#Out-of-Town Tryouts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coolwyous · 20 days ago

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┈─★ 𝘪'𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙬 .

⊹ ࣪ ˖ you give yourself three rules as you make it onto the women’s volleyball team: 1. don’t fail any classes, 2. don’t get kicked off the team, and 3. don’t fall in love with any of your teammates. the first two are easy enough. but after meeting the team’s broody, guarded team captain, you realize you’ll have to try very hard not to fall in love with sophia laforteza.

ˎˊ˗ 🌌 ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: volleyball captain!sophia laforteza x f!volleyball player!reader.

➴ genre + wc: 15k, slow burn, onesided rivals to lovers, angst and fluff, ice queen sophia, she turns mommy so fast, reader is lowkey a big dork.

➴ you might want to tune in...: pov - ariana grande. ♫

┈─★ a/n: my first sophia fic <3 long overdue and now i'm lowkey addicted i fr miss being a sophia bias..... hope you guys enjoy, lmk what u think!! <3

“cyclones’ beloved libero retiring due to injury.”

you remember reading the article, at the end of your first semester in community college. your best friend put the idea in your head. malibu is a 6 hour drive from your small town, but you hop on the bus with a crazy, stupid idea, and pray it’s crazy enough to work.

you step into the gym and let out a deep breath. this is your ticket into something bigger.

“hi, um, y/n y/ln,” you greet the coach, recognizing her from all the articles you had read. “i emailed you guys.”

the assistant coach perches his arms on his hips and gives you a look of disbelief. “a walk on?”

you swallow down nervously. it’s not ideal, to be infiltrating this practice before their season has even started, a shot in the dark in the hopes that they haven’t already started training up a new libero. what even is your game plan? waltz up, show off your skills, and pray they see your potential enough to recruit you on the spot?

(well, yes, that is the plan, but it doesn’t make it any less intimidating to have all these eyes start to draw to you, as if you’re invading their secret space.)

you try to avoid the attention your presence is bringing to you and stay focused on the conversation with the two coaches.

“freshman?” they ask.

“sophomore,” you clarify, before clearing your throat nervously. “i play libero.”

“why didn’t i see you during the off season?” he asks.

“i played club, i was homeschooled,” you explain simply, as they both turn to each other to review something between themselves. you feel so awkward, an outsider, dressed up to play, to beg for a chance to join a team that’s already got so much synergy between them.

“i remember you—” the coach says, but before he can say anything else, there’s the sharp crack of a ball landing directly in between the two of you. you jump back in shock, looking up to meet the intense gaze of a dark haired girl, eyes fixed on you. you swallow down nervously, and she walks up with a calculated coldness that makes your chest tense.

“this team hasn’t had a walk-on in years,” the girl says sharply. you’re shocked about how much she’s heard despite you guys talking quietly. did the coaches mention you and your impromptu tryout today? you try to flash her a smile to indicate you’re no harm, but she instantly sharpens her eyes at you. “not sure why you’re smiling. arrogance isn’t cute.”

her thick, dark hair is pulled back into a perfect ponytail, kept out of her eyes by a wide headband. her eyes are dark, intense, and feel like they’re looking through you. everything about her screams composure— her kneepads are in perfect condition, her shoes are perfectly unscuffed, her tshirt tucked perfectly into her shorts in a way that makes you almost confused as to how she doesn’t have a single wrinkle. everything about this girl just looks so unrealistically perfect.

“no, yeah, totally,” you stammer, watching as she picks the ball up off the ground. you shake your head. “not trying to be cocky. sorry.”

“easy, soph,” the coach waves her off, before turning back to you. “y/n, join us for practice today. we’ll do a scrimmage at the end and see if you’re up to snuff.”

you nod appreciatively, and all you can feel are the harsh eyes of this girl burning a hole in the side of your head.

the coach motions for you to go get stretched, and you jog over to the other girls, waving as politely as you can manage. much to your relief, they welcome you warmly, encouraging you to warm up with them. you try to avoid looking back behind your shoulder, out of fear that the girl is still glaring you down.

you join the girls as they all get into their first warmups, and you end up directly behind this girl in the line to practice setting. you want to extend an olive branch, to express that you’re excited to get a chance to practice with them, that you’ve admired their team for a while and you recognize her as one of the best setters on the west coast conference.

she doesn’t give you a chance, shooting an icy gaze over her shoulder at you.

“don’t get in my way,” she warns simply, running up as the ball comes her way to make the first set.

“i’ll do my best,” you breathe.

by the time their practice ends, you’re dripping sweat, but it’s been fun to enjoy playing with a team like this all over again. your community college team was nothing in comparison, these girls are elite on several levels above what you’ve ever seen. but it excites you, and it makes you hopeful that with how good you’ve gotten over the years, you can convince them this is where you belong.

the assistant coach waves you over, and you comply immediately.

“what were your grades like?” he asks, looking over something on a clipboard.

“good,” you say quickly, your eyes widening. “why?”

the head coach interrupts, smiling broadly. “wanna play volleyball for me?”

“no way,” you breathe. “if you’re joking that’s super mean.”

“you’ll be our newest cyclone,” she beams, holding out her hand to you for a shake. “i’ll figure out application stuff with you. scholarship might not come until you’ve completed the season, but academics might be enough to get you through the first semester. welcome to the team.”

“thank you for the chance,” you breathe, feeling the emotion bubbling in your chest. “you have no idea how excited i am.”

you know most of the girls are looking at this point, but you feel one set of eyes harsher than the rest of them. you try to ignore it and not let it ruin this moment for you.

you get moved into campus and set your mind to ensure that the next practice you go to, you give it your all, eager to prove yourself to the girls on this team. you try to show up to the court early, and you quickly realize making friends might not actually be impossible, considering a majority of the girls are extremely friendly and even more eager to welcome you than you are to introduce yourself.

“y/n, hey!” they call out excitedly, waving to you where you’re already stretching.

you spend the next chunk of warmups small talking with your new teammates, doing your best to memorize their names and whatever quirks you pick up about each of them.

“were you seriously homeschooled?” manon, a junior, tilts her head at you curiously.

“it made it easier to focus on volleyball,” you smile. sure, it’s kind of lame you didn’t get to have the same high school experience as most other people, but you got the chance to travel all over with your club team, and the skills it gave you were obviously good enough to land you here, so you can’t be too upset at how it panned out for you.

“people ask me if i was homeschooled,” megan, a chatty brunette, blurts. “whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

lara lets out a laugh. “oh, you know exactly what it-”

“look busy,” daniela warns quickly, cutting you all off as her eyes go wide.

you’re not quite sure what she could mean by that, but the moment you look up, you realize someone is coming towards you.

sophia laforteza, you quickly learned her name. the no-nonsense, scarily-intense team captain of the malibu state university cyclones.

by the time you realize why daniela freaked out, you look around to realize the rest of them have jumped into very serious stretches. you quickly reach for your knees and pull them up to your chest, trying to look like you’re actually stretching.

“supreme leader sophia,” manon nods. you think the interaction is harmless enough, but somehow, it’s enough to set the captain off.

“bannerman, go take a lap,” she snaps quickly. manon groans but complies, standing up and starting to jog around the court. your palms start to sweat, but sophia eyes your group and moves on, and you breathe a little easier as the distance between you increases.

“so serious,” lara mumbles under her breath.

“is she always like this?” you ask, eyeing her nervously as you all keep stretching.

“no. she’s playing it up for the newbies,” daniela rolls her eyes.

“uh yes, yes she is always like that,” megan pushes back, shaking her head. “strict as hell.”

sophia’s voice cuts in from several yards away where she stands.

“you can take a lap too, skiendiel.”

“fuck,” megan groans, standing up. “how the fuck can you even hear me, leader?”

you bite back a laugh at megan’s nickname for the captain. you had heard manon call her that too, leader, but figured it was a teasing thing. not something all the girls joined in on.

“i have a sixth sense for complaining,” sophia says dryly.

as if sophia’s warmup drills weren’t enough, practice itself is absolutely grueling. you realize this team is no joke, and if you’re going to keep up, you’re going to have to take this extremely seriously.

“bro, my asscheeks,” megan whines as you guys reach the end of the 2 hour practice, each of you dripping in sweat. your legs are shaking and you wonder how the hell you’re planning to keep up with such an intense team.

but sophia laforteza waltzes by, her skin barely glistening with sweat, not a single hair out of place in her ponytail.

“more complaining, damn. if you’ve got the energy for that, then you’ve got another lap in you, skeindiel,” sophia grins, almost devilishly. you want to laugh— she seems borderline insane, but you can tell it doesn’t come from a place of true intent to harm.

“oh yeah? what if i fucking die, then what?” megan pushes back, tossing her head back in exhaustion.

“so dramatic, megan, you know it’s okay to shut up every once in a while?” manon groans, sensing where the youngest girl’s complaints are about to land them.

you can sense it too, after having witnessed sophia’s reaction earlier, and as predicted, sophia’s eyes sharpen as megan responds.

“i think we’ll all take an extra lap, just to show megan some support,” sophia announces, whistling quickly to catch the team’s attention. you hear a collective groan from everyone, and your coaches simply laugh at you all. you can tell that sophia’s ability to keep you guys practicing is something they’ve approved— all her power is clearly given from the people in charge, probably for good reason.

“meiyok, i’m going to fucking kill you,” daniela grits irritatedly.

“you like seeing people suffer,” manon groans at sophia as she stands up from where she was laying and begins to jog off.

“walk-on can handle it,” sophia says, pointing at you, surprising you that she’s chosen to bring you into it. “that’s the only person i hear not complaining, actually.”

you can’t help but find the nickname endearing. maybe it’s the worst timing possible, but it brings a smile to your face.

“walk-on?” you tilt your head. “is that supposed to be me?”

sophia arches a brow, turning her head to orient towards you. “problem?”

“surely you could have come up with something more creative?” you grin.

you hear a collective gasp from your teammates. something tells you that trying to banter with sophia laforteza is a very big, very dumb mistake.

“you know, maybe you, megan, and manon can finish with some burpees while the rest of us cool down,” sophia says, her jaw hardening. “see if that helps your attitude problem.”

i don’t have an attitude problem, you want to push back by saying, but you realize this girl is probably on a rampage, and getting in her way is a death wish. you bite your tongue and start the last lap, mentally preparing for the extra task sophia has given you.

“damn,” you gasp for breath, collapsing on the floor after the three of you finally finish.

“that was rough,” manon groans, only for megan to gag and dry heave in response.

“i’m going to puke and the season hasn’t even started yet,” the youngest whines.

“she usually loves the newbies,” dani says in surprise, having waited for you guys with lara as the rest of the team headed off to the locker room. “not sure what you did to her.”

“you replaced—” megan starts, but manon quickly cuts her off.

“oh shit,” manon nods. “that makes sense.”

“the old libero,” lara realizes, looking at you. “they were really close.”

“where is she now?” you ask curiously.

“she took a gap year,” megan tells you, and the others look amongst themselves anxiously. “mommy sophia’s been sensitive about it. those two did everything together.”

“mommy sophia?” you laugh, but they gloss over it, clearly dead serious.

“megan…” lara warns.

“what? she hasn’t always been this angry,” megan holds her hands up to defend herself. “serious, yeah, intense, yeah, a little scary, also yeah, but not this flat out angry.”

“no, i get it,” you shake your head, trying to empathize. “i wouldn’t want my business all out there either. not a great look. we don’t have to keep talking about it.”

the small group gives you a look of approval as you all head towards the locker room.

“i miss the old sophia,” megan admits quietly under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

——

your dorm isn’t perfect, but the malibu state campus is absolutely gorgeous, and being a 10 minute walk from the beach is enough to make up for your broken window and slightly unnerving roommate that won’t say a word to you. sure, you miss your home city, but it isn’t the end of the world, and the girls on your team are so friendly, it makes the homesickness even easier to handle than you imagined.

(at least, most of the girls on your team are friendly.)

you spot her on the first day of class, sitting alone at a 2 person table in your humanities class. you approach her without hesitation, just how you would for anyone else you know.

“hey! we have a class together. just my luck, huh?” you beam, excited to see a familiar face, dropping your backpack down on the table with a thud. “can i sit here?”

she looks perfect, as she always does, somehow making a black hoodie and gym shorts look elegant. her long dark hair is tucked back behind her ears, and her lips are so gorgeously glossy. sophia is naturally gorgeous, infuriatingly so, but you’ve never been the insecure type, more so just grateful to exist at the same time as people this pretty so you can admire them.

her eyes narrow at you, something dark and unreadable in them.

“you just did,” she says simply, staring at the backpack in front of her.

“i guess i should have asked before i parked my ass,” you realize, grinning sheepishly as you take up the seat next to her. “good point.”

“y/n,” she says firmly, looking back at the front of the room. “i can’t hear, and i need to focus.”

you were too busy trying to get on her good side that you didn’t even notice the professor had started introducing herself. you sink into your seat, trying to rush to get your laptop out.

“totally. sorry.”

she says nothing. she doesn’t even look back at you for the rest of the class. she doesn’t say “bless you” when you sneeze loudly in the middle of class, she doesn’t laugh like the rest of them when you introduce yourself and admit you have zero fun facts about yourself because you’re painfully incapable of self-reflection to know anything about yourself. when it’s her turn to introduce herself, she simply says her name and that she plays volleyball, sitting back down without so much as a smile. she doesn’t say anything when your computer dies halfway through the lecture and you have nothing left to take notes on, even though she’s siting next to the outlet and seems to have the same type of laptop as you do.

you’re not brave enough to ask her anyways.

class ends, and she doesn’t bother looking in your direction.

“don’t be late to practice,” she says simply, swooping up her backpack over her shoulder in a quick, graceful motion. “we need to win our first away game. sets the tone for the season.”

that’s it. you watch as she walks off unceremoniously, almost as if you didn’t exist except to inconvenience her.

“jesus christ,” you whisper under your breath.

———

your season starts a month later, and your first away game gives you a taste of what to expect.

“who’d you get roomed with?” you ask the small group of 5 that you had grown particularly close to as you guys cram into the uber to your hotel. you’ve missed traveling for volleyball, and the anticipation in your bones for tomorrow’s game makes you even more eager.

“i always get manon,” daniela says.

“and nobody else can handle megan’s mess but lara,” manon grins.

“hey, whatever,” megan whines from the back seat, where she’s been stuck in between all your bags of luggage.

“i got sophia,” you breathe quietly, thinking back to the email of the hotel roommate arrangement your coaches had sent out that morning. “should be fine, right?”

“walk-on, you’ll be quick to learn that supreme leader sophia is a drill sergeant with lipgloss,” manon laughs.

“very shiny, very pretty lipgloss,” you defend her.

“she’s a junior,” lara informs you, as if it puts some things into perspective for you. “for her, it’s time to start stressing about the real world next year.”

as a sophomore, you know you’ve got another 2 full seasons coming for you.

“second to final season,” lara goes on. “mommy sophia’s trying to make the most of it.”

you laugh again at lara and megan’s stupid nickname, as if “supreme leader” wasn’t bad enough.

you guys get to the hotel and your coaches send a group text warning everyone to be in bed by 9pm. you part ways with your group once the uber drops you off and go up to your room, only to find sophia has beat you there. she’s taken the bed closest to the window, her bag set up neatly. she’s wearing a facemask and a set of earplugs, eyes quickly flickering up to acknowledge you as you enter the room.

you can’t help but hope that this is your chance to break through her icy facade.

“hey! want to plan for breakfast together?” you beam, tossing your bag onto the floor in front of what sophia has decided is your bed. “i love hotel oatmeal. something about it is so gross i can’t stop craving it.”

she doesn’t bother to look up at you, slipping into her bed without another glance in your direction. “i need to sleep.”

“okay, no worries,” you blink, watching as she reaches for the light switch. “when should i wake us up?”

“i’ll be up at five.” her hand flicks the lights off, leaving you both in the dark. “good night.”

“good night,” you respond quietly, trying to feel your way around for your bed. you suck in a breath. this feels like it might be a very long few days.

—---

sophia is gone before you wake up.

you don’t hear her alarm, but you also don’t hear yours, and you’re just lucky that you can hear megan banging her fist against the wall, screaming for you stupidly and asking if you can hear her through the wall. you can vaguely hear lara yelling at her for being so annoying, but megan’s antics keep you from sleeping in too late, so you’ll thank the goofy sophomores some other time.

you don’t see sophia at breakfast, but by the time you come back to your room, she’s heading into the shower, freshly sweating in her workout clothes. you realize she’s probably already fit in a morning workout while the rest of you were barely waking up. you’re impressed, but frankly not surprised, by her work ethic.

by the time the game starts, it’s your first time in the cyclones uniform, and you feel a strange sense of nervousness wash over you in a wave. your warmups are simple enough, and sophia gathers you all in a team huddle after your coaches debrief you all.

“stay focused, stay confident, don’t let them see you sweat,” sophia states, voice cold, neutral, and self-assured. her icy disposition can be quite scary, but you can see why she’s captain— she’s intense, and something about her demeanor being so laser-focused fuels you with an equal amount of confidence.

“uh, leader, what do i do if i’m already sweating?” megan blurts anxiously. lara reaches over to smack her on the back of the head, and sophia keeps going.

“keep your hits unreadable. their back line is tough but we should be able to break through if we stack clean and aggressive. stay focused,” she emphasizes, eyes looking over at her two main hitters, dani on opposite and megan on outside. “i’ll feed whoever’s eating."

“i like that,” you grin, the metaphor tickling you for whatever stupid reason.

you almost regret it as soon as you say it, but sophia’s eyes aren’t hostile as they meet yours. you realize this may be a first.

“cyclones on three,” you blurt out, and sophia shoots you a sharp look, but doesn’t seem fully annoyed.

“one, two—” she starts, and the rest of the girls jump in for the finishing chant. by the time your team takes to the court, your body is buzzing.

time to shine.

the opposing team is no joke, and you wonder where the hell they got girls this fucking huge. they tower across the net from you, and you can’t help but swallow down anxiously. sophia walks back from the coin flip with an approving nod, and chooses to serve first. your old team always opted to pick the side of the court, but sophia takes to her serve with extreme confidence, and as you watch her two handed jump float, you realize just why she is the face of the team.

the girls on the other team blink in shock at just how high sophia leaps into the air to send her serve. when you played, setters weren’t exactly known for power, but the sharp boom that leaves sophia’s hand as it slams into the ball, shooting through the air to speed straight at the other girls makes you realize what a force this girl is. sophia laforteza, as scary and intimidating as she is, is the perfect face of the malibu state university cyclones for that exact reason— she scares the shit out of anyone who lays eyes on her.

much to your shock, the serve sinks directly into the wood. your first point, an ace serve of all things. lara and manon high five from their positions and daniela lets out a loud cheer, but sophia is focused as ever. she doesn’t so much as crack a smile as she returns to her serving position, reaching out for the ball as it gets passed to her. you look over and see the opposing team shaking their heads, clearly trying to regain their composure. another boom, and the ball is in play. your stomach flutters at the thought of sophia’s phenomenal talent, and how grateful you are to play on the same team as such a talented girl.

(maybe you don’t mind the batshit crazy attitude when she can back it up with skills like this.)

the set goes on and your team only goes up from there. you’ve forgotten how much you enjoy diving around a court like this, making quick work to get the ball back in the air each time it goes too far out of reach for the rest of the girls, hopping back up to your feet after every dive with a smile on your face. it’s part of what made you love the libero position in the first place— it was the perfect place to put all your boundless energy.

your team loses possession of the ball when megan misses her one-handed set to daniela, the opposing team using the opportunity to send the ball directly to where she should have been. you’re not fast enough to save it, but there’s no time to lose moping about it before those massive walls of women are preparing for their own serve on the other side.

the other team’s serve rockets straight into an empty gap where lara isn’t expecting, leaving it up to you to protect the back line. you focus in on where sophia is standing and dive, ensuring wherever you land, the ball hits you and soars high enough for sophia to set easily. and she does, and you witness megan and daniela stack so inanely fast, you almost can’t perceive where the ball ends up or who ends up with the kill. all that matters is that the ball slams into the ground at lightning speed, dani and megan high fiving each other excitedly, and that’s when you realize your team has insane synergy.

manon and lara with you, megan and dani eager to take on whatever sophia feeds them, and sophia, level-headed and sharp-eyed, keeping everything moving on the court.

it’s back to back, and the pace makes your blood race in your veins. the thud of the ball against your skin is a dull burn at this point, and your elbows ache from all your digs, but your adrenaline is at an all time high, especially as the first set ends and you guys are riding the high and sailing towards taking over the second set as well.

your heart thuds even more powerfully in your chest when after a particularly good save, sophia comes to tap fingers with you, her eyes lighting up even if her face is still stern.

“your serve receive is phenomenal,” she tells you breathlessly, and you can’t tell if you’re more shocked by the compliment, or by the first high five she’s given anyone all game.

“thank you,” you beam. “easy when i have such a good setter ready for me.”

sophia blinks, as if she’s surprised by her own compliment, or by yours, but you can’t read into it. “don’t get cocky.”

you smile back even brighter. “i think we’re flirting, leader.”

she shakes her head and returns to her position, but it’s the most positive interaction you two have had since you joined the team. maybe you overdid it with your joke, but sophia is unphased, and you guys end up winning the game in a blowout win over the other team, so it’s a win for the night overall in your book.

“hi,” you greet the captain, coming out of the shower after getting back to the hotel. you’re only going to get a few hours of sleep before your guys’ flight, and the routine starts all over again with practice in the morning. the grind for the msu cyclones clearly never stops.

“hey,” she greets back simply, and you’re just grateful she acknowledges you at all. she’s packing her bag, still in the uniform, clearly waiting her turn for the bathroom.

“great game!” you chirp excitedly, but you immediately regret it as she stares you over, a gaze that tells you she’s thinking, she’s studying, she’s got something prepared in her head.

but what she says next surprises you.

“you’re good. i misjudged you.” you almost can’t believe that she’s complimenting you, but it suits her— she’s not looking at you, she isn’t smiling, and she follows it up with a piece of critique. “but weak on your left side.”

“i hurt myself a few months ago, before the summer. still recovering,” you explain simply.

“oh,” is all she says in response.

she’s comfortable with the silence, obviously, but you’re not, so you blurt out the first thing you think to ask: “they’re serious, about the whole leader thing?”

“they call me that instead of captain,” sophia says after a beat. “manon was being stupid and then it just stuck with the rest of them.”

you smile, realizing she lets it happen. “it’s hilarious.”

“i’m glad you find it funny,” she deadpans.

“you don’t?” you raise a brow.

“no,” she says plainly.

you let out a laugh, shaking your head. “then you must hate what megan and lara call you.”

you see her gaze narrow, and she finally looks up to acknowledge you. “what?”

you grin, realizing you’ve caught her attention with that one. something the girl doesn’t know. you can see how it drives her crazy, and it makes sense— sophia is so in the know, so perfectly in control of everything around her, it must feel disorienting to have something occurring that she’s not aware of, much less on the team that she runs like a military commander.

“good night, leader,” you say simply, tucking into bed and letting your head hit the pillow. she says nothing and slips into the bathroom as quietly as she can manage.

you guys fly back and you’re already itching for the next practice, eager to keep improving as a team. the high of the first game’s win is addicting, and you’re not about to let that energy slip through your fingers.

at the end of practice, the coaches come and debrief you all, dismissing you for the morning. but you’ve quickly learned that the girls all wait for sophia’s approval, in case she has any final words or thoughts before you guys head to the locker rooms.

you all huddle around sophia, whose unreadable features have stopped unnerving you as badly. sure, she’s still terrifying, but a little less now that you know she’s actually capable of being something other than annoyed and pissed off.

she spins one of the balls in her hand, casually and comfortably, but her voice is cold and serious as ever.

“who came up with it?” she asks, eyes fixed on the ball in her hand. “mommy sophia?”

you hear the girls go collectively silent.

“oh fuck,” you hear lara whisper under her breath.

“who was it?” she repeats, her gaze unreadable as she simply keeps the ball spinning. “i can wait all day. i’ve got nowhere to be on a saturday morning."

you can hear a pin drop. finally, one of the culprits bravely admits to her crime.

“t’was i…” megan raises her hand sheepishly.

“hm.” sophia stares her over, and you can feel the collective terror of the team as they realize their captain is preparing to make an example out of megan.

but then sophia surprises everyone, instead of verbally berating megan or making her run laps until she throws up, she simply points to one of the scaffolds in the gym, motioning to megan for her to come up to it. “we’re having a pullup competition.”

“what the fuck?” megan asks in disbelief.

“she’s not gonna kill her in front of everyone?” manon asks in pure shock.

“maybe she’s turned a new leaf,” you offer.

“if you beat me, practice ends,” sophia explains the conditions. “i beat you, and we all run two extra miles. full extension, chest to bar, no fakies.”

“megan, i’ll fucking murder you,” daniela glares at her. it dawns upon everyone— the weight of how your practice ends rests in the mildly-incapable hands of megan skiendiel.

“no pressure,” megan mumbles under her breath as she approaches the bar.

the competition starts, and the silence erupts into a rush of screams and cheers as the two race to see who can outlast the other. it’s stupid, good-natured fun, and you know there’s a two mile run on the line, but you can’t help but love how silly the whole thing feels. you didn’t think sophia was capable of something like this, but you feel the scene quickly becoming a core memory.

