Jisung's wide-eyed stare. "Yo, Y/N! Come join us!"

You pause, looking over toward the group with a curious expression as you pull one of your earbuds out. After a moment of hesitation, you jog over, slowing to a walk as you approach the crowd of sweaty football players.

"Hey," you greet, giving a small smile as you reach them, taking in the group with an amused look. "You guys look like you're in hell."

"You don't know the half of it," Changbin groans, leaning over to catch his breath. "I think Chan's trying to kill us."

Chan just smirks. "That's how you get a winning team, my friend." Chan's eyes flicker to the Walkman clipped to your waistband, and Chan's face lights up with sudden recognition. "Hold on, is that a real Walkman?"

You smile, nodding. "Yep, authentic. Found it in a thrift shop, and it still works perfectly."

"That's insane," Chan says, sounding genuinely impressed. "I haven't seen one of those in, like, forever."

Jisung takes a deep breath, gathering his courage, and steps forward with a lopsided grin. "Hey, so, uh, we have a game coming up this Saturday," he says, his voice surprisingly steady despite the nervous excitement bubbling in his chest. "I thought maybe, if you're free, you could come by? Cheer us on?"

You tilt your head, clearly considering it as you give him a warm smile. "Yeah, I think I'd like that. It sounds fun."

Jisung's grin widens, the relief flooding through him as you agree. "Awesome, yeah. We'll- we'll definitely put on a good show."

Minho raises an eyebrow, smirking at Jisung's wide grin. "Oh, he's gonna be putting on a show, alright."

Chan lets out a small laugh, nodding approvingly. "Better make it a good one, Jisung."

You glance at the group, laughing softly at the way they're all watching Jisung, clearly amused and intrigued by the whole interaction. "Well, good luck with the rest of practice, guys. Hope you survive it."

"Thanks, Y/N," Jisung says, almost too eagerly. 

The team watches as you jog over to the bleachers, earbuds back in and totally oblivious to the chaos unfolding behind you. Minho's gaze follows you for a second before he turns on Jisung and slaps him upside the head.

"Ow!" Jisung yelps, rubbing the back of his head. "Dude, I asked her to the game! What the hell was that for?"

Minho sighs, looking at him like he's the densest person on the planet. "You didn't ask for her number, you idiot!"

"Oh. Shit."

Chan crosses his arms and nods towards the bleachers. "Alright, well, go ask her now! What are you waiting for?"

"Right!" Jisung says, almost tripping over himself as he prepares to take off, only to freeze in place, still staring at the bleachers as if they're a hundred miles away.

Changbin squints at him, an amused smirk on his face. "Uh, Jisung, you haven't moved."

Jisung blinks, nodding. "I'm going!" But he's still firmly rooted to the spot.

Hyunjin snorts, crossing his arms. "You still haven't moved, man. It's like you're glued to the grass or something."

Minho lets out an exaggerated sigh, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically. "There it is again, this pain in the soul I didn't know I had. Honestly, Jisung, you're killing me."

Felix and Jeongin, watching with growing impatience, exchange a glance before stepping forward and shoving Jisung forward with a well-placed push. Caught off guard, he stumbles but quickly regains his footing, shooting them a quick glare before he jogs over to you.

By now, you're sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through your phone, clearly enjoying the peace. When Jisung stops in front of you, a little breathless, you glance up with a curious smile, taking out an earbud.

"Hey! Back already?" you ask, giving him an amused look. "Did Chan finally cut you guys a break?"

Jisung scratches the back of his neck, feeling his usual bravado abandon him in the face of your calm, easy smile. "Uh not quite," he says, mentally cursing himself for how awkward he feels. "But, um, I just realized about the game on Saturday. I could, you know, send you details if you wanted them."

You raise an eyebrow, nodding. "Oh, yeah, that'd be great."

"Right. So, uh, could I maybe have your number?" He's practically holding his breath, his pulse racing, but he tries to play it cool. "You know, as a friend, for game details and stuff."

"Of course!" you say, nodding. You reach into your bag and pull out a pen, scribbling your number on a small slip of paper before handing it to him. "Here you go. Just text me when and where, and I'll be there."

Jisung takes the paper, feeling a ridiculous amount of triumph as he clutches it like it's some sacred artefact. "Awesome. Thanks!"

You smile, tucking your earbuds back in. "No problem. Good luck with the rest of practice!"

As you jog off, Jisung watches you for a second, still gripping the slip of paper before he turns and heads back to the field.

The guys are all watching him expectantly as he approaches, Minho crossing his arms with a knowing smirk. "Well? How'd it go?"

Jisung waves the piece of paper triumphantly. "I got her number!"

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, noting the look on Jisung's face. "But...?"

Jisung sighs, the realization settling in as he slumps slightly. "I friend zoned myself."

The entire team lets out a collective groan, most of them doubling over with laughter or shaking their heads in disbelief.

"What is wrong with you?" Minho says, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Are you trying to sabotage yourself, or what?"

Jisung rubs his temples, feeling his frustration build. "I don't know, man! Usually, I can get a girl's number and have her in my bed in, like, ten minutes. It's like all my usual shit just falls apart when I'm around her."

Hyunjin laughs, patting him on the back. "Maybe that's a sign, genius. Try being, I don't know yourself?"

Chan snorts, crossing his arms. "This is a first. Han Jisung, a bumbling self friend zoning mess"

Jisung huffs, rolling his eyes. "Thanks for the support, guys."

Felix grins, his voice softening. "Come on, man. Just be real with her. No more overthinking. Invite her to the game, hang out, just chill. Don't overcomplicate it."

Minho shakes his head, laughing. "Right. We'll do the complicated part on the field. Just focus on not friend zoning yourself again, okay?"

Jisung lets out a reluctant laugh, tucking the slip of paper safely into his pocket. "Fine, fine. No more overthinking. Just keep it simple."

The team exchanges looks, clearly sceptical but amused, as Chan whistles to get them back on task. "Alright, lovebirds, enough about the romance stuff. Back to drills. Let's go!"

With one last glance toward the bleachers where you'd been sitting, Jisung feels a rush of determination. Saturday can't come soon enough.

The stadium lights blaze down on the field, casting a glow across the crowd and players as Miroh College's football team, the Miroh Maniacs, prepare for the big game.

Jisung stands at the edge of the field, scanning the bleachers with anxious eyes, trying to spot you among the scattered faces. But the stands are filled with students, and it's impossible to find anyone, let alone the person he's been looking forward to seeing all week.

He huffs, scuffing his cleats into the grass, feeling his chest tighten. "She didn't come," he mutters, his voice tinged with disappointment.

Minho, standing beside him in full gear, gives him a sympathetic look and a heavy pat on the back. "Damn, man. That's rough. But hey, maybe she got caught up or something. Doesn't mean she didn't want to come."

Jisung lets out a sigh, folding his arms. "Yeah, maybe. Still feels like shit, though."

As the game begins, Jisung tries to keep his focus on the field, but it's tough when all he can think about is you, not being there. He's distracted, missing cues, and every time he glances at the bleachers, there's a sinking feeling in his stomach. Minho notices, giving him an encouraging nudge whenever he slips up, but Jisung can't shake the nagging disappointment.

By halftime, Jisung's barely even listening as Chan goes over their next moves. He's glancing back toward the stands, wondering if you might magically appear, hoping against hope. And then, as the players start gathering for their pep talk, Jisung sees something that stops him in his tracks.

There you are, sitting at the bottom of the stands, looking around as if you're searching for someone. You're wearing a green long-sleeve shirt that dips into a deep V-neck, showing just a hint of skin, and a pair of baggy, low-rise jeans. The familiar black Converse on your feet, your hair is messily clipped up with that same seashell claw clip. It's unmistakably you.

His heart leaps, and before he knows it, he's jogging over, catching you by surprise as he comes to a stop in front of you.

"Hey," he says, slightly out of breath but grinning. "You okay?"

You look up at him, guilt flickering across your face as you offer a small, apologetic smile. "I'm so sorry, Jisung. I know I'm late. I was finishing up my forensic science paper and, like, totally lost track of time."

He shakes his head, a bit stunned that you actually came. "You didn't have to come if you had a big assignment. Seriously, it's not a big deal."

You smile, and the sincerity in your eyes makes his chest feel lighter. "No, I said I'd be here, so here I am." You gesture toward the field, smirking. "Besides, I wasn't going to miss out on seeing you guys destroy the other team, right?"

Jisung laughs, the weight that had been on his shoulders lifting in an instant. "We're doing our best, but uh got a little distracted in the first half." He rubs the back of his neck, feeling his cheeks warm a bit.

"Well," you say, looking up at him with a reassuring smile, "now I'm here, so no more excuses. You've got a whole second half to make up for it, right?"

The shrill blast of the whistle signals the start of the second half, and Jisung shoots you a quick grin. "Guess I better get back out there. Keep an eye out, alright?"

You nod, laughing. "Oh, I'll be watching. Go kill it."

Jisung jogs back toward his teammates, practically buzzing with energy now. Minho, standing with Hyunjin near the sidelines, spots him and raises an eyebrow. "Finally got that confidence back, huh?"

Hyunjin smirks, crossing his arms. "Alright, man. We're getting you a touchdown. Everyone's in on it."

Minho grabs a bottle of water, shoving it into Jisung's hands. "It's time to wow your '90s dream girl, dude. So hydrate, gear up, and get your ass in the zone."

Jisung takes the bottle, glancing down at it sceptically. "But what if I have to piss? Seriously, I'm not risking that."

Minho rolls his eyes, exasperated. "For god's sake, just drink some water."

Jisung takes a reluctant sip, his face scrunching as he sets the bottle down. "Fine, but if this backfires, you're to blame."

Hyunjin laughs, giving him a shove toward the huddle where the rest of the team waits. "Go kill it, Romeo."

With one last look at you sitting on the bleachers, Jisung heads back to the field, a newfound determination in his eyes. He's ready for the second half, and this time, he's not holding anything back.

The whistle blows to start the second half, and instantly, the team is on high alert. Chan calls the play, and the whole lineup is subtly geared toward making sure Jisung has the perfect setup to score. The guys are practically electric, each one of them more hyped than usual, and it's clear they're all determined to help Jisung pull off his moment.

Jisung lines up, glancing once toward the bleachers where you're watching, leaning forward with your eyes locked on the game. His heart pounds, adrenaline pumping as he gets into position.

Chan snaps the ball, and the play begins. Minho and Hyunjin immediately work to block the defenders, giving Jisung a clear path as he sprints downfield, dodging tackles, his every step fueled by the thought of you watching. He feels every inch of the field beneath his cleats, and it's like everything's in slow motion. He can see the end zone, clear and open, just waiting for him.

"Go, Jisung!" Minho yells, throwing a solid block that opens up the final few yards for him.

With a burst of speed, Jisung dives forward, clutching the ball tightly as he crosses into the end zone. The cheers erupt around him, but the only thing he's focused on is you, standing up in the bleachers, clapping with a wide, proud smile that lights up your entire face and makes Jisung see the world in shades of pink.

Jisung's face breaks into a grin, his chest swelling with pride as he stands up, unable to hide the joy on his face. He can barely hear his teammates around him because all he's seeing is the look on your face, and it's enough to make him feel invincible.

"Hell yeah!" Changbin cheers as he and Minho rush over, pulling Jisung to his feet with matching grins.

"Alright, you've impressed her now," Minho says, slapping him on the back. "But now you've gotta close the deal. We're gonna help you get as many damn touchdowns as possible, but after that? It's on you, bro. You gotta either kiss her or ask her out or whatever you're planning. You get me?"

Jisung nods rapidly, barely able to contain the massive grin on his face. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. I'm doing this!"

Felix and Seungmin clap him on the back, their laughter ringing out as they congratulate him, and Jeongin practically tackles him in excitement.

"That was sick, dude!" Jeongin says, beaming. "Now you just gotta keep this up!"

Chan and Hyunjin jog over, both of them holding out their hands for high fives, which Jisung meets eagerly.

"Keep that adrenaline up," Hyunjin says, smirking. "With this energy, asking her out's gonna be a piece of cake."

"Exactly," Chan says, nodding with a smile. "Now let's help our boy rack up some more scores. If we play this right, he'll be unstoppable tonight."

Jisung clenches his fists, adrenaline flooding his veins as he nods, ready to play his absolute best. The guys all gather around him, their energy infectious as they slap his back, hyping him up before heading back into position. He glances at the bleachers once more, catching your eye as you wave, still beaming with that warm, encouraging smile.

For the rest of the game, the team's strategy is clear: get Jisung every chance to score. Each play is practically engineered to put the ball in his hands, and every time he crosses the line, the crowd roars, sending chills down his spine. And each time, he looks to the bleachers, zeroing in on you. You're standing now, clapping with a bright smile that lights up your face, and to him, it's like the whole stadium fades away.

With every touchdown, his teammates swarm him, cheering, slapping his helmet, yelling about how "the Han touchdown train" can't be stopped tonight. It's like they're all rooting for him not just to win the game, but to win you over.

"Goddamn, you're on fire, Jisung!" Chan shouts, panting as he jogs up beside him after yet another touchdown.

"It's the magic of a girl in the stands," Felix laughs, throwing an arm around Jisung's shoulder. "You better keep this up, man. We've never seen you play this good."

Jisung laughs, breathless, catching his teammates' infectious energy. He glances over to see you clapping again, beaming at him, and for a second, he almost feels like he's floating.

Minho sidles up next to him, catching his breath. "You see her out there, dude? She's cheering just for you. You got this."

Jisung nods, wiping sweat off his brow, feeling a surge of confidence every time he catches your eye. Each touchdown fuels him more, and the team, sensing his determination, rallies around him.

They block defenders with brutal force, ploughing through lines to create space, and hand him the ball again and again, shouting encouragement at every opportunity.

