no idea what im doing

●hi I'm jamie● ●i am a demiguy● he/him it/its they/them living on earth snce 2000 I'm in so many fandoms I lost count

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

i saw ur reqs were open..... could u maybe write poly!lost boys with an ftm reader for #3 please?? ^_^ if u dont write for ftm readers, fem or gn reader is fine!!

Confession- Poly!Lost Boys x Trans!Male!Reader

A/N: This is my first time writing a trans!reader fic and I myself am not trans, so if anything in this fic is incorrect or offensive, please let me know. I’ve tried to be as caring with this fic as possible and hope that you readers still enjoy it

Summary: You come out to your boyfriends as trans

Lost Boys tag list: @vxncevis @staley83 @pricklyshadow @caught-the-feels @horrorgoddess @callisoapy

✨Want to be tagged in my next Lost Boys fic? Click here ✨

“You know you guys don’t have to pick me up after work every night. I can meet you at the boardwalk or something,” you shyly smirk at your boys, as they all sit on or stand by their bikes, waiting for you.

“Yeah, but it’s our job,” Dwayne teases.

“Gotta look after our sweet boy,” Marko adds.

Our sweet boy

These names always leave you with a strange mixture of feelings. They make you feel guilty, like you’re deceiving them, but they also make you feel euphoric, like you’re normal. Your boys have made you feel like a man, like the way you feel about your body is right, like you are a man.

Binding your chest, awkwardly practising your deeper voice, trying to avoid stares as you shop in the men’s section, while painful, feels worth it with them.

Before your thoughts can consume you too much, you hear their bikes start to rev and David’s voice.

“Come on, handsome, hop on.”

His devilish smile makes all your worries melt away, at least for a while.

****

Back at the cave, the evening quickly begins to turn heated, as it often does. You and the boys have never gone beyond a bit of touching over the clothes and making out, but tonight they’re making you feel so good.

“Take your top off, sweet boy,” you hear Paul moan into your ear.

Suddenly your blood turns ice cold, and you spring up from the couch. Eyes that were once seductive and loving, now fill with worry and hurt. The room fills with a deafening silence, the anxiety of having to confess your secret filling your every fibre.

“What’s wrong, handsome?” Dwayne’s the first one to break the silence.

Just his words and the look on his face is enough to make tears prickle in your eyes.

“Hey, hey. What’s going on?” David quickly moves from his seat in his wheel chair, suddenly standing in front of you with his hands on your cheeks.

‘It’s not or never’

“I-I’ve been lying to you all,” you force yourself to look them all in the eye as you begin to explain, “I-I’m not a man. W-well I mean I am, but I’m not- I wasn’t born one, but I feel like one an-an.”

Marko’s soft touch on your hips causes you to stop your blubbering.

“We know, handsome,” he whispers sweetly in your ear.

Suddenly all your fear is replaced by pure confusion. Your eyes go wide as you stare at each of them.

“W-wh- how? Why didn’t you say anything?”

Your hearts racing and your heads overflowing with questions and concerns.

“It’s your smell, big boy,” Marko speaks softly into your ear, groaning as he takes a deep whiff of your neck.

All the boys seem to hum in both delight and agreement, but you still have confusion etched into your face.

“While we definitely smell the ‘female’ part of you,” Paul begins to explain, “you also have this male scent to you too. It’s like what you said, you smell like you were born and physically are a woman, but it’s almost like your soul, your being, is male.”

Paul’s surprisingly sweet words cause you to begin to cry again.

“Wow, babe, that was poetic,” Marko compliments his boyfriend.

“Yeah. Like when you’re horny we can smell you’re wet, but also like a hard dick.”

This earns Paul a slap to the back of the head from Dwayne, but it manages to make you laugh. You’re not offended, because you know it’s just your Paul.

“What Paul’s trying to say, and what we all want you to know, is that we love you and that you are our sweet boy. Whatever help you need or however slow we need to go, is fine by us. You’re in charge, handsome,” David, as per usual, swoops in to save the day.

Suddenly tears are filling your eyes again, and before you know it, your boys have you snug in their arms. Limbs are tangled together, and words of praise fill the cave walls.