“come on, you useless so-cal wasian!” manon screams, standing directly underneath megan to count her reps. “all that time lifting boxes in your little boba shop for what?! you could have been training shoulders that whole time instead!”

“i’m fucking trying,” megan sobs, her arms trembling after hitting 15. “i was at the boba shop trying to get bitches.”

“you were too useless to get a single number the whole summer you worked at that fuckass boba shop,” daniela screams laughing.

“oh my god, shut up guys,” megan groans.

“light work from supreme leader,” lara sighs, standing underneath sophia to count her reps, who leads at a steady 16 and shows no signs of slowing down. “chat, we’re cooked.”

megan is strong, but she’s growing unsteady with each increasing pull up. sophia, as expected, is barely breaking a sweat, face tensed in concentration.

you feel the back of your neck flush as you watch the way her arms move in the tank top, the way her eyebrows furrow together, the slack of her mouth and the quiet breaths she lets out with each movement. you mentally chastise yourself for the images that come to your brain and try to soothe your raging hormones by cracking a joke, clapping your hands at her.

“looking good a little too good, laforteza,” you tease her, shaking your head with a smile. “you make it look easy.”

in a true blink and you’ll miss it moment, you spot it— sophia laforteza, forever unshakable, lets her cheeks go pink.

you’re in shock at the reaction, and you half wonder if it’s just her straining to pull herself up again, but she simply drops from the bar, the girls all screaming excitedly as megan does one final pullup to surpass sophia by one. whereas sophia calmly reaches for her water bottle, megan collapses onto the ground, painting heavily.

“go shower,” she waves you all off. “get some sleep. good game, megan.”

she reaches out to tap fingers with the younger girl, who looks up at her with bright, excited eyes, clearly in shock to have beat the captain.

megan gets to her feet and pumps a victorious fist in the air. “i’d like to thank my mom, and then god, and then lebron james, in that order.”

“what does lebron have to do with this?” daniela questions.

“dude, what doesn’t he have to do with this?” megan answers too easily, and you simply shake your head laughing as you see them walk off.

you reach for your gym bag to follow them, and spot sophia watching you. she turns away as soon as she’s caught, her eyes avoiding yours. you smile to yourself and chase after your friends.

———

the next day, you’re off on your own in the dining hall getting something for dinner. you’re prepared to scroll tik tok as you scan around for an empty table to sit alone at, but something catches your attention. the perfect cascade of long, dark hair waterfalling down the shoulders of a familiar figure. she’s eating alone, a book in hand, and without thinking, you run over to join her.

“did you let megan win that pullup competition?” you blurt quickly, setting your tray down in front of her.

sophia remains silent. she doesn’t look up from her book to acknowledge you, but she simply raises her brows, as if to greet you. it’s not much, but you’ll take it.

“i watched this documentary today in my anthropology class,” you tell her, unphased by her silence. “where the adult lions pretend to cry out and lose their fights when the cubs are learning how to play. so the cubs build confidence.”

she shrugs as if she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “i’m just here to keep the team in one piece.”

“i’ve never met someone so passionate about this sport,” you breathe, admiring her pretty face since she’s not even bothered to look at you. you pick boredly at your dinner, much more interested in getting something, anything out of this mystery of a girl. “how’d you start?”

she pauses, her eyes flicking to your hand briefly, before she focuses back on her book. it’s a long bout of silence, but you hold your own, staring at her. as if she finally realizes that you’re not letting up, her voice softens. she finally gives you something.

“i played beach volleyball, as a kid,” she says slowly, hesitantly. “on the actual beach, in the philippines.”

“really?” your eyes light up at the piece of information. like a piece of a puzzle, giving you a chance to see the bigger picture that is sophia laforteza.

“i grew up there. didn’t have a ton. volleyball opened up every door i’ve ever had,” she goes on, but you can tell she’s picking her words carefully.

“you’re pretty far from home,” you acknowledge, tilting your head. “do you miss it?”

sophia says nothing. in the silence, you get an idea.

“c’mon,” you reach for her wrist, grabbing your phone to call up a few of your new favorite friends. “let’s go get lara and megan. two v two.”

“i have homework,” she pushes back instantly, looking down at your grip on her arm.

“homework will be there,” you reassure her with a smile. “come on, leader.”

to your shock, she relents. her eyes are hesitant and untrusting, but she follows behind you without a further complaint.

you all pile into lara’s car, and you’re on the beach within the hour. you haven’t played beach volleyball in a while, but you get the hang readily and when your partner is as good as sophia, there isn’t much of a learning curve. she doesn’t resist, getting into the game quickly and easily as you all enjoy the fall-time breeze and the beautiful golden hues of the setting sun against the ocean.

sophia spikes another ball straight into a gap where megan should have covered. the two girls groan as you’re up by another point against them.

“okay, my game is off. i have sand where sand isn’t supposed to be,” megan whines.

“meg, you are such a loser, lock in i am begging you,” lara gasps in exasperation. “there’s girls watching.”

sophia peeks over her shoulder and spots a small group of girls, your guys’ age, sitting on their towels admiring you guys as the game goes on. she arches her brows at you, in concern, but you wave her off, knowing it’s all in good fun.

“shirts vs. skins?” you suggest playfully, motioning over to megan and lara.

“see that, meg? that’s how you pull,” lara nods in approval. “see how she’s setting us up for success?”

megan quickly pulls her shirt up off of her head, and lara follows suit to do the same. the two play in their sports bras. sophia eyes you questioningly, but you reassure her once again with a smile that you know what you’re doing.

“do you guys want to play?” you offer, motioning to the girls watching from off-sides.

“we’re good watching,” they wave back appreciatively. “none of us are very good, anyways.”

“lara’s a really good teacher,” you encourage them, “and megan’s—”

“i love women,” megan blurts.

“oh lord…” sophia brings a hand to her face.

megan blinks a few times before trying again, her big puppy dog eyes wide and round.

“uh, i mean, i love women’s sports and i love getting people into women’s sports. do you guys like sports? we do, of course we do ‘cause we’re players for the university. not like, players players, as in like we pull a ton, i mean some of us do but some of us don’t, i meant like we play volleyball—”

“it’s painful to watch,” you whisper to sophia. she laughs and nods in agreement. the sound of her laughter makes your entire chest rumble with warmth.

“i think we should put her out of her misery and go home soon,” she mumbles back to you.

“at least give lara a chance,” you grin.

and pull through, lara does! the afternoon ends with the girls joining lara’s team, leaving you all in a 2 v 6, but even with the extra man power, you and sophia are truly no match. granted, none of the strangers play volleyball, and lara is too busy flirting while megan stammers her way through a half response, but sophia, true to herself, doesn’t take the game any less seriously.

lara drops you guys off one by one near your dorm buildings, and you and sophia realize you’re just a few buildings apart. you wave her off and head in your own direction, but you’re stopped by a movement that nearly shocks you.

sophia laforteza, ice queen, grabs you by the wrist.

“thank you,” she tells you softly. “the beach was… it was nice.”

“of course,” you smile back. “i can’t imagine being a whole world away from my family. you must get homesick pretty easily.”

her mouth tightens. “i have a hard time unwinding.”

“i can tell,” you laugh. “you deserve to smile too.”

“i forget that part, sometimes,” she breathes, offering you a quiet laugh in response. “i had fun watching megan fail at flirting.”

“she’s so, so clueless,” you shake your head.

sophia pauses for a second, contemplating. you can’t help but admire how deep those gorgeous brown eyes are, how easily you lose yourself in them.

“sorry if i’ve been short with you,” she finally says after a beat.

“i’ve been told you’re usually not this grumpy,” you say back simply.

“i wasn’t always,” she admits. “people used to think i was cheerful, actually. too cheerful.”

“i missed an iconic era, it seems,” you smile, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “but i think we met each other exactly when we were supposed to.”

another victory— you make sophia laforteza smile.

“maybe we did,” she says simply, before letting go of you. “good night, y/n. see you.”

—

your season goes on, and you fall into a comfortable rhythm with the girls. your season hits a few rough patches, but each time you hit the court with those girls, you’re forever more and more grateful to have convinced yourself to try out. your friendships are deeper, your days brighter, and you can’t help but feel like this is what the dream college experience is supposed to be like.

your teammates are admittedly a little more girl-crazy than you’d initially have expected, but you’re too busy trying to keep up to focus on much else. between classes, practice, traveling for games, and just general team shenanigans, you feel more than content enough. not having a love life doesn’t feel like it affects you in the slightest.

(and, should you ever get the itch, it’s always kind of fun to banter with your very hot, very serious team captain.)

you know nothing is going to come of it, and it’s absolutely harmless, but something about the way you and sophia go back and forth sends butterflies through your stomach. you know it’s all in good fun, and it isn’t hurting anyone, so what’s the harm in laying it on a little thick for the girl you know isn’t taking it personally?

plus, sophia’s been warming up to you, much to your surprise. sure, she’s still mostly quiet around you when you join her in the dining hall or sit next to her in class, but at the very least, she’s not glaring at you. she’s not mean, just focused, and the fact that she’s not icing you out is a huge win. you wonder what she used to be like, before she was this serious, and you get small glimpses especially when she’s on the court and playing like she was built for this and this alone. you see her defenses fall whenever that whistle blows, the way her eyes light up as soon as the ball leaves someone’s hand, the way she eagerly watches to see who scores.

and you love, love, love the attention she gives you for being a good fucking volleyball player.

“you’re amazing,” sophia had beamed under her breath at your last game, in awe at your sprinting dive to save what had nearly been a match-point, saved only by your quick feet.

“knock it off with the rizz while i’m playing, you’re distracting me,” you tease her, grinning widely, but you can’t deny the warmth it brings to your cheeks.

she shakes her head, but she’s smiling, watching you in admiration, and if you could feel any more vulnerable, it’d be under the beautiful gaze of a smiling sophia. she’s so radiant like this in front of you, burning almost as bright as the sun. you wonder what possibly could have happened to burn her out like this, to dim her light, and your heart aches at the thought.

your team wins your game, and instead of everyone scattering to try and get some rest, they all seem eager to shower and get dressed up for something. you follow dani’s directions to wait for a ride outside of the student center after you’ve gotten ready, and as much as you’d like to be curled up in bed and massaging your sore muscles, the enthusiasm from the girls is enough to get you going.

“ride with me and lar!” megan pleads, motioning for you to hop in the car as soon as they spot you exiting your dorm.

“where to?”

“it’s a surprise,” lara grins. you guys chat absentmindedly as she drives you guys up through the city, and before you realize it, you’re parking in front of a giant building plastered in neon signs.

“what’s this?” you ask, spotting other girls from the team arriving at the same time as you all.

“team karaoke,” lara fills you in excitedly. “oh, nobody told you? we do it to celebrate the halfway-point of the season.”

you grin bigger than you thought was possible. god, you love this team.

they lead you to the private karaoke team and introduce you to yoonchae, coach’s daughter who’s about to graduate high school and will be soon joining your team next year. there’s no drinking, mostly due to the underaged attendees, but also considering how insane half of the team is, there’s little more you guys need to get started than someone playing “thinking of you” by katy perry before you’re all screaming along at the top of your lungs.

you almost don’t notice when sophia slips into the private room, her hair softly falling over her shoulders. it’s your first time seeing her outside of her gym or campus clothes, and even though she’s still casual, you can’t help but admire how stunning she looks in the pretty black top and jeans she’s in. plus the silver-framed glasses you never get to see her wear, and you realize you’re going to have a very hard time not staring tonight.

“sing a little ditty for us, leader,” megan begs, hooking an arm around her neck and shoving the microphone in her face.

“filipino throat chakra!” lara hollers at the top of her lungs.

“so-phi-a,” manon chants. “so-phi-a.”

the girls all join in in the rambunctious cheer, and sophia simply presses a loving kiss to the top of megan’s head and waves them off. she sits down in between daniela and megan, but keeps one hand on the microphone. sophia may be a lot of things, but the one thing you’ll give her is that you can see how clearly she loves every single girl on that team, some ways more warm than others, but love nonetheless.

“queue lala lost you,” lara tells daniela, who’s been helping yoonchae queue up the songs as the girls all take their turns.

“you could hear sophia blasting this shit through the walls of the dorms all summer training camp,” megan laughs, pushing the microphone to her face. “i know you’ve got it in you, leader!”

sophia hasn’t said a single word since she’s walked into the room, but the moment she locks eyes with you, blatantly staring at her, her eyes soften.

“get off of me, meg,” she laughs, shoving the girl away. “i need a little space to hit these runs.”

“that’s our leader!” manon screams, leaping out of her seat to cheer the girl on as the song starts. between all of your cheers, you’re all almost louder than the speakers, but sophia’s voice rings out loud and clear as soon as the music hits.

she doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t seem nervous, doesn’t even so much as clear her throat before simply starting the song. that’s what you’re realizing is the way sophia operates— confident, certain, straightforward, not one to sugarcoat or do anything extra.

and it doesn’t hurt that her voice is absolutely gorgeous. you find it extremely hard to understand how people don’t just fall in love at the mere sight of her, much less the sound of her angelic siren’s call. she’s so focused, so precise, so impressive in everything she does, so capable.

(not that you’re in love with her or anything, definitely not the case.)

she’s not smiling until the end of the song, where she takes a small bow after the final note and lets megan scream in her ear about how beautiful the whole experience was.

“encore!” manon goads her on.

“i’m thirsty,” sophia shakes her head, reaching for her water. “it’s dani’s turn.”

“oh say less,” daniela chirps happily, pointing at yoonchae. “yoonchip, queue gasolina by daddy yankee.”

“no twerking on the table, megan,” sophia warns knowingly.

“you are literally no fun,” megan throws her head back.

“you broke their table last time,” sophia reminds her, laughing. “we had to put coach’s credit card down for them to not ban us from ever coming back.”

“that was not my fault,” megan pouts.

“i’m going to go get some air,” the captain stretches her arms over her head, taking her water with her as she heads towards the door. “yoonchae’s in charge.”

“what the hell?” manon protests.

“as i should,” yoonchae nods.

“sweaty, leader?” you joke, realizing the girl had worked up the slightest glint of a shimmer on her skin from the song in this cramped room.

“oh, like a pig,” sophia teases back.

“lechon queen,” manon laughs.

“oh fuck, this is like the perfect opportunity for a—”

“no spit roast jokes,” sophia holds a warning finger up.

“you’re no fun!” dani rolls her eyes.

sophia’s eyes are shining with something that makes you think for as much as she pretends to be annoyed with these girls, they keep her entertained. she reaches for the door and excuses herself. “i’ll be back.”

dani’s halfway through her second song when you realize sophia still hasn’t come back. you slip out the door and seek her out, finding her outside the front door, leaning against the wall, admiring the malibu sunset. you approach her quietly, as to not scare her, and lean on the wall next to her.

“who hurt you?” you laugh. “that song was haunting.”

sophia simply smiles knowingly.

“how much time do you have?” she says after a second, much to your surprise, even if she is joking.

“all of it, for you,” you tell her instantly, smiling back at her.

“you’re doing too much,” sophia shakes her head.

“i’m gonna be so transparent,” you tell her, raising your hands in the air like you’ve been caught. “i get such a rush when i make you smile. it’s like crack to me.”

“that’s sweet,” sophia laughs, her eyes avoiding yours as she stares down at something invisible on the ground. “i can promise you all that is not worth it.”

“for you?” you question. “no, i think you’re super worth it.”

sophia clicks her tongue, continuing to avoid your gaze. you can hear something soften in her voice— still playful, still firm, but something seeking more. “you don’t even know me.”

“not a ton, sure.” you lean the tiniest bit closer, your shoulders brushing together as you lean into her. “but i like what i know so far.”

“you’re weird,” she pushes you off, but her eyes are warm. she doesn’t entirely hate it as she’s trying to pretend.

“you’re smiling,” you call her out, poking her in the cheek. “i made leader smile!”

“y/n,” sophia says quietly, and you half wonder if she’s going to reprimand you, but then you realize that she’s leaning back against you. the two of you stand, shoulder to shoulder, the gentle warmth of her body sending a wildfire along your skin at the proximity.

“yes, leader?” you tease playfully.

the girl’s eyes finally come up to meet yours, twinkling with something indescribable.

“you can just call me sophia.”

you nod, caught up in the warmth of her incredible brown eyes, and smile back broadly in response.

“sounds good, sophia.”

—

your team flies out to the next game a week later, and as you board the plane, you notice an empty seat next to sophia. learning your lesson from your first week of school, you approach her carefully, waving a hand in her face as she takes off her headphones and arches a brow up at you.

“hey!” you greet, pointing to the middle seat next to her, where she’s positioned by the window. “can i sit here?”

“no,” she blinks flatly.

“oh,” you feel the back of your neck burn awkwardly.

but then her eyes light up again, meeting yours, and you see it. the stupid sophia laforteza smile that sends a thunderstorm through your chest.

“i’m kidding,” she reassures you, moving her bag off of the seat. “all yours. i was saving it actually.”

“for me?” you ask in disbelief, slipping into the seat.

she tilts her head at you. “for whoever was brave enough to ask.”

you settle into the spot and the two of you coexist in a peaceful silence as the airplane takes off. but you and your stupid mouth can never keep your cool around sophia laforteza, and you find yourself rambling soon enough, disturbing what you can only assume is the peaceful silence she’s seeking.

“megan told me something sweet the other day. after our last game,” you inform her, wondering if the tidbit of information will catch her attention.

and it does. sophia’s brows knit together in curiosity as she turns to face you. “what’s that?”

“she says we make a good team.”

“we do,” sophia nods. “our positions kill when we work well together, and we work well together. i agree with her.”

“i could die happy,” you beam, pretending to fan yourself. “a compliment from the sophia laforteza.”

“hey!” she rolls her eyes. “don’t start. i’ve given you plenty.”

“i’m greedy,” you wrinkle your nose at her playfully. “sorry not sorry, i want more.”

“compliments are overrated,” sophia pushes back.

“oh, for you i bet they are,” you laugh, tossing your head back in disbelief. “what compliments could you possibly need? you’re brilliant, you’re confident, you’re super talented, and you’re insanely pretty. you’re perfect. people literally use ‘sophia laforteza’ as a synonym for perfection.”

“you’re doing too much, again,” sophia shakes her head, her eyes now avoiding yours.

“and you sing like a fucking angel,” you add. “and you smell amazing all the time.”

“not true,” sophia wrinkles her nose.

you’re about to look over and keep rambling, but in that moment you see it in her eyes. something about the way you’re talking to her makes her uncomfortable.

“and you’re actually so fucking nice,” you add, your voice softening, curious as to why the compliments are making her recoil like this. “like the nicest ever. just protective of what you care about.”

“that’s sweet,” she mumbles.

“i mean it. all of it, soph,” you press, reaching over to take her hand in yours. it’s a brave, probably stupid move, but as soon as your fingers touch, she looks up at you with those soft beautiful eyes.

“i’m sorry if i was tough on you, when you first joined,” she says quietly, her eyes digging into yours as if to emphasize her regret. “i couldn’t go easy on you. i have a lot riding on this team.”

“i forgive you,” you reassure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “have to keep up the whole tough team captain thing.”

“thanks,” she smiles softly.

“can i tell you something?” you whisper, leaning in as the plane cabin lights turn off, leaving you guys in the quiet glow of the airplane.

she arches her brows, beckoning for you to go on.

you smile. “i like knowing you’re a softie.”

something in her face changes, and you can see it. the warmth.

you rest your head on her shoulder, and she lets you, her gentle breaths keeping you comfortable the rest of the flight.

—

you and sophia become inseparable.

the next away game, you’re brave enough to invite her to come watch tik toks with you, and she’s bold enough to wriggle her way under the blankets, and before you realize it, the two of you are in your bed, cuddled up, staring at your tiny screen.

you try not to overthink it. your semester is going perfectly, you couldn’t ask for better friends, and the more time you spend with sophia, the more grateful you are to just know the girl. she’s incredible— so smart, so talented, and so, so thoughtful. someone like her shouldn’t exist, shouldn’t be this perfect, shouldn’t be this close to you giggling at something stupid on your phone.

you don’t get more time to overthink. megan is bursting through your hotel room door, barging in as she seeks out a spare set of kneepads considering she left her lucky ones back home.

“it smells like fritos in here,” she says plainly, snatching your extra pair out of your bag.

“you have to be the weirdest person i know,” sophia groans, throwing her head back against the pillow.

“my mom says frito smell comes from a yeast overgrowth,” the girl goes on, clearly not realizing she’s intruding. “y’all baking bread?”

“i don’t even think she realizes she’s talking sometimes,” you laugh, nudging sophia in the shoulder. “the noises just come right out of her.”

she grins back at you and checks the uber eats notification on her phone. “stay there. i’m gonna go pick up our food.”

she slips out of the door and megan simply watches, before looking back over at you.

“you guys look close,” the girl arches her brows knowingly.

“she’s been opening up,” you inform her.

“oh i bet she has,” megan nods, pursing her lips into an ‘o.”

“megan, ew,” you shake your head, throwing a pillow at the girl who has quickly become one of your best friends.

“i dunno dude, you’re mighty comfy. looks sus for two people just to be friends and be that all up on each other.”

“whatever,” you roll your eyes. you watch as the girl lets herself out.

sophia comes back and lands herself right back in your lap. something about how she fits so comfortably besides you feels too easy. megan’s words ring through your head, and you shake them off.

sophia falls asleep in your bed, and you don’t mind. you don’t mind one bit.

—

the semester goes on, and you and sophia only grow closer. wherever she goes, you’re sure to follow, and people become painfully aware of your newfound friendship.

“y/n,” sophia beams, waving you over as the girls all sit together for breakfast out on the grass of the quad. “come sit.”

you do as you’re told, looking in surprise as the girl hands you a drink. you’re usually one to skip breakfast in favor of getting more sleep, so the fact that sophia, a notorious early riser, already has a drink for you makes your stomach flip.

“i got you a matcha,” she beams proudly, unwrapping the straw for you and placing it in your hand.

“how did you know i liked the sesame one?” you question.

“you ordered it last time we went,” she responds simply.

“the whole team went,” you say in disbelief. “you noticed my order?”

“of course,” she says, too confidently, as if it’s obvious.

“such a gentlewoman,” you smile, pressing your head into her shoulder appreciatively.

megan, who has been eyeing the both of you since your arrival, simply blinks, before blurting out the only thing on her mind:

“sophia, you are so down bad.”

“not even,” she shoves megan away, rolling her eyes.

you’re blushing, and you hope sophia doesn’t notice. but what makes this even more difficult is that you realize she probably did notice, because sophia laforteza cares about those little tiny details.

—-

as it turns out, being this close to sophia laforteza is not only super enjoyable, but super fucking confusing. you promised yourself you’d focus on school and volleyball when you moved to malibu at the beginning of the semester, but whatever you’ve got going on with sophia starts to feel like this weird third thing, past friends but not quite somewhere beyond that. it’s nameless, it’s confusing, but worst of all, you can’t imagine stopping.

she opens up little by little, letting you have tiny pieces of her as if she’s testing how trustworthy you are. she tells you little stories of her island, reminisces about singing with her grandparents, reveals that she plays piano in the common room of her dorm late at night when no-one is around when she’s stressed. her favorite subject is english even though she’s studying public health to run her own pediatric resource clinic for low-income families. she likes disney and she’s afraid of bugs.

and she sings, all the damn time, as if she’ll die if she doesn’t get a tune out. at first it’s quiet, a gentle hum or a whistle, but with the sheer amount of time you two are spending together, the more comfortable she gets with your presence, the more she lets it out. by the time your season is ending, she’s around you and beaming like the clouds came out from in front of the sun, warm, bright, and so melodic. she sings at the top of her lungs whenever you two are alone, studying, watching a stupid movie, at the gym together getting in a stupid extra practice.

you feel kind of pathetic, but you’d do anything to spend more time with her, more time basking in her light, in her beautiful warmth. whether it’s joining on her on her morning runs, or hanging out at your dorm to watch game recaps, she’s reaching out to you, and you’re not about to let her slip through your fingers. each time she invites you to anything you say yes, and any time you think she may even remotely like something, you invite her. your days are starting to revolve around spending time with sophia laforteza, like you can’t get enough of her, but why would anyone want to be apart from her? she’s perfect, and if she’s picked you to be her new best friend, you’ll consider it the biggest win in the world.

the sleepovers didn’t start until your season starts coming to an end. you’re about to enter your first playoff game, and sophia invites herself over as you guys prepare for your flight the next day. you lose track of time packing, chatting mindlessly, sharing stories and making sure you’re both in the right headspace before the game, but quite frankly, any ounce of access to sophia that you get will have you exactly as focused as you need to be.

you’re not sure how you end up there, but you’re admittedly a little too close for comfort, curled up together in your bed. she’s in a cozy hoodie and shorts, those stupid glasses that look way too good on her perched on the tip of her nose as she shows you another stupid brainrot tik tok that made her laugh that day. somehow, you’ve ended up with your head on her shoulder, a common occurrence for the two of you lately, but the way you’re cuddled into her arm, feeling the warmth of her body against yours, close enough to see the shimmer of the lipgloss in the light of the phone screen, is a little too close for you to ignore.

you suck in a deep breath. you figure it’s now or never, and even if you get nothing out of it, you’ll feel better knowing you’ve at least made the effort to get some clarity.