With a little over two minutes left in the game, Chan calls a huddle, his voice rough but steady as he grins at the team. "Alright, let's make this one count. It's our last drive. Get Jisung the fucking ball."

The guys nod, all grins and fierce determination. As they take their positions, Jisung glances once more toward the bleachers. You're watching intently, eyes full of excitement, and it's like an invisible thread pulls him toward the end zone, knowing you'll be there cheering no matter what.

The play unfolds perfectly. Minho and Changbin block two defenders, Felix takes out another, and Jisung darts through the gap, sprinting toward the end zone. The crowd's roar is deafening as he makes the final dive, crossing the line with the ball firmly in his grip.

He stands up, triumphant, the thrill of the touchdown rippling through him, but what really makes his heart race is catching sight of you in the stands, clapping wildly, that same radiant smile on your face. He can barely contain his own grin as he raises a fist in the air, the cheers around him fading into the background as he locks eyes with you.

When his teammates reach him, they're laughing, shouting over each other's voices.

"You're a goddamn beast tonight, Han!" Seungmin yells, clapping him on the back.

Hyunjin smirks, holding up a hand for a high-five. "You'd better ask her out after this, because that was fucking legendary."

As the final whistle blows, signalling their victory, Jisung's teammates surround him, piling on congratulations, laughs, and relentless back pats.

The final whistle blows and the crowd erupts in cheers as the Miroh Maniacs celebrate their victory. The guys are all high-fiving and fist-pumping, adrenaline buzzing through their veins as they revel in the thrill of the win.

Jisung's heart is pounding, both from the game and from the sight of you at the edge of the field, clapping and smiling as you watch the team celebrate.

"Go get your '90s dream girl, Han," Minho says, slapping Jisung on the shoulder. There's a glint of mischief in his eye as he steps back, letting Jisung gather his courage.

Chan, ever the supportive captain, grins and shouts, "You've got this, Ji! Don't choke now!"

"Dude, you've been killing it all night," Hyunjin says, giving him an encouraging nod. "Time to wrap it up with a win off the field, too."

Felix and Jeongin clap him on the back, their voices blending into a jumble of encouragement and good-natured ribbing. Even Seungmin, who usually prefers to stay cool and unbothered, joins in with a smirk. "Don't overthink it, man. Just go."

Jisung takes a deep breath, feeling every bit of adrenaline pushing him forward as he steps toward you. The team's words echo in his mind, and he thinks, Fuck it. It's now or never.

You approach the group, looking radiant, your eyes bright with excitement as you clap for each of them. "Congratulations, you guys! That was seriously amazing!"

Jisung's heart nearly skips a beat as he takes in the sight of you, looking effortlessly beautiful even in the dim stadium lights. He's been imagining this moment all night, and without thinking, he steps forward, closing the distance between you.

And then, with a surge of confidence, he cups your face and kisses you, pouring everything he's been feeling into the moment. His heart's racing, but as soon as your lips meet, he feels that familiar thrill, the world fading out around him.

The team erupts into cheers and whistles behind him, and Jisung can't help but grin against your lips as he hears them hollering.

He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, still holding you close. Emboldened by the rush, he dips you back, his grin widening as the guys cheer even louder. Minho yells out over the noise, "Strawberries and heaven, my man! Your '90s dream girl right here!"

You laugh, your cheeks pink as you look up at Jisung, slightly dazed. "Wait. What?"

Jisung's face softens, his voice tender as he smiles down at you. "You. You smell like strawberries and heaven. And you're my '90s dream girl." And with that, he leans in and kisses you again, savouring the feeling, the cheers of his friends blending into the background.

When he finally lets go, Minho claps him on the back, looking comically emotional. "I feel so proud, honestly. I coached him through it all, stopped jerking it for him to gush about her. This is basically a win for me, too."

Chan laughs, shaking his head. "Minho, you sacrificed, my guy. I'm proud of you."

Felix raises an eyebrow, his expression teasing. "Seriously, though. I can't believe it took seven wingmen to make this happen."

Jisung rolls his eyes but laughs along, his arm still around you as he finally turns back to face his friends.

You smile up at him, still a little flushed but looking delighted. "So, what's the plan now?"

Jisung's eyes light up, his grin playful. "We're having a post-game party back at the frat house. You should come." He pauses, pretending to think. "I might even make you a cocktail as good as that caramel latte you liked."

"Oh, really?" you tease, raising an eyebrow. "Big talk, Han. Think you're up to it?"

"Pfft, please," Jisung says, flashing you a confident smirk. "Give me a real challenge."

You laugh, glancing back toward the bleachers. "Alright. I'll grab my things while you guys wrap up and shower. Don't keep me waiting."

You head back toward the stands, and as soon as you're out of earshot, Felix leans over, grinning. "Uh, Jisung, dude, you can't make cocktails to save your life."

Jisung's expression falters, but then he looks at Minho, a pleading glint in his eye. "Minho...?"

Minho lets out a long, dramatic sigh. "Fine. I'll make the fucking cocktail. But seriously, you owe me for this one."

Jisung's grin returns. "You're the best, man."

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. "Do you need me to teach you how to fuck her too?"

Jisung snorts, shooting him a playful glare before delivering a swift kick to Minho's ass. "Shut the fuck up, man."

The team laughs, their voices full of pride and joy as they head off the field, congratulating Jisung and slapping him on the back the whole way.

[sleepinthrumyalarms]

— a study in demon

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

warnings: smut, lesbian sex, a/b/o dynamics in werewolves and demons, penetration, G!P!reader, it's demon girlcock OKAY, cockwarming, breeding kink, size kink, knotting, all characters are aged-up

summary: an unfortunate turn of events leaves wednesday with a very frustrated, very needy oni demon on her hands. what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't take care of her beloved?

word count: 4.5k

a/n: jesus christ, look at those warnings. this fic is a whole declaration of war. i went feral. i have nothing to say for myself. hope you enjoy

The first thing you feel when the annoying buzzing of the alarm pulls you out of your peaceful slumber is the immense heat of your body and the ache somewhere in your lower belly. A groan leaves your throat before you can even blink your eyes fully open, and you blindly reach for your phone to turn the screaming noise off.

You sit up on your bed and squint at the sunlight that streams through the tiny slit in the tightly shut curtains, opening a small calendar app that’s designed specifically for the creatures of your kind – and with a huff you realize your rut is coming in two days.

Damn it. You’ve completely forgotten about it. That certainly explains the aggressiveness and mood swings you’ve been having for the past week.

You open a new text message, sent from your girlfriend at 5:30 AM – not exactly an early riser, but definitely the type to pull an all-nighter on a school night – wishing you the most dreadful morning. You smile to yourself, and the smallest thought of her seems to be enough to motivate you to get out of bed and start the day despite the uncomfortable feeling stirring in your belly.

Thank all the gods almighty – Larissa Weems, especially – that it is still a non-uniform week at the Academy. Sitting in class with that tie wrapped around your throat like a noose would’ve killed you.

You rummage through your wardrobe, pulling out a tee and a pair of jeans, changing hastily, before your gaze falls on a particular item of clothing that definitely doesn’t belong in your closet.

It’s a black baggy zip hoodie, the one Wednesday constantly wears when out of class. It’s a surprise she has forgotten it at your place – your best guess is she must’ve left in one of your sweatshirts instead.

The fabric feels smooth in your grasp. Warm fleece lining. A bit abrasive on the outside.

Just like her.

You lift the hoodie to your face, burying your nose in the softness and inhaling.

Smells just like her, too.

Without a second thought you put it over your frame – though a bit more of a tight fit, it’s still slightly baggy on your shoulders – and zip it up, pulling the hood over your head to take another small whiff of the familiar scent.

That should get you through the day, you think.

And it does. For the first half of it, at least.

You take an extra suppressant pill during lunch, but skip the meal, opting to spend the free time in the quad to ventilate your head.

It feels better. Much, much better. Even though you don’t get to see Wednesday at the canteen.

You’re back inside for your last period – maths, and your mind gets too busy with the complicated equations and formulas to worry about the hormones running wild in your body.

You’re half-way through a very fucked-up problem with roots and sines before a strong aroma suddenly fills up your lungs – an omega’s pheromones, you realize, wide-eyed.

An omega who is in heat.

You lift your head up, giving the students around you a quick once-over – and your gaze meets a pair of golden orbs, a pretty girl with pink plump lips and fiery-red hair tied into a pony tail watches you with interest, her chin propped on her palm. As soon as you make eye-contact, she gives you a smile, revealing a small, adorable gap in the front row of her teeth.

You shake your head and smile back politely before turning back to your paper, but the rest of the class feels like you’re trapped in a suffocating cage of hot arousal that smells of yellow fruit and washed laundry.

As soon as the bell dismisses the students, you hastily pack your bag and bolt out of the door, desperate to lock yourself in your dorm room and just take care of this stupid predicament you’ve found yourself in. You’ve never been more grateful for the lack of a roommate.

“Hey, (Y/n).”

You stop and turn at the sound of your name being called, although the voice is quite unfamiliar – too melodic and gentle to be anyone you know.

“Hey, uh...”

It’s the redhead from maths. She watches you expectantly for a few moments before her face falls slightly, “It’s Dina! I was with the Black Cats last year. We met at the after party? The one Yoko hosted?” She sounds almost offended at the fact that you don’t remember her.

“Oh. Oh, right. Dina. Sorry. I’m really bad with names.” You smile apologetically.

“It’s fine. I’d be surprised if you remembered me, actually. This academy holds way too many ginger werewolves,” Dina chuckles, and falls in step with you to continue walking down the hall. “So, you up to anything right now?”

“No, not really. Just hoping to get back to the dorms and sleep my awful headache off. Been bugging me all day.”

It’s only a half-lie – your temples are still throbbing like crazy, and the pheromones you’ve smelled in class did nothing to help your case.

The werewolf tilts her head, pursing her plump lips, “Hmm... That’s too bad, because, actually...”

The smaller girl suddenly grabs your hips and pushes you – unprepared, you stumble to the side and right through the door of some random classroom. Barely able to catch your balance at Dina’s abrupt movement, your hands grasp at her forearms, desperately trying to steady the rest of your body.

“I was thinking I could help you relieve that pain of yours.”

She looks up at you, tilts her chin up slightly. The smell of citron and fresh linen suddenly fills your nose.

The same one you’ve felt in class.

The omega in heat.

Fuck.

The werewolf in front of you settles with pumping her pheromones at you wildly, her palms flitting from your hips down to your thighs, slowly closing in on your center – you do nothing to stop her, your own hands reaching behind you to grip the edge of the desk. Her eyes are glinting red now, slitted pupils never breaking eye contact with yours.

She presses her nose against your scent gland, and you feel her grin against your neck.

“I don’t smell an omega on you...” Shit. Of course Wednesday’s hoodie doesn’t smell like anything but her usual dark resins and woods scent. As much as it is alluring and recognizable to you, it’s not pheromones. “You haven’t mated with one yet? That’s just criminal... An alpha like you should spend all her ruts with a pretty omega impaled on her cock.”

You take a sharp inhale through your nose, feeling yourself throb treacherously at her words. Dina giggles softly, pressing her lips to your jaw, her mouth now inches away from yours.

“You know…” she starts sultry, voice heavy with unadulterated lust in a way that only an omega’s can sound to the ears of a rutting alpha, “I’ve never taken an oni’s knot before…”

You feel the werewolf squeeze your thighs, bare her claws in a sharp movement, “I wonder what it feels like.”

Your head is heavy, cloudy – you’re practically unable to resist, tusked mouth hanging open with small puffs of vapors fluttering out. The urge to bend the small werewolf over the desk and pound her into the wood feels even harder to resist, too.

An unpleasant feeling rattles through your chest, unbearable and disgusting. An image of dark-brown eyes and soft lips painted burgundy flashes through your mind.

You feel like you’re going to puke.

“No,” you rasp, pushing the werewolf away. “Get off me.”

Before the startled girl can retort, you stumble out of the classroom and slam the door closed, turning the key that has been left in the keyhole by some clumsy substitute.

You stumble for a moment, lifting a clawed palm to grasp at your head that has suddenly turned cloudy and heavy, and make your way towards the ladies’ restroom.

She must’ve felt the rut closing on you, and her own heat triggered it prematurely.

With shaky hands you pull out your phone, opening the messages app and texting the first person that comes to your clouded mind.

enid

bro you gotta ditch

it’s an emergency

i just stumbled into a girl

uhh dina?

she’s from ophelia hall

anyways i think she needs… help

yk

from a fellow omega wolf

i think she hasn’t been taking her suppressants

for some fucking reason

and yk it’s not like me to live a lady in distress

but i really had to dip

i was doing her a favor by dipping actually

i locked her up on the 2nd floor

202

i really had to leave

Pressing your back against one of the bathroom stalls, you wait anxiously as three gray dots dance on the screen.

The device dingles in your hands.

oooohh

its okay

i gotchu

u should totes find weds tho

im sure she can help u out ;))

You hide your phone in your pocket and open the tap to splash your face with cold water. It eases the flush of your face, but doesn’t calm the raging beast inside.

Your fingers grasp onto the edges of the sink tightly, almost making the marble crack.

As you walk through the corridors and up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, the only thought that occupies your mind is Wednesday. Wednesday and her dark eyes and her lips and her touch and the beautiful curve of her slender hips and everything that is your mate.

You don’t bother knocking, urgently swinging the door open.

And there it is. Your (f/c) sweater, no doubt one of her monochrome striped shirts under it.

Your palms are sweating. Claws digging into your pant legs, tusks into your lip.

The small ravenette turns in her seat to look at you, her fingers stilling over the keys of her typewriter.

Her braided hair looks pristine and untouched, her posture unmatched, the image perfect even when out of public sight.