[vxncevis]

𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: 𝙋𝙤𝙡𝙮!𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙇𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝘽𝙤𝙮𝙨/𝙃𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙!𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐: Future 𝙲𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙳𝙾𝚅𝙴 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙴𝙰𝚃, Dom!David,𝚅𝚊𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚖/𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍-𝚂𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙼𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝚎𝚡𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝/𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆, Gay sex/dick-sucking/handjobs/riding/MxMMMM, Dirty talk, degradation, 𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴!𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

Part 1

TLB tags: @lunarwhitewolf7

Fear. Blood. Running. Fire. Kill. Hunt.

Is the only thing that ran through his head. Images of the forest zip past him as he runs.

Where was he running? How far was he running? He didn’t know, he just knew he had to get there, ‘cause something or someone was a few hours from death.

Y/n kept having these dreams. The voices echoing through his head. The smell of blood so profound it’s like he could actually taste it, making his taste buds tingle, and his throat clench. The smell of burning flesh, boiling blood.

The vision runs through his mind again, two? Three young males inside of what looks like—

A cave?

“Up there!” One voice echoed

“I thought Vampires slept in coffins?!” Another yelled

“That’s what this is! One giant coffin!”

Run. Faster. Help them! Get there. Wait— them? Who them?!

“—The little one!”

The smell of blood fills his nose, again. But not just any blood. Vampire blood. Then screaming, snarling, voices. The goddamn voices.

“Y/n! Hey baby! Wake up!” A voiced echoed within the dream.

“Y/n? Hey-“ another voice echoed, it sounded deeper than the last one.

“Cmon, sugar! Please wake up!” Another echoed, slightly more frantic than the other two.

The smell of fire and ash filled Y:n’s nose, making him shoot up from his sleep.

“There you are.” A voice hummed against the side of his head.

“David?”

“Hey, doll.” David held the side of his face, rubbing his gloved thumb over his cheekbone.

“You had one of those wicked dreams again.” Paul said from the other side of Y/n. The sound of his anxiety apparent through his voice.

“You nearly caught your bed on fire.” Dwayne spoke from the foot of the bed. That’s when Y/n felt the cool air against his skin. His pants and half of his boxers had burnt off.

The look on Marko’s face was obvious, with his smirk behind his gloved hand. The smell of his arousal obvious.

“Haha- what’s on your mind Marko?” Paul piped up, changing the subject. Everyone looked over at Marko, but he looked at Y/n. “what’s the matter, Marko?” Y/n shifted, now laying flat on his back.

The tightness in Marko’s jeans became uncomfortable. The look in Marko’s eyes made Y/n’s face flush slightly.

David laughed, nudging his nose against Y/n’s cheek. Dwayne gripped Paul’s neck from behind. Y/n lifted to his knees, crawling toward Marko as his eyes flashed a golden orange.

Marko immediately lunged forwards to Y/n, kissing his lips roughly. The sound of groaning behind you hit you in the ears.

Dwayne was kissing Paul’s neck from behind him as David kissed Paul on the lips. David gripped Paul’s neck with a dominant grip.

“Hey, love. Ears over here.” Marko’s voice rang through Y/n’s ears again. Making his ears twitch.

Y/n’s ears had unknowingly turned wolf like. Pointing up in a dull point. “There you are.” Marko’s voice rang laughed again his mouth. The kiss was hot and heavy as Marko pushed Y/n back. Once Y/n was flat on his back, Marko straddled his hips, grinding down just right. Making y/n moan out, smoke hissing out y/n mouth. “F-fuck, Marko.”

“What’s the matter, pup? Can’t handle a bit of..” Marko’s voice rang moaned out, throwing his head back. “— grinding?”

David Laughed from over y/n’s head, looking down at him with his handsome face. Y/n looked over to the side, and the sight made Y/n moan out.

Paul bent over the side of the bed, Dwayne pushing his dick into Paul’s ass. Paul met Y/n’s eyes with a fucked out smile. When Y/n looked up at Dwayne, god. His face was vamped out and his eyebrows were furrowed and mouth agape, thrusting in and out of Paul.

“Like that sight, y/n?” David’s voice rung through his ears. Marko had stripped, already had pulled down Y/n’s boxers- more like pieces.

Marko had Y/n cock down his throat, claws gently running down Y/n’s body. Subtly scratching from y/n’s chest to his groin.

“Fuck! Marko!” Y/n moaned out, his multiple fangs jutting out of his gums. His snarl filled the air as he and David’s eyes met. Y/n growled out as Marko pulled his mouth off of him.

David gripped Y/