“sophia,” you say gently.

“hm?” her head tilts in your direction, but she doesn’t look away from the phone screen.

your chest tightens, but it’s too late now. “what are we doing?”

“what do you mean?” her face stays neutral, forever the queen of composure.

“i mean i don’t even know what to call you,” you breathe.

“my name, duh,” she wrinkles her nose at you, and you shove her back gently. of course she’d choose now of all times to be a smart ass.

you let the silence rest for a few moments longer, but the feeling gnaws at you. you have to be honest, with her, but first and foremost, with yourself.

“sometimes it feels like we’re dating,” you finally admit.

you know sophia at this point to see her micro-expressions: the curl of her lip, a small shift, or in this case, the twitch of her brow. she doesn’t look at you— a habit you’ve realized that she takes up when she’s thinking.

“oh,” is all she says.

“yeah,” you breathe back awkwardly.

“we’re not,” she tells you.

you squint at her. “i know that.”

she pauses again. you wait her out. you’ve gotten good at it— realizing her silence isn’t hostile, it’s just contemplation. sophia, perfect sophia, takes a second to pick the exact words she wants to say in that exact moment. it’s part of what you’ve come to adore so much about her, how purposeful she is, her attention to detail.

“y/n…” she muses quietly, her lips parting to show her teeth as she sucks in a quiet, thinking breath. “i don’t know how to ask this.”

“sophia laforteza, tongue tied? our eloquent leader?” you tease her, poking her in the cheek. maybe it’s a poor time to be messing with her, but this is your bad habit, making jokes at the worst possible times to try and diffuse the tension. “what’s today, the end of the world?”

but she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even smile.

she finally turns her head, she finally looks at you. her voice low and serious, as it always is.

“y/n, i want to kiss you.”

“oh.” you blink. “oh.”

“you can tell me it’s a bad idea,” she tells you slowly, forever the gentlewoman, but the way her eyes flutter down to focus on your lips makes you absolutely dizzy, “or that you don’t want to.”

“i um,” you feel your stomach in knots, jumping at the sight of how she stares you down. “neither of those are true.”

she pauses, her tongue darting out to wet her bottom lip. the movement leaves her lip even shinier, which you didn’t think was even possible, but it is and it makes you absolutely sick at how easily the movement unnerves you. her voice drops, just slightly, but it’s enough for you to notice the rasp in her tone.

“y/n, do you want to kiss me?”

sophia is so painfully confident, so direct and straightforward, it makes your teeth hurt with how attracted you are to her.

you nod, dumbstruck and incapable of forming any more words, and her hand drops the phone onto her stomach. she turns to reach for you, her hand cupping you by the cheek. the feeling of her grasp on your face, the closeness of her body, her breath on your nose is nearly too much for you.

“i’m going to kiss you now,” she tells you gently, moving closer and closer with each passing second, her eyes never leaving your lips. “don’t move.”

you do as you’re told, and sophia laforteza is a woman of her word. she’s slow, painfully gentle as she bridges the distance between you both, and you lose yourself in the perfect smell of her hoodie, the softness of her perfect mouth, the perfect sweetness on her tongue as it brushes softly against your bottom lip. the only word you could ever use to describe sophia, the only word that even starts to do her justice— she is absolute perfection.

“you’re not real,” you breathe, staring at her in disbelief. you’re an idiot for breaking the kiss, sure, but if you didn’t pull away to take a breath, you might’ve actually passed out. your head is so, so dizzy— in no reality, when you had first met this girl, did you ever picture she’d let you get to know her, to be this close to her, to kiss you.

“very real,” she pushes back, reaching for you once more. she turns to lean on top of you, resting her elbows on either side of your torso, hovering over you. she reaches up to brush some of your hair out of your face, her fingertips against your skin feeling like electricity. her eyes are so dark, so intense, so focused. “gonna kiss you again. don’t move.”

you wrap your arms around her neck and nod eagerly. she won’t have to tell you twice.

—-

making out with sophia laforteza for 3 hours the week of your first college playoff game is definitely not something you could have predicted on your sophomore year bingo card, but you’re not about to get greedy.

she falls asleep cuddled up next to you after you guys mutually agree to wait until after playoffs to get distracted by anything else, and you have half a mind to tell her that you’re already extremely distracted when she’s this close to you, but you’re able to keep those thoughts to yourself.

unfortunately, sophia is a creature of routine no matter how badly you beg her to sleep in and keep cuddling you, and gets out of your bed as gently as she can manage to go on her morning run. you’re not exactly thrilled, but she presses a gentle kiss to your temple as she slips out of your room and promises that you’ll talk more when she gets back. the combination of the two is a true win in your head, so you make your way to breakfast with a few of the girls and hope nobody asks why you can’t stop smiling even at 7 in the morning.

(of course, it would be just your luck that it’s megan who clocks you immediately— somehow clueless to literally everything except for whatever is between you and the team captain.)

“y/n, why do you keep acting like nothing’s going on?” she blurts, eyeing you suspiciously. you’ve looked down at your phone a million times that morning, eager to see if sophia has any thoughts about the development between you two, and of course, your teammate didn’t let it go unnoticed. “you’re clearly into her.”

you take a cue from sophia’s playbook and stay silent, reaching for your breakfast oatmeal in the hopes they’ll drop it. you know yourself, prone to oversharing, and you’re not sure that sophia would want something between the two of you to leave between the two of you. manon and daniela eye each other from across the table, lara giggles to herself, and megan doesn’t let up.

“are you guys dating?” she asks bluntly, narrowing her eyes at you.

“um…” you choke on your oatmeal, but try to play it off. “i don’t know how to answer that.”

“oh holy shit,” manon beams, her eyes lighting up. “it’s not a no! you always deny it!”

“it’s true,” lara grins. “this is your first non-answer.”

you feel your cheeks burn, but before you can hide your face, you can tell dani has already seen you blushing. the three of them burst into coos, clearly thrilled to hear things have moved along.

“dude, it’s so sweet,” dani chirps excitedly.

megan nods, and you can tell she’s about to start rambling, but it’s megan, and she means well, so you let her.

“no, dude, you have no idea how good this is for us. she’s like, finally smiling again! our sophia! angry, serious sophia. she even laughed at one of my jokes last practice. my joke. do you know how long it’s been since she’s laughed with me, bro? all it took was y/n to warm her back up. it’s like the ice age is melting or something. i haven’t seen her this happy since marquise—”

you see all 3 of the girls seize up at the exact same time at the mention of this name. a name you have never, ever heard before, and yet got each of these girls to freeze with the exact same reaction. your stomach drops.

“megan—“ manon says harshly, a tone she never uses, which only tells you this is extremely not good. whatever megan has just touched on was clearly not for your ears to hear.

“who’s marquise?” you try to ask, but the three ignore you, locked onto each other.

“megan skiendiel,” daniela says it like a punishment, and megan only sinks further into her seat, her eyes wide like a puppy that’s just been scolded for chewing something up that she wasn’t meant to. you guys are the only ones at the dining hall that early in the morning, but even then, you feel like the whole world around you is spinning, in the worst way possible.

“guys. freaking out here,” you remind them, still left in limbo with nothing more than a name and 0 context. “who the hell is marquise?”

then, as if on cue, a voice cuts in from behind you. a familiar, cold, firm voice. too perfect.

your stomach sinks. you can feel it about to crumble around you.

sophia laforteza, too perfect, too dreamy, too good to be true.

“marquise is my ex.” her voice is neutral, factual. you can’t bring yourself to look at her, but you can see her figure in the corner of your eye. she’s got her arms crossed over her chest, so composed, so eternally the picture of calm and control. “megan wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

you feel your stomach twist into a knot. “oh.”

“saw you guys through the window,” she explains simply, motioning out to the side of the table. you can see your table directly from the window facing the running trail. “thought i’d join you guys for breakfast.”

the tension is palpable. megan is the first to speak up, but her voice is quavering and weak, like she knows the gravity of what she’s done. “soph, i’m sorry…”

sophia moves into your view and presses her lips into a fine line. “they’re freaking out because we’re on a break. marquise gets back to the US in two months.”

“oh,” you say simply, dropping your gaze to the table. “oh wow.”

“we’re gonna go,” lara says, clearly sensing the danger in lingering much longer. she scoops dani in one arm and grabs megan by the hoodie, yanking her along roughly.

“y/n, i’m really sorry,” the youngest girl tells you, her voice shaky, and a part of you feels the tiniest bit better that her guilt comes not just from spilling sophia’s secret, but from not telling you something sooner. it softens the blow somehow.

“she played libero,” sophia tells you once the girls walk away. she sits down across from you in the booth. you can tell she’s treading carefully, wanting to be close but not wanting to overdo it, and you appreciate that she has the common sense to give you space and follow your cues. “she’s the one that got injured last year.”

your throat goes dry at the realization.

“i replaced her,” you finally say out loud. it stings even worse hearing it than it does thinking it.

“i wanted to tell you.” her voice is still even, still composed, but you can hear the quiet rasp of something more, like she’s straining herself. she’s speaking slowly, picking her words carefully as she does. “but i didn’t want to lose you.”

“you knew it was wrong,” you call her out shakily.

“i didn’t want you drawing your own conclusions,” she tells you. “after we kissed, i knew i had to say something. i wanted to. i was going to.”

“i don’t mind being a girl with a one-sided crush. hell, i don’t even mind if we don’t work out on our own.” your voice is shaky as you look down at your hands, trying to even out your breathing to avoid crying, but fuck, this hurts. “but i do mind being a rebound if you’re not over someone.”

“i am,” she presses quickly, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard her rush her words, as if she’s trying to speak over you. it doesn’t irritate you, if anything, you’re grateful to hear that she’s got some humanity left in her, but it doesn’t help soothe you. she tries again, letting out a breath to steady herself. “we haven’t talked literally at all since she left. i’m going to tell her that things are completely over between us. i can promise that i am 100% over her.”

you won’t look up at her, but you can see her hands on the table. she’s picking at her fingernail, and the movement surprises you. sophia never fidgets, never moves nervously, never even cracks a sweat. but here she is, picking at her nail, and it makes your heart ache. you want to comfort her, but you feel sick even thinking about how much you feel for her.

“that’s the problem with being dishonest, sophia. and i know you weren’t even dishonest, you just didn’t tell me the whole truth, but it’s still a problem,” you admit, swallowing down a lump in your throat. “‘cause now, i don’t know if i believe you. i don’t know if i can trust that you’re telling me the truth.”

she says nothing, and that seals your fate. you feel the first few hot tears drop from your eyes as you shield your face and get out of the dining hall as fast as physically possible, rushing to your dorm to try and compose yourself without sobbing in public like a mess.

sophia doesn’t follow after you. you feel stupid for ever thinking she would.

—-

megan comes over a few hours later after you miss practice, too embarrassed to face sophia after everything collapsing around you.

the younger girl sits on the edge of your bed, staring at one of her textbooks in confusion, but you know she’s only faking studying until you say something. you can tell she wants to apologize, she wants to say something, but if you can appreciate anything, it’s that megan is showing some restraint and stopping herself from crashing out in the middle of your dorm room.

you play mindlessly with your laptop as a specific email catches your attention. you had read it weeks ago, but archived it. the cyclones were your whole life at this point. this team had filled your heart with such a sense of belonging and wholeness, you didn’t even consider the idea that other schools could be eyeing you. you didn’t want any of them, you wanted sophia—

you clamp your eyes shut instantly as you realize your mistake, grimacing. you wanted malibu. you wanted to be a cyclone.

your stomach aches, thinking about the team captain. maybe this mindset of unconditional devotion was the thing truly holding you back.

so you go back to the email, and blurt it out to megan.

“UCLA is interested in me,” you tell her. “after this season.”

she looks up at you instantly, her brows tensing, but you see her instantly try to relax her face and be supportive. “oh whaaaaat? no way. that’s sick.”

you stare at your screen, feeling the ache in your chest and wishing you could just will it away in an instant.

“and since i’m still technically a walk-on, and not scholarshipped yet, i could transfer.”

“you’d leave?” megan asks softly, her eyes falling. “but we just got you, y/n. we’re about to win a championship together. you’d really leave?”

you hear the crack in her voice, but you can’t bear to look up at her. the idea sounds appealing, just a few more months and transfer over to a new school once the semester ends. move, start over, make new friends. you stop yourself from thinking about her again, pushing all thoughts of sunshine and lipgloss and singing out of your mind.

you blink a few times more, trying not to be swayed by just how fucking sad megan’s little sniffles are from her corner of your room.

“what if i don’t have anything keeping me here?” you ask, but you’re not quite sure the question is for megan any more.

—-

megan goes back to her own dorm a little bit later, after the silence gets to be too much, and you spend the rest of the evening staring up at the ceiling. you don’t have practice on sundays, so you’ll finally get a chance to sleep in, and you start to look up the forms you might need for a transfer if you opt to follow through with this. three schools in less than two years might not look great, but if it’s what’s right for you, you’ll figure out a way to explain it on a transcript.

you’re asleep with your laptop on your chest when a quiet knock on your dorm room door wakes you. you check your phone for any messages, and there’s no recent ones as you realize it’s nearly 1 am. you feel your eyelids getting heavy once more, but that knock comes back, gentle, evenly spaced, quick.

a perfect knock on the door, straight out of the movies. your stomach sinks. how fucking annoying to be so perfect, it’s recognizable, even in a knock.

you want to ask her to go away, and considering you just ditched practice for the first time all season just to avoid her, you figured she’d understand. but there’s another knock, more insistent this time, and you suck in a deep breath to try and prepare yourself for what comes next as you get out of bed and finally give in, swinging the door open.

perfect sophia laforteza has messy hair.

it’s not insane, of course even her messiness is so coordinated, but it’s the first time you’ve ever seen her hair not silky smooth falling in waves over her shoulders. it’s a little frizzy, the tiniest bit unruly, thick and admittedly even a little poofy. she has some baby hairs sticking out of her headband, her bangs pulled back. your heart thuds at the sight— sophia, in her hoodie and her shorts, and her super cute, imperfect hair that’s somehow still perfect to you, as much as you wish it wasn’t

“megan called me crying,” she says simply, her eyes dark and seeking as they look up into yours, her hands tucked into her pockets as she stands in front of your door in the middle of the hallway, “saying you wanted to leave.”

you blink at her, and honestly, you’re not quite sure what to say next.

her lips press into a tight line at your lack of response.

“i’m sorry if that’s because of me,” she breathes, quieter now.

“i’ll text megan in the morning to apologize for stressing her out. i forget how sensitive she is,” you force a smile, your forever bad habit of trying to smooth things over with anyone and everyone. you drop your eyes, unable to keep looking at her any longer without the ache in your chest roaring back to life. “i need to go to bed, good night.”

you move to close the door, but to your surprise, the door doesn’t budge.

sophia has her foot against the base, her hand around your wrist, anchoring you there.

it reminds you of that day, on the beach, your first glimpse into something more in sophia besides her cold stares and her unobtainable standards of perfection. the first time she ever reached out to grab you, you saw it— sophia laforteza, as perfect as she is, is also human, just like you.

her voice surprises you.

“please don’t go.” it’s soft, and she’s avoiding your eyes again, but you hear the rasp, the crack in her voice as she pleads with you. “please hear me out.”

you can feel the burn in your chest at how small she looks, how unfamiliar this version of her is to you. “sophia…”

“i can’t um...” she clamps her eyes shut, and it physically pains you to see just how badly she’s struggling to get the words out. how badly she wants to be vulnerable with you, how hard it is for her. “i just got used to doing it alone. for a really long time. even when my ex was there, i just never could see myself as someone...”

she trails off, and you see it again in her face. that day on the airplane, where you had complimented her, how uncomfortable it seemed to make her to hear so many nice things said about her. you feel your heart shatter for her in that very moment. she doesn’t believe it.

“and then you came in, and i tried to push you away, but you insisted on being kind to me even when i wasn’t worth being kind to, and now i have feelings for you.” she bites down on her bottom lip, the words spilling out almost rushed, as if she’s trying to get them all out at once. “so here i am, pouring my heart out, hoping you’ll stay.”

you blink back, your heart racing. “you have feelings for me?”

“i don’t need you to say it back,” she shakes her head, her brows furrowing. “i just need you to know how pissed i’ll be if you leave after i started to like you. even if it’s just as friends.”

“i didn’t know you’d care if i was gone,” you laugh, feeling your eyes water. it may be a little later than you would have wanted, but she’s trying, and you can see just how hard it is for her.

“you’re ridiculous,” she wrinkles her nose, as if it’s obvious. “i get leaving me might be easy—”

you stop her there, feeling yourself get angry at the way she talks about herself. “no. stop that. no way.”

she presses, insisting. “no, you don’t have to lie. i know how i get. i can be difficult, and a perfectionist—“

“sophia, you’re an incredible captain,” you cut her off, your voice full of conviction. “and a warm, thoughtful friend. people admire you.”

“they’re scared of me, y/n,” she breathes quietly.

“they respect you,” you insist. “you’re incredible.”

she pauses, looking at you, and you let yourself look back at her. something in her eyes change, softening, warming. like the stormclouds parting to reveal the sun.

“i didn’t believe any of that, until i met you,” she admits to you, shakily. “it was like you saw me differently. i believed it because you believed it. you treated me like i was worth it.”

“you are,” you press, before you remember something that might help convince her. “soph… the team, we made you a gift.”

she blinks back at you in shock. “what?”

you motion for her to follow you into your room, and reach under your bed to pull out a scrapbook you guys had worked on between all of you, keeping it in your room as you guys all worked on the finishing touches. the idea was to give it to her after playoffs were over, to celebrate her if you guys won and to cheer her up if you guys lost, but you figure the girls will forgive you for giving it to her a little early.

“when i first heard you were feeling homesick, we started putting it together.” you put the book in her hands and she opens it, immediately seeing all the printed photos of your team together. your days at the beaches, the practices you all bonded over, the photos of you all traveling for games, some of the random shenanigans you’d get into like karaoke. sophia turns the page and realizes that each girl on the team had written her a note about how much they appreciate her as a captain and as a friend, and paired their heartfelt notes with a photo of themselves with her.

(unfortunately, you had waited a little too long to work on your note considering you were working through a massive crush on her, but you hope she won’t mind that you’re the only person on the team who doesn’t have a page in the scrapbook.)

“this is how we see you,” you continue, watching as sophia flips through each page, reading over each and every word with unmatchable focus. “i know you have a skewed vision of yourself. you’re so, so hard on yourself. so we wanted you to have this, so you could see what the world sees. how we see you.”

“this is incredible,” sophia whispers, her eyes welling up with tears.

you’re incredible, you stop yourself from saying, letting you guys continue in silence as she reads the rest of the pages.

“megan spelled ‘gratitude’ wrong,” she laughs, wiping a tear from her cheek as she points to the mistake.

“okay, cut the girl some slack, she could barely stop crying long enough to get the words down. she was so sad thinking about how lonely you’ve been,” you laugh with her, pointing to the dried tear stains on the page. “literally sobbed all over the page and lara had to help her pull it together to finish and sign her stupid name. at this point i’m surprised there’s no snot.”

she smiles and wipes again at her cheek, clearly trying to stop herself from crying in front of you. “i’ve been a little less lonely, ever since you walked on.”

you want to reassure her that you don’t mind the tears, that you don’t mind her being human. that you adore every part of her, exactly how she is, perfect imperfections and all. you try to open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat.

she beats you to it.

“i’m sorry if i confused you,” she sighs. “it was unfair. i’d be pissed if i was you. getting all caught up before someone had their shit together.”

“i’m not mad at you any more,” you reassure her, reaching out to gently squeeze her hand. “maybe a little hurt, maybe a lot jealous.”

she lets out another laugh, and the sound warms your bones. the idea of UCLA seems so, so silly now, as you two look at the book together. this is where you belong. playing libero with the most incredible group of girls you’ve ever known. wingmanning for lara, laughing with dani, clowning manon, trying to keep megan from a near-daily crashout.

basking in the light that beams from sophia laforteza. reminding her every day that she is the sun in human form, twice as bright and just as warm. reminding her especially on the days she has a hard time believing it.

“i understand if you just want to be friends after this,” she tells you quietly, so infuriatingly thoughtful. “i totally get it. i’d love to be your friend.”

you let out a soft breath.

“i think friends a good place to be.”

sophia smiles, and you smile back. you stop yourself from reaching for her hand. her eyes twinkle as they look back at you. you watch her like she’s the sunset against the beach, and you let it warm you.

sophia laforteza smiling is your favorite view.

#☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous - pov.#☆ﾟ pov thoughts.#sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #katseye x reader #katseye sophia #sophia #sophia laforteza #katseye

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fitzpirations · 2 years ago

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days of wine and roses cast recording being recorded,, you love to see it. I will go back to posting more academic things on this blog at some point

#No I won’t #fun fact last night I went to see NYNY with my friend who won the lottery for kicks and the stage door staff said the cast couldn’t come ou #as they were in a big meeting #THE MEETING WAS THAT THEYRE CLOSING NEXT WEEK #did I like the show? No? Did they need an out-of-town tryout and a dramaturge? Most definitely. Do ya hate to see it? Still yes

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burgojo · 8 months ago

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HONEY POT. PJM / KTH / M!READER

summary. there's something wrong with the popular kids at this small-town high school. something deeply, viscerally, hauntingly wrong...

wc. 8.8k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, switch!jimin, jimin in skirts and heels, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, biting, spitroasting, brief daddy kink (r. receiving), gratuitous blood/gore, blood as lube (from another wound), cultism & religious fervour, cannibalism, murder

note. happy halloween!! i began this in early august to be on time, but uh, we know how that turned out :')

"—and i was like, no, that isn't how this works! i'm literally the best he's ever had, why would he ever wanna break up with me? i even bought him that stupid walkman he kept whining about and he still went and cheated on me and then tried to dump me. me! how could he?"

"well, he was already on his way to being a forty-year-old junkie who lives in a trailer park and hates life. he could've had so much with you. he'll realise how much he messed up – he'll get his karma."

"i know, i know... you're right. i just wish he could've been nicer. could've saved us both the trouble."

jimin lifts his soft dark eyes from his pink handheld mirror. he smacks his glossy lips and shuts the mirror with a clack, crossing his legs the other way and leaning back against the steps of the steel bleachers. he glances up at taehyung, who sits one step above him.

dressed in a cropped, pale pink shirt and blue jeans, taehyung fans his hot face with chunky rings on each finger, eyes lifted to the sky in a futile effort to hold back tears. jimin had already helped him redo his makeup in the bathroom, and this wasn't the first time taehyung had cried over a boy. poor thing just had too big of a heart – he wasn't made for modern boys and their vices.

jimin sucks on his teeth and sighs, turning forwards to lord over the verdant grassy field, where the senior boys are engaged in tryouts for college football teams. "don't worry, honey. we'll find the right one for you eventually. maybe try an athlete? the artsy ones are always such snobs."

"oh, they aren't all that bad, really," taehyung mumbles, patting the corners of his damp eyes lightly. "anyway, they all want you, not me. they're not into anyone who isn't a cheerleader."

"you're being silly. they just don't think you're interested – you keep rejecting them." jimin scours the field, tucking his dark hair behind his ear. a diamond stud flashes under the sun. he reaches out and touches taehyung's knee, leaning in for secrecy he doesn't need. "how about that one?"

"he called me a sour bitch. no."

"and that one?"

"he made me do all the work on a paired project and took my ninety-eight for himself. no."

jimin purses his lips, eyes flickering between their faces, warm and shining under the sun. all around, they looked quite similar – all fairly muscular, with the same lazy grins. not bad for eye-candy, he supposes, but taehyung is a romantic, which is how anyone he dates manages to bury themselves so deeply in his heart.

motion by the changing rooms on the other side of the field. jimin's eyes flick over naturally, and they widen.

strong, handsome, and, most importantly, taehyung is already looking at him.

he keeps his watchful gaze discreet, following the figure as he crosses the field and joins the coach to speak with him briefly. he is handed a football, which he tosses and spins in his hands a few times, and the coach gathers a few lounging boys to help out.

they spread out, and the tryout begins.

jimin isn't an expert on the game, only knows the basics, but he knows how to read a man – and the coach is clearly impressed by what he sees. jimin observes quietly, crossing his legs and uncrossing them, as he runs circles around the rest of the boys, leaving them far in the dust.

at last, when the boys are huffing and puffing with their hands on their heads and the cute one takes his time wandering back to the coach – after meeting jimin's eyes for a quick, sparkling second – jimin turns his head in taehyung's direction.

"what about... that one?"

taehyung huffs, pressing his knees together and resting his elbows on them. jimin doesn't mention how his gaze flicks to his shoes before meeting jimin's, almost as if he didn't want to be caught looking. he gives the footballer a once-over, then inspects his nails. "too tall."

jimin watches him push back his cuticles with his thumbnail, those thick dark lashes brushing his fine cheekbones. his prettiness makes him a honeypot for invariably bad people, and though jimin feels for him, he can't say he wants him to stop trying. everyone has their place in the world – even cheaters and liars. taehyung's relationships make it easier to weed them out for proper atonement.