“Ma bête,” she addresses softly, brows slightly raised in question. “You’re back. And you look… a trifle uncomfortable.”

Does she not know? There’s no way she doesn’t. Such details could never slip Wednesday’s unhealthily constantly alerted mind.

“Is something wrong?”

Fuck. Of course. There it is, that cruel glint in her eyes. You should’ve known.

She wants you to say it.

You shift on your feet. The temperature is becoming almost unbearable.

“I’m…”

Wednesday watches you, tilts her head just a tiny bit forward — dark, haunted eyes deadpan, staring you down, her jaw tightening slightly and relaxing in a way that is barely noticeable but has your gaze flicking down to the enticing slant of her neck.

“I’m… in a rut.” You admit, finally.

Wednesday’s eyes widen slightly — her posture straightens even more, the glint in her eyes turning dangerous, “Oh.” Yes, oh, as if she wasn’t aware. “Why are the suppressants not working?”

Should you admit that the small encounter with the horny omega has sent your hormones spiraling?

Wednesday is by no means a normal human, yet her nose lacks the capability of sensing alpha pheromones. Nevertheless, she can read you like a book, and she probably was aware of your coming rut long before you were. She simply likes abusing the knowledge.

“It must be bad then, if it has you reduced to such a pathetic state,” the goth tuts, drumming her fingers against her desk. “Pure torture, isn’t it, bête? I wish I could help you…”

Wednesday turns back to her paper, shrugging noncommittally, “Unfortunately, it is my writing hour, and you know how much I would detest an intervention in my schedule.”

You whine as the drumming of her keys resumes – like a kicked puppy, you turn to reach for the doorknob, prepared to return back to the restroom and take care of yourself to the thought of your ever-so beautiful and unyielding girlfriend.

Wednesday’s fingers still on the typewriter.

“But I suppose… We can reach a consensus.”

The legs of her chair scrape against the hardwood floor, and you turn to find Wednesday standing next to the desk, palm resting on the back of the seat invitingly.

“Come here.”

You’re beside Wednesday before the whole command can escape her mouth, and she gives a small, amused huff that almost has you howling and gnawing at furniture, then gestures at the chair, “Sit. Unbutton your pants, underwear off.”

You reach to do as told, pulling at a pant-leg to finally discard the constricting garment before the ravenette slaps your hand, “Just the button and the zipper, (Y/n). Do not make me repeat myself.”

You gulp and take a seat at her desk, tugging the elastic of your boxers down to free the hard shaft.

The dark, intense gaze Wednesday is watching you with makes you blush and throb, excitement and arousal mixing with the slightest of embarrassments only her presence can induce.

“Good girl,” she hums, circling the chair like a hunting lioness. “I will allow you to be inside me, just this once. I will not allow you to touch me in any other way. If I feel any movement, internal or external, you will be punished. And by no means are you allowed to cum. Not without my permission. Are the instructions clear, beast? Nod your empty little head if affirmative.”

You nod with a small whimper at the derogatory words, though they do nothing to soothe the aching hardness between your legs.

“Good, good. Well, since the terms are settled, I shall get started.”

Before you can respond, Wednesday steps closer to the desk, slightly flipping her skirt with a quick movement of her hand and letting you catch the smallest of glimpses of her pretty pussy – the show is over before you can marvel though, and the seer sits on your lap, your length pressing against her lower back.

Like this, with no distance left between you, her scent is encompassing your whole being. No pheromones can compare to the way Wednesday smells, the rich, woodsy notes of a forest soaked in rainwater luring you in as you take a small inhale.

You bite back a growl, but a small noise of frustration still manages to reach the ravenette’s sharp hearing.

“Quiet, beast.” She scolds, her tone of voice far from playful, and reaches to straighten her skirt carefully, flicking the non-existing dust off the garment in a graceful movement of her palm.

Then, before you can downright keen with impatience, the same hand moves behind to wrap around your hard member, giving it a squeeze so light it is almost torturous –  Wednesday lifts her hips and presses the head against the warmth of her entrance.

That first contact feels like electricity and fire in your belly, worsened when you feel your cock split her lips open, stretching her taut around it, and the smallest worry that you might just not fit passes through your rut-clouded mind.

Then again, Wednesday might not even be merciful enough to sheathe you fully inside her, but the thought of being too big to be properly seated in her cunt is tantalizing and excruciating at the same time.

A small, relieved sigh escapes Wednesday’s lips –  the sensation of being filled up with you is like no other, and she can’t help but relish in it despite her aggravation. She takes her time, feeling every inch push deeper inside her and stretch her out, the thick shaft splitting her open, then her thighs press into yours and she stills completely.

If she had to, the goth would put all the time and work in to stretch herself out with your girth, to take all of you inside her like she was molded just for that single purpose. It’s not like Wednesday has something to prove to anyone – or maybe she has, to you, that no one else at Nevermore could take you so well and make all your resolve, might and dominance provided to you by nature, or by gods, or by whatever entity has created such a delectable beast as you crumble under her and make it natural for you to submit to the seer.

And oh does submissiveness look good on you, too – or at least it sounds good, if your heavy breathing mixed with quiet whines hitting her ear is anything to go by.

Wednesday is reminded of her goal suddenly when she feels your hips buck instinctually into her, and the ravenette has to hold back a sound of pleasure at the movement, because she can’t fight how incredible the pressure feels, making her velvet walls flutter. She’s still holding the reins when she tightens her pussy around your throbbing dick purposefully, a trace of a small smirk on her plush burgundy lips at the needy and wanton groan that escapes your mouth.

That was a good enough treat, she thinks. Now to the sticks.

Wednesday kicks you in the shin with the side of her loafer, pulling you out of your pleasure-induced trance and making you flinch.

“Move closer to the desk, beast. I need to be able to reach the keys in order to type.”

You grunt, shuffling the chair closer with your weight, nudging Wednesday’s body forward, and the slightest shift makes you hiss — she slides a few inches up your shaft before she’s at the base again, seated nice and snug, her thighs resting on yours. Your hands fall to grapple at them, and you receive another painful kick.

“No. Hands off. If you are unable to control yourself, I will shun you out.” Wednesday scolds, though has to hide the effect the feeling of your claws curling around her have, and fails. Her voice sounds more breathless than she has intended.

She has a hard time admitting to herself how torturous this is for her, too. The seer sneaks a glance down to where the thick shaft splits her open, so tight she can practically feel it throbbing against her clit. A small bead of precum runs down, skirting one of the throbbing veins.

Wednesday’s restraint is laudable.

“Messy creature,” she murmurs, her tone surprisingly soft, before the paper in front of her takes over her attention again. Straightening her back, the ravenette goes back to her writing as if she’s not full of demon cock right now.

You try to focus on the rapid clatter of the keys, on the way Wednesday’s elegant fingers dance over the typewriter, maybe try and catch a glance of the words the girl is printing on the paper. Anything to pull your mind away from the tight warmth hugging your aching cock, from weight of the small body pressed against you.

The demon inside of you is raging, howling, salivating between huge tusks. The monster is not as prejudiced as the fellow oni of your clan are – it doesn’t care if it’s another demon or a human you’re nestled inside. It demands the frail body pressed against your own is filled up and bred, demands the goth takes all of you, stretching around your swollen knot before it's barely able to slip inside.

Not just any body. Or some omega. Wednesday. Wednesday who isn’t even a part of that animalistic system, but the beast begs for more, wants all of her more, more with each passing second.

A growl mixed with a whimper escapes your mouth – you have no idea what to do with your hands, so you press them into the edge of the table on either side of Wednesday’s typewriter, claws digging into the dark wood. The involuntarily display of strength has the small female tightening around you with a gentle hitch of her breath, making you groan.

“Wednesday,” you rasp through clenched teeth. “I can’t. Please. I’m losing control.”

“O-oh, are you?” The goth inquires mockingly, hoping you don’t take notice of her slight stutter.

“Mhm,” you nod dumbly. “Wanna take you so bad. Wanna fuck you full of me.”

Wednesday can’t fight the way her pussy constricts around you again, though the determination not to lose control remains, strong as ever. She abandons the keys to reach a hand into your hair, grabbing a fistful of (h/c) locks to pull and make you meet her gaze, “Whose is it, (Y/n)?”

You furrow your brows in confusion, making Wednesday’s frown deepen – a hint for the right answer comes in the form of the seer’s hips lifting and rocking back down, the friction making you hiss.

“Answer me.”

“Yours.” You swallow. “Yours, Wednesday. Every- every inch is.”

“Good. Good girl.” She coos, easing her hold on you to rake her short nails down the back of your neck, making goosebumps litter your body. “Bed, beast. Now.”

A low growl rumbling in your chest and vibrating against her back is the only warning Wednesday gets before she’s lifted into the air sharply.

In a rough, barely controlled movement you stand up so fast you topple the chair over, flipping the girl with ease and walking a couple of steps to press her against the bed, the ravenette’s cunt still snug around your shaft. A clawed hand reaches for a pillow hastily to cushion Wednesday’s head, the last resemblance of caring gentleness in your actions before you pull out to the tip and buck back inside.

Wednesday’s head snaps back, mouth falling open in pleasure as you pin her down into the mattress, fucking hard into the welcoming, tight warmth of her pussy. Despite the dynamics of oni demons still being fairly alien to Wednesday – not as alien apparently, as she knows the frequency and signs of your rut better than you do and isn’t opposed to using it against you – she now seems to understand the appeal of being absolutely destroyed by an alpha that omegas in heat are so partial to.

As delectable as the thought is, it rekindles the spark of possessiveness that she thought has almost been extinguished. The goth wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling your bodies flush together.

Hers. No one else’s.

Not some other depraved omega girl’s so desperate to get a taste of you.

“You foolish brute.” She pants as if it’s your fault you seem to be irresistible to other women, voice trembling slightly, her breath completely pushed out of her lungs with each of your thrusts. “You better make good on your promise and breed me like a good alpha should.”

The monster inside you roars at the proposition that is so obviously supposed to be taunting. Your palms slide down the girl’s waist, thumbs brushing against the protruding hipbones to dip into the supple flesh sitting low under her navel, holding her tightly, almost hard enough to bruise and match the brutal pace of your hips rutting into Wednesday, your cock splitting her open deliciously in a toe-curling sensation that has Wednesday’s head falling back against the dark pillows.

The sight under you has you growling savagely – your tongue lolls out to lick a thick stripe up the exposed skin of the ravenette’s neck before you bite down, huge tusks clasping around her throat and keeping Wednesday in place completely, her pulse wild against the rough surface of your muscle. Her pussy constricts around your cock, clamping down hard in an attempt to keep the thick shaft buried to the hilt every time you pull out and quivering when you slam back inside and fill her up enough for the tip to kiss the entrance of her womb, never letting the small female catch her breath.

The lustful fog of ardent fervor clouding Wednesday’s brain doesn’t numb her to the sensation of a swelling at the base of your shaft nudging against her opening every time your hips meet hers. It threatens to push in, catches deliciously on Wednesday’s clit with each thrust and she can feel herself getting painfully close.

But she will not. For the sake of the one thing she wants more than anything else, the goth will deprive herself.

“Knot me.” She rasps into your ear, her feet pushing into your lower back to urge you deeper inside. “Mia bestia, mia alfa. Dentro. Ven dentro di mi.”

You’d have no clue what she has just said on a normal day, and you have zero idea right now, buried eight inches deep inside of her, but the breathless, desperate pants of Italian have you turning feral. In one last brutal thrust the knot slips past Wednesday’s tight lips and inside, stretching and filling her so thoroughly and impossibly delicious it has her eyes rolling into the back of her head. A spill of wetness from her own release rushing forth as she clamps down on your cock lubes her aching walls, helping the bulging slide in firmly.

Your lips gravitate to hers, pulled to her like a magnet, and you growl into her mouth as your cum spills hotly, taking up any remaining space inside the small female and her walls ripple, begging for more. Wednesday's arms tighten around your shoulders and legs squeeze around your hips to keep you close.

You throb with sated completion, press lazy kisses to the seer’s brow and flushed cheeks, and watch as her eyes flutter open to meet yours, her chest heavy with steamy breaths.

“Too hot, huh?” You ask, jaw slack slightly.

Wednesday gives a weak nod, and you reach to tug the sweater off her shoulders, then unzip her skirt to slip it down her pale legs, leaving the girl in just her striped shirt. The newly exposed skin provides better contact for you to revel in – you purr in satisfaction and move to join the seer on the bed, careful not to crush her, and maneuver her small body in your palms to pull her on top of you.

Wednesday huffs but doesn’t resist, nudging at your neck with her nose and pressing a soft kiss to your jugular in an uncharacteristic display of affection.

“How did you find out?” You murmur, lifting your hands to start undoing one of the ravenette’s loosened braids leisurely.

“I have my ways.”

You hum at the vague reply, now certain that the disembodied hand following you around the whole day wasn’t just your imagination playing tricks, “I hope you know I had no intention to lie to you or anything. You just- you didn’t exactly give me a chance to speak.”

“Your explanation wasn’t necessary. I’m well aware of what happened.” The movement of the seer’s plush lips tickles your skin pleasantly, her voice now void of its previous detachment.

You smile softly, finished with unbraiding her hair, your fingers threading through the silky raven locks, careful not to give an accidental tug. Wednesday closes her eyes at your touch, and the tranquility of the moment has you feeling like a cat basking in warm sunlight, despite the object of your passions being a complete opposite to it.

“I’ll have to consult Enid on the topic of which herbs are the deadliest to werewolves.”

“Wednesday.”