"are you sure?" jimin asks carefully, tilting his head. "he looks like just your type."

"i don't have a type," taehyung sighs. "if i did, it'd make finding people that much harder."

eventually, jimin hums, and turns away to watch the tryouts.

out of sight, taehyung's shoulders slump slightly, and he exhales shakily. he nibbles on the edge of his nail as his eyes follow a figure lifting a water bottle to his lips. his sweat-shining throat bobs as he swallows rapidly, and a trickle of water escapes from the corner of his lips; it trails down his neck to soak into the collar of his shirt. he wipes it away without much thought. taehyung presses his thighs together.

suddenly, jimin turns back to him, propping his chin on his palm. his eyes are big and innocent as he asks, "hey, tae? you know that ex we were talking about earlier? i want his address."

"o-oh, um – just to make him sorry, right?"

"yeah. he will be."

taehyung swallows. "yes. okay. is it bad that i feel... that i pity him?"

jimin giggles, sweet and high like a bell. he squeezes taehyung's knee. "you're my best friend. i'm not going to let anyone get away with hurting you. you know that."

"mhm, i know. just make sure nobody sees you, alright? i don't want you getting in trouble for vandalism or something."

"oh, my charges would definitely include more than petty vandalism, but you know me – i cannot be caged!" he jumps to his feet and stretches high above his head, his shirt riding up to expose a sliver of pure, unblemished skin. the way he scrunches his nose slightly makes taehyung's heart flutter.

he exhales softly as his neck cracks, and he flashes taehyung a quick smile as he packs up his pin-studded messenger bag and slings it over his shoulder. "you can give me his address after school, but don't leave it too late. don't forget about the curfew. i have to go for now, but you make sure you take care of yourself, okay? if you feel too sad to study, i'm sure my mother would let you go home early if you asked."

taehyung hums and nods, leaning forward on the bench as jimin skips down the bleachers until his ivory pumps make a satisfying clack on the concrete base. "your nepo-baby status is really helpful sometimes, y'know?"

jimin beams, his eyes crinkling to crescents. "i know! see you around, honey. love you!"

"love you," taehyung echoes, and watches him go. his all-white outfit makes him as bright as the moon, and just as breathtaking. effortlessly, he carves a path through the crowds like moses and the red sea, perfectly oblivious to the power he wields over them all.

taehyung sighs and turns back to watch the tryouts, and that one special player right in the middle. just as he wishes you'd come and cheer him up, you glance over, grass stains on your shorts and a new bruise on your knee. as you meet his gaze, the biggest grin splits your face. you wave with your whole arm and taehyung giggles to himself, hiding his warm cheeks behind his knuckles as he lifts one shy hand.

his heart races. for you, he'll keep up this masquerade. this was a dangerous neck of the woods, and he wouldn't let anything steal you away – not even jimin.

he's waiting patiently for you at the edge of the field when you finally manage to break off from your mates. his slim fingers dance lightly over your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. as quickly as his touch arrives, it vanishes, his arms once more wrapped around his body like a hug.

"hey," he greets softly.

"hey yourself," you reply, amusement light on your tongue. "i saw you earlier. i hope you didn't get bored watching me chase after a ball like a dog."

he huffs. "what are you saying? dogs are cute. you were cute. i like seeing you bound across the field – you make for some especially tasty eye-candy, sweating and panting like that."

"do i, now?" you say playfully, leaning against the steel fence. he leans in too, matching your smile with a pretty, half-bitten one of his own. his lashes flutter as you tease a kiss, the tip of your nose brushing his cheek. "next thing i know, you'll be begging to lick me up."

he clicks his tongue, turning away from your almost-kiss in half-assed defiance. "tch. here i am, trying to be sweet, and you ruin it all. boys like you have only one thing on their minds."

"hey, you started it! besides, are you telling me you wouldn't wanna taste of my lollipop?" you smirk, gazing at his side profile. he's drop dead gorgeous, all full lips and big eyes, and you could easily while away your days doing nothing but admiring the symmetry of his features.

taehyung rolls his eyes, but there's no heat to it. he sniffs. "you wish. you wouldn't last long enough to enjoy the view."

you place a hand over your heart. "careful, pretty boy, or you and your mean insults could remain part of me for a long, long time. words hurt, you know?"

"what do i have to be careful for? you like me too much to do any lasting damage to me. it's nice, really. nice to know you love me – in your own, silly little way." he pokes your chest, and you catch his hand in yours and lift his knuckles to your lips. the ghost of a kiss shivers over his skin.

"silly?" you parrot, returning his hand to him with a knowing look. you rest your hip against the top of the chain-link fence, casting a glance casually over the field. "you think my acts of love are silly?"

taehyung hums, leaning over and grasping your chin. he turns your face towards him. "'sweet', then – that's probably a better word for it. none of my exes ever did what you do for me. not even close. i'm sorry, baby – please don't pout."

"i'm glaring, actually," you huff. "this is my glaring face."

"don't, you'll get wrinkles," taehyung chides. he glances around, and swiftly, like a little bird, flits up on his toes to press his lips against your cheek. in the blink of an eye, he settles back into place on his side of the fence. he sighs, and a sudden weight slumps his shoulders. you straighten, turning towards him properly.

"he noticed you," he says, his voice lower than usual. "pointed you out to me as a potential boyfriend."

the smile you were wearing drops like a stone. "he did?"

taehyung doesn't trust himself to speak; he nods instead, staring at his shoes.

"well," you say, at a loss for words. "i mean, he's tiny. what's he gonna do to me?"

his head snaps up and the intensity of his gaze catches you off-guard. "don't underestimate him. you can't. he – he can do more than hurt you. he'll ruin you.

"no, no – don't roll your eyes," he snaps. "i know, i sound paranoid, but you haven't even been here for six months. you haven't seen what i've seen." his focus flickers to your surroundings, and he seems uncomfortable even when he leans in to whisper. "please. keep away from him, don't tell anyone about us, and for the love of god, stop visiting my house after curfew. he's whip-smart – he notices it once, he'll catch on like that." he snaps his fingers. "also, we have a change of plans. mark's off the table – jimin wants him."

at that, the corners of your mouth turn down. you cross your arms. "not if i get there first."

"baby – baby, look at me. you can't risk it."

"fuck," you hiss between your teeth. you clear your throat and wipe the expression off your face, flawless neutrality taking its place. it still simmers under your skin, but it's always easier to sweep something under the rug than clean it up. "fine. i can bring a friend over tonight instead. it'll be easy enough – these sheep will follow me anywhere. we can... have him for dinner."

taehyung's eyes glimmer, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. the worry's sloughed off his shoulders for now, and that's as good as you can hope. "i've always loved your lamb steaks. i've been waiting for this – for you. i'll be at yours by seven sharp."

"wear your pretty clothes," you hum almost offhandedly as you survey your fellow students. there's not a care in the world in those empty heads. "something black – and sexy."

taehyung flicks his bangs out of his eyes. "everything i wear is sexy. you'd do well to remember that."

"yes, dear."

—

his hands shake. that oil-heat, sweat-sheen, bone-crunch. his breath rattles through his lungs like the tongue of a too-small bell.

the weight of the kitchen knife in his hand is too much – he lifts it, and it tilts forward dangerously, trembling in his red-wet palm. the silver glimmers and flickers under the yellow shed lights.

a warmth behind him, a sturdy presence – tender hands slide down his arms, tracing him from collarbone to wrist like a delicate porcelain doll. they fold around his slim fingers, big scarred knuckles too worn to be a boxer's – they wear gloves for protection.

"split the skin shallow, so you don't pierce the meat," you murmur, your breath hot against his ear. you guide his hands with your own, slowly pressing down until the pop of released pressure signifies the beginning of the cut. "all the way down, just like that... good. you slip the knife under the skin and peel it back, making a scything or slicing motion to cut the membrane. long, slow strokes to control the angle of the blade. you want the meat nice and lean."

the night is still and silent outside, not a cricket or dog to be heard. the rushing of taehyung's pulse is loud enough for them all. he can feel your excitement against him – the quickened breathing, the thudding heart, the hitched gasp when his grip tightens on the knife and steadies.

"perfect," you croon in his ear, an undercurrent of a growl echoing beneath your words. "take your time. i want your first time to be..."

you shift against him, and he feels something prod his backside. he bites down on the inside of his cheek to silence himself and takes a deep, shaky breath, pressing down with the knife. sinew and muscle part easily under the sharpened blade.

"it's easier," he whispers, barely a breath, "than i thought it would be."

"you're doing very well, but remember, i'm guiding you. you won't find a better person to teach you."

your hands are big and knowledgeable over his own, each arc of the knife steady and precise. the blood warms his skin up to the knuckles, but it pales in comparison to your own, smeared up past your wrists in a deep ruby red. a bucket by the leg of the table is full of gore, intestines wrapped around a bladder and stomach and hacked-off chunks of fat. it was a job too bloody and slippery to give to your pretty shrike.

"this will be your steak," you hum, stroking the heavy, lick-wet cut of meat almost reverentially. you press your lips to his shoulder, then to his temple. he can feel your smile against his skin. "perfect knifework. it's almost as if you've done it before."

"well, it's like you said," taehyung breathes, gently placing it in the metal bowl at the top of the table. a secondary bowl beside it is already filled with some lesser cuts of meat, which you'd done to kill time before his arrival. "there's no better person to teach me."

he turns around in your arms, carefully linking his bloodied fingers behind your head. he noses your jaw, his lips brushing over yours. the strappy black top he wears clings to him like a second skin, and the gap between it and the top of his pants reveals his toned stomach, flexing now as he presses his hips against your thigh. he whines softly as you knock his knees apart and slide your leg between his with a teasing grin.

"no need to play coy, beautiful," you purr, digging your palms into the edge of the table. "if you want it, just ask."

"but where's the fun in that?" he gasps as you nip the soft skin of his neck, canines making reds and purples bloom across his sun-kissed skin. "o-oh – y-you know you shouldn't do that, baby. not so high."

with a furrowed brow, you growl softly, slowly rocking your thigh against him. "rules, rules, rules... why does he dictate your life like this? scared of being tossed aside?"

taehyung shakes his head, his head falling back with a moan. for someone who doesn't like being marked up, he sure does make it easy. he exhales as your breath trails up his throat and over his jaw. "he's not. he doesn't."

"yet you pretend as if we've never met when he's around, and you don't say anything when he forbids you from working with your hands. he thinks you should stay clean and pretty because he likes it that way. he holds you back, and you let him."

you punctuate your words with a fist around his throat, slowly pressing in. the flush that'd dusted his chest and neck while working the knife spreads to the apples of his cheeks, sweet and shy. his breath catches, and he looks up at you through the dark forest of his lashes.

you can almost understand jimin's rules. someone as beautiful as him shouldn't need to mar his skin with stains and calluses. that he still desires it – desires to delve deep into the marrow of mortality, watch it squeeze out between his knuckles – turns your stomach, in sickness or adoration.

"i'm sorry," taehyung nearly whimpers, panting short and shallow as his blood-slick hands scramble at your shoulders and chest. his eyes are black with lust and his pulse throbs under your fingers. "i know. i just don't want to upset him. i care about him."

you don't look away when you grab one of his hands, resting over your heart. you lift his knuckles to your lips and, under the heavy haze of hunger, he watches as you wrap your lips around two of his fingers. your cheeks hollow, and your tongue swirls slowly around each joint, as if savouring more than the iron taste.

he swallows thickly as the hand around his throat shifts, less to choke and more to pull close. his heartbeat thuds at the back of his throat.

pinned between your body and the table, the tiny shed door locked behind you, he realises suddenly what it must feel like to be your prey. you have a visceral animal strength about you, muscles like steel cable wound tight, always on the brink of snapping. only the patience of a tiger in wait keeps the mask from slipping, breaking.

your canines graze his finger, held firm in the heat of your mouth. the look in your eye says it wouldn't take much to release that perfectly wound tension, to let the slick nubs of your teeth open him up.

the look in his eyes invites you to.

eventually, you pull away, a satisfied smile splitting your face. you crush your lips against his, nicking his lower lip, and he moans at the warm iron flooding his mouth. greedily, your tongue laps at the stinging cut.

"fuckin' perfect," you husk, gaze flickering down to the red smeared over his throat and jaw, then further down to the obvious bulge in his pants. you snicker. "hm. need help with that?"

"please." he reaches down, as if to undo the buttons right there and then.

you grab his wrists and tut. "sweetheart, not over our dinner. you know better than that."

he groans. "it's your fault for driving me crazy!"

in response, you just laugh and grab the bowls of steaks. it's a surprisingly light sound even though you were ready to eat him up mere moments ago. "come on, then. we've got all the good cuts already. head in and put these in the fridge; i'll deal with the carcass. i'll be quick, i promise."

"you better be," he mutters, loosening the latch on the door. "i'll kill you otherwise."

when you open the door to your bedroom, halfway through drying your hands on a tea towel, you are greeted by the sight of an angel on your bed, long slender legs spread just for you. you toss the towel onto a nearby chair and lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms. you let out a slow, appreciative wolf whistle, smirking when taehyung's eyes snap open and he bolts upright. he relaxes at the sight of you, one hand already slipping back between his thighs.

"you're not much of a gentleman, leaving me alone to entertain myself. you have to make it up to me."

"demanding little thing." you click your tongue, leaving the door open and approaching him on the bed. he leans back against the piled-up pillows, sighing softly as his fingers slip back inside himself. they do so with whorish ease, and the smoky darkness of his gaze is smug.

a challenge, then? you can do that.

your fingers glide over the back of a chair, slow and thoughtful. you drag it to the end of the bed and straighten it to face him. he shivers slightly in the warm night as you take a seat, leaning back and spreading your knees. one hand rests casually on your leg and the other props itself up on the armrest, curled in a loose fist.

he pulls his fingers out slightly. you snicker at the confusion in his flickering gaze. "what are you getting up for? i was just getting comfy."

"i—" he falters. almost indifferently, his fingers glide in and out of himself, keeping himself hard while he gathers his thoughts. "but you promised you'd fuck me tonight... killing always did rile you up, red-blooded beast that you are."

"beast?" you parrot, exaggerating a pout. "aw – and here i was, thinkin' i was more than an impressive cock to you." you run your thumb over your nails, your eyes flicking to his open legs and sticking there as he pulls his fingers out to pump his dick twice, thrice. his hand travels back down. "no. i promised no such thing. after all, you've got a date with your pretty boy tomorrow, yeah? don't want him wondering why you're so loose for him, do you?"

he whimpers softly at the mention of it. his fingers dig deeper inside him, upping the pace, and his cock pulses with need. "n-no... i-i mean, i could just say i got a bigger toy..."

"oh, no, sweetheart – if you like a man, never tell them your toy is bigger than them. 'specially them rich types. they bruise easily." you sigh softly, thumb gliding over the edge of your jawline. his twitching cock blushes under the hunger of your gaze and his hole clenches. "you'll just have to wait it out. patiently."

"but i want you." he gasps, the wet squelch of lube making everything ten times dirtier. his breath quickens and he adds a third finger, shuddering at the stretch. "ah– baby, please, i've already been doing this for ages—"

"i didn't ask you to."

"your fingers are thicker than mine," he whines, eyes growing big and ever-so-slightly teary. he's good, you'll give him that. the slight lip tremble, the shaky breaths. you could make him cry properly. he's always been a pretty crier. you wonder if his eyeliner will run.

he sinks his fingers in until the knuckle and he moans, bucking onto his fingers. "god, won't you just fuck me already? why touch yourself when you can touch me? i can see how hard you are!"

you lift your hand off the bulge in your jeans and undo your belt teasingly, thoughtfully – as if you might take him up on that tasty, tasty offer. you lean back in the chair and exhale softly as you free yourself from the confines of your underwear. your cock taps your stomach and taehyung keens, unable to tear his eyes off of it as you wrap your hand around its base, stroking shallowly.

"w-wait," he gasps, beginning to pull his fingers out, "wait, i wanna – let me—"

"no," you say sharply, movements halting. "sit back. i didn't tell you to stop."

"but i can—"

"taehyung."

he quietens, chastened but obedient. he gnaws on his lower lip as his hand returns to its rightful place. he quivers as he watches your palm smooth over your tip and slide back down, precome bubbling from the slit. he can feel his own smearing over his bare stomach, hotter than his warm skin.

instinct takes over. over and over. over and over.

he's such a good boy for you – he's wasted on a creature like jimin. then again, are you really better than him? just the same, you've denied him his basest needs. to part flesh with steel, impart bliss with lust – you've just dropped one piece of control for another.

no. you can be better. you are better.

taehyung gasps sharply as you all but lunge at him, pinning him to the bed by his throat. his golden hair haloes him on the crumpled white blankets, like a gilded apollo so gently posed against marble. he blinks slowly up at you, eyes soft with worship and dark with desire, and kisses the thumb tracing the cupid's bow of his lips, a hand curled around your wrist. the other reaches for you.

you groan softly as he pumps your cock, twisting his wrist expertly. your belt buckle clinks and he giggles, eagerly reciprocating your greed. he hooks his legs loosely around your thighs.

"and you were the one preaching patience," he hums as you lean away to tug your shirt over your head. it gets tossed into a corner without so much as a glance and taehyung flushes at the view, half-lidded gaze raking every inch of revealed skin like a man starved. "oh..."

"how many times have you seen me shirtless?"

"not enough." he grabs your hand and pulls you into him, his hands locking behind your head and tugging you into a heated kiss. "you're also not bloody enough for my liking."

without waiting for a response, his teeth clamp down in the junction between your neck and shoulder, where the meat is soft and muscle is taut.

pain blooms like a shard of ice, sudden and sharp. a decisive movement, it left no room for bruising. taehyung groans, guttural, and digs his teeth in deeper, if only to keep the wound open for longer. his fingernails print stinging crescents into your biceps and he whimpers, eyes rolling back, as you shove his head into your neck, forcing the blood down his throat.

melting heat and iron, the sharp tang dissolving into sweetness – his tongue laps at the oozing wound, the arc of his teeth imprinted forever into your skin until the white of your bones will gleam under the midday sun.

when you allow him to pull away, his eyes are black, dazed and blissful. he smiles from ear to ear, teeth red and stained down the chin and throat, and crushes his lips against yours, tangling your hair in his grip and moaning sinfully loudly. his cock throbs, crushed between your bodies, and he bucks against your shaft, the vein on the underside catching against the ridge of your tip with a shuddering bolt of pleasure.

"i'm yours! i'm yours, all yours," he whispers fervently, obsessively. his tongue swipes over his lower lip, the oily heat marking him just like a sheep bloodying the muzzle of a wolf.

he smiles. he laughs. he presses your foreheads together, his stomach slick with his orgasm, and kisses you again, this time sitting upright in your arms.

"you're good to me. so, so good to me." he leaves the print of his lips against your throat and jaw like a jealous girlfriend, your own blood a perfect valentines' red. "fuck me – please? or i could suck you off, if you're still worried about tomor—oh!"

you flip him over and pull his hips towards you, slotted perfectly between your thighs. his own shine with excess lube and you push your cock between his plush thighs, thrusting impatiently to coat it. over his shoulder, he watches, wide-eyed, as you drag a few fingers up your chest towards your shoulder – towards the red bite mark leaking down your chest.

you smear the blood on your cock. taehyung's core throbs – his back arches. he nearly screams as you yank him onto your cock, burying yourself hilt-deep in not-enough thrusts. his mouth falls open as the burn sears its way up his spine and caresses his brain. he swears he can feel you in his throat.

"fuck! fu-fuck," he burbles, crying out as you set a steady pace, your hips slapping against his ass. you push his knees together with your own and his eyes show their whites, mouth open in a perpetual moan. he buries the chants into the pillow, staining it with blood, and his knuckles whiten around fistfuls of blanket as your cock scrapes his insides so deliciously, stabbing and thudding against his prostate. "fuck, oh my god, fuckfuckfuck—!"

you click your tongue, gaze glued to the point where you meet. "you've got a mouth on you, haven't ya? should fuck you until you forget how to talk. that'll clean you right up, nice and ready for your little boytoy. would you like that, sweetheart?"

"fuck, daddy, please, yes please," he whines, letting the pillow swallow the rest of his sounds. the ricochet of skin on skin echoes loudly in the cosy bedroom, and his cock throbs as it swings between his creamy thighs. shit, you could watch the ripple of his ass until the day you died, and none of it would be wasted time. you're beginning to suspect he has a stronger hold on you than you thought.

your shoulder stings like a bolt of clarity and you growl, grabbing and pulling his hips to meet your thrusts. he whimpers at the sound. "what an obedient pup. a little eager, but i s'pose that's normal, given that tonight was your first time." you huff and slap his thigh, making him yowl and his hips jerk. "wasted, you are. such steady hands. i could use someone like you."

"y-yes, yes, use me – ah, ah – love being used! mmn—!"

"not quite what i was saying, but i'll let it slide." you slam your hips into him and he chokes on it, letting his head falls limply to the pillow. he hasn't felt your cock in so, so long – he can't believe he'd almost forgotten how good it felt, how it filled him up just right to knock his brains out. you gripped him so tightly, too, as if he might get up and leave at any time – but you should know by now that he'll always be the one running back to you, that sick glint in your eye only making him swoon harder.

you had a few bad habits, sure. a few dark fantasies. but so did taehyung. and now he had your blood in him – your essence, the purest part of you – which could never be taken away, even if the elders found out about your relationship. they could take you, but not the part of you that you'd planted deep inside him. they'd never be able to dig it all out. you were a rot to their perfectly-tended garden, and taehyung wouldn't let you be cut out so easily – not when you were so sweet on the tongue.

he licks his lips, the faint taste of what remains fluttering his heart. he'd been careless with his moans, the cries of your name like a prayer. he found so many little deaths with you, and the best ones came screaming.

suddenly, emptiness – you pull away, hand slipping out of his. you halt, stiller than the dead.

hoarsely, taehyung whispers your name, a whine on the tip of his tongue. "n-no... so close, was so close, please..." he turns around.

his heart drops like a stone.

"hello," says jimin, in a voice like silk.

"baby, put the knife down," taehyung stammers, all pleasure doused by the sight of that too-big blade pressed up against your throat. "don't."

"why should i?" he adjusts it, nicking a fine pink line beneath your ear. red beads along it like a string of pearls. "he's a killer. he must be cleansed, same as the rest."

unconsciously, taehyung wipes his mouth, as if your influence on him could be removed so easily. he can still feel the heat of it pulsing against his lips. "but he's mine."

you roll your eyes, hands open and half-raised. of all the things he could've said...

yet, it seems to give him pause. the kitchen knife almost loosens – almost. he tugs your hair roughly, punishingly, and you grunt as the blade whispers against your skin. you have half a mind to teach him a bloody hard lesson, but taehyung might not like that.

"wait!" taehyung darts forward, hand outstretched. he slumps on the bed in front of jimin, gripping the sheets. "how – how did you find us?"

"i followed your ex," jimin replies, observing the wet blood painting half of your chest. the red against your skin is rather pretty... and it's in the shape of taehyung's teeth. "this mark is good at covering his tracks. not so much for those of others."

taehyung's eyes widen. no. you promised to stay away from his ex! then again, he never did see the face of the meat he was cutting up... and you weren't one to be one-upped by the likes of jimin.

"he's not a mark," he pleads, "not officially. he could join us! how many people has he already killed? how long did it take for you to realise? you only found him because he was too rash with this one."

jimin's eyes narrow. "all that tells me is that he grew cocky and let his guard down."

"the mark was cruel to me. he did it for me," taehyung implores, his eyes earnest. "he loves me. and i love him. put down the knife. initiate him."

you frown. initiate?

for a long time, jimin says nothing. he doesn't move.

he lifts the knife. taehyung's eyes widen.

he raises his hands in surrender. he huffs and crosses his arms, drumming his fingers against his arm as he cocks a hip. his skirt and knitted vest give him the impression of a private-school kid, although the short sleeves of the dress shirt seem a touch too tight to be unaltered. he wears a shiny pair of tall, heeled mary janes, but you hadn't heard him until the knife was at your throat. odd.

"fine," he drawls, eyeing you with a slight curl to his upper lip. "you have two minutes to convince me. you're so lucky i like you, tae. wh—i mean, why do you even care? you said he wasn't your type."

"well," he searches carefully for the right words, "things change. and he fucks me the way i like it. you can't tell that from a glance."

jimin's gaze strays briefly downwards, over the shine of blood and flexing muscle. you're still hard, and when his gaze flicks up to meet yours, your lips twitch up into a smirk. you adjust your undone jeans and cross your arms.

eventually, jimin steps closer, reaching out curiously to prod at the bite mark. ruby red oozes, and he watches closely as your eyes flutter briefly shut. his tongue glides over his glossy lower lip. "hm... but he's still a killer. i don't know what makes him more useful to me alive."

it's as if a lightbulb flashes over taehyung's head.

he leans forward, resting a hand on your thigh. he tilts his head against your hip. "maybe you can... try him. see from my perspective."

"i'm not getting on my knees," jimin scowls immediately, "not for a sinner."