[beomiracles]

hi serene! happy 500!!!! for your 500 bash i was thinking of street racer beomgyu au omg. i read a fic about it on wattpad but they never completed it i would loveee to see what you come up with ! ^^

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... oouu this was a fun one! though I've never written anything street racer before so idk how au centric it was...I fear it might be a little less plot and a little more smut...I hope that's still okay ૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

wc -> 1.8k

pairings street racer!beomgyu x afab!reader warnings semi-public sex, unprotected + pullout method, oral (f. rec), fingering, tiny bit of overstimulation, praise kink?, beomgyu wants reassurance

The night air was cold enough to have you wrapping your boyfriend’s jacket tighter around your body. It had been such a foolish decision to come out here in nothing but a tank top and a skirt, but it was June, shouldn’t the weather show at least a little mercy? You pull your phone from your bag as you glance at the time, 1:32 am. Jesus christ, you could be in bed right now. But your boyfriend had insisted on you coming to watch him race; and like the loyal and supportive girlfriend you were, you of course said yes. 

In all honesty you didn’t like the idea of Beomgyu racing, in fact you hated it. It was a dangerous, not to mention illegal and unnecessary sport. You were seriously worried that he would end up getting hurt one day; though he always assured you that he wouldn’t because he ‘knew what he was doing’. — You thought that he was just lucky. 

A row of murmurs coming from somewhere beside you garners your attention as you turn toward the end of the vacant street. In the far distance you could make out the headlights of the approaching cars and soon the loud roar of engines filled the quiet night air. Immediately you recognize your boyfriend’s car amongst the crowd, up by the very front, the red vehicle easily maneuvered past its competitors. 

Even though you were strongly against the whole idea of street racing you couldn’t deny the fact that Beomgyu was good, like really good. And you supposed that it was kind of hot the way he blew past the finish line way before the others. When the race was declared done, his car came to life once more, making a screeching noise as it circled back to aim for you. — Stumbling backward you shriek, causing multiple heads to snap in your direction as the red sports car comes to a stop mere inches from your feet. 

Your boyfriend climbs out of the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him as he walks over to your stunned figure. A hand snakes around your waist as he pulls you to his chest, crashing his lips against your own. Your eyes widen as you blink up at him, a hand on his torso pushing him back. “Everyone’s staring”, you whine as you throw an anxious glance over your shoulder to the small crowd who’s attention had shifted entirely to the two of you. 

Beomgyu doesn’t bother even turning his head as he pulls his jacket tighter around you, “so?” he mumbles as he leans in the kiss the corner of your lips, making you shudder as heat rises to your cheeks. — “What’d you think of it?” He wonders as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You give him a scolding glare as you poke his chest with an accusing finger, “you know what I think of it.” 

Your boyfriend smirks as he rolls his eyes, “yeah, yeah, but what’d you think of me?” You knew that he was eager to prove himself to you, to make you proud, you just wished he understood that he didn’t need to do all that in order to have your full support and love. — Still, you couldn’t help but grin as you trail your fingers across his shoulders. “I think you were amazing”, you say as you lean in to give his cheek a quick peck. 

“Yeah?” He murmurs as the hand on your waist pulls you flush against his chest. “And what else?” — You roll your eyes before pressing kisses to his jaw and neck, “I think you were extremely sexy, especially when you crossed the finish line way before anyone else.” The smirk on your boyfriend’s lips only grows as he basks in your praise. “Mh-hmn, won for you baby”, he sighs as you press a chaste kiss to his lips. “I bet you did”, you whisper. 

“So where’s my reward?” He cocks an eyebrow at you and you shake your head as you press a finger to his lips. “When we come home.” — Beomgyu’s grip on you immediately tightens as he rests his forehead against your own, “why not now?” You frown as you look up at him, “now?” You glance over at the crowd slowly filling out as everyone began making their way home. “I don’t know I-” 

Your words are swallowed by a yelp as Beomgyu’s hands move to the back of your thighs, hoisting you up on the hood of his car. “Beomgyu!” You give his shoulder a push but your boyfriend only smirks as he leans in to kiss your neck, making you forget any protests along the way. — His teeth graze along the exposed skin as he gently nibbles on it, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he pushes himself impossibly closer to you, his hard on brushing against your panties and you shiver. 

The lonesome street was basically vacant at this point, save for the two of you. Eagerly, he yanks your underwear down your thighs and you gasp as the cold air hits you. “Wait”, your nails dig into his shoulder and your boyfriend pulls his head from the crook of your neck as his lustful gaze meets yours. You blink, suddenly feeling flustered under his stare, “I…I didn’t bring a condom I didn’t think we–” 

“Doesn’t matter”, he groans as he reconnects your lips in a messy kiss, his hand coming up to rest on the nape of your neck as he brings your face closer to his. “I need to have you right now”, he grunts as his other hand glides along your inner thigh, fingers dragging across your wet folds, making you squeal against his lips. 

Your moans are devoured by his hungry mouth as he slides two fingers inside your cunt, curling them only to have you clench around him as your thighs tremble. His kisses move from your lips down to your jaw, his hot breath a stark contrast to the cold air surrounding you. “I’ll win for you”, he mumbles against your skin. 

“Y-you already have”, you breathe as your fingers slowly trail toward his hair, twisting a few strands between them. His thumb on your clit coaxes a small cry from you as he shakes his head. “I’ll win all of it. Every single race. I’ll buy you nice things, take you out.” His fingers inside your cunt move faster as he double stimulates you, bringing you dangerously close to an orgasm. 

“F-fuck, Beomgyu I’m…I’m..” you ramble as your thighs squeeze around his hips. — Beomgyu groans as he feels your cunt engulf his fingers, the hand on the back of your neck moving to your chest as he carefully guides you to lay down against the hood of his car, the cool metal making you shudder as he parts your trembling legs even further, spreading you wide for him.

You whine when you feel him withdraw his hand, but mere seconds later it’s replaced by his hot mouth and you gasp. “Need you to cum on my face”, he practically moans as his tongue licks across your wet cunt, flicking over your clit teasingly. Eyes rolling back in euphoria, your arms lay sprawled across the hood of his car as you gaze up against the starry sky. 

A small mewl rips from your throat as you vigorously clench around his tongue, coating his lips in fluids as your orgasm washes over you. Beomgyu groans against your cunt, his hands firmly gripping your thighs as he continues to kiss at your glistening folds to the point of overstimulation. You wail against his touch and your boyfriend reluctantly pulls himself from between your legs to hover above you, a hand placed next to your face to support himself as he quickly undoes his zipper. 

Panting, you gaze up at him with a clouded expression and he smirks, the lower half of his face shiny and wet from making out with your cunt. “You can do one more for me, right baby?” He coos as he slides the tip of his cock against your sensitive pussy, making you gasp as you writhed beneath him. 

With a groan he slid himself inside, his brows knitting together as his mouth fell open. “Fuck you always feel so good”, he murmurs as his head dips down to rest in the crook of your neck, pressing sloppy kisses to your already bruised skin. Unable to form a coherent response, you merely sigh as he thrusts himself further inside, resting his forearms on either side of you. 

Your hands rake across his back, disappointed to feel the material of his racing jacket rather than his bare skin. With each snap of his hips he grunts against your neck. “Tell me that I did good..” he groans as his lips drag across your exposed collarbone. — “Please”, he breathes. 

Cupping his cheeks, you bring his face level with your own as you capture his lips in a kiss. “You did. You always win for me.” You whisper as you brush your tongue against his, making him shudder against you as his pace quickens. — “You always make me so proud to be your girlfriend.” 

Beomgyu sighs against your lips as one of his hands moves down your body, his fingers easily finding your clit as he stimulates it, making you cry out into his mouth. “Fuck I love you”, he groans and you feel the movement of his hips grow jagged. “Please, please, want you to cum on my cock”, he breathes as he jerks up into you, making you gasp.

Nodding, your hands slide down his shoulders to ground yourself as you feel your second orgasm approaching. A small sob passing your lips as you clench around him, making him grunt as he fucks you through your high, his fingers on your clit unwavering as your head falls back against his car. 

A few thrusts later he withdraws with a small hiss, his hand wrapping around his shaft as he strokes himself to his own orgasm. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you quickly regain your breath before leaning forward to push his hand away as your fingers take his place, grinning at the way his breath hitches when you slide your thumb across his tip. 

His hips stutter against your grip as he releases all over your hand, some of it landing on the hood of his car, though he doesn’t seem to care as he quickly pulls you in to crash your lips together. You sigh into the kiss as your arms wrap around his neck. 

“I love you too.”

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[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Drabble 11/7/2023

Prompt: Unexpected conversation

Eddie didn’t know what to think when Max approached him out in the field just as everyone was wrapping up their preparations for going after Vecna. Dustin had just gone off to talk to Steve about something when the, frankly intimidating, redhead made a beeline for him. 

“Hey Munson, we need to talk.” She said. 

He was taken aback. Sure they were neighbor’s and all but they didn’t really know each other that well, and she was surrounded by friends here. He couldn’t imagine what she would need him for, but who was he to deny the girl who’d been cursed by Vecna himself. 

“Sure, Red. What’s, uh... what’s up?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him an honest-to-god once over. Suddenly he felt like he was being picked apart by an adversary and being studied for weaknesses. Which was weird considering they were on the same side here. He was so confused. 

She cleared her throat and held piercing eye contact as she hit him with her question. “What’s going on with you and Steve? I mean, what are your intentions?”

Eddie couldn’t help but burst out laughing. There was no way she could possibly know he was gay, and obviously Steve wasn’t. So it had to be some kind of joke.

Right?

One look at Max’s face silenced him abruptly. 

For some reason, she looked pissed. “Well that’s about as clear an answer as I could have asked for. Is this a fucking joke to you?”

Eddie glanced around, hoping someone, anyone, would come and rescue him from the scary teenager, but everyone was busy with their own taks. 

“Wait, what do you mean? Are you serious?” He said finally.

“As a heart attack, dickhead. I know I don't always show it, but Steve means a lot to me, okay? I don’t want to see him get hurt again.” She looked off briefly in the direction she’d come from. Where Nancy was still working on her sawed off shotgun and making sure she had enough ammunition. 

“I don't understand.”

He really didn’t.

Eddie got the Nancy thing. He’d had a nearly front row seat to the show the night their relationship had imploded in the bathroom of Tina’s Halloween party. He'd been dealing just across the hall and couldn’t help but overhear, but he didn’t know what he had to do with any of that. 

“The boys might all be blind but I'm not,” Max began. “I was watching you guys on the boat through the binoculars.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay fine, I was watching Steve take his shirt off through the binoculars. Sue me, have you seen him? Whatever, I saw the way you were looking at him and-”

Eddie cut her off. “Max… that’s… you can’t just say that shit, alright?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not trying to out you, Munson. Trust me, I don’t care if you’re gay. I’m not gonna, like, tell anybody.”

Good to know. 

“Okay fine, good, I guess. Thanks. But, what’s all this shit about me and Steve?”

She furrowed her brows for a moment and then something seemed to click in her head. “Oh. So you are as stupid as you look.”

“Hey!”

“Just calling ‘em how I see ‘em.” She shrugged.

“Jesus christ, all you kids and you’re fucking tones I swear to god.” He muttered.

“Look, I'm just gonna say it. Usually I wouldn't get involved, but since no one can blame the dying girl for meddling, I- ”

Eddie softened. “Max...”

He knew she didn't like sympathy, she's made that abundantly clear, but he coudn't help it. She shut it down immedietely though.

“I’m fine, just listen. Steve clearly likes you.”

“I mean, we did have a little talk in the weird freaky woods, and we definitely don’t hate each other anymore, but I…”

Max snorted. “See? Stupid.”

Eddie gaped at her. “Dude, what did I ever do to you?”

She pointedly ignored his outburst. 

“Like I said. I saw the way you looked at him on the boat and then I saw the way he looked at you when you got back. Then there was that whole thing in the RV." She shuddered. "I don’t know what happened in between, and I don't want to, I just want to make sure you know that if you hurt him we will all collectively kick your ass. You might be one of us now, but Steve's been there from the beginning. He’s saved all of our lives, more than once. He deserves to be happy.”

Eddie took a deep breath. He could appreciate what she was saying, and yeah maybe he had started to develop a small crush on the guy. Anyone would after seeing him rip that demobat apart with his bare hands… and mouth. 

Jesus Christ, Eddie stop thinking about his mouth!

“Listen, Red. I think it’s sweet, what you're trying to do here, but I cannot stress to you how unnecessary this is. Nothing is going on between Steve and I. Even if I wanted that– and I'm not saying I do!” He was quick to add. “He is literally the straightest guy I've ever seen.”

“Did he tell you that?”

“He didn't have to.”

“There you go again, putting people in boxes!” Max scrunched her nose in disgust. “Isn’t that against your whole thing?” She asked, gesturing at the general, everything, about him.

“Technically, yes. But…”

“But nothing! You shouldn’t assume things about people. You should talk to him.”

“There is no way in hell I'm asking Steve Harrington if he’s gay!”

“Not that dip shit. Just, i don't know, tell him you like him!”

“Why do I have to put myself out there?!” Eddie shouted, a touch too loud. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t just denied it.

Max sighed deeply. “Because Steve won’t. He’s probably scared and he’ll just keep flirting with you until you get the hint and I gotta be honest, I don't have a lot of faith in you on that front after this conversation. So I'm gonna need you to bite the bullet on this one.”

Eddie chewed his lip. He couldn't believe this girl actually had him considering this. 

Was it worth the risk if she was wrong? 

Maybe. 

What did he have to lose it anyway if it went badly?

“Okay. Fine. If we all survive this I promise I'll talk to him. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

And then Eddie wasn’t an idiot and he didn’t go after the demobats alone and he didn’t die. Steve however did wind up in the hopistal, because how could he fucking not have gotten an infection with that many open wounds running around in a fucking hell dimension. Eddie sat by his bedside and one night confessed his crush. And then they kissed and lived happily ever after. The end.

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[ediewentmissing]

Look at this sexy fucking man! Please! For the love of all of the underwear this pic and your stories have helped ruin, I need a fic for this pic! The more dirty talk the better! Just mmmmmmm going to town on him and riding him and guiding his mouth to suck and bite and lick my tits like ahhhhhhhh. Please!!

IM SO SORRY THAT I MISSED THIS i took a break but now i’m back AND HOLY SHITTTTTTTTT AAAAAAAA 😍😍😍 i’ve been rlly busy lately and i’m probably not gonna write very often (sorry 😿) but i wanted to give u something, so i wrote this in approx 6 minutes lmao sub!eddie incoming

“Ah- Shit- Please,” The handcuffs rattle against the headboard as Eddie sucks in through his teeth. His jaw clenches and eyes roll back into his skull as you slowly lower yourself down on his stiff cock.

You’re not quite sure what he’s begging for. More? Less? Who cares.

“Yeah, be a good boy and fucking take it,” You ride back up his length, and back down. And again. And again. He whimpers pathetically, his top row of teeth clamping down on his bottom lip in a foolish attempt to shut himself up.

“Awh,” you coo, “Barely started yet and you’re already a mess. Filthy boy.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard, trying his hardest not to burst so quickly. But you’re just so wet, and so tight, and you’re clenching around his cock so deliciously.

“Mmm, fu-uck-” His mouth is open, head tipped back giving you the perfect view of his neck.

“Yeah? You like me using you like this?” He nods, humming.

You still on his cock, and his head jolts upright to look at you with confused, pleading eyes.

“Answer me, Eddie.”

“I- I love it…” you begin to bounce on him at a steady pace, and he moans loudly, “Fuck! God- Fuckin’ Christ. Mmmm- I love you using me. So, so much- Ah, ah-”

“God, look at you, baby…” you smirk down at him. His pupils are fully blown, swallowing the caramel-coloured irises whole. Hot tears run down his rose cheeks, picking up sweat on their way down his face.

You bounce ever so slightly faster, and go in to kiss his neck, sucking and biting that sweet spot that makes him writhe.

“Wait, no, please look at me. Please. I wanna see you.”

You pull off of his throat and look directly into his lustful eyes. Sweaty, hair sticking to his face.

He moves his palms to your abdomen, running his fingers up your torso as he breathes heavily, chest rising and falling, until he reaches your tits.

“So pretty-y~,” he groans.

“Mm, go ahead. Touch ‘em, baby,” you nod, and he carefully trails his thumbs over your nipples, gently squeezing them.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, involuntarily rutting his hips up into you, moaning.

You lean forward, a non-verbal sign for him to take one in his mouth, and he immediately obliges.

He kisses over your tits, soft, wet clicking sounds being drowned out by his whimpers vibrating against your chest and the skin-slapping-skin noises as you continue to ride him. He drags his tongue over everything, sucking and gasping as his high is in sight.

He bucks his hips up again, this time hitting the special spot inside of you. You clench hard around him, angling yourself to that he can slide deeper inside your aching pussy.

He detaches his lips from your chest, “Fuck, f-fuck, fuck! Haah… I’m-m gonna cum-” he moans, looking at you.

Your climax comes hurtling towards you unexpectedly, and it your pussy grips onto Eddie’s throbbing cock, only fuelling the fire of his orgasm.

He finally releases, warm, thick cum pumping into you at he same time you fall over the edge.

Breathy ‘I love you’s fall from his wet, pink lips. And it was nothing short of the truth. He loved you.

[piss-pumpkin]

🩸What doesn’t kill you leaves you wounded 🩹

(Older)dipper pines x reader, Douce amere chapter 21, ~3.4K words Masterlist prev

Tw- blood, hospital

“Y/n!” Dipper yelled. Oh god. Holy shit. He was across the circle in seconds sliding to his knees by Grunkle Fords feet, to the spot where you now laid unconscious. Jesus Christ. His hands flew to your shoulders and he resisted the urge to shake you. He wanted to do anything to wake you up, but his brain was in overdrive. Don’t shake a head injury, that makes concussions worse, he thought. So instead he stared at you, trying to think of anything to do. 

Your eyes had fallen shut, so he didn’t even know if Bill was gone. He had to be. Clearly the zodiac worked. But was that good, or bad? Fords words echoed in his mind. They’re the boat, he’d said. 

Dipper didn’t realize Ford was kneeling beside him to, and checking your pulse, until he looked up and declared, “They’re alive.”

Okay. That’s good. That means things are okay. But he still felt frozen. Your hair was plastered to your forehead with blood, and with shaky hands Dipper tried to brush it aside to get a better look at the gash. 

He shuddered. The blood was streaked across your forehead from the hair, and dripped down your face, even catching on your lashes. Dippers hand flew to cover his mouth, and he reflexively stumbled back. Mabel caught him. He hadn’t realized she’d been there. 

He was half aware of people yelling. Wendy was by your head, applying pressure to the wound. Figures she’d know first aid, or something close to it. Though Dipper wanted to scream and nitpick. Pressure on a head wound? What if that makes it worse? But the bleeding needs to be stopped, that’s priority one. Could Bill have damaged the skull? Dipper was shaking, and Mabel was trying to steady him, to little avail. There was a commotion of sorts. As it should be, where you were concerned. 

You were alive, that’s all that mattered. A cruel part of him wanted to add a for now to that statement. Alive, but with a bloody face. 

Somewhere in the chaos he head the word: hospital. That seemed like a good idea. Dipper tried to get to his feet, but his legs betrayed him, and he crashed back down on his knees. In an instant, Mabel and Pacifica were heaving him up by the arms. The sudden motion sent the world into a blur around him as his head grew light, heart pounding. He managed to echo the word he’d heard, “Hospital.”

People were already moving. Stan was scrambling around, but his car was gone. Car. Shit. You’d- Bill had left it somewhere. Somebody had to call an ambulance. He wasn’t sure if anyone had done it already, so he gave it a shot. His trembling hand dipped into his pocket, and his hand was almost too sweaty to type his passcode.

He didn’t managed by the time you were being scooped up, and put into somebody else’s car, Robbie’s van, laid across the middle row. Right. Yeah. Other people had cars. He cursed himself for not knowing how to drive. Would Robbie go fast enough? There was no traffic law that had to be obeyed in a  time like this. 

Robbie was in the drivers seat. Wendy buckled you in, even as you laid down, just in case. First your chest, then looped around the van to your legs. There was a cloth, a ripped piece of her shirt on your head to soak up the blood. Dipper stumbled up to the car, throwing open the door beside your head. He looked up at Wendy, “Pressure?” He managed. 

Wendy nodded coolly, “yeah.” How she managed to be so calm, he’d never understand. A few more people jumped in the car. Mabel in the passenger seat, Ford in the back, Stan was still away searching for his own keys. Dipper gently picked your head up to rest on his lap so he could sit on your row. 

He winced looking down at your face. The cloth was almost soaked through, and left red blotches on his hands when he applied pressure. 

When the passengers had seatbelts, Robbie floored it. Good. Fast. Dipper was half aware of Wendy on the other side of the seat, near your feet. His eyes were stuck on your nose, and how it seemed to be painted with the dripping blood. 

He blamed himself. And the days he spent upset at you ached like a hole in his heart. All his issues seemed insignificant, now. You’d finally done the exorcism, but… 

You’d once told him; no more possession. You were talking about Mabel. It was what, less than a month ago? It felt longer than that. Like he’d fumbled an entire lifetime with you. He might’ve.

Dipper barely noticed the entire car ride. He kept pressure on your head, and he watched the stop signs zip by without the hint of a break in the van, and heard the piecing shriek of car horns in response. That was good. They’re fine. They’re fine. You’re fine. You weren’t moving much. 

He hadn’t been to the gravity falls hospital before, never had the need. It was small, really more like a doctors office, and on the outskirts of the town. Dipper didn’t know about the back ambulance entrance until Robbie pulled into it. Suppose Dipper had only seen it from the front and in passing. 

Mabel was the first to run out of the van, booking it to the door. Probably to get help. He didn’t see her pass through the doors with the van in the way. Dipper was careful to keep the cloth hard pressed on your head even as he unbuckled his seatbelt and slid open the door. The cloth was wet, and it sent shivers down his spine. 

We’re here at the doctors, he thought. This is the best place to be right now. There were people in there who could fix this. Dipper stood by your head, and you were still resting on the seat. He glanced up at Wendy across from him at the vans other door. “Sh-should we get them out?” He sputtered. 

Wendy paused, and looked back behind her. “Wait, I think they’re-“ 

Then people came running out. People in scrubs came, and pushed him and Wendy out of the way. 

Dipper watched as they worked, and then took you. They brought a gurney. And in a rush you were off, and Ford was talking to somebody who looked important. Robbie and Wendy were together, Dipper couldn’t hear what they were saying. 

Eventually, they were piled into the waiting room. It must have been a slow day besides this, because there were only two other people sat down. One guy looked to have a twisted ankle. One guy was Toby Determined. Dipper was staring at the tile floor. It was white, but old. Specks of old stains or new dirt marked all of it, and the space between the tiles had plenty dust. 

He sat with his head in his hands. Your blood was still streaks across his forehead. The nurses asked about it, but he wasn’t hurt.

They’d been there a while, now. Others left, some popped in. Dipper could feel his phone buzz now and again with texts from busy people asking if you’d been let out yet. He didn’t respond. 

Your aunt Susan got called in, being your guardian. That was an awkward conversation. Dipper didn’t know what to say when she zeroed in on all of them and asked what had happened. Maybe she expected him to protect you. He didn’t have an answer. Dipper was more than glad when Stan did it for him, said you’d hit your head. It was Ford who mentioned why. 

It was him, Mabel, Ford and Stan, Pacifica, and Susan. He’d been holding Mabel’s hand for comfort earlier, but he needed both now to keep his head off the floor.

Each time a nurse or doctor walked in or by or down the hall and he caught a glimpse of them, he thought it might be good news. Or bad. He was halfway aware of Stans hand patting his shoulder. The waiting room was quiet, just the full hum of a fan behind the receptionists desk, and the occasional cough from somebody waiting. People drifted in and out. Toby was still around. Twisted ankle guy got seen by his doctor. 

Pacifica had to go. Her parents needed her at home, and even with her protests, she had to leave. She squeezed Mabel’s arm, and tapped Dipper on hand on her way out. 

It was maybe mid afternoon when somebody finally came. A doctor this time, not a nurse. She asked for Susan, and your aunt said it was okay that the rest hear the prognosis, too. Dippers hands were cold, he fidgeted with his fingers to try and warm them up, but it didn’t work. 

The doctor took a breath. “So, our patient is alright,” she started. Dippers fingers started to twitch as they tapped faster on his palm. “They suffered a pretty bad hit to the head, though, we’re looking at a concussion, but it could be worse. Their records indicate no previous serious head trauma, which is good, we’ll have to wait and see about any symptoms, but there’s a few we can expect, at least for a while,” she said, handing lazy Susan a paper. She scanned it with her good eye while the doctor kept talking.

Dippers hands were sweaty. You were okay. He wanted to yell, or celebrate, but he was still scared. He hoped so hard that there wouldn’t be lasting effects. But you were okay. And Bill was gone. Win-win. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so sick to his stomach once he saw you, and saw you were fine. 

The weight of the room seemed to lift a bit when the doctor left. You were alright, so some things were well. 

Eventually, they told him to leave. The staff urged the pines family and Susan to go home, to come back tomorrow when you were in better condition. Dipper frowned, “are you sure we can’t stay until we can see them again?” 

Mabel nodded along. 

The nurse bit her lip, and tapped at her clip board, and told them all you’d be in better shape tomorrow. Dipper wanted to fight, but a hand landed in his shoulder to hold him back. Stan shot him a soft look, “Kid,” he started. “Get some rest.”

Dipper hesitated, brow furrowing. How long had they been sitting in the hospital? He felt dead tired, it was like the waiting room drained the life out of him. He sighed, “Fine.”

And then he left. 

                                             …

Eyes crusted shut, you came too with a headache. Both in the sense that your brain hurt, maybe from stress or tiredness, and in the sense that it felt like your skull was throbbing. However that worked. But you were you. You thought. You thought some more, taking in the sensations around you. Bed. Sheets. Pillow. Lights. Even if eyes closed you could feel them. All that, and no trace of Bill. Holy fuck it actually worked. 

You tried to open your eyes. They had a hard time adjusting, the hospital light seemed brighter than the sun. Hospital. You were in a hospital, it seemed. what happened- right. It took a few moments, but it came flooding back, and your head seemed to ache and throb at the memory. Bills attack. You resisted the urge to touch your forehead. You must have been bandaged. 

When the nurses saw you were awake, they were nice. Gave you water, ice chips, asked if you were alright. As soon as it was allowed, they let Dipper, Mabel, and Susan into the room.

That was nice. When with them, fussing over you and holding your hand, it didn’t feel real, like it was really done that easy. Easy? We’re calling that easy? At least nobody died. You could almost laugh, you at least smiled. You nearly had, died that is. A couple more good hits and maybe you would have. 

They told you the damages. They changed your bandages. You’d be good to leave eventually. Soonish, maybe. 

Dipper held your hand. You didn’t know how long he’d been there, or how long he was waiting for you. His head was rested on his elbow as he laid it on the thin and uncomfortable mattress. He had a little smile, a shy one halfway hidden behind his arm. You’d asked him to stop inquiring if you were alright, you’d heard that enough. Every once in a while though, he snuck the question in. You could always tell it was coming by the way his eyes hung on your bandaged head.

Mabel brought a weird raunchy werewolf romance novel. That was unexpected. When she came to see you, she grinned when she walked in and pulled it out of her bag like a dramatic reveal, and despite your protests, read it with you. But it grew on your pretty fast. Mabel was right, it was a little funny. Though you halfway suspected that it wasn’t entirely ironic for her.  