"but you don't mind it when i do?"

jimin opens his mouth. he closes it. he throws his hands in the air, knife waving around carelessly. "we're not the same! i'm already doing you a kindness by letting him live this long. i should be flaying him right now for tainting your body with his filth. you're supposed to be pure. unsullied."

"pure?" you repeat, scoffing. you can only stay quiet for so long. "oh, you lot are crazy-crazy. worse than me."

his eyes narrow and his knuckles whiten on the knife handle. taehyung shoves himself between you, gripping your hand in his own. "no! stop it, both of you! if you kill each other, who's gonna take care of me? i'm still hard."

he's the perfect height for you. you prop your chin on his shoulder with a lazy grin, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist. you play with his cock, making his breath stutter. "you're right as always, sweetheart... how cruel is he for cockblocking you? you deserve everything in the world and more..."

jimin's fingers twitch. taehyung bucks shallowly against you, but you keep him firmly in place as you stroke his cock, already sensitive. you kiss his neck. you haven't taken your eyes off of jimin.

he presses his thighs together as taehyung lets out a soft whimper.

"come on, sweet thing," you croon into his ear, cupping his chest and grazing his nipple. "don't you want my cock?"

gulping, he tries not to show how affected he is by the hardness pressing against his ass. "a-ah, um..."

"what was that?" you flick your wrist roughly and taehyung's eyes shoot open. blood fills his mouth from a bitten cut in his cheek.

nervously, he lifts his eyes to jimin's. his gaze is fixed on your hand and the way it engulfs taehyung's cock, flicking over his slit and grazing the veins with your nails. "i want – i w-want..."

"say it, tae."

the words come not from your lips, but jimin's. two fingers slip into taehyung's ass and he jolts with a sweet moan as you curl them.

"i want your cock," he rushes out in one breath. "fuck, i want it so bad."

"even more than your boyfriend's?" your words are sly, coated in a thick layer of faux innocence. "why?"

taehyung doesn't bother answering. you know the answer – so does jimin. he turns in your arms and cups your face in his hands, bringing you down for a desperate, hungry kiss. you thrust your fingers into his hole and he jerks, clamping down around you. you swallow his moans, pumping your fingers teasingly.

"i wonder," you drawl, kissing a trail up taehyung's neck, "if he likes watching. maybe that's why he doesn't want to date you. he wants to sit back and watch as other men ruin your pretty little body – after all, it's hard to enjoy the faces you make when preoccupied with doing all the real work."

the sharp intake of breath and the way he clenches around you tells you what you want to hear. he looks up at you with those dark, dark eyes, his breath quick and shallow, and leans into it when you sit him down on the bed with a creak. swiftly, he turns over, arching his back and wiggling his ass. he gazes back at you with huge eyes as you remove your pants. he's almost shy – though the twitching cock leaking down his thigh is anything but. red and angry, it demands attention.

you glance at jimin. the knife's still in his hand, but the thought of it seems secondary to the sight of taehyung on his hands and knees. you can hardly blame him.

from the edge of the bed, you grab the bottle of lube taehyung had brought with him. you slather a generous amount onto your cock and push a few fingers into taehyung with the remnants, exhaling softly as he pushes his hips back against your knuckles.

"my perfect boy." you scissor your fingers, then slide them out. "c'mon – don't be shy. show your dear jimin how well i stretch you out."

he glances your way sharply. you're already staring at him, grinning in the airheaded, cocky, handsome way that all popular boys seem to know intrinsically. the soft lips, the blood, the way you manoeuvre taehyung's body around yours as if he's a prop to make you look better... every jock knows that rising in the ranks means he needs to talk louder than the next guy, take up more space than the next guy, have prettier girls on his arms than the next guy. they say confidence is key, but that's only good at pool parties where nobody wants to really call anyone's bluff.

you're the only one who does it right. you're the only one with a cock to match that body.

taehyung exhales shakily as he reaches back and parts his asscheeks, fingers digging harder than necessary into the plump meat. he hides his burning face in the sheets as jimin steps closer, and his breath quickens as you tap your cock against his ass, teasing his hole with your tip.

"cute, isn't he? surprisingly sweet, too. thought he'd be more of a brat when i first saw him," you hum, casually stuffing your cock into him in one smooth movement. taehyung yelps and lets out a quivery little moan, his slick walls clenching around your thick cock. he sounds like he's trying not to cry – you sigh patiently and pet his hair before your hands return to their rightful places on his hips to pull him onto you.

his body jolts with each thrust, his muffled cries breathy and whiny. his ass ripples with the slap of your hips. on a particularly rough thrust which has him seeing stars, he whimpers out a "daddy" that has jimin's breath hitching audibly.

"good, baby," you husk, palms gliding down his body appreciatively. you slap his ass – so hard your palm stings – and he chokes, already-wobbly knees giving out beneath him. he catches himself just in time but the angle has your cock driving deeper inside him, oscillating wildly from kissing his prostate to fucking his brain out his ears.

you grab a fistful of his hair and loom over him, your lips brushing his earlobe. his spine arches when you tug roughly, his eyes rolling to show their whites as your cock throbs inside him, each thrust wet and slick. "tell him how you feel, whore," you murmur, soft but loud enough for your voice to carry. he gasps sharply at the title and his aching cock leaks like a faucet into a puddle of his own precome. he shakes his head, embarrassment hot in his core.

you tilt your head. "maybe i'll even let you suck him off."

"it f-feels good," he cries immediately. the quick, precise slapping of skin on skin echoes in the room. "i love your cock! i love tay-taking cock, love being fucked by big cocks – oh god! – 'n' yours is the biggest! love getting stretched wide on your dick, getting fucked 'til it hurts—! i-i never wanna come off, mm, i love being your cockslut – wanna be your bitch, your toy, all yours—" you bury yourself balls-deep in his guts and his mouth falls open, thick white come spurting from his tip; it's almost humiliating how you can make him finish without a single brush against his dick. he smiles, broad and wobbly. "ohhh..."

you peck his cheek, pressing against his back low and heavy like an animal. you grip his jaw. "coming already? don't go passing out on me," you chide, tilting his head in jimin's direction. "look at him. look. there we go. see how hard he is? he must like how obedient you get with me – with your daddy."

heat floods his body to the marrow. you've never used that title on yourself before – it's always been taehyung's thing, something you don't mind only because it's him. the raking burn of pleasure hurts, blooming from his cock all the way up his spine and out to his fingers and toes.

possession. it spins in taehyung's jumbled mind. you fuck him like you want to bruise your name inside him, forcing him to think of you and only you even when jimin sits on that chair in front of him, a perfectly manicured hand wrapped around his leaking length, just begging to be touched.

briefly, taehyung wonders how you might fuck jimin. he's giving you his infamous bedroom eyes, but there's an acrid darkness that taints his gaze. jealousy? inadequacy? scorn? taehyung's thighs are hot and sticky.

maybe you'd be rougher with him, tie him up and fold him in half with his legs over your shoulders. even as he distantly obeys your whispered order to open his mouth, and even as jimin slides his velvety cock between his lips, he can't stop imagining you behind jimin, manhandling him and forcing him to ride you to get off, even though jimin's such a pillow princess.

you grip taehyung's hips, sweat shining on your skin. you spread his ass and thrust deeper, smirking when he jerks forward, choking down the rest of jimin's dick and ripping a pleasured curse from his throat.

taehyung's limbs feel like jelly. he braces against jimin's hip, hooking his thumb under the hem of jimin's skirt to pin it back. as he sinks down on his cock, he chances a glance up.

rid of his little sweater vest and unbuttoned down to the navel, jimin does very little to chase his high. he meets taehyung's eyes and tilts his head slightly – he's almost perfectly still, and the only thing he does is gather his skirt in a fist. your quick, snapping pace sets taehyung's, and it's only by the blown pupils and pink-tinged cheeks that taehyung knows he's doing well.

"so," you begin, and your voice is remarkably steady. "did you come here intending to kill me?"

"please, i barely know who you are. there are others—" his breath catches, and he closes his eyes to steady himself "—others who're more deserving of atonement than you. which isn't to say i thought you a paragon of virtue – you're a handsome guy on a sports team, and sin comes to your type like moths to a flame. i knew i'd come to collect eventually, but you surprised me. congrats – not many can."

"did you watch?" you ask, patting taehyung's ass almost fondly. "he did so well with the – what did you call him? your mark? did you see how beautiful he looked, nearly orgasmic as he cut him open and warmed his hands with his blood? you must enjoy it, too – seeing the life fade from your victims' eyes. otherwise, you would've culled me the moment i took your kill."

his eyes narrow. "you're sick."

you laugh. "y'know, you and your little 'cult' aren't slick. i saw how pretty girls and guys don't shy away from the forest or the nasty parts of town because what they can do far outweighs the shard of glass a cokehead waves around. i thought it was a creative writing exercise gone crazy, something to explain the unusual disappearances around here. it was good for me, though. nobody'll raise a fuss if one more douchebag goes missing."

"i should kill you now."

"but then sweet little taehyung would be upset – you heard him." you pout. "besides, you must've liked something about me or you would've gotten rid of me as soon as i ravaged your favourite boytoy. do you have a thing for corruption? is that why you stayed, watched him come as soon as he tasted my blood? if you like, i'll let him bite the other side."

he pulls taehyung's throat down on his cock by his hair. taehyung eagerly laps up every throbbing inch he receives, nails digging into jimin's ass. he jolts and gags slightly as hot come pours down his throat without warning – his eyes flutter shut as his throat bobs, lips pressed against jimin's base.

"oh, i like you," you purr, something of a song lilting your voice. "are you as angry when you take cock, i wonder?"

"try it, i dare you."

you turn your attention to taehyung, who sits jimin's cock in his mouth like a good boy. he suckles softly, dazed and faraway. his walls are soft and hot, each gummy ridge stroking and clamping around you to pull you in as deep as possible when you finally, finally come, forcing him over the precipice as well for the nth time that night.

you pet his hair and he leans into it, moaning as you gently pull out, letting him sink into the mattress. thick come drips down his inner thigh, pooling in the dips of the bed. softly, you groan, gathering yourself and lavishing kisses upon kisses over his neck and shoulder. "what do you think, baby? should i fuck the cultist freak?"

taehyung pops off wetly, licking his lips. his chest heaves. it's hard to scoop his brain up off the floor, but the thought of the two people hottest people he knows putting on a show, all for him? "p-please..."

you raise your eyes, and meet jimin's glare with a smirk. "you heard him. don't wanna disappoint, do we?"

"you think you deserve to fuck me? after everything you've done? you don't even kill for a reason," he scoffs. "you're no better than an animal."

"what is it with you and prettyboy here thinking i'm less than human? you cower behind your righteous moral justifications when you take a life and hold me to the same standards, but animals don't have morals. i can only be one, baby, so choose."

jimin glowers.

"you've got me in a box," he admits eventually, and his expression twists as your smile turns gloating. "shut up. you can fuck me – just this once."

"those are dangerous gambling words," you tease, but lay back against the headboard, one hand behind your head and the other wrapping around the base of your cock. your absence above him makes taehyung blink – hard – before he shuffles after you like a sleepy puppy and buries his face in your shoulder.

his thighs still twitch every now and again, and he lifts his unfocussed gaze to meet jimin's. it clears, just enough, for a fat, satisfied grin to spread across his face and he shifts to spread his shaky legs, showing off the warm glazed mess between his thighs like a piece of art.

jimin's cock throbs. taehyung grins lazily, knowingly, eyes half-lidded and hungry. he slides your slick cock between the vee of his fingers and flicks his wrist. a pearl of precome beads along your slit and follows the line of a vein, gathering eventually along taehyung's slender finger.

unwise, a voice whispers in his head, regal and maternal, yet youthful.

with a sigh too breathy to be accidental, taehyung splays his fingers over his lips and tilts his head back, taking one finger at a time against his scarlet tongue to clean it. his lashes graze his cheeks. his eyes are black corridors of velvet, and he gives jimin's invisible leash a tug with a curl of his pretty fingers.

it was never that taehyung made it too hard to say no. he made it far too easy to say yes.

#no one look at my lack of header please i'll fix it soon i just lost my hdd with the files </3 #top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #top reader #bts x male reader #bottom bts #bottom taehyung #taehyung x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #taehyung smut #bottom jimin #jimin x male reader #jimin smut

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months ago

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Hi, I really liked it and I thought the maidenless board game club headcanons were really fun, I don't know if you've done it for any other club, but if not, I'd like to ask if you could do it for the basketball club if it were possible, it's the club that has some of my favorite characters and I would really like to read :)

[Maidenless Board Game Club headcanons here!]

asdyugagsodoefa Thank you, I'm glad you liked those original headcanons 😅 That post is actually a bunch of ideas I cooked up while talking with a friend. We also talk about the Basketball Club a lot, so here's a compilation of those too. It should be noted that I do not intend to complete this prompt for all of the characters; I'm only posting the Basketball Club content because I happen to have them on hand. Any and all mentions of the reader are meant to be gender neutral; gendered terms may still appear in these headcanons, but never in reference to the reader.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Ace tries to claim his stake as the "cool guy" of the team by bragging about his ex to the older players + acting like some dating god and advice dispenser. They seem none too impressed by him, with some of them (including Floyd) dunking on him for being ganged up on and scolded by a bunch of girls.

He swears to his club mates he can bag someone, he just thinks dating’s way too much trouble so he’s fine by himself, thank you very much! It’s Ace obviously scrambling to salvage his pride and reputation among his peers. (No one believes him.)

During the move-in week to NRC, Ace was out in Foothill Town to buy school supplies. He saw Jamil in casual wear and mistook him as a mature onee-san so he catcalled him. Ace rambled on for a while before Jamil cut him off by informing him that he is a man. This shocked and embarrassed Ace so much that he shut up and scurried away, thankful that the chances of running into Jamil again are slim... until he sees the exact same guy at the Basketball Team tryouts.

Ace has too much pride to back out now, but he also deeply fears that Jamil will obliterate him by sharing their first interaction with the team. Whenever Jamil smirks, Ace gets a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and dreads what Jamil will say next. It could be the end of his social life at school! (It’s dangled over Ace’s head as collateral to get him to behave; if Ace acts out, Jamil will start to tell the story as a warning.)

If Ace spots a cute spectator at their games, he’ll wink at them, then call out and dedicate his next shot to them. (Bro proceeds to completely whiff the throw; the ball bounces off the rim of the hoop.)

He feels insecure about his masculinity, especially when put next to his senpai who get a lot more attention than he does. Ace tries to mooch off their popularity by claiming he’s a lot closer to them than he actually is or by playing up the role of being “the cute one”, only to be humiliated by Floyd or Jamil’s jeers. “Mmm? Isn’t Crabby the one who called me ‘the worst’ the other day?” / “… ‘Cute’? You? Don’t make me laugh. You’re anything but.”)

Attracts a decent amount of romantic attention (which Ace loudly complains about) but never commits to actively pursuing any relationship in the long term. No one seems to hold his interest long enough--and besides, Floyd's not lookin' to be tied down.

When asked “why do you like them?” or “why are you with them?” Floyd usually responds with a shrug or an answer that’s not too well thought out like, “Uh, cuz they told me they were into me?” or, “I dunno, just felt like it today.”

Frequently pisses potential partners off due to his attitude. Floyd can be fun but he flakes very often, saying he’ll be there one day and then cancelling like an hour before the date. He’s never consistent with anything, and that tests patiences.

Also commits the sin of ghosting people once he loses interest or he feels they’re being too needy. Ace calls him a bastard for that, but Floyd shoots back by reminding Ace he did this to HIS ex too.

There was an incident in which his S/O of like... one weekend's worth of time saw Jade in public and approached him, thinking it was Floyd. Jade did not recognize them but played along just to have fun. The S/O was so offended they stormed off and broke up with Floyd via text. He wasn't bothered at all; he and Jade shared a laugh about it. ("You're equally awful," Jamil had chided them.)

Casually and shamelessly talks about his escapades. Doesn’t care to be tactful with his wording, lays it all out there. Ace is super invested in the gossip whereas Jamil makes it clear he’s disgusted by this use of their club time.

Single because he is legitimately way too busy with school, caring for Kalim, etc. to even entertain the idea of a relationship. Doesn’t need that extra stress right now.

Najma calls him “forever alone” to her friends and jokingly acts all disgusted whenever he acts slightly shy or affectionate towards someone. “Oh my gosh, Jamil…! Are you crushing on them?!” she teases him. “Wow, I never thought I’d see the day where you’d be all lovey-dovey…” Since that first incident, Jamil had vowed to himself to never allow his sister see him in such a vulnerable state.

Due to his flat voice and placid face, Jamil is aware he can come off as cold or disinterested. He makes sure to smile a little and to brighten up his tone when speaking with someone he wants to make a good first impression with--but he's also careful never to get too close, to be too familiar. He must keep polite and professional at all times, lest he bring shame upon his name--or the Asims' name.

Jamil has somehow settled into the position of the "team mom" (not by choice, but due to necessity; who else is going to round up all these idiots?). He's the one bringing snacks, reminding the team to behave and to stay hydrated, tending to injuries with his first aid kit, etc. Ace sometimes makes fun of this and claims "no one wants a second parent for a boyfriend", to which Jamil just rolls his eyes and tells him to stop acting so childish.

The only one with some god damn common sense around here. Jamil listens to the callous way Floyd and Ace treated their exes and shakes his head, sighs, and tells them off. In his head, he talks himself up and claims he isn't so stupid as to make the same mistakes that they did if he were in their shoes. (... Yes, Jamil Viper is his OWN hype man for hypothetical romantic situations 😭)

HE’S SO REPRESSED, HOLY SHIT. Since he can’t feasibly go out and seek a relationship, Jamil settles for daydreams of a peaceful domestic life, traveling Twisted Wonderland together, and other adventures. He’d rather die than share any of these fantasies with his peers.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Floyd Leech #twst x reader #Jamil Viper #Ace Trappola #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #curiouser and curiouser #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #Reader #self insert #Ace Trappola x Reader #Jamil Viper x Reader #Floyd Leech x Reader

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stilinskiandthebanshee · 1 month ago

Text

Falling Into The Stars | Natalie Scatorccio x Kevyn's Sister!Reader

Part One | Part Two (Coming Soon) | Masterlist (Coming Soon)

Word Count: 2.8K

Warnings: None really yet. Smoking, mentions of grief, and dead parents.

Summary: You're back in Wisayok, carrying grief and secrets, landing under the awkward watch of your half-brother Kevyn. The house feels unfamiliar—and then there’s Natalie: cool, mysterious, and smirking like she’s waiting for something to unravel. Sparks aren’t flying yet, but the air between you is charged. This isn’t just a homecoming—it’s the start of something complicated.

a/n: I don't love this chapter guys, but I've been going over and over it for days at this point, so I just had to put it out there. Truly, this is just a lot of setup for what's to come!

It was a chilly day in Wisayok, the kind of wet, heavy cold that clung to your skin and soaked into your bones. Rain tapped steadily against your cheeks—a welcome change after the brutal heat wave that had blanketed the town all week. It almost felt like the weather was trying to match the storm inside you, like the sky was doing its best impression of grief. Heavy clouds. Fat raindrops. Like the universe knew.

Kevyn’s ratty old truck rattled beneath you, the engine sputtering loud enough to drown out whatever mumbled track was playing through the radio. None of it registered. You kept your head against the cold glass of the passenger-side window, watching trees blur past like they couldn’t get away fast enough.

When the truck lurched to a stop, you blinked back into the moment. The parking lot was mostly empty—figures, considering Kev insisted on getting there early. Claimed it was so you could get settled before the crowd rolled in. But you knew better. He wanted time to find his friends and get high behind the gym.

Not that you were one to judge. The cigarettes in your pocket might as well have been screaming your name.

Kevyn tapped the steering wheel, hesitant. You could feel his eyes on you before he even said anything.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Dad said you didn’t have to rush back to s—”

You cut him off before he could finish. He’d been hovering like this since the second you showed up on their porch—arms full of your shit, face still streaked with tears after your mom died.

Hell, he’d been like this since the day you were born, always trying to play the protector. Always a few steps too late.

“I’m fine, Kev,” you said, pushing the door open before he could argue.

The air outside felt thick. Stale. A few early arrivals were scattered across the lot, their curious glances sticking to you like static. You didn’t look at them. Didn’t have to. You already knew what they were thinking.

Kevyn showing up to school with a girl in his truck? That had to be news.

Most of them probably didn’t even know he had a sister.

You kept your head down as you made your way to the principal’s office, hoodie pulled up until the front desk lady barked at you to take it off. You did, barely, and dropped into the chair outside his door, arms crossed, trying not to look like you were crawling out of your skin.

You barely heard a word Mr. Whatever was saying once he ushered you inside. Something about pep rallies and school spirit and tryout dates. Your eyes stayed fixed on the clock. You didn’t care.

You were already missing your old school. Your old teams.

Your old life.

The one where your mom woke you up with pancakes and you led your cheer squad to States. Not the waking nightmare you’d landed in two months ago, the one no one seemed able to pull you out of.

You felt dazed as Mr. Hampton led you through the halls, pointing out classrooms like it mattered. You half-listened, nodding when he paused in front of a door and told you to wait out first period in study hall. You barely nodded before slipping away the second his back turned.

You didn’t even think twice—just kept walking until you found somewhere away from all the unfamiliar stares, the curious whispers that made your skin itch.

There was a green utility box near the edge of the field, probably a generator or something, and you slid behind it without hesitation. It was just tucked away enough that you could hear the girls on the soccer field but not see their faces. Their laughter felt like it belonged to a world you used to live in.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the half-crushed pack of cigarettes, one already between your lips before you had time to second-guess it. It was a nasty habit you’d picked up at your last school, something casual that turned chronic once your mom got sick.

The first inhale was heaven. That familiar buzz in your chest finally quieting the noise in your head, just long enough to breathe.

A voice cut through the cheers—sharp, loud, unmistakably cocky. “Come on, that was barely a touch!”

You peeked around the corner, just for a second, catching the tail end of a blonde ponytail and a flash of athletic tape wrapped around lean fingers. Whoever she was, she’d gotten the attention of the whole field. You couldn’t see her face, not clearly, but the way she moved—confident, relaxed, like she owned the space—sent an odd flutter through your chest.

You shook off, retreating further behind the wall, taking another drag. Didn’t matter who she was. You were only here to keep your head down until graduation—then get far away from this shitty town and every bittersweet memory of your mom it held.

—----

The day passed quicker than expected. Bound to happen when you barely showed up to any classes, instead drifting between bathrooms and empty study halls. You learned fast: when no one knew your name, it was easy to disappear.

By eighth period, guilt, or maybe boredom, convinced you to show face. One class. Just enough to make it seem like you tried. And even if you’d never admit it, Art had always been your thing. A throwaway for most, but not for you. You took a seat in the far corner, pulling out your sketchbook—the worn, half-filled one Kevyn and your dad had given you for your last birthday. They’d been desperate back then, offering anything they could to coax out a smile. It hadn’t worked at the time, but now… now it was the only thing that made sense.

The teacher’s voice droned on with the usual first-day crap: rules, rubrics, supply lists. You were barely listening until the door swung open, and his sigh cut through the haze.

“Mrs. Scatorccio. Late on the first day. Off to a fantastic start.”

That voice.

Your head snapped up. And there she was. The same girl from the field. The blonde. Only now, she wasn’t just a blur of motion and laughter across the grass. Now she was front and center, and it hit… different.

She had that kind of presence that demanded attention without trying. A leather jacket slouched over her shoulders like she couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly, dark eyeliner smudged in a way that looked accidental but perfect. A half-lazy smile tugged at her mouth, like she found the whole thing amusing.

“Got a reputation to uphold, don’t I?” she said, voice smooth like honey laced with trouble.

The teacher rolled his eyes and waved her off, already over it. But before you could look away, her eyes met yours. Green. Bright, vivid, and just shy of brown if you weren’t paying close enough attention.

You looked away fast—too fast. She noticed. And then she was moving.

Straight toward you.

Your stomach did something traitorous. Not a flutter, exactly. More like a twitch of nerves you couldn’t quite explain. You told yourself it was annoyance. Or dread.

She stopped in front of your desk, plaid skirt swaying slightly as she tilted her head.

“You’re in my seat, newbie.”

Then, with a smirk and a gentle kick to the leg of your desk, she dropped into the chair beside you.

“But you look so cute back here, brooding in the corner. I’ll let it slide this time.”

Her voice was teasing—casual, like it wasn’t meant to stick. But it did. It lodged somewhere in the back of your throat, caught between a scoff and a shiver.

You tried not to stare as she pulled a crumpled sheet of paper from her pocket. No backpack. No pencil case. Nothing. That was what she was planning to draw on?

You glanced back down at your sketchbook, suddenly too aware of how tightly your fingers were gripping it.

Who even was this girl?

Her presence felt suffocating beside you, even though she wasn’t doing anything in particular. Just there. Scribbling across that balled-up scrap of paper like it was no big deal, leaning back in her chair like this was her living room, not a classroom. Something about the way she moved—loose, careless, like none of it mattered—itched beneath your skin. Like a splinter you couldn’t dig out.

She leaned in without warning, her breath brushing the side of your neck. It sent a cold shiver skating across your skin. You didn’t look at her. Refused to. You stared straight ahead, stiff as her fingers curled over the edges of your desk.