They gave you meds: antibodies to prevent infection of the wound, something to help you sleep, pain killers. They gave you spare bandage rolls, to change with. Your head didn’t feel great, but the drugs helped. And then they gave you less of them. 

Eventually, you were discharged. It might’ve been a few days. Aunt Susan took you home. Her home, that is. And had time off to see to it that you were rested and taken care of. Your room felt weird. The last time you’d slept here, it wasn’t you. It was possession, and all your drawers, files, and items had been snooped through and prodded around by Bill looking for any secret that could kill you, physically or otherwise. You gulped as you stepped inside. Bill had left your laptop on the bed. 

Sighing, you moved it to the side table, and sat down on the mattress. It was much softer than the hospitals. You stared at the wall. With headache and a body that wasn’t yours, you’d studied the wall a while back. Looked and memorized every little stain or crack in the paint, and every notch of the trim. You could see this wall if you closed your eyes, probably. 

You slumped back on the bed. This sucked. The sun was high in the sky, maybe midday. And you were here, forced to take it easy. 

You stood slowly, to help the head, and drifted to the bathroom, and eyes caught on the mirror. It was you. You still had a bandage from the roll over your forehead and wrapped around.  You couldn’t even see any red marks on it, on the outside it seemed clean. Soon, you wouldn’t even need the roll, and you could switch to one more akin to a big bandaid. Who knew if that would be more or less comfortable. At least you barely noticed it anymore as it was now. 

It was hard to resist the urge to touch it. Pursing your lips together, you gave in, and ghosted your fingers across so softly you could barely feel it. That accomplished nothing. 

Taking it easy wasn’t all that easy. You realized that much as you leaned on the counter to stare at yourself, with nothing to do. 

Oh shit. You had embarrassing death note-y letters just sitting in Soos’ break room. You could go move those. It would at least get you outside. If they found that, it would be so embarrassing. Yeah, that was something to do. 

You put shoes on. 

“Y/n?” Susan called from the kitchen. Right. She made her way to the doorway. “And where do you think your going?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I was going to stop by the shack,” you started. “Go for a walk, get some fresh air.”

Susan made a face, and you could tell she wasn’t entirely happy. She looked at you, then at the door, then back to you. Sighing, she leaned on the wall. “Y/n, I’d rather you stayed and rested,” she said, worlds clinging to her lips like she wanted to keep them to herself. 

She might’ve been right. “Please?” You asked, shooting a weak smile with brow raised. The way it creased your forehead felt funny under the bandage. You might need to take another painkiller on your way out. Or when you get to the shack… the doctors said you shouldn’t be alone while you were on them. Or drive. 

Susan sighed. “You’re going to be back by dinner time, okay?” 

You nodded, and tried not to let it show that the motion sort of hurt. 

“Okay, go tell them you’re alright,” she relented. 

You smiled, offered a “thanks,” and left with a bag that had a sweater and a bottle of pills.

It was bright. Despite the summer weather, you’d spent so much time locked up indoors lately. That should probably change, you thought. Soon it would. When you were better.

When you got to the shack, you went to the front door to sidestep the gift shop. You glanced at the spot on the grass where the shacks magical barrier had taken affect before, the threshold between freedom and possession. You were over it.

Approaching the door, you were startled when it swung open in front of you. 

“Y-y/n?!” Dipper exclaimed, hovering in the doorway. His jaw has fallen open, eyes wide as they flickered from your forehead to your gaze. “You’re out of the hospital?”

His eyes were burning through you, but mostly you were just glad to see him. Second, you noticed Mabel behind him, and she bounced over to the doorframe, too. “Why didn’t you say anything? We were like, going to see you?”

”Now?” You managed. Had you really not mentioned you were discharged? “It… slipped my mind, I guess,” you mumbled, looking at the wood panel floor. 

Dipper raised his brow, and was doing a bad job hiding his concern. Mabel, too.

“Well, I’m here now, so…” you said, trying to recover from the silence. The state of your head and the after effects of the concussion were a matter for later. You gestured at them in the door, “are you gonna let me in?”

They did not let you in. In fact, they blocked you even more. Dipper and Mabel, breaking from their stunned silence, stepped out to hug you. It probably shouldn’t have caught you off guard, but it did. It took you a moment for you to wrap your arms around them in turn. Wow. Both their hair ended up in your face, and it almost made you sneeze. 

Your eyes stung, and for a moment you thought that hair or fuzz got in them, but no. Your visions grew blurry for a moment as tears threatened to spill. You guys all made it. You were all fine. All friends. You squeezed them, and pressed your eyes shut to try stop the waterworks. You wrapped one arm around Mabel, and one around Dipper, and couldn’t cracked their backs the way you pulled them in. 

They didn’t need your grim death bed letters. They didn’t have any new scars from the possession. You were still here. The last few days had blurred together in the hospital. And your bedroom was just the way Bill left it. But the shack was yours. Theirs, too. More theirs than yours in the physical sense. But more than anything it felt safe, just for you. 

You’d blinked back tears by the time you let go of your friends. You collected your letters without opening them to read again. Their contents were better left forgotten. But you didn’t throw them out. 

The shack was safe. So was outside, you could go anywhere now. Dipper held your hand, and not in the sad way he did at the hospital. Mabel finished her gross werewolf book. And you had the strange feeling that you could, potentially, be okay now. 

Next

Hey fellas. Anyway this is like the epilogue to the angst arc me thinks. I’m not even like satisfied with this chapter but like. Posting. It’s whatever.

And man I’m glad the angst arc is done 😭😭 tell me why I decided to write a long ass angst arc and a death fakeout in my silly gravity falls x reader rom com. I have no idea what I’m cooking sometimes😭

Taglist: @dead-esque @cipheress-to-k-pop @phobo-ss

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Front Row

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: I’m sorry this took so long 😀😀😀 I’m currently dead inside!! (I’m just sick)

Eddie is exhausted as he makes his way to the showers, he just wants to wash off the last fire (where he’d fallen in mud) and go to freaking sleep. He usually didn’t mind the 24-hour shifts, but today was just grating on him and he just wanted to sleep… not to mention his favorite (second to Buck) coworker wasn’t anywhere to be found 

He felt a little embarrassed, the way he noticed you were missing, Hen had just written it off as you’d probably gone to nap or something as she sat on the couch with Chimney and a big bowl of popcorn. But like… he didn’t want you to be napping he wanted to be talking to you, or hanging out or something. Which was where the embarrassing part came in, the exasperated look from Chimney just telling him to go tell you how he felt

Yeah no way in hell, you’d never let him live it down. You might even stop speaking to him altogether. 

He tosses his clothes down on the bench and sighs, adjusting the towel around his waist. Another shower is running in the corner, which is weird considering he knows where the other three men in this station currently are. He walks closer to the curtain and stops cold in his tracks when he hears you

“Oh god… Eddie” 

His heart is pounding in his ears as he awkwardly flails his hands for a minute because what the heck is he supposed to do. He tiptoes like a cartoon character over to the shower next to you and slips into the stall, putting his back to the wall and crouching a little 

“Fuck, fuck harder please” You pant softly and his head is spinning, because you- you said his name and you’re begging him to go harder- sort of 

And god would he go harder if you wanted him to, he’d do anything you wanted him to do. He listens for a minute, tilting his head to hear you better, he wishes the stupid shower would shut off or you’d just be louder?? He doesn’t know he just needs to hear you… to see you. 

He can’t help it, and he feels like such a freaking perv, but he shoves his towel down,  gripping his cock. He can hear your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy, his eyes rolling back at the little noises you make, those sweet whimpers. He strokes his cock in time with your sounds, his heart beating out of his chest 

“Jesus Christ…” He moans, his head falling against the cold tile. His breath catches in his throat as he hears you stop

“U-umm??” Your voice comes from the other side of the stall and Eddie wants to die, he wants to die so so badly right now 

He hears your curtain move, and suddenly your little hand appears around the corner, palm outstretched. He gulps, reaching his hand out, and takes yours. You let out a sadistic little giggle and yank him into the shower with you. He stumbles into the stall, his body pushed up against yours 

“What were you doing?” You put your hands on your hips, glaring him down. Or rather up, he’s so much taller than you are. He looks down at you, his cheeks basically on fire at this point. He’s just supposed to be able to easily answer your question while you’re standing there naked 

“Uh- I just- I- shit” He puts his hand over his eyes, cringing a little 

“I just came to take a shower, what are you doing in here??? This is the men’s room?”

“Everyone knows this is the best shower, the water is hottest here”

“Oh so you just decided to not tell anyone you were in here”

“It’s like 3am Eddie, I would have thought I’d have some privacy… What were you doing?” 

“What were you doing?” He counters and you push his chest 

“I asked first!!” 

He stumbles back and uncovers his eyes “Okay but- okay”

“Yeah, you don’t have an answer! So… what were you doing?!” 

“Maybe… possibly maybe the same thing you were doing” 

Your cheeks flush and your stance softens a bit, you let your hands fall to your sides as you step a bit closer to him 

“W-were you listening to me?” 

“I mean-“ 

“Did- did you hear me?” Your hands come trailing lazily up his arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles under your fingertips and he shudders, a chill going up his spine 

“Did you want me to hear you?” He looks down at you, his gaze darkening as he cups your face

“Did you? Want to hear me?” 

You’re both going back and forth with this, neither willing to take the next step in admitting hell yes you both want this. 

“So like, okay what if I said yes?” Eddie looks at you, his eyes trailing down your body, taking in the sight of the water droplets cascading down your soft skin. 

“Well if you were saying yes” You bite your lip, “I might be saying yes too. But only if you say yes” 

“Okay but why do I have to say yes first?” He asks, his hands coming up your sides and squeezing gently

“Because I don’t want to…” You smile at him coyly and he rolls his eyes playfully. He leans forward, nuzzling his nose against yours and you cup his face, your lips ghosting over his. 

“Soooo?” You mumble and he sighs, his forehead against yours 

“You remember that one time, we fell asleep together on the couch after dinner?” 

“The one Buck has a picture of?” You snicker and he nods, chuckling. 

“Mhm that one” 

“Yeah, what about it?” 

“I stared at that picture for days… I- I had it set as my screensaver for a bit too until Buck caught me. I couldn’t stop looking at you... how pretty you looked with your head on my shoulder, how right it felt to have my arms around you. I woke up actually, before you did. And I didn’t have the heart to move you, I wanted to stay like that forever.”

“You remember that day, that Bobby decided we needed a team-building exercise and we all went to the pool? And like it was totally just an excuse to go swimming because it was so freaking hot?” You bite your lip, your cheeks flushing as Eddie thinks about it 

“Yeah I think so, You wore that stupid Baywatch swimsuit” 

“Okay just because it had high sides does not make it a Baywatch swimsuit” You snort and slap his chest “Anyway god, shut up. I didn’t want to get in because it was too freaking cold” 

“And I tackled you in” He laughs, burying his face in your shoulder and you hit his shoulders again 

“Yeah, you freaking did! And. You brought me back up… and while I was cursing you out, you um- you were kind of-“

“My story was so much more wholesome” He interrupts you again and you groan loudly, “That’s it I’m not-“ 

“No, no, please! Please I promise I’ll shut up now I promise!” 

You glare at him and sigh before continuing “You had me…p-pinned to your body, to keep me warm. And you know, fuck did that make me warm. I’ve never blushed so hard- and you just thought I was upset” 

“I could not get enough of you in that swimsuit, Buck had to reign me in so many times-“ 

“Wait, so you’re saying Buck knows?” You pull away a little and he rolls his eyes again 

“Y/N I’m pretty sure the entire damn team knows at this point.” 

“Knows…what?” You look up at him as if you both hadn’t just clearly admitted you had feelings and he narrows his eyes at you, picking you up and pinning you back against the wall. You squeak and wrap your legs around his waist while clinging to his neck 

“That I’m in love with you.” 

He leans in, his lips finding yours in a soft, tender kiss. It's slow and gentle, filled with a longing that's been brewing between you both for a while.

As your lips part, Eddie deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down your back to cup your hips, pulling you closer. The water continues to pour over you, the only sound in the room besides your soft moans and the rustling of your bodies against each other.

He deeply enjoys holding you in his arms, the new angle allows him to explore your mouth more deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as he presses you against the wall more, the tiles cool against your back.

He can feel your heart racing, mirroring his own. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts and giving them a gentle squeeze.

Eddie finally breaks the kiss, trailing kisses down your neck, nibbling at your skin as he whispers, "I've wanted to do this for so long."

“So have I” You admit quietly, your skin tingling, burning with every place it meets his. 

Eddie's heart swells at your confession. "Then let's not waste any more time," he murmurs, kissing you, his hands exploring your body, cupping your breasts, teasing your nipples, and trailing down your sides. He can feel your desire growing, and it fuels his own, he can’t bear to keep his hands off you 

You squirm against him, your breath hitching when you feel him poking at your entrance. The tip alone seems so thick, that a shudder rolls down your spine and you tilt your head back against the cool tiles

Eddie can't help but smirk at your reaction, his own breath hitching as he feels your wetness against his tip. "Ready for me, Y/N?" He asks, his voice thick with desire.

He waits for your nod before slowly pushing inside you, inch by agonizing inch. He can feel your tightness, your warmth enveloping him, and it sends shivers down his spine.

Your eyes flutter shut, your nails digging into his shoulders as you adjust to his size. Eddie holds still, giving you time to adjust, his own heart pounding in his chest.

He reaches down, his fingers finding your wetness, and he begins to tease you, circling your clit, feeling your body tremble in response. "You're so wet for me, Y/N," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. 

“And y-you’re so fucking big” you pant out, desperately squirming on his cock, and that just drives him crazy 

Eddie grins, his thrusts becoming more urgent now, his hips rocking against yours in a steady rhythm. "You like that, baby girl?" He asks, his voice low and husky, his own pleasure building with each thrust.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as he continues to move inside you. The water continues to pour over you both, the steam filling the room, as you and Eddie lose yourselves in the moment, not caring how much noise you’re making

Your nails dig into his shoulders, your body trembling with pleasure, your moans muffled against his lips. Eddie can't help but groan, his own pleasure building, his heart pounding in his chest.

He reaches between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit again, teasing it with gentle strokes, his thumb brushing against your entrance. Your orgasm hits you suddenly, like a truck. The added sensations send you over the edge, your body convulsing against him as you cry out his name.

Eddie follows suit, his own release washing over him, his body trembling with pleasure as he spills his hot seed inside you. You stand there for a moment, your bodies still connected, your breaths heavy and ragged.

Finally, Eddie pulls out, catching you as you stumble, your legs weak from how hard he was going. He sets you down on the shower floor, his arms around you, holding you close as you both catch your breath.

“Hey, Eddie?” Your hands are shaking as you place them on his chest, feeling his heartbeat as you slide them over his shoulders and hang onto him 

“Hmm?” He seems a little dazed, nuzzling his nose against your neck, inhaling your body wash

“Just so you know, I’m in love with you too” 

“Oh really? I wasn’t sure. I mean I know I just had the best sex of my life-“

You swat his chest as you’re rolling your eyes “Oh shut- wait? Like, like the best sex ever?” 

He chuckles into your shoulder, nodding his head “Mhmmm. Never felt like this before. What about you? Was I enough to rock your world?” 

You grin at him slyly, poking his chest “Yeah but I would say the best” you tease and he smacks your butt, snickering when you yelp 

“Are you shitting me? You were seeing stars baby girl and you know it” 

“Oh I am sooo not feeding your ego” You scoff and he picks you back up, pushing you back against the wall again. You squawk awkwardly and scramble to hold onto him 

“Okay well since you wanna be a brat, I guess I’m just going to have to try again” 

“If that’s what-“

“Jesus Christ please, I’m begging you don’t do it again” You hear Buck's voice from a couple stalls over and you nearly scream 

“Buck!” You flail as Eddie refuses to put you down, laughing into your chest 

“Just tell him it was the fucking best! I just want to shower in peace!!!” He wails dramatically 

“God you two are constantly scarring me for life”

[katyawriteswhump]

Closer–a stranger summer/steddie microfic

For @astrangersummer wk 4 prompts, outdoors/camping and @steddiemicrofic May prompt, ‘top.’ Thank you also to @bananahoneycomb and yesdanger for inspiration on discord :) All my stranger things fic are also here on AO3

Rating: M CW: sex Words: 510  Tags: established steddie, hurt/comfort, smut, nightmares, cute, fluff, post s4 eddie lives, top eddie, bottom steve.

...

Eddie rolled into another excruciatingly uncomfortable position on the lumpy earth.

“The great outdoors sucks,” he informed the Milky Way, which swept above him. “It's a one-way-ticket to insomnia-ville.”

In the adjacent sleeping bag, Steve snored softly.

This had been Steve’s idea: “We saved the world. It totally owes us good times.”

Nonsensically to Eddie, 'good times’ included sleeping on a hilltop under the stars.

Now, Eddie rested his chin in his hand and watched Steve sleep. Steve looked pretty, bathed in moonlight. Eddie’s heart swelled with love. Christ, if he told Steve how cute his sleepy snufflings were, Steve would chew his head off.

Wouldn’t change my bitchy darling for a sell-out gig at the Garden…

Steve gasped, began fighting his sleeping bag. “No! Robin!”

“Sssssh, Babe.” Eddie leaned over Steve, whose arm escaped his cocoon, flailing wildly.  “Ow!”

Steve sat up. “Wha—?”

“Bad dream?” Eddie rubbed his nose, not exactly stunned. The nightmares usually started when they both slept, and Steve rolled out of Eddie’s arms. “Bats or creepy vines, honey?”

“Both.” Steve blinked. “Shit, did I..?”

“You’re no demo-bat. See? No blood.”

Steve buried his fingers in his messy hair. “Jesus, I’m sorry. This idea was dumb. Thank Christ the kids ditched us, Robin cycled home, and—"

“Shhh.” Eddie pressed his forefinger to Steve’s lips. “I got to watch your ass go as you raced to the summit. Totally worth it.” Steve’s mouth quirked toward a smile. “Besides, it’s my turn to look after you. In hospital, you sat with me so long, Wayne complained he couldn’t get a front-row seat. Cuddle?”

Steve nodded, squeezed into Eddie’s sleeping bag. Spooning Steve from behind, Eddie rubbed circles on Steve’s belly, till Steve stopped trembling.

Eddie might’ve dozed off then. However, his dick nestled against Steve’s ass…

“Seriously?” Steve scrubbed against Eddie’s semi.

“Up for it, honey?”

“Totally. But the kids—"

“—lit a campfire miles away.”

“Fine. I wanna feel something other than my skin crawling with horror.”

Eddie wrapped his hand around Steve’s dick.

“Not that,” Steve mumbled. “Want to feel you in me, dipshit.”

“Your wish is my command, Princess.”

“Shut the fu—Gnng!”

Eddie hand-jobbed Steve into a frenzy anyhow, then worked his fingers into Steve, slicked with lube and mingled juices. When Eddie finally eased inside, Steve clenched super-hard about him, which was super-sweet.

Nearly pushed Eddie over the edge waaaaay too soon. He paused, relishing Steve’s growling gasps.

“You finally snoozing, Munson?”

“Nope. Finally waking up.”

He fucked Steve hard. Steve finally quit complaining: “Yes. Th-there. Pleeease… Christ!”

They both came hard—Steve yelling and messily—before snuggling in Steve’s fresh sleeping bag.

Seven hours later, Steve flipped over in the circle of Eddie’s arms.

“Good sleep, Stevie?”

“Best in forever. Love being so close. You?”

“Pretty shitty. I crave my soft mattress. Buuuut… I've a theory what might stop the nightmares.” Steve started apologising. Eddie kissed Steve’s nose: “I reckon we should try sharing my sleeping-bag every night, home-sweet-home in bed.”

“Okay,” mumbled Steve. “Jesus, I came all over the thing! Let’s launder it first, right?”

[urfrenfishy]

Do You Hear Marimbas?

A New Jersey Rats Short Story - M4A - Implied Masc Presenting Listener

I do not own these characters they are all made by the wicked @escapedaudios , this is a fan fiction of said characters :)

notes: this is my first time writing on tumblr please be nice idk how to format this shit, also this takes place a month after the new orlean rats

Intern breathed in, breathed out. This is meant to be fun, it’ll be fun...right?

It had been weeks since Jean and the brothers had told them about Stacy. It had been weeks since they and the brothers planned this. They had weeks of rehearsals. Alone.

Why was this so different? Jean and the brothers the only audience members and they rented out the whole fucking building! Jean won't care if they mess up, he wasn't even aware this was happening to begin with.

God, what were they thinking?! Oh yeah, let's put Intern on a stage in some fancy clothes and they'll sing all sexy for Jean! At a rented-out jazz club! They're sure that's exactly what Jean would like as an impromptu seven-month anniversary gift. A reminder of his ex.

God, they'll probably look so pathetic. Like really? Jazz singing just because his ex was a singer? Talk about insecurity.

But...wait no- this was never a jealousy thing. At least, they never wanted it to be. Well, maybe a little- but come on, you find out your lover's ex was a sexy jazz club singer, and he settled for an accounting intern who has about the same amount of social skills as a Batman villain. You'd feel a little insecure too.

So- no, they wouldn't say this was a jealousy thing, because they knew that Jean wouldn't leave them, or at least, wouldn't leave them over Stacy. They weren't worried about Stacy. Maybe...maybe they just wanted to prove they could be as...cool as she was? Yeah. Cool. They'll try their best.

----------

"Aight Jean, sit right...there," Badaboom explained as he gripped Jean's shoulders.

"Guys- what's- what is going on right now? I mean, when you put a sack over my head and shoved me in the driver's seat of a car- only to make me drive. With the sack still on my head. Honestly, I don't even know how we survived the trip but- Anyway! What- what are we doing at a jazz club? And why-"

As Jean prattled on, Badabing sat him down, front row. And cut him off because Jesus Christ, Jean.

"Okay okay okay- Jean- Jeany boy, just- just chill out alright? You're gonna like this, we promise!"

The music started (a slightly pitched-up version of Michael Bublé's Sway) and Jean couldn't help but grunt a witty remark.

"You promising anything doesn't actually promise any-"

Then they walked out, he heard them even before he saw them. The click of heels against waxed tempered hardboard. As he turned his head, he felt time slow. They..He had never felt like this before. There was no way to describe it. He couldn’t believe they settled for him. 

At first, he only saw their shoes, he didn't realize they would be so close. Then their legs, god- their legs. Finally, he was able to meet their eyes, only to find they were already locked on his. They weren't wearing their glasses, could they even see him? Doesn't matter. The spotlight behind them, a halo. An angel.

Then they started to sing.

Jean wasn't even listening to the lyrics. Just them. Just their tone. Their cadence. Their eyes. God, he loved them so much.

As the first verse began, they lifted the mic off of its stand and started walking, never breaking their gaze. Jean had never seen them like this. Sure, they knew how to set a mood, and they were pretty charismatic when they wanted to be, but this. Their confidence. Even the way they walked- it was a strut, honestly.

He could feel Badabing staring at him with a shit-eating grin.

"Yeah you're definitely bi-cycleul or however you say it..."

Jean couldn't afford to look away so he just sort of.. whacked his hand around the shorter man's general vicinity to shut him up.

A music break. A moment to focus on the physical alone. And god knows there was a lot to focus on.

Where did they even get that outfit? Jean had never seen it before, did they buy it just for this? Well- yeah that would make sense they had enough money for a lifetime supply of new outfits if they wanted.

Their skin shined under the spotlight, so did their clothes, their hair. But somehow their eyes were always visible- never drowned out in beams.

And soon they were singing again.

"Other dancers may be on the floor,"

Every sway and footstep was a dance. Jean couldn't even imagine how much time they put into this.

"Dear, but my eyes will see only you,"

They stared at him, into him. They reached their hand out to him and it took everything for him not to reach back, he could even feel his hand starting to rise all on its own.

"Only you have that magic technique,"

They receded their hand, twisting the mic back onto its stand and jutting it beside them as if it were their dance partner.

"When we sway, I go weak."

Their knees bent and the mic was dipped, their eyes shut as they held the note, and their eyebrows curled upwards; they almost looked sad. It was beautiful. Jean wasn't ashamed to say he was pretty envious of the mic at that moment.

As they seamlessly transitioned from lyric to lyric, Jean was positively awed. How could they sing a line so- so...seductively? Then immediately jump to the next lyric like it didn't even happen! It was like magic. Hypnosis.

The last chorus, the last verse. Jean didn't think he would survive.

Each note just kept climbing higher, he didn't know they had a range like...like this. Sure, he had heard them singing in the shower occasionally, or in the kitchen when they thought he couldn't hear but...never like this.

They held onto the mic and reached down to Jean, their glove becoming God's hand, and Jean had become their Adam. If only Michelangelo could see humanity now.

The final note was held. Their head momentarily snapped to the left to briefly bend into the mic before it snapped back forward again. And the performance was over. Jesus. Christ.

----------

They did it. They actually did it. Holy shit, they- they didn't think they'd actually be able to. Knowing their luck they would have tripped on a cord or had a voice crack so bad they'd permanently lose their voice or something but, no they- they really did it!

Sure they probably strained some notes at the end there, and they were so sweaty. Those lights were so hot. They hoped it didn't show. Jean was still staring. Did he like it? He looked like he liked it, but- you can never tell can you?

They were breathing so heavily. This outfit felt so heavy. They really hoped he liked it. They just kept their eyes on him.

Clapping. Oh- The brothers were clapping. Cheering even. And Jean followed. He stood up, cupping his mouth and practically yelling in support. He was always so supportive.

Jean ran up to the edge of the stage as they walked to him. He practically jumped them as he helped them off the edge. Just as their shoes grazed the floor, Jean's arms were already around them.

"Sweetheart that was- I- I don't even have the words-"

They laughed, and he laughed with them. They were so relieved. He didn't think it was weird.

"I'm...I'm just glad you liked it," They rested their hand on his chest, his heart was pounding.

"Liked it? Of course, I liked it, you- you were...I mean- you were fucking gorgeous," His voice grew quiet as his forehead rested on theirs. They loved it when he did this. They felt so close.

They felt even closer when he kissed them. Definitely closer then.

"Alright lovebirds, cut it out, don't make us singles feel too homicidal," Badabing blurted as he shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I don't know, I 'tink it's sweet," His taller brother defended.

"Well, no one asked you, did they?"

Intern always was amazed how those two could turn anything into an argument. The 'lovebirds' chuckled to each other at the sight. Then they felt him tugging on their hand. They turned, he was pulling them towards the stage.

As they walked, the intern gripped his hand tightly and whispered, almost overtaken by the noise of the brothers.

"What are you doing?"

Jean smiled and turned his head to them as they both walked up the steps of the stage, "Taking us backstage."

Oh? Backstage? Alone? Well damn, they thought they performed well but not that well, but they're not complaining.

As soon as the two of them got into the wings, the intern was met with another kiss, a deeper kiss than before.

"Baby- Do- are we really gonna do this here? I mean Badabing and-"

Jean cut them off. His hands gripped their arms.

"You didn't do this because of Stacy right?"

And just like that. Mood, gone. Jean had an unparalleled ability to do that. Intern probably wasn't much better. It took them a second to respond.

"That's...a good question actually, I don't...think so?"

He stared at them, his lips pursed.