“Hey, newbie,” she murmured, voice low and lazy. “Can I borrow a sheet of paper?”

You exhaled hard, reaching into your sketchbook and yanking out a page with more force than necessary. Anything to get her to back off. You shoved it her way without making eye contact.

“Thanks,” she said, quiet but with that unmistakable grin threading through her voice. She knew exactly what she was doing. And worse—you knew she knew.

“You make a habit of showing up late and unprepared?” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, even as your pencil dug too hard into the paper.

She laughed. A short, surprised breath like you’d caught her off guard. You could feel her smile shift from smug to genuinely amused.

“Nah,” she said, stretching her arms behind her like she couldn’t be bothered. “Only when there’s a cute girl I can bum some off of.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. Of course she was that kind of person—someone who could flirt with a brick wall and convince it to blush. “Smooth,” you muttered, voice dry.

She didn’t say anything at first. For a second, you let yourself believe maybe she’d finally lost interest. Maybe that was it.

But then, quiet and sure, her voice cut through again.

“Made you blush, though.”

The rest of class passed in a blur. Or maybe that was just your survival response kicking in—pretend you weren’t still hyper-aware of the girl next to you who hadn’t said another word but kept doodling like she wasn’t sitting directly inside your personal space.

You bolted the second the bell rang.

Your plan was simple: get to the parking lot before Kevyn so you could stare into space for a few minutes and maybe finish another cigarette before heading home.

What you didn’t expect was to see her there again.

Leaning against Kevyn’s truck like she owned it. Leather jacket still slung over her shoulders, plaid skirt hitched just enough to look deliberate. She was talking to him—fucking laughing, even—and whatever she said made him roll his eyes and shove her lightly on the arm.

You stopped dead in your tracks.

No. No way.

As if sensing you, Kevyn looked up and waved you over like this was completely normal. “There she is! Took you long enough.”

She turned to look at you, and that same lazy smile spread across her face like she’d been waiting for this moment all day.

“Hey again, newbie.”

You blinked, still trying to do the mental math.

Kevyn gestured between the two of you, utterly oblivious. “You met Natalie already? She’s been riding with me since sophomore year. Her car’s been in the shop since… forever, basically.”

Natalie winked. “I like the chauffeur service. Full perks, no gas money.”

You said nothing, just stared at her. This girl—the cocky, chaotic storm who called you cute in class—was Kevyn’s friend?

Perfect.

You didn’t respond, just let out a quiet huff as you chucked your backpack into the back seat and climbed in after it. Natalie’s grin widened like she’d won some kind of game, while Kevyn shot you a confused side glance, like he couldn’t figure out why the air had suddenly gone tense.

You turned to the window and prayed for a short ride.

They talked the whole time, laughing like this was just another Tuesday. You tuned most of it out, eyes trained on the passing trees, until the sharp smell of smoke hit your nose and made your head lift instinctively.

Natalie had a cigarette between her fingers, her elbow hanging out the open window. She caught your stare in the side mirror and smirked as she exhaled a long stream of smoke, slow and deliberate. Her eyes sparkled, amused and a little daring.

“Want a hit?” she asked casually, like it was nothing.

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers twitched anyway. Of course, she had to be the one to light up first, ruining your escape plan before it even started. Still, you reached out, fingers brushing hers more than you meant to as you snatched the cigarette.

Kevyn let out a half-hearted, “Seriously?” but didn’t stop you.

You took a long drag, the smoke hitting your lungs with a familiar burn. You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes fluttering shut, trying not to think about the way Natalie was still watching you in the mirror like she was reading something written on your skin.

“Nat,” Kevyn groaned. You could see him glaring at you in the rearview mirror. “Don’t start corrupting my little sister.”

You flipped him off without opening your eyes. “Relax. It’s just a cigarette.”

Natalie laughed under her breath, nudging him with her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

That made something in your chest flutter, annoyingly light.

Kevyn muttered, “That’s not saying much.”

You let the corners of your mouth twitch before you took one last drag and handed it back, avoiding her fingers this time. Your eyes slid shut again, the warmth of the smoke lingering in your chest, and the feeling of her gaze still burning into the side of your face.

The house was still when you walked in, the door creaking on its hinges like it didn’t recognize you anymore. The stale scent of microwave lasagna and old cigarettes clung to the air, mixing with the distant hum of the television. Your dad was passed out in his recliner, mouth slightly open, the soft glow of a crime show flickering across his face.

Kevyn tossed his keys into the dish like always and headed to the kitchen. “There’s food if you want it,” he called. “What’s left of it.”

You didn’t answer. Your fingers toyed with the frayed hem of your sleeve as you climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last. Your room was just as you’d left it—bare, except for the sketchbook on the nightstand and a laundry basket full of clothes you still hadn’t unpacked.

You collapsed on the bed, letting the weight of the day press into your chest. The sketchbook found its way into your hands without much thought. You flipped it open to the eyes you’d started drawing in class—sharp and bright, half-smirking even in pencil.

Green.

You snapped the book shut like it had burned you.

A soft knock at the door.

Kevyn didn’t wait before pushing it open. “Hey. Dad wants to do a dinner thing tomorrow night. Like... all of us. Actual table, actual food. He’s trying.” He gave a tired shrug. “Sort of.”

“Sure,” you muttered.

He lingered, rocking slightly on his heels.

“What?” you asked.

Kevyn scratched the back of his head. “Just… Natalie.”

You tensed. “What about her?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, reading you like he always could. “She’s not someone you should get close to.”

That pulled your attention. You sat up a little. “Why? Because she bums cigarettes and shows up late to class?”

He crossed his arms. “Because I’ve known her for years. She’s a lot, and she’s not careful with people. She’s one of my closest friends, and I’m telling you: she’s a mess, and she’ll drag you into it.”

There was something sharper in his tone now, something that hit a nerve.

You scoffed. “You don’t get to tell me who I can talk to.”

He didn’t flinch. “No, but I will tell you who’s trouble. She’s not for you. Not now.”

You stared at him, heart thrumming for reasons you didn’t care to examine.

“I’m not asking for a lecture,” you muttered. “I’m just trying to survive a day here.”

Kevyn’s expression softened slightly, but his eyes stayed firm. “I’m serious. Just... be careful around her, okay? You don’t need that kind of chaos on top of everything else.”

He turned to go, hesitated in the doorway, then added, “I’m not trying to control you. I’m just—”

“Protecting me,” you finished, voice flat.

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. “Yeah.”

He left you alone then, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

And all you could think about, as the room grew quiet again, was the way Natalie had looked at you in the rearview mirror. Like she already knew she was a storm you were going to walk into anyway.

#natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets #yellowjackets smut #natalie scatorccio smut #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets fanfic #britt writes #yellowjackets x reader #kevyn tan #tan x natalie

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nenestansunsthings · 9 months ago

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having svsss au ideas beyond my station

thinking. shang qinghua goes on a mission as a young disciple to some town in fuckoff nowhere and finds himself in the qiu household. and there he finds a young shen jiu, undergoing the plot he originally intended for him and hadn't realised had become real and he's so young oh god hes so young why is he so small what do you mean that part was real, he hadn't kept it why is it real—

and he panics and sneaks him the Fuck out of that house

and he's not sure what to do but surely sending him to cang qiong will fuck up something in the plot and he can't come under even more investigation and cang qiong tryouts dont happen for months anyway and his system would probably never allow it (it doesnt. it would interfere with yue qingyuans story) but shen jiu is refusing to stay anywhere near this place and wants to learn cultivating to protect himself make sure nothing like this ever happens again and sqh panics harder and

calls mobei jun.

okay. on second thought, maybe this was a bad idea. but he stumbles over himself and shushes baby shen jiu's very understandable freaking out and asks his king for the first thing hes ever asked for other than his own life.

is there any way this human child could learn cultivation in the demon world?

#svsss #shang qinghua #shen jiu #listen. i. okay. listen #first off. i need shang qinghua to just fucking spitball a lesson plan idea thats never even been heard of before in like 5 seconds flat and #absolutely floor mobei jun #i need this to turn partially into shen jiu freaking out over the courting hits and inadvertedly teach mobei jun about human culture #idk. they go to a brothel together #mbj is being dragged along by like a 10 year old visibly shrinking into his coat but imperiously demanding the most expensive courtesan that #fits into their budget so she can spend an hour informing this idiot that no #slapping your boyfriend is stupid and hurtful and also stupid in human culture and he would get arrested #unrelated tk that. sqh still being a spy for mbj in cang qiong and getting a mission years later to instate sqq/sj as the qing jing peak lor #d #poor guy is so so fucked #sj becoming mbjs assassin. hear me out #a human most trusted advisor slash spy and a human assassin truly mbj is making bank #sj is also sqh's assassin lowkey. man who is intensely furious and learned how to channel all that into productive murder instead of. well #how does this fit with lbh? with sy? with fucking oh god YUE QINGYUAN??? well we'll find out!

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thembrooklynboysbig · 4 months ago

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paul holden who isnt even from tulsa originally. paul holden who didnt know what a soc or greaser was. just happened to move into the rich part of town where people sink their teeth into you mighty quick. only someone else moved faster and struck deeper. darry curtis.

they met first in homeroom and then again at football tryouts. paul didnt know anybody and nobody seemed too eager to talk to darry. and yknow what? they got on mighty fine.

even after paul got introduced to all these “soc” kids who told him to steer clear of that dirty greaser darry who’d only drag him down, paul didnt listen. sure he saw what some of them other east side kids were like but darry was different. darry was respectable. he was damn good at football. made him laugh real hard too. so no paul didnt listen when people told him to stop hanging ‘round darry curtis.

paul and darry exist in their own world, separate from the whole class and turf war going on around them. when theyre together, theyre just darry and paul. you dont often find one without the other as they get older. paul lets darry walk around in his new madras that his mother had just bought him for the new school year and chauffeurs him around in his shiny new car. the same car that paul is always nervous to leave on the curb outside the curtis’ house but that dont stop him from parking it there anyways because mrs curtis cooked his favorite tonight, and he sure as shit aint missing out on that. paul sits on the floor between darrys legs while sodas gang crowd the small tv but it dont bother him none.

they exist outside the box. when people stare, they glare right back. pauls shot down his friends attempts at shitting on darry. darrys stopped trying to explain himself to two bit and that brat dallas. eventually people stopped asking because thats just darry and paul.

they exist out the norm yet they are still completely restricted by it. theyre tethered to it and theres no escaping it. paul may make exceptions for darry and his brothers and friends but the teeth still left marks. they cant live in their own little bubble forever. eventually its gotta burst.

darry cant follow paul wherever he goes and paul cant seem to get that through his head. darrys no different than the rest of them greasers, not really. darry might keep his hair cropped short and grease free. he might parade around with socs and go to parties after friday night wins. but he has to go home and get ready for work the next morning cause he has to pay his own way. has to help his ma wrangle his kid brothers before school because shes already running late for work.

paul mightve not known what a soc or greaser was once upon a time but now hes all too aware of it.

#okay that was NOT meant to turn into that #enjoy the very poorly written paul/parry thoughts #what if i just became a paul holden fan account?#THATS MY SON FR #you can actually see me holding up a big No. 1 PAUL HOLDEN FAN in the corner of every shot with paul in it #imagine sign was written where it was meant to be btw**#even the book!! just look between the lines trust #paul holden #darry curtis x paul holden #darry curtis #peril #parry #the outsiders broadway #the outsiders musical #the outsiders

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exquisiteserotonin · 2 months ago

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Hiii, first of all, I loved your last fanfic with Geta, your writing is really good 💕

Well, I'm also in my Joseph Quinn era sooo I'd love a fanfic with Eddie

One where the female!reader who was from some big city and moved to Hawkins, she could have become popular very quickly because of that and even though she is surrounded by people who hate Eddie, she starts to like him without caring about others

It would be nice to have smut, but if it doesn't it wouldn't be a problem. I imagine a bold and funny reader, someone that matches Eddie's freakiness really well 👀

Sorry for my English, it's not my mother tongue 😂

Hello darling! Sorry it took a bit to get this out 1) I cannot really write anything short for the life of me and 2) I work too, but I was able to write a little bit of this each day. So without further ado, my very first ask! <3

Big City Girl

Rating: E is for Explicit - 18+ only 🔞MDNI🔞

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Female Reader, Eddie Munson x Reader, Eddie Munson x You

Word Count: 5.8K

Summary: You're a new girl in town, fresh in from New York City. Fitting in comes easy to you, but you form unlikely (to your friends) and unapologetic friendship with Eddie Munson. But maybe, just maybe it's even a little bit more.

Warnings: Finger fucking, Fingering, PiV sex, Teenage (but consenting age) sex, public sex, reader is experienced for a teenager and practices smart/safe sex and is protected. And a little bit of fluff! <3

A/N: Please be kind, this s not beta read and it's my first ask! <3 I also put in some random original character as a device to further the plot and character development for the reader.

Read on AO3

Songs mentioned:

It’s only your sixth day in Hawkins Indiana since moving from New York City and just your third at Hawkins High. You hate that your dad’s been placed on special assignment here and during your senior year no less. Not that your dad really cares about anything that you do. You’ve always taken it upon yourself to make the most of pretty much everything in your life, since he was generally nonchalant about anything you do. If you didn’t, who would? You find out from girls you met in your English class that there are dance team tryouts. You’ve been dancing since you were 3 years old. Trying out just makes sense.

So here you stand in the middle of the Hawkins basketball court before a row of three people: two coaches and a very pretty, if not also insufferable senior dancer. Other dancers are in the bleachers or walking to and from the locker room as they finish practice. They are all watching and waiting as your knees and hips rock in a rhythmic beat to the opening notes of Laura Branigan’s “Self Control” begins to play over the speakers. You almost smirk as the three glance at each other uncomfortably. You didn't think the song was that sultry, but maybe to people in a small town like Hawkins it was a little scandalous.

5, 6, 7, and…

You count in your head.

Each move extends from you like it’s second nature. Each flex and point of your foot are timed perfectly to each beat. Your body rolls and undulates with the melody as though you’ve become possessed by the music. You swear you hear an audible gasp from your coaches as your legs seem to grow longer with each developpé and how you’re able to control and somehow abandon yourself to the music and movement.

A safe night (You take my self, you take my self control)

I'm living in the forest of a dream (You take my self, you take my self control)

Your body slinks with each word until you slip into a series of pirouettes and fouettés before you finish dropping to the floor and finish. The music ends. Your heart is pounding. Your breaths come out in a steady rhythm from the work and heart you put into your dance. Simply put: you kill your audition. Yet, as you’re regaining your breath, you hear silence as you wait for the feedback from your would-be coaches and potential teammate. A deafening clap strikes through the silence.

“Are you shitting me? You’re not even gonna clap for the girl?”

You hear a voice yell out that is filled with such indignance it nearly makes you laugh. You push yourself up from the floor to see who called out praises. You see another Hawkins’ student with long, wavy hair, wearing a denim vest over his worn leather jacket and black jeans. He looks like he belongs in a metal band and it leaves an impression. In contrast, everyone at the courts looks annoyed or disgusted by his very existence. The irony of it makes you hide a smile. So far it seems that everyone in Hawkins looks the same. At least this guy has some personality. He’s looking at you, his brow furrows in indignation as he waves around a broom in one hand, a dust pan in the other.

“Ugh, can someone please get him?” You hear the senior dancer say with so much disdain that it immediately turns you off to her. “Isn’t he in detention or something?”

“You’re great!” You hear him say as another teacher shuffles him away. “Your kicks were really badass!”

You can’t help but laugh and give him a little wave before he’s gone. A sigh of exasperation escapes the senior dancer. The coaches glance at each other, saying something quietly to the senior that immediately makes her straighten her posture and attend to your presence. A too big smile fills her face and you know immediately that her jaw must hurt.

“I mean, as much as I hate to agree with Eddie Munson,” the senior dancer starts as you stand up, “you were absolutely amazing.”

“Your technique is superb!” One of the coaches says. “Your musicality and your innate ability to feel the music really shined---I don’t want to speak for everyone, but I know I’m so impressed.”

The other coach nods and opens a folder in front of her, “Your choice of song was a little…mature for high school, but you’re from New York so I guess things are a little different there.”

You squint your eyes in confusion and place your hands behind you as you wait patiently for their feedback. Their small-town judgement feels tangible but you let it roll off you like raindrops on a window. You have to fight to keep from laughing, knowing that whatever criticism they think they are dishing out is nothing compared to your auditions in New York. At 18 years old, rejection is already a bitchy acquaintance of yours.

“I think she would be such an asset to the team!” The senior dancer adds to the discussion. “Who knows? Maybe if we can really focus, the dance team could be competition ready.”

“That’s a pretty heavy undertaking, Kelly,” the coach in the middle says, “but if you think the team is up for it.”

You make a mental note of the senior dancer’s name, knowing that you are probably going to have a lot of contact with her in future. She jumps up and down as she claps her hands. You don’t like to assume that you’re on the team, so you wait until they tell you.

“Welcome to the team!!” Kelly squeals as she runs to you.

“Thanks!” You say with an appreciative nod trying to be at least little bit humble.

She walks with you back to the locker room, interlocking her arm in yours.

“Don’t mind Coach Thompson about your song choice,” she reassures you. “It’ll be nice to have someone with some edge on the team—can’t move forward without taking little risks, right?”

“Oh yeah, of course!” You concur, as you pull a pair of sweatpants pants and an oversized, cropped t-shirt over your leotard.

“I just know everyone’s going to love you!” Kelly says with genuine excitement. “I mean, who wouldn’t? You’ve already got that cool NYC thing going on.”

The doors of the school gym open out to a large parking lot. Your cars are parked on opposite sides of the parking lot and she turns to leave. She calls out to you one more time, prompting you to turn around.

“Oh, and watch out for Eddie Munson,” she mentions with a slight scowl on her face that looks like she’s just smelled something bad. “Trust me, you don’t want to associate with someone like him.”

You press your lips together and just nod. You don't like anyone telling you what to do, especially when it comes to friends. But you also hate confrontation, so you offer her a kind smile, a wave, and a “see you tomorrow.”

A large van is parked only a few spaces from yours. As you walk around the driver’s side you see the Eddie Munson whom Kelly warned you about. He is in the driver’s seat and his eyes move towards you. The New York in you merely wants to ignore and keep walking, but you stop and pivot to face him.

“Hey, hi!” You call out and his eyes shift to his left and right before he looks back at you. “Thanks for the compliment earlier.”

“Oh? You’re actually talking to me! No problem, you were great!” He hops out of the van. “Hey, I’m Eddie, that Eddie Munson.”

“Your reputation seems to precede you,” you say gesturing towards the gym and in the general direction of Kelly’s now departed car.

“Oh, it quite often does,” Eddie confirms and his eyes lower as he gives you a roguish grin. “Pretty ballsy of you to talk me knowing it’d be social suicide, big city girl.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be half as good at everything I do, if I spent all my time worrying about what other people think of me,” you say with a shrug, “now would I?”

“Like dancing?” Eddie tilts his head as he gestures at you in your dance gear.

You hum in thought at the question before replying, “Among other things.”

Eddie raises his brow and you see the intrigue that lives there. He brings a hand to his chin and rubs his lips as he thinks about your words. You introduce yourself, playfully with a little curtsy and he responds with a bow in turn. He smiles as he places a hand on the chain that hangs on his jeans. You consider yourself a good judge of character and in this brief face-to-face Eddie seems harmless.

“Well, it’s getting a little late,” you say as the golden light begins to fade into shades of coral, pink, and dusty purple. “Guess I should go.”

“Yep,” Eddie says and shakes his head, “just so we can go to bed to do it again tomorrow.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me,” you reply as you start walking to your car, but turn around quickly to give him a quick wave. “See you around, Eddie Munson.”

People say that three times is a charm. Maybe this is what they mean. Because on this third day at Hawkins High, you’ve made your first real friend.

***

It’s an understatement to say how relatively easy it’s been to ingratiate yourself into the Hawkins High community. With the school year almost over, it’s starting to feel almost like home. You get along with everyone and everyone is confused by it, most of all the jocks, the cheerleaders, and nearly everyone on your dance team.

The halls are abuzz with excitement as the entire school gears up for the next basketball game. For the first time in a long time, the Hawkins Tigers are headed to the championship. The season keeps you busy as you and Kelly choreograph dances for halftime at the games. You’ve even been able to convince your coaches and Kelly to get the marching band to play with you during halftime on Friday.

The shrill bell sounds throughout the halls and countless smiling faces acknowledge and greet you. Vicky, a girl in the marching band, approaches you. Her eyes are shining and her smile is wide on her freckled face. You give her arm a squeeze and you pull her next to you as you walk with Kelly, some of the other girls on your dance team, and a few of the basketball players to the cafeteria. You can feel the judgement emanating from one or two of your teammates as you lock arms with her.

“We’ve been working on stuff for the game on Friday,” Vicky tells you. “It’s going to be so rad!”

“We can’t wait! We’re still on for the joint rehearsal tomorrow, right?” You ask and she gives you an effervescent nod before she excuses herself to run off with some of her other bandmates.

“Hey big city girl!!” You look up to see your first Hawkins friend at a locker with some of the members of his gaming club. “Still on for lunch?”

You flash him a big smile and say, “Wouldn’t miss it, Munson!”

A freshman, who you think is called Dustin, stands next to Eddie wearing a face of utter shock and follows it by shoving him at his shoulders. The way Eddie follows it by slapping his hand away was like watching a slapstick comedy unfold in real time. Dustin waves his hand wildly in your direction before Eddie presses a hand to his face and you can’t help but laugh.

“Why do you do that?” Kelly pulls you in close before you enter the cafeteria.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say dryly, already losing enough patience to your New York accent come out a little more as she corners you.

“Are you, like, being charitable or something?” Exasperation and a hint of embarrassment lace her tone as she continues.

“Come on, he is actually my friend,” you can’t hide your eyeroll, “not everything is a charity case, Kelly.”

“You need to be careful,” her voice gets sterner.

You cross your arms over your chest waiting for what she has to say next.

“You can’t keep leading him on like that. It’s cruel.”

“What?!”

This is news to you. You feel defensive for yourself and protective of Eddie. Kelly obviously has no clue what she’s talking about.

“I’m not leading him on.” You can feel your face contort into a scowl you can‘t hide. “Why would I do that to him?”

Kelly crosses her arms over her chest and raises one brow at you, “He’s so obviously into you. If you were really his friend, you’d do the right thing and let him down easy.”

“Whatever,” you scoff and quickly walk away, “I’m going to have lunch with my friend now.”

You rush through the lunch line, grabbing a salad and at the last-minute snatch a small bag of three cookies. After you pay for your lunch, you storm through the cafeteria until you find Eddie at the table where you always sit and plop your tray and yourself in front of him. You’re so annoyed that you don’t even start on your salad, you immediately grab a cookie and start breaking it into bite sized pieces to stuff in your mouth.

“Uh oh,” Eddie says, watching cautiously as you eat, “you got cookies, what happened?”

“Nothing,” you reply too quickly as you finish one cookie and turn your attention to your salad.

“Nope, nope, your face is saying something,” Eddie insists.

“Honestly,” you sigh, playing with the small vegetables in your meager excuse for a salad, “it’s just stupid dance team stuff.”

You are quiet not wanting to say anything more, especially with the Hellfire Club sitting with you. Eddie sees how you crawl further into your silence and gestures for the club to leave. The influence he has over them is formidable and you smile as you lean forward and rest your chin in your hand. A warm feeling of gratitude fills you as he presses his arms to lean forward over the table, ready to listen to whatever you choose to say.

“Kelly’s just being stupid and vapid—,” you begin with a sigh. “Do you even really care?”

“I mean don’t care much about her,” Eddie grimaces, “but it’s bothering you, so—”

“Ugh, it’s honestly just stupid high school shit,” you try to shake it off with a laugh. “What’s up with Dustin? I saw him shaking and shoving you earlier?”

“The boy has no idea of the nuances of being a fifth-year senior,” Eddie quips, “just a child trying to exist in the world of men. Freshmen, am I right?”

“That’s super generous of you to take him under your wing,” you add jokingly, feeling a little more relaxed.

“I know, right?” Eddie pauses for a moment as though he is deep in thought. “Hey, I’ve got a request to ask of you.”

“Lay it down on me,” you say, holding your palms up to beckon an answer.

“Well, if you’re offering,” Eddie tilts his head and raises a suggestive eyebrow at you.

“Perve,” you respond by swatting him lightly on the forearm when you realize the double entendre of the phrase.

He devolves into a cackle but is able to compose himself enough to return to the conversation.

“But in all seriousness, I’ve got a gig with my band late on Friday,” he pauses to take a breath, “would you come?”

“You forgot,” you whisper, something like disappointment settling in the pit of your stomach, “Eddie, it’s a big night on Friday, remember?”

“Shit, the championship, that’s right,” Eddie groans with the realization of a memory, “I’m supposed to be there, you already asked—because of your dance.”

“No, I got it,” you say, trying and failing to hide your disappointment. ”It’s ok if you can’t.”

What unsettles you even more is just how upset you are about it. Your dad isn’t going. Your dance team is already going to be there. The prospect of Eddie not going gnaws at you…hard. You barely have time to swim in the thought when Eddie taps your hand lightly with his and offers you a grin.