"You don't...think.. so?"

"Well- I- Okay it's not- I'm not jealous. I swear to god I'm not. I just...I don't know- I guess- I guess I just wanted to prove myself," They looked down, smiling at the stupidity of it all.

He tilted his head in confusion and inched closer.

"Prove yourself of what?"

"To prove to myself that I'm worthy of you?"

Jean sighed, managing a sad smile. His hands slid from their arms to their back, pulling them towards him. A hug. He breathed in the scent of their hair and they breathed in the scent of his shirt.

"You don't have to prove anything, honey, you've already got me," Jean comforted while he rubbed their back.

"I know," They dug their fingers into his shirt, the fabric felt cool compared to how high their body temperature was.

He slid his hands down and hugged their waist and began to shift his weight back and forth. Soon, so did they. Swaying.

Jean kissed the top of their head.

"I love you so much."

They smiled into the crook of his neck, he felt it.

"I love you too." 

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 4

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |-| Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12

AO3

Summary: Years before Susie's arrival at Thorpe Abbotts, one fateful loss changes the course of her life forever

Warnings: Grief, death, language, ANGST, dysfunctional family idk

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

January, 1941

The church was quiet, rows of pews worn and bare. Sunlight flooded in through the tall, narrow windows, casting blocks of light against whitewashed walls, and the low, gentle chatter of guests in the doorway did nothing to rouse Susie from her daze, huddled at the furthest end of the front row of pews, tucked into the corner as if it would make her invisible. An old bible rested on the bench beside her, tattered and yellowed, and she ran her thumb across the blunted corners of the paper, never venturing far enough to open it, the words repulsive to her.

Her mother's voice always plucked itself from a crowd, that warm, Irish lilt in stark contrast against the rough, Mancunian drawl possessed by her children, as if they belonged to the city before they did her. She didn't bother listening in to the others' conversations - didn't try to distinguish the voices of strangers from those of her blood. None of them could have had anything even remotely interesting to say to her.

The pew creaked beside her, and Susie glanced up as Beatrice took her seat, leaving a few metres of separation between the pair of them. Three years her elder, her sister dressed head-to-toe in black, gloved hands clutching at her purse, hair curling neatly below her ears, immaculately done makeup obscured by the veil that hung in front of her face. Susie looked down at her own clothes - a white button down, an old brown skirt - it wasn't right, wasn't traditional or proper, but it was what she had.

"No husband?" She asked, a hint of an edge lacing her voice. Beatrice sucked in a long breath, chest heaving with the weight of it.

"No. He's busy."

"I bet he is."

Finally turning to look at her, venom in her gaze, Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, Susie already itching to interrupt her. But both fell silent, jaws snapping shut as another figure sat down in between them, a human barrier to prevent the inevitable spat before it could form.

"Always classy, girls," Sally huffed, newborn cradled in one arm, the other elbow propped up against the back of the pew as she kept an eye on her other son.

Beatrice sighed, posture relaxing as she let go of the offensive. No one questioned Sally - the eldest sister who had lifted them in her arms the way she now did her own children, who had wiped their tears and cleaned their scraped knees when their parents had been preoccupied. So much older and wiser than the rest of them, there was a removal there, as if she could no longer quite be considered their sister, their equal.

Susie shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as a dull ache shot through her thigh. She could feel Sally's gaze fixed on her. "Susie," She spoke gently, the infant in her arms gurgling away to itself. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"Four hours."

"Jesus Christ," Beatrice muttered, staring up at the altar, unable to tear her eye from the framed photo of Ellie that beamed back at them. They'd chosen a photo of her as a child - why had they done that? That wasn't the Ellie she'd pulled from the rubble the morning after the bombs had fallen. That wasn't the Ellie shut away inside the casket. She didn't remember her that way. Anyone who did wasn't welcome here in Susie's eyes.

A clatter of books against the stone floor sounded behind them as Sally's other son knocked over a pile of Bibles, guilt flushing his cheeks a bright red as the crowd gathered by the door turned to stare. With a quick summons from his mother, he scrambled to his seat, little feet dangling over the edge of the pew, hands fidgeting restlessly. She heaved a long, heavy sigh, unable to look at the altar for more than a few seconds at a time. "At least she's with dad now."

Susie hummed. She didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t believe in God anymore.

They were separated irreparably now. Even today, not everyone was here. Ronnie and Patrick were still away fighting overseas, and Nancy had been noisily sobbing in the back corner since she arrived, her son sitting awkwardly in the opposite pew waiting for it all to be over. The sound of footsteps along the aisle drew Susie's gaze, and something lifted within her.

"Owen," She breathed, jumping to her feet and bounding over to meet her big brother. His eyes were bloodshot, gaze jittery and unable to meet hers - but then again, he never had liked to look her in the eye. She didn't mind it. Her hand found his arm, pressing reassuringly against the sleeve of his uniform, adorned with the emblem of the RAF Medical Services. "Come sit down, yeah?"

"Is-... Is she in the box?" He asked quietly, nervously glancing at the pallbearers.

Susie frowned, brow drawn. "No," She lied. "No, Ellie's not in there. It's just tradition - what Ma wanted."

"Ok. Yeah, ok, I'll sit," Owen nodded, and she noticed the fresh tears soaking the cuff of his sleeve from where he'd wiped them away on his way in. She offered him the seat that had once been hers, letting him press his body into the wood at the end of the bench, shying away from the crowds, shoulder hunched to avoid brushing against hers. Owen had never quite been considered normal - Ronnie used to get into trouble for beating other boys up at school in defence of his little brother - but it had only meant he never minded that Susie wasn't quite normal either. There was a solidarity in that, a shared acceptance that they weren't how the world tried to shape them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everyone cried during the ceremony. Everyone except Susie.

A nauseating guilt swelled within her as her brother and sisters quietly wept at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could, willing a tear to fall, manifesting some sign of the grief within. What must they have thought of her? Her cold stare overseeing it all, flinching at every prayer. It was the perfect protestant funeral, the kind only their mother could have mustered.

She couldn't have left fast enough once it was all over, Owen's gentle grip on her cardigan using her as a guide through the crowds as they wormed their way through towards the door. Their house was a mere five doors down from the church, a looming presence throughout their childhood, a lingering reminder that someone was watching. But even in her home, she wasn't spared the misery.

Susie scarcely recognised half the people at Ellie's wake - crowding the kitchen, sitting in their chairs and lingering in the stairwell. What did any of them know - truly know - about her sister? Had they even had time to know her? Nineteen was too young to die. Too young for death to have any meaning. If the bombs had to kill someone, they should've killed Susie. At least then there'd have been some semblance of military strategy to it. No one won wars by slaughtering teenagers.

There was an empty cup in her hand as she sat at the kitchen table. She couldn't remember what had been in it. Upon the stove, the kettle was boiling, splitting the din of chatter with its unrelenting squeal. She squeezed the glass so tight she worried it might shatter, knuckles turning white with the pressure. Her mother passed behind her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair, warm palm skimming against her scalp. She wanted it to stay, wanted to lean back into it, but it was gone as soon as it came. Susie pushed her chair out, the legs screeching across the floor, bumping into a man she'd never met as she stood up, shouldering her way to the door.

It was almost silent in the attic, layers of brick and wood muffling the sound of voices. Laying back on her bed, she stared up at the roofing beams, the lingering smell of Ellie's perfume permeating the bedsheets. From the day she'd been old enough to leave the crib they'd shared this bed, shunting Patrick onto the narrow one in the corner - this was the girls' space, the floral quilts a private temple where only they existed. Lying on her side of it now, it felt uneven, like the whole thing would lose balance and tip over sideways, Ellie's presence necessary to its survival. Or maybe she was just necessary for Susie's.

Dust floated on the air, catching the light that flowed in through a leak in the ceiling. Her hand rested on the other side of the bed, the vague imprint of Ellie's body still engraved into the old mattress. It needed replacing years ago, but suddenly it was invaluable. On Christmas Eve night, the night after she'd died, Susie had stayed up all through the dark, lying in the impression of her sister, terrified it would lose her outline if she just left it there. But it never did.

The house had never been so full and so empty. Her brothers were aiding the war effort, billeted all over the place. Her sisters had all gotten married - found their own homes to raise their own children. She and Ellie had stayed up here in their attic, tucked beneath the covers like little girls again.

A creak on the stairs ripped her from her trance, her mother's head peering up through the trap door.

"I didn't know you were up here."

"That's ok."

Each floorboard let out an agonised creak as she crossed them, hands folded nervously at her front. Freshly forty years old, she looked at least a decade older, heavy bags of exhaustion tugging down on her eyelids. She wore the only black dress she owned, spotted with white polka dots, a stubborn coffee stain browning the hem where she could never quite scrub it away. The bed rocked towards Ellie's side as she climbed beneath the sheets, laying down in the space she had once owned.

All at once she seemed a child, tugging the blankets up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut as if willing sleep to claim her. She turned into Susie's side, pulling in a long breath. She wondered if she could smell Ellie here too.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked meekly, like a girl begging her parents after a nightmare.

Susie's head lolled to the side, brow furrowed as she looked over at her. "Yeah, sure Ma. I'll go downstairs."

"Please don't."

It was silent for a while. Then the rustling of sheets sounded as Susie turned onto her side facing away from her mother, unable to bear staring at her for too long. She scarcely knew the woman lying next to her. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd climbed the steps to read them to sleep up here. Long gone were the days when Susie wished she would, but her absence could still be read in the room - in the drawings on the walls that no one had ever been scolded for, that no one had ever tried covering up because no one ever came to see them. This was their own little world, and she wasn't sure she wanted her mother up here at all.

"I'm sorry if I was a bad Ma," She spoke, voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

Susie took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with it. "You tried."

If nothing else, she knew that was true. Her mother had tried. She'd made half a dozen breakfasts with a baby on one hip. She'd read every report card and double-checked their homework when she managed to understand it. She'd stifled the pain of becoming a widow to tend to the pain of a bumped head or bruised elbow.

But she'd also let them go to bed hungry. She'd lied to their schools about their birthdays so they could drop out before their time. She'd been too poor and had too many children, and Susie wasn't sure she'd ever forgive her for it.

She needed to leave this house. The prospect of sleeping alone in this bed was worse than any other fate she could imagine. Already she could feel herself sticking - if she didn't tear herself away now she never would. Could she truly face driving past the wreckage of the factories every day on her way to Ridgeway? It would take months to rebuild. Months of remembering the moment she'd see her face, blood streaking through the brick dust, eyes half open and unseeing.

"Get some sleep. I'll bring you up some tea when everyone's left," Susie muttered, peeling the sheets away from her body and climbing out of bed, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her palms.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Beatrice stood on the doorstep, a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting in front of her face as she watched a child play in the gutter outside the wash house across the yard. The four walls that encircled their court of back-to-backs had once been their entire world. She remembered it looking bigger than this. There were rumours they'd be knocking houses like these down soon - no one wanted to move into them, these dilapidated remnants of a time long passed.

The sound of feet scuffing against tile alerted her to Susie's presence, sliding into the doorway beside her, wordlessly extending her hand for a cigarette. Beatrice passed one to her, holding out a lighter, the pair exhaling puffs of smoke simultaneously.

Who were they to each other? Susie stared back at her sister and realised she didn't have any idea.

"Ellie always used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up," She mused, watching on as the child across the yard was hurried inside by its mother, casting them a sympathetic glance as she went.

"She asked everyone that."

"Yeah. But she asked me the most, 'cause I never had an answer."

"Do you have one now?"

"... Don't think so."

The war made dreams insignificant. Nothing was about how they wanted to live anymore, everything was about what others needed them to be.

Beatrice had long discarded her hat, its presence remembered in the halo of frizz it left behind around her scalp. "What did she want to be again?"

"It was a ballerina for a while, then a painter I think. Or a writer. Might've been both."

"Don't forget when she wanted to be a scientist."

"Of course. And a pilot."

They'd begun to smile. When it had happened, she couldn't recall. But Ellie's mind had always been so far away, so filled to burst with a million dreams and ideas and fantasies that no one had any clue what she would go on to do. In the end, she did nothing. She had wished to change the world, and she had died on the floor of a textile mill.

A man in uniform came down the alleyway into the yard, hands folded politely behind his back as he approached the house. His gaze was fixed on Beatrice, as if Susie wasn't there at all.

"Car for you, ma'am."

"Thanks," She nodded, stomping her cigarette butt out on the front step. Taking a few steps away from the house, she turned, letting out a sigh as she fumbled with her purse. "Let Mum know I've gone, yeah? And Nancy."

"You're not staying for dinner?"

For a moment a look of shock flashed across her sister's face, as if appalled she'd even ask. "No. I need to be back in London by the time William gets home."

"Why? Not like you cook or anything."

Beatrice stared at her for a moment, grip on her bag tightening. "Mind your business, Susie."

Susie flicked her cigarette into the puddle at her sister's feet, the door closing on her with a slam. As she came inside, Nancy reached the bottom of the stairs, glancing out of the window behind her.

"Beatrice left?"

"Fucking bitch," She muttered, dragging one of the chairs away from the table to sit down.

"Don't say that."

"Fine. I love it when she comes up here in her fancy car to grace us with her condescending presence and remind us all that she doesn't have to be poor anymore."

Nancy gnawed at the inside of her cheek, wordlessly refilling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. Her eyes were still red, and Susie suspected she'd gone upstairs to cry again. She'd always been the sensitive one of the bunch.

"I'm moving out," She said, the words seeming to echo back to her in the tiny kitchen.

"... Alright." Nancy nodded, something tight in her tone, as if she'd spoken through clenched teeth. "... Where will you go?"

"I was looking at Norfolk. There's some positions open down there, I could actually get promoted."

"That's a long way."

"... Yeah, Nance."

That's the fucking point.