“Hey, I said I would be there so I’ll be there.” He assures you. “Might have to check out a little early, but I’ll be there. I get it if you can’t make it to the gig, though.”

“Shut up, Eddie,” you tap his hand much in the same way he had yours, “I may be a little late, but of course I’ll be there.”

***

The effervescent excitement seems to grow this Friday night with each passing minute that the Hawkins Tigers play. The team is ahead by just two points and every student, teacher, and parent in the stands claps, hoots, and hollers.

When halftime comes, you’re inexplicably nervous. Kelly can see it and she takes a hold of your hand with a determined but also reassuring smile.

“We’ve got this!”

You pace in a small bubble on the sidelines as you wait for the lights to lower and the musical cue to start. At the same time, you’re scanning through the crowded stands looking for Eddie. Your heart sinks when you can’t see him right away. It should be easy enough to spot him, you think, distracted enough to nearly jump in surprise when you feel a pair of hands gently pull you at your waist.

“Hey, big city girl!” It’s loud but he’s pulled you in close enough to say it near your ear.

You spin around and see the touch belongs to Eddie. On instinct you leap forward and wrap your arms around him in a tight embrace. It doesn’t happen immediately but you feel a warmth percolate in you when Eddie’s hands roam from your shoulders back down to your waist.

At nearly the same time both of you back away from each other and hold each other’s gaze for the briefest of moments. It puts you in a near panic. You’ve always known how to act around Eddie, but in an instant it almost all goes away. You push him towards the stands with a playful smile. He winks at you before finding a seat in the stands.

“Told you he has it down bad.”

You wave her off, keeping your focus on the energy of the game. The beat of the marching band, the noise in the crowd, and the excitement that Hawkins is only fifteen minutes away from possibly winning the championship fuels you as you dance. You and your team are perfectly in unison with every flip, turn, and jump. You do your best to keep your focus on the choreography but can’t help looking up in the stands every now then to see that Eddie’s eyes have not moved once from you. It makes you want to move more and better, playing up every flirty kick, every swing of your hips, and whip of your hair. And faster than it began, halftime is over. The crowd is roaring at the routine’s end and your team and other friends from the marching band surround you with hugs and high fives for a job well done. Your eyes hone in on Eddie who gives you a wave of his hand and a slight bow of his head. He runs and hops down the bleachers and you push past some of your teammates to get to him.

“That was badass,” Eddie exclaims as he sticks his tongue out, “as close to metal as dance can be.”

“Fuck yeah, I’ll take it,” you say as you raise your hand to meet his in a high five.

You place your hand on his shoulder and smooth it down the back of his jacket, rubbing his back. You didn’t realize how grateful you would feel that he actually showed up. His hand finds the small of your back, finding rest there. A tingling feeling that starts in your stomach takes you by surprise as it grows and makes your heart flutter

“Thank you for coming,” he squeezes your waist as you say it.

For a moment, you lean forward, bringing your face closer to his.

No. Don’t do it! What are you doing?

It’s what your voice screams at you inside your head. You swallow the feeling and smile at him, hoping you weren’t being as obvious as you feel you are.

“See you at the gig?” He sounds hesitant to leave, but you encourage him, ensuring him you will be there with a squeeze of his hand.

Instead of watching the rest of the game, you’re showering and getting dressed in the locker room. By the time you’re done you can hear the roar of the crowd: a clear indication that Hawkins has won the championship. Kelly rushes in as you put the finishing touches on your makeup.

“Oh my gosh!” She squeaks with excitement. “Where have you been?! You practically missed the entire second half!”

“Um, well, I promised Eddie I’d go to his gig.”

She looks at you up and down. Her perusal of you is especially scrutinizing. You pull at the shoulders of your black off the shoulder to and smooth your mini skirt before putting on your slouchy boots.

“You’re telling me that you’d rather watch a loser who’s repeating his senior year play with his mediocre band than hang out with us? You know there’s going to be a party.” She scoffs in disbelief. “How you are so popular is beyond me.”

“I don’t know, maybe it’s ‘cause I’m nice,” you answer. “You should try it some time.”

She rolls her eyes and you think she has nothing more to say so you gather your things to leave.

“You like him, don’t you?” She says it like it’s an accusation of a crime.

You stop at the door and take a deep breath. It feels like a relief when she says it.

“Maybe I do.”

You shrug and walk out the door, whatever celebrations that Hawkins bathes in, you know it’s not for you.

***

You pull your sedan up to a questionable looking bar and see Eddie’s van parked off to the side. It’s a different kind of grime than what you’re used to in New York. As you walk in you are hit instantly with the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer. There are a few scattered patrons passively listening to Corroded Coffin. Eddie’s back is to you, when he turns around, he’s holding a guitar pick in his mouth and his eyes brighten when he sees you. Your breath hitches when you look up at him on stage. The jeans he’s wearing are tighter than usual, as is his shirt. Your eyes can’t help but traverse his body from head to toe. There is a presence when he holds his guitar that you’ve not had the pleasure of beholding. He kneels at the edge of the stage and smiles, his dimple appearing like a cherry on top of a sundae.

“Jesus Christ, you’ve got a lot of nerve sweetheart,” his brown eyes sparkle as he smiles and looks at you up and down, “showing up to my show looking like that. Especially if you don’t mean it for me.”

Eddie and you have always skirted that flirting line. But tonight, even since the game, you can just feel the way he looks at you and the way he talks to you is just different. You lean forward at the edge of the stage and Eddie’s eyes travel so obviously over every curve of your body once again. You like it. You like the way he sees you. And more than anything, you like the feeling of wanting him.

“Come here,” you beckon him to come closer with a curl of your finger. “Who else would I do it for?”

He melts forward and you tug at the collar of his leather jacket, pressing your lips to his. He stumbles at first, not expecting for you to be so bold. But it doesn’t take long for him to part your lips with his tongue. You squeeze his face with your hand as you devour his supple lips in a long, messy kiss.

“Unexpected,” he murmurs after you let go of one another’s lips, “and even better than I imagined.”

You caress his face and use your thumb to wipe off a bit of your rosy-colored lip gloss that transferred to his lips from yours.

“Your lips are soft,” you sigh as you take in every feature of his handsome face and imprint it on your brain.

“Hey, don’t say that too loud, I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” he teases.

You shrug playfully and he shakes his head at you when he stands up. He pushes his guitar forward and keeps his eyes on you as he makes a few loud strums of his guitar. You barely pay attention to the lead singer as he announces whatever song they are going to play next. The amplified sound of the drums, bass, the rhythm guitar, and Eddie on lead guitar vibrates in your blood. You don’t even know how many songs they’ve been playing. It’s impossible to take your eyes off Eddie. The way his fingers move up and down the frets of his guitar simultaneously hypnotizes and awakens something deep inside you. You press your lips together, nearly biting your bottom lip as you stifle back a moan.

And he knows. He knows you’re watching him and wanting him. So, he taunts you by turning the neck of his guitar right at you. You give it back in the only way you know how at this moment: you play with your necklace, caress your bare collar bone, and draw your fingers down to your décolletage.

The band breaks for a moment and you watch as Eddie grabs a bottle of water on a stool at the back of the stage. The way his lips wrap around the mouth of the water bottle while keeping his eyes on you is obscene. A bit of water drips on his lips down to his chin where he wipes it away with a swipe of his thumb. You hold back another moan and hear the lead singer say something about playing a Black Sabbath song for their final encore. No Stranger to Love. It’s a favorite of Eddie’s. He plays the guitar solo as though it’s an extension of himself, his fingers pressing, gliding, and flicking at the strings. It has you quivering and dreaming about what his fingers would be like on and in you.

You find your way to a dark corner away from the stage as Eddie lingers there unplugging his guitar from the amp before placing it gingerly in its case. From your peripheral you see some young women eyeing him from another corner of the bar. He doesn’t even notice them as he hops down from the stage straight to you.

There is no judgement here as you pull Eddie to you by his belt loops. His full lips curl into an amorous smirk as he wraps his strong, large hands around your waist until they settle firmly on your ass. He acts like it’s his mission to drive you crazy. Your eyes do a cautionary sweep of the bar and when you see no one is watching you, you pull him with you into the ladies’ bathroom and lock the door behind you.

“Oh wow, it’s cleaner in here than the guy’s bathroom,” he notices before you back him into the wall, eliciting a carnal moan. “Fuck, woman.”

You silence him with a kiss and you bite his lips as you push his leather jacket off him and onto the floor. He squats a little and lifts and spins you until your back is against the wall.

“Tell me what you want,” he growls before kissing and nipping at your neck and ear.

His hands move all over your body from your ass, to your waist, through your hair as he devours your lips with his. A breathless moan escapes you as you try to get your brain to work so you can answer.

“Let me feel what your fingers can do, please…Eddie,” you whine, not caring how desperate you sound.

“Take off your panties,” he demands and it feels as though you can’t comply fast enough.

They settle beneath you on the floor as Eddie pushes your legs out wide and lifts up your skirt so his fingers can find your mound. His touches are slow at first tapping and pressing on your outer folds like they’re the frets of his guitar. And then it happens: he pushes one finger in and you gasp and keep your eyes on him, until you’re gasping again when he pushes in a second one.

“You are already so wet for me.” He moans into your ear and then forces you to keep your eyes on him.

You adjust to the thickness of his fingers and clench around them as he pushes them faster and faster inside you. His fingers find your clit and at first swipe of it, you cry out and grasp his arm to keep yourself from collapsing from the pleasure.

“That’s it, that’s it,” Eddie coaxes as you press your face to his, as he continues his ministrations: flicking, swirling, and rubbing your sensitive bud. “Come for me.”

New sounds bleed through the door. Another is band playing and you’re grateful for it. You can be a little louder. He feels too good to keep silent. He continues whispering in your ear to come, come, and come again. You nearly collapse on him when you do and you still muffle your moan by burying your face into his shoulder.

“Jesus,” you say with a sigh before you kiss him again.

He envelops you with his arms and you lean against him, your mini skirt still riding up. He pushes his hips towards you and you can feel his manhood straining against his jeans. It’s pulsing like a heartbeat against your thigh and you writhe against him as your center beats in response.

“I need you,” you moan into his ear. “Take it out.”

“Jesus, am I dreaming?” Eddie exhales as you cup your hand over his jeans. “Are you really sure?”

“It’s not my first rodeo, baby,” you whisper to him, licking and kissing his neck to his jaw and back to his lips.

“I don’t have a c—,” he stutters as you unbutton the top of his jeans.

“Don’t need it, I’m protected,” you assure him. “Please…Eddie.”

The sound of him unzipping and dropping his jeans to his ankles is almost as good as his guitar solo. You look down at him: uncut, slightly longer than average, and the perfect girth. He pushes forward and lifts your right leg high so your knee wraps around his waist. With a steady hand he lines himself up at your slick folds, giving you barely enough to think before he pushes deep inside you. All that leaves your lips is a wanton moan as he pushes you against the wall to leverage you a little higher. His hips rock slowly into you at first, like the crescendo of a guitar solo. His cock throbs and twitches with each thrust and you can’t help but squeeze him tight inside you. The breaths you both inhale and exhale, grow faster with the heat of your sex. He thrust faster, faster, and faster still as the sheer euphoria starts to take over you both.

“Oh shit, baby,” he groans as his thrusts become more desperate.

“Eddie!!” You whine as you bounce on his cock, wrapping your arms desperately around his shoulders and back digging your nails into his skin through his shirt. “Oh fu-fuck.”

He drives into you as hard as he can, his mouth dropping open as your pussy gives his cock one final squeeze. You let out one final cry when he spills into you, shaking and trembling with you in your final climax.

He stays inside you for a few moments and lets out a bittersweet gasp when he pulls out. He pulls up his underwear and pants, tucking his cock in still slick with you. He picks your panties off the floor and helps you back into them. But before he pulls them completely up, he traces the outside your folds pushing his cum even deeper inside. You let out a sensitive whimper and lean against him with one arm until he finally pulls your underwear up all the way.

“I want you to feel my cum in your panties when we walk out of here,” he growls.

You respond with an exhale and a smile before giving him another long, deep kiss. You smooth your skirt the best you can. When you see yourself in the mirror, you do what you can to comb your fingers through your wild hair and attempt to hide how blissed out you look. Eddie is putting his leather jacket back on and comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You lean back against him and he leans his head towards yours.

“Beautiful, popular, talented, and kind,” Eddie whispers as he squeezes you even tighter before kissing you on the cheek, “What will everyone think if they find out you’re sleeping with Eddie Munson?”

You turn around and tug at the collar of his leather jacket.

“I wouldn’t exactly call that sleeping.”

His laugh rings out in his signature raspy, cackle you find so endearing. It’s so infectious you have to kiss him again.

“And besides, since when have I ever cared about what anyone ever thought about me or who I’m dating?”

“Well, that’s my girl in a nutshell, isn’t it?” Eddie confirms with a gleam of pride in his eyes.

“Only if it’s your nutshell.”

He can’t hold back the laughter and neither can you. After you are able to compose yourself, you hold a hand out and Eddie takes it. He laces his fingers between yours and you unlock the door to the bathroom. An ease settles over you as you open it. If there were any eyes of judgement on the other side, you know that you and Eddie will face it together.

#eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #eddie munson smut #joseph quinn characters #joseph quinn fandom

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emphasisonthehomo · 6 months ago

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A snippet from the very self indulgent musician au I'm working on.

•

Lucy breaks her wrist less than a week before the opening concert in Madison Square Garden. It’s 8:35pm on a Saturday. They’re supposed to be on stage the coming Friday. Doors open at 6:00pm. Once Buck gets confirmation from Bobby that she’ll be okay, that she needs surgery but will be fine, he proceeds to have what Hen generously refers to as an anxiety attack, and Eddie calls a Chernobyl level meltdown.

“I’m already working on it,” Bobby says calmly, after Buck comes back from hyperventilating in the bathroom for fifteen minutes.

Hen wordlessly holds out a water bottle, and Buck chugs half of it in one go.

“One. Week. Bobby,” Buck says, and he knows he looks manic, “Not even that! Five days!”

“It’s cutting it very close,” Eddie says, “But c’mon Buck, this is LA. There are a lot of excellent drummers in town.”

“What are we supposed to even do?” Buck asks, “We can’t have tryouts, it’s way too close.”

“I’ve already got a few people in mind,” Bobby says, looking down at his phone.

“Who could you possibly know that can learn this entire setlist so quickly?” Buck says, fighting and failing not to sound whiny, “And can just drop everything and be on the road for the next six months?”

“What about Tommy?” Chimney asks, apropos of nothing.

Hen makes an interested noise.

“Tommy would be good, actually,” Bobby says, nodding slowly.

“…Who the hell is Tommy?” Buck demands.

#aron's fic #911 #bucktommy #tevan #popstar au #concept is grammy nominated pop/rock star evan buckley #winds up with technical death metal drummer tommy kinard #on his world tour #and it's a Whole Thing

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gotham--fc · 6 months ago

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Désolée - A Marie-Philip Poulin and Laura Stacey Imagine

Part two of my previous Pou and Stacey fic which you can find here

Y/N comes to visit Pou and Stacey in Montreal and tempers flare

Y/N had never been so relieved for summer break.

She, like every teenager, counts the days until school is out, naturally, but this summer is different. From dealing with normal school stuff, to her hometown team who keep moving her up age groups and coaches not so subtly trying to poach her for their teams, to being in the national team rotation and suddenly being one of the most popular people in her town, she’s ready for a break.

Of course, hockey doesn’t stop, hockey never stops, but hockey takes a break. Or rather, she takes a break since she doesn’t have to attend tryouts and recruitment camps anymore. She feels bad, feels like she’s getting special treatment over some of the girls who have been on the team longer than her, but there’s nothing she can do about it. And she has plans, so there’s that.

She steps off the plane in the Montreal airport, carry on dragging behind her. She didn’t want to check a bag, so she shoved everything into her carry on and now it feels heavier than anything. She finds her way through the airport and out past security. She pauses for a moment, looking around at all the people gathered there, trying to find a familiar face. Her eyes land on a brightly coloured sign with “Mon Petite Lapinou” written on it. She shakes her head fondly, a blush rising on her cheeks and a warmth filling her chest.

“Salut!” Pou wraps her up in a big hug and rocks her side to side. “How are you? Was the flight okay? How did your exams go?”

“Marie, please, let the girl breathe,” Laura says. Pou lets go and Y/N hugs Laura. “She was a little too excited for your visit,” Laura whispers to Y/N.

“Have you ever been to Montreal?” Pou asks as they walk to the car. Pou took Y/N’s carry on from her as soon as they started walking and carries it easily.

“No, I mean, I’ve been to Quebec for tournaments and stuff but I never had any in Montreal. We were mostly in Gatineau and Sherbrooke.”

“You’ll love it, it’s a beautiful city,” Pou says, “Maybe you’ll love it so much you’ll want to come here after you graduate college.”

“Marie,” Laura scolds, “She’s not even done high school.”

“Okay okay,” Pou says, “But I’ll still make you like Montreal more than Boston. I don’t want you playing for my rival team in a few years.”

Y/N smiles at that. She has no doubt that Pou will convince her Montreal is a better city than Boston, but she has no idea what the future will hold. She doesn’t even know if she’ll do well in college, let alone get drafted and actually make a team in the PWHL.

“Are you hungry?” Laura places her hand on Y/N’s shoulder as Pou puts her bag in the trunk of the car. “We can stop somewhere for food on the way back if you want.”

“I’m alright,” Y/N says, subconsciously leaning into Laura’s touch. “I think I’m just tired.”

“Alright,” Laura says, “Let us know if you change your mind, okay?” Y/N nods.

They all pile in the car, Laura in the front seat while Pou drives and Y/N in the back. Pou talks the whole time, telling Y/N all the things they’ll do while she’s here, pointing out landmarks and buildings and telling stories. Y/N does her best to listen, but the flight and the rocking of the car pulls her to sleep.

“Marie,” Laura says quietly, “Look.”

Marie glances in the rearview mirror and sees Y/N asleep. She smiles fondly at her.

“It’s hard to believe she’ll be going to college in a year, she looks so young,” Marie says.

“Don’t say that when she’s awake,” Laura says, “She might kill you.”

***

Y/N really likes being with Pou and Laura. It’s fun, exploring Montreal, and getting to see the two of them outside of the camp environment. It’s not like they hide their relationship, since everyone knows about them, but they still keep things professional during camps. It’s fun seeing them without the pressure of camp and performing.

Pou wakes up every day at 5am to walk Arlo. They return at 6am and make the most noise possible and Y/N smiles as she hears Laura yell for them to keep it down and then the clamber of footsteps as Pou and Arlo run up the stairs and jump in bed with Laura. Y/N then usually pulls her pillow over her head and goes back to sleep until 8am.

Pou and Laura love going to farmers markets and Y/N tags along as Pou speaks in rapid fire French to all the vendors. Y/N tries to keep up, but her grade nine French isn’t enough.

“You’ll pick it up the longer you’re here,” Laura tells her, “If you even end up in Montreal. You won’t need much French in Boston, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Y/N says.

She doesn’t know how to explain the pit in her chest that opens every time one of them mentions Boston, or where she’s going to end up once she graduates. She knows she has to think about it, she’s going to Boston in a year, she can’t avoid it, but she just wishes everyone would let her spend the summer just being a regular teenager on summer vacation.

“I’ll have to send you a list of restaurants to try when you’re in Boston,” Pou says that night when they’re having dinner. “And me and Laura can come visit you and–”

“Can’t you spend one day not talking about Boston?” Y/N snaps, “I might not even go to Boston! And I might not get drafted to Montreal in five years if I even get drafted at all! I’m sorry that you only care about me because you think I’m your protégé or something but I’m not like you and I never will be!”

Y/N shoves her chair back and storms out of the room, frustrated tears in her eyes.

“Wh – Y/N! Come back here! Arrêt! Reviens à table!”

Y/N ignores her and slams the door of the guest bedroom.

***

Laura isn’t going to say she say this coming. She saw signs, the way Y/N got quiet and seemed to shrink whenever someone brought up college or the pros, the way Marie never seemed to notice. She won’t say she’s better at reading Y/N than Marie, or that Marie is unobservant, or anything like that. Laura only noticed because she’s been through this with Marie already.

Back when they first started dating, Laura wasn’t settled in her career. She still felt like an outsider, like a fringe player, and she spent years expecting the national team coaches to call her and tell her she didn’t make the team. Marie never understood that, because she never had to. Ever since her debut, she was a mainstay on the national team. She’s the captain, there was no question she would be on every team she was healthy enough to be on. She never dealt with the uncertainty.

Marie also never understood why Laura doubted herself. She never understood why Laura would plan for what happens when she gets cut. For Marie, Laura was a phenomenal player who made the team better, so why wouldn’t she be on every roster? For Laura, she was a good player in a sea of good players who all deserved a spot.

They had arguments, and times when they were both too stubborn and didn’t talk for days or weeks. There were times when Laura felt less than, and felt small standing next to the Marie-Philip Poulin. Of course, Marie never understood that either.

Things are better now, Laura is settled and confident in her skills. She doesn’t expect to get cut after every bad practice, and she doesn’t feel overshadowed by Marie. Yes, there’s still people who think she only got where she is because of Marie. People who think Montreal only signed her because they signed Marie first. But Laura knows what she brings to a team and she knows she deserves her spot. When Marie defends her, praises her, Laura doesn’t feel patronized. She knows Marie isn’t saying those things because she feels like she has to, or because she feels like she needs to appease Laura. Laura knows she says what she does because she loves Laura so much that she can’t stand to hear people criticizing her unfairly and she can’t stand people talking about her when they know nothing about her or her play.

Laura knows Marie sees a lot of herself in Y/N, but Laura thinks Y/N is a lot more like she is than Marie.

“Let her go,” Laura says, tugging Marie back down when Marie tries to storm after Y/N.

“But–”

“Give her space, you’re only going to yell at each other if you chase after her now.”

“She… She yelled at us! That’s… She’s… It was rude!”

“I know, love,” Laura gently rubs the space between Marie’s shoulder blades.

Laura knows it’s not the fact that Y/N yelled, it’s what she said that’s upsetting Marie.

“Let’s give her some time to calm down, and then I’ll go talk to her, see if I can figure out what’s going on.”

***

Y/N doesn’t emerge at all that night. Marie gets more and more sullen as the night goes on. Laura knows there’s nothing she can do when Marie is like this. They both can get in their heads and neither can let things go that easily, so Laura knows she just needs to let Marie sulk until she’s done sulking.

The next morning, Marie is still sulking. While Marie is out walking Arlo, Laura (even though she hates it normally) gets out of bed and prepares breakfast. She leaves two servings for herself and Marie and brings one serving up to Y/N’s room. She knocks lightly on the door.

“It’s just me, I’m leaving some breakfast here for you,” Laura says, “You can come down if you want, but you can stay in there for as long as you want.”

Y/N doesn’t come down, but Laura hears her open the door and take the plate. A little bit later, Marie comes home. Arlo gets halfway up the stairs before he realizes Laura is still downstairs. He leaps onto the couch and Laura laughs as he licks her face. Marie laughs too, but Laura can hear its strained.

“Is she still acting like a morveuse?” Marie says. Laura sighs.

“She is still upstairs, but she is not a brat,” Laura shushes Marie before she can start talking again, “She’s a 17-year-old girl with the weight of the world on her shoulders. All you ever talk to her about is hockey or Boston, it’s no surprise she thinks that’s all you care about.”

“That’s not true!” Marie says, “I’m trying to help–”

“Marie, I love you, but sometimes your help doesn’t help,” Laura puts her arm around Marie’s shoulder and pulls her closer. “I know you think you’re helping prepare her for the future, and I love that about you, you know that.” Laura pauses. “Can you see that Y/N is stressed about college and her future in hockey and sometimes having that be all you talk about doesn’t help her be less stressed.”

“All I wanted when I was her age was for someone to tell me what to do,” Marie says quietly, her voice thick.

“I know, baby, I know.”

***

Later in the afternoon, Marie takes Arlo on another walk. Laura has told her not to spoil him during the offseason so he doesn’t expect this treatment all the time, but Marie doesn’t listen, and Laura doesn’t push it today. While Marie is out, Laura goes up to Y/N’s room.

“It’s just me,” Laura says after she knocks, “Marie isn’t home, can I come in?”

After a moment, Y/N answers quietly: “Okay.”

Y/N is laying on the bed. Laura sits beside her.

“How are you doing?” Laura asks. Y/N shrugs.

“Is she really mad at me?” Y/N whispers.

“She was,” Laura answers, “She’s not mad at you anymore. She was only trying to help and she didn’t mean to upset you. Look,” Laura sighs, “When she was your age, she was so scared. She had no idea what to expect. All she wanted was for someone to tell her what she was supposed to do and she assumed you would be the same way. She just wants to make things easier for you. She really does feel bad that she upset you so much.”

“I don’t feel like I deserve it all,” Y/N says, “Like, it’s different for her, or you. I’m not that good and I just… I don’t think I’ll make it.” Y/N rolls over so her back is to Laura. “I don’t want to lose you both when you realize I’m not as good as you think.”

“When I first started seeing Marie, I felt the same way,” Laura says. Y/N’s head jerks towards Laura and she looks up at Laura with a confused expression. “I stopped talking to her, actually, because I didn’t feel good enough compared to her. I thought it would easier to break it off than wait for her to do it later on.”

“What happened?”

“Marie is more stubborn than anyone I’ve ever met,” Laura smiles as she thinks about her fiancée. Y/N huffs out a laugh at Laura’s statement. “She wouldn’t let me go without a reason, so I told her. And she told me I was being an idiot and she was right. Marie loves hockey, but hockey is the last thing on her mind when it comes to the people she loves.”

“I chose BU because that’s where she went,” Y/N says quietly, “I just want her to be proud of me.”

“She is, she is so proud of you. We both are.”

***

Later, when Marie comes home, Y/N sits nervously on the couch. She and Laura practiced this whole speech that Y/N would say to explain how she was feeling and why she was feeling that way and Y/N was determined to say it. She was still running it over in her head when she hears Marie come in, when she hears Marie let Arlo off the leash, when she hears Marie greet Laura and walk towards the living room. Y/N takes a deep breath to center herself and stands. Marie pauses when she sees Y/N. Y/N opens her mouth to begin, but what comes out of her mouth is this:

“Mama.”

And then Y/N is crying and she throws herself into Marie’s arms. Marie freezes for a second, then she’s wrapping Y/N up in a tight hug.

“Oh, mon petite lapinou,” Marie says, “It’s alright, I got you, it’s alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Y/N cries, “I’m sorry.”

“Non, non,” Marie says firmly, “You have nothing to be sorry about, I am the one who needs to apologize. I’m sorry I pushed you and I’m sorry I upset you and I’m sorry you felt like I didn’t care.”

When Y/N finally stops crying, Marie pulls back and takes Y/N’s face in her hands.

“Are you okay now, mon petite lapinou?” Marie asks.

“Yeah,” Y/N wipes at her eyes, but Marie swats her hands away and wipes the tears away herself, much gentler than Y/N would’ve. Marie gives Y/N a kiss on the forehead.

“From now on, we won’t talk about hockey at all unless you bring it up first, okay?” Marie says.

“You don’t have to do that,” Y/N says, “It’s okay–”

“There are lots of things that we can talk about that aren’t hockey,” Marie says, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Now that that’s over,” Laura says, “Can we go back to enjoying Y/N’s visit?”

Marie and Y/N look at each other, and Y/N can see the same idea pop up in Marie’s head. They grin at each other then both turn to Laura. Laura realizes a moment too late and Marie and Y/N grab her and pull her down on the couch. Laura shrieks as Marie and Y/N wrestle her down. Almost immediately Arlo jumps on them and Y/N laughs so hard her sides hurt as Arlo alternates between licking Laura and Marie’s faces.

As Y/N watches Laura and Marie and Arlo wrestle on the couch, she’s really happy she took this trip, and she’s really happy she chose to play hockey and that it’s brought her to this moment right here.

#marie philip poulin #laura stacey #marie philip poulin x reader #laura stacey x reader #marie philip poulin x laura stacey x reader #woho #pwhl #woho imagine #hockey rpf #womens hockey rpf

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takingchences · 3 months ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 𖤟 killer queen

Where Savanna Rios, the reigning queen of Beacon Hills High, learns that while she may be at the top of the social food chain, she's not the only predator prowling the halls.

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x siren!fem!oc

Warnings: mature language, dark themes, death, blood/gore, attempted assault

series masterlist + other works

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Junior year was supposed to be a return to normalcy. After the tumultuous events of last year, Vanna was hoping that her remaining time at Beacon Hills High would be smooth sailing from here on out. She should've guessed that her peaceful summer was nothing more than the calm before the storm.

The new semester started with a bang. Literally.

The cheerleader entered her first period class, which happened to be Advanced English. She was surprised to see Scott McCall there, but then again, she didn't know the boy very well. The rest of the troublemakers were also present, the only two available seats near Stilinski and Greenberg. She chose the lesser of the two evils, sighing heavily as she dropped into the open chair behind Stiles. The sheriff's son turned in his seat to greet her. "Hey," he smiled.

"Hi." The ravenette responded without looking up from her phone. Just Danny asking if she going to Heather's party after tryouts were over. She declined, pointing out that she hadn't spoken to the girl in years. The blonde had transferred to another school at the end of sixth grade. Crashing her birthday party didn't seem like the best idea. The drama that would ensue wasn't worth the free booze.

"How was your summer?" Stiles had an elbow on her desk to prop his head against.

"Alright." She set her phone down on the desk. "I spent most of the break on the beach." Despite living in the small town of Beacon Hills for half of her life, San Diego would always be her true home. She visited as often as she could, going swimming and hanging out with her old friends from cheer camp. Her mother refused to return to the city, but kept their old beachfront house for old times' sake. This year's trip had been extra fun because Danny had tagged along. He'd unfortunately had to cut the vacation short for a week of Coach Finstock's mandatory lacrosse boot camp.

"Right, yeah. Danny mentioned going surfing." He scratched his temple nervously. "Well, you didn't miss much. It was actually pretty boring around here."

She shook her head with a wry smile. "Beacon Hills? Boring? I doubt it."

He opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a number of ringtones. Vanna flipped her phone over as Stiles dug his out of his pocket. There was a new text from an unknown number. A dark-haired woman walked into the classroom holding her phone up as she quoted Heart of Darkness. Savanna crossed her arms, her mocha-colored eyes narrowed into slits as she observed the woman. She introduced herself to the class as Jennifer Blake, their new teacher.

The lesson had hardly begun before Scott was pulled out of class. The rest of them were quietly taking notes when Stiles noticed a bandage on Lydia's ankle. "Lydia-"

"Do you mind?" Vanna glared at him from beneath her lashes, her glitter pen poised above her journal.

"Sorry." Stiles glanced back at the cheerleader before leaning over to get Lydia's attention, making sure to keep his voice down. Savanna tried to ignore them and pay attention to the board as Stiles grilled the redhead about her dog. "Has it ever bitten you before?" Lydia thought about it before shaking her head. "Okay," Stiles shifted in his seat. "What if it's the same thing as the deer? You know, like how animals start acting weird before an earthquake or something?"

The redhead arched a brow. "Meaning what? That there's gonna be an earthquake?"

"Or something." Stiles insisted, sensing that she wasn't fully convinced. "I just... maybe it means something's coming. Something bad."

Lydia looked dubious. "It was a deer and a dog," she shrugged. "What's that thing you say about threes? Once, twice-" A loud bang on the window caught everyone's attention. Vanna dropped her pen when she saw blood splattered on the glass. Ms. Blake moved towards the window to investigate. The panicked cries of the bird made the cheerleader shift uncomfortably.

The cries grew louder and more frantic as hundreds of crows flew towards them, their black bodies blocking out the sky. Their teacher jumped back as a second bird crashed into the glass, then another and another until the cracked surface finally gave way. Dozens of birds forced their way into the classroom, causing a full-on panic. The students ducked, throwing their arms over their heads for protection against the sharp beaks and talons. "Get down!" Ms. Blake screamed.

The squawking, combined with the screams, was near deafening. The ravenette winced, pressing her palms against her ears to block out the noise. Stiles shoved Lydia's desk aside and moved to duck underneath it when he noticed that Savanna hadn't moved. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were parted in a pained scream as she clutched the sides of her head. "Van!" He yelled over the noise, grabbing her forearms and pulling her down to the ground with him and Lydia.

"Van, come on!" He cradled her head with his arm, using his other to protect the redhead beside them. He laid his head on top of Vanna's, keeping her pressed against his chest as he tried his best to shield the girls with his body. Much the same as last year, she realized, when they'd been trapped inside the school with the Alpha... which she still hasn't received an explanation for now that she's thinking about it. Stiles had stuck by her side that whole night, consistently placing himself between her and the danger they faced. Even now, he didn't hesitate to prioritize her safety over his own.

He was warm and his lean frame felt surprisingly muscular as she and Lydia clutched onto him for dear life. His chest heaved up and down rapidly as he sucked in short breaths of air, shouting reassurances to both girls as he fought to be heard over the cacophony.

It felt like hours before the last bird crashed down onto the linoleum, lifeless. The students slowly peered out from their hiding spots. Blood and feathers covered every surface.

Savanna slowly peeled herself off of Stiles, her willowy frame trembling from the adrenaline. She stared at the carnage around them in dazed confusion, softly shaking her head. Everything felt hazy, like her mind was caught between sleep and consciousness. "Van," Stiles' voice sounded muffled despite his proximity. There was a sharp ringing in her ears, making it impossible to concentrate. "Van, hey, look at me." Stiles spoke louder, gently cradling her face and turning her to face him. "Shit."

"What?" Lydia leaned around him to look, her voice cracking.

"She's bleeding." Red rivulets ran down her neck from her hairline. He pushed the thick, black hair aside frantically, looking for any fresh cuts only to find nothing. More blood dribbled down the side of her neck. "Where does it hurt, V?" She squinted at him, softly shaking her head. His voice still sounded like he was underwater, but it wasn't as bad as before. Vanna slowly raised a hand to her ear, only to touch something warm and wet. When she pulled her hand away, her fingertips were stained crimson. Lydia and Stiles stared at her hand in shocked horror. "Van? Where does it hurt?"

"It doesn't." Her voice was soft, quiet. The opposite of her usual self.

Stiles urged her to go to the nurse to be checked out but Savanna refused. She grabbed her bag before going to the locker room and wiping the blood off the best she could with a wet paper towel. Her hearing was already back to normal, the momentary tinnitus thankfully gone. She could almost believe that the whole thing never happened... that is, if she ignored the dried blood on the collar of her letterman jacket.

Most of the students involved in the incident chose to leave early, but the Rios girl stayed. Cheer tryouts were scheduled to start right after school let out and as captain, she needed to be present. Danny stayed glued to her side for the rest of the day, constantly asking if she was okay. She had a sneaking suspicion that Stiles had run his mouth about her "injury."

Tryouts lasted for hours, with Vanna drilling routines into them as the sun sunk lower in the sky. Eventually, she called it a night, noticing their exhaustion. If she pushed them much further, then someone was bound to get hurt. The cheerleaders were dismissed and Vanna loaded her bags into the backseat of her car before checking her phone.

Stiles, Danny, Scott, Allison, and Lydia had all texted to check on her, with Stiles being the most persistent of them all. She secretly appreciated their concern, even though she vehemently denied being friends with most of them. She honestly didn't even know how Scott or Allison had her number.

Please text me so I know you're alive, was the last real text Stiles had sent, which was thirty minutes ago. He'd then proceeded to send her different emojis with zero context to the previous conversation every two minutes to bug her into responding faster.

She shot the boy a quick message telling him she was headed home and to stop blowing up her inbox before starting the car. Vanna turned into the preserve, taking her usual shortcut. The Rios home was in a secluded area of woods bear the lake on the edge of town. Her mother valued their privacy and wanted to enjoy the tranquility of the nature around them. The shortcut shaved about seventeen minutes off her commute.

The ravenette frowned as her car suddenly rolled to a stop. The lights of the dashboard died and her headlights flickered out, shrouding her in pitch black. She cranked the keys a couple times, waiting for the engine to roar back to life only for nothing to happen. Her car was still fairly new and was checked regularly. The gas tank was nowhere near empty, so she was stumped as to what the problem was. She grabbed her phone and left the car, turning on her flashlight. She popped the hood and held up the flashlight, looking for something out of place. Everything looked fine, which only confused her further.

Savanna jumped, her phone slipping out of her hand as the car radio blasted to life, filling the quiet air with eerie chanting in a foreign language. The headlights suddenly turning on momentarily blinded her, forcing her to shield her eyes. "What the hell?" She grabbed the hood of the car and closed it. There was a rustle of leaves and a cool rush of air behind her before she was struck in the back of the head.

The cheerleader cried out, her upper body crashing against the front of the vehicle. She slid down until she was on her knees, her head throbbing. A thick cord wrapped around her neck and squeezed, cutting off her air supply. She gasped, clutching her neck. She scratched at the gloved hands gripping the cord, clawing at her attacker's hands and arms as her body thrashed wildly. She tried to scream, but it was nothing more than a strangled whimper.

A cool press of metal against her neck was the last thing she remembered before her entire world went dark.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

A rusty red truck slowed down as the headlights caught a figure walking robotically along the side of the road. The driver checked the time, noting that it was after midnight. From the back he could see that it was a slim girl with long legs and straight black hair wearing a maroon cheer uniform."Hey, sweetheart," He whistled, rolling his window down and banging his hand on the side of the door to gain her attention. "You lost?"

The girl ignored him, continuing to walk forward mindlessly. Mud and dirt stained her clothes and golden brown skin, while leaves and twigs were tangled throughout her long hair.

The man glanced around, not seeing anyone else nearby. He couldn't even tell where she'd come from. There wasn't a building or an abandoned car anywhere nearby that he'd seen. "Come on, doll. Why don't you let me take you home?" He trailed after her slowly in his truck. "A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be left out here all alone."

The girl stopped, still facing away from him.

The truck crawled towards her still figure, the man's confidence growing. He pulled over and parked, leaning over to open the passenger door for her. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her. He hadn't yet caught a glimpse of her face in the dark, her features indistinguishable in the dim light. His truck was old, the dashboard lights shot to Hell. The man pressed down on the gas, propelling them forward through the light fog forming.

He reached over and ran a calloused hand over the skin of her exposed thigh, squeezing the flesh beneath the hem of her cheer skirt. She felt cool to the touch despite the reasonably warm weather out. "Didn't your mamma ever teach you not to get into cars with strangers, little girl?" he cooed. The cheerleader remained silent, motionless. He grabbed her hand and pulled it over the armrest, forcing her to palm the growing bulge over his jeans. He leaned over to sniff her hair with a low groan, biting his lip before chuckling darkly. "I hope you aren't this quiet in bed. I wanna hear you scream."

She turned her head to face him just as they passed under a flickering streetlight. The man cursed, flinching back. "Holy fuck!" He stomped on the brakes.

The teenager looked like she'd just crawled out of a grave. She sported a deep laceration spanning the width of her throat. Her hairline was matted with blood as fresh crimson liquid wept from her neck wound, coating the lower half of her neck and staining the top of her uniform. Dirt and dried blood was smeared across her face... but it was her eyes that unnerved him the most.

The pupils and irises were gone, leaving only milky white orbs. The way her ghostly eyes bore into him reminded him of a predator observing its prey. Her mouth curled into an eerie smile, her teeth glinting in the moonlight. They were stained red and looked unusually sharp.

He scrambled backwards in his seat so violently that his back crashed against his door. He fumbled for the handle, nearly tumbling backwards to the ground as he finally wrestled the door open.

He bolted for the trees, dialing 911 with shaky hands. "Hello? I-please! Help me. There's-" he shouted in surprise as the undead girl appeared in front of him. Her small, icy hand wrapped around his throat and squeezed, sharp talons digging into his flesh. He dropped the phone to grab her wrist as she lifted him off the ground.

She cocked her head, as if observing him. He screamed in agony as her sharp, pearly white teeth ripped into his flesh.

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

The police cruiser parked behind the abandoned truck on the side of the road. Officer Tara Graeme stepped out, taking in the scene. The engine was still running, soft country music spilling out from the the driver's window that was rolled down. The stuffing was poking out of a few holes in the stained seats. Rust-colored smears could be seen on the passenger side door handle.

They'd traced a call to the emergency line to this area. An unidentified man had called, babbling hysterically before the line disconnected... but not before they'd heard bloodcurdling screams and animalistic growls. The officer circled the vehicle cautiously, spotting a prone figure slumped in the passenger seat.

Tara yanked the door open, reaching out to feel for a pulse when the girl's eyes suddenly shot open. Her expression was completely blank, her dark eyes empty as she looked straight through the officer. She was covered in blood from head to toe, some parts dried and flaky while most of it appeared to be relatively fresh. There was no outward reaction from the girl as Tara radioed for an ambulance. There was also no sign of the man that had placed the call, but the amount of blood at the scene told the officer that there likely wasn't much left of him to find.

Officer Graeme had a terrible sinking feeling in her stomach, remembering all of the vicious animal attacks that had plagued their quiet little town last year.

"Unidentified female, Hispanic, approximately 16 to 17 years old." She placed her free hand on the gaping neck wound and applied pressure. "The victim appears to have severe lacerations to the face and throat, as well as multiple contusions to the face and head." Tara spoke quickly and calmly, not wanting to frighten the traumatized girl further. "Honey, can you tell me your name? What happened here?" Savanna didn't acknowledge her presence whatsoever, continuing to stare through her blankly. The only indication that she was still alive was the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

"Hang in there, sweetheart." She said in a soothing voice, both hands now on the girl's throat to prevent her from bleeding out. "You're gonna be just fine."

⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶ ⛧ ⊶⊶⊶⊶⊶

Scott and Stiles arrived at school none the wiser of the events that had transpired earlier that morning. They met up with their friends and Derek before class to discuss what was happening with the local animals.

The pale boy frowned when he spotted Vanna's vacant seat in English. He made a mental note to text her later and see how she was doing after yesterday's reenactment of Hitchcock's The Birds. Lydia glanced at the empty seat as well, remembering how she'd screamed herself awake last night. She snuck a peek at her phone while Ms. Blake read from the textbook.

No response. It was normal for Vanna to ignore or respond late to messages from anyone that wasn't Danny or her mother. She tried to tell herself that she was being silly and that there was nothing to worry about. But after cornering the lacrosse goalie during lunch, the redhead learned that he hadn't heard from their friend since yesterday also, which caused Lydia's anxiety to skyrocket.

The black-haired beauty momentarily slipped her mind after Lydia unintentionally drove to the public pool and found the mutilated body of a lifeguard later that night. Stiles was the first number she dialed after 911, which he did not appreciate. After giving her statement to the police, Stiles drove her home, not wanting her to be behind the wheel in her current state. She had her hand on the door, ready to jump out, only to hesitate. "Have you talked to Vanny today?"

"No," the hazel-eyed boy frowned. "Not since last night. Why?"

"I felt..." Lydia shook her head, her eyes burning with tears. The knot in her stomach grew heavier, making it difficult to breathe. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Lydia?"

She slammed the door shut, cutting him off. Stiles watched her head inside with a look of confusion. He backed out of the driveway, contemplating driving over to the Rios house, when he received a call from Melissa McCall. The nurse asked him to come to the hospital before quickly hanging up.

He pulled up to the hospital doors within ten minutes and went inside. Due to the late hour, not many people were around. He made a bee-line for the front desk, where the dark haired woman was flipping through papers. "Hey."

"Hey," she rounded the desk and grabbed his arm. "Over here," Melissa spoke in a hushed voice, as though she was worried someone might overhear. She led him down a hallway, smiling tightly at one of her coworkers as they walked by. They stopped outside the morgue as she swiped her keycard. "If you tell anyone I showed you this, I swear to God I will kill you slowly and painfully."

Stiles wasn't remotely fazed by the death threat. "Why do you want to show me a body I've already seen?"

"Because you haven't seen everything." Melissa pulled on a pair of medical gloves and pulled back the white sheet covering the body of the lifeguard. She pointed at one of his wounds. "See this around his neck?" Stiles leaned in to get a closer look. "That's a ligature mark—that means he was strangled with something, like a cord or rope."

"Okay, wait a second," Stiles held up a hand. "What kind of werewolf strangles someone? You know, that's not very..." he struggled for a better adjective before settling on, "werewolf-y."

The woman nodded. "My thoughts exactly." She rounded the table to stand by the man's head. "Then there's this," she lifted his head to show Stiles his fractured skull. The boy gagged, pressing the back of his hand to his nose and mouth. "God, man, what is that? Is that brain matter? Yeah, it's brain matter. Of course."

The McCall matriarch, ever the professional, didn't so much as flinch at the gory sight. "See the indentation?" She continued, tracing the outline of the wound with her finger. "He was hit in the back of the head hard enough to kill him." This peaked the boy's interest. His disgust was overridden by his curiosity, drawing him back over to the body. "In fact, any one of these could've killed him. I mean, somebody seriously wanted this poor kid dead."

Stiles licked his lips. "All right, so this couldn't have been Cora or Boyd, you know? They wouldn't have done all that."

"You're right," Melissa nodded, moving on to another body. "Because two girls were brought in with the exact same injuries. The first two victims were attacked just after midnight last night, which means they were attacked-"

"Before the full moon." Stiles finished

Melissa nodded and waved him over to the second body, pulling the sheet aside. "This is victim #2. The ME said this one wasn't just strangled. Whoever did it used a garrote, which is a stick that you put through the rope and you just kind of keep twisting."

Stiles stared at the dead blonde in shock, his eyes welling with tears. "Stiles?" The nurse asked, worried. "God, did you know her?" Stiles only nodded, wiping under his eyes quickly. Melissa rushed to cover the girl back up. "I'm so sorry. I didn't even think."

"I was... I was at her party." He struggled to get the words out around the sudden lump in his throat. "It was her birthday. Her name is Heather."

The brown-haired woman sighed. "Okay, we need to call your father because you're a witness." Stiles stumbled back, his hazel eyes flittering back and forth as his mind raced. "Stiles?"

He gasped, as if he'd just come to a huge realization. "You said there were two girls that were brought in, right?" Melissa agreed. He ran his hands through his hair as he paced in a small circle. "Okay, the first victim. Where is she?"

"The third floor."

He stopped pacing to gape at her. "She's alive?"

The pair took the elevator up to see the sole survivor, with Stiles bouncing on the balls of his feet as his mind raced with the possibility that these weren't random killings, but something far more sinister. He squeezed through the elevator doors before they were even fully open, Melissa rushing to keep up as he practically jogged down the hallway. "They brought her in around one in the morning. The officer on the scene originally ruled it as an animal attack, but no animal did this. I saw her chart. Cerebral contusions, throat slit, and bruising consistent with being strangled." She counted on her fingers. "The same injuries as the other two."

"It's a pattern," Stiles whispered to himself, shaking his hands at his side anxiously. He turned to face the woman with a manic look in his eyes. "Has anyone else been through here tonight? Any other bodies or even anybody missing?"

"Uh, no. No bodies, but, um..."

"What?" Stiles asked, growing impatient.

"Two girls," Melissa explained. "They brought the first one, Caitlin, in for a tox screen and then I overheard that her girlfriend, Emily, just disappeared." The woman shrugged. "I mean, they were out in the woods, and-"

Stiles' mind continued to work overtime, piecing together the information like a jigsaw puzzle. "Nobody's found her yet?"

Melissa shook her head helplessly. "I don't know."

They came to stop, just a few feet away from where a uniformed officer stood guard outside the victim's room. "Okay, the girl...?"

"Caitlin."

"Is she here? Is she here right now?"

"I-I think so?"

"Okay, where? I need to talk to her next."

"Okay, wait. Just wait a minute." The woman held her hands up in timeout, preventing an annoyed Stiles from forcing his way into the guarded hospital room. "Please."

He groaned, throwing his hands towards the closed door. "I have to talk to her."

"And why's that?"

"Because I think I know what's happening." He left her, quickly approaching the police officer stationed in front of the door. "Hey, Wayne."

"Stiles," the old cop greeted back, looking mildly amused. "Visiting hours ended a while ago. Does the boss know you're here?"

"No, and I'd prefer to keep it that way if you don't mind." Stiles pat the older man's shoulders, trying to slip around him but Wayne's massive build completely blocked the doorframe.

"I don't think so, bud. Why don't you head on home and come back tomorrow?"

Melissa nudged the teen out of the way with a strained smile. "Hi. Nurse here," she pointed at her name badge. "I just came by to change her bandages for the night." Wayne nodded, stepping aside. She thanked him, turning the knob, only to be stopped when Stiles tried to follow her inside.

"Stiles-" the guard started, holding up a hand.

"It's okay," he insisted. "I just want to talk-"

"Stiles."

The boy sighed, recognizing the voice as his father's. He turned around slowly, his face pinched in annoyance. Noah approached the group with his hands on his hips. "What are you doing here? It's a school night."

"I, uh... just stopped by to say hi to Melissa here." The sheriff crossed his arms as the teen faced Melissa. "So... hi," he trailed off awkwardly, scratching his temple as the two parents simultaneously rolled their eyes.

Noah glanced between his son and the door before a look of understanding passed over his features. "You heard, huh?"

The boy's face scrunched up in confusion, exchanging a look of surprise with the McCall matriarch. "Uh, yes?"

Noah sighed tiredly. "Look, kid. She's not in the best shape right now, but seeing a familiar face might do some good... maybe help her open up so she can give us an idea of what happened last night. I'll give you five minutes with her, but only if Melissa thinks she can handle it." He held his hand up palm out towards the younger Stilinski. "I don't want to upset her in her condition. Five minutes, Stiles. Capiche?"

Stiles nodded eagerly, his curiosity growing. "Yeah, yeah. Got it. Ten minutes."

"Stiles."

The teenager hovered closely behind Melissa as she gently knocked on the door, pushing it open. The room was dim, a bedside lamp in the corner the only source of light other than the tiny bulbs on the machines. The steady beep of her heart monitor was the only sound. "Savanna, honey? Are you awake? You have a visitor."

Stiles froze in place, feeling like he'd just been drenched in ice water. "Wait... Savanna?"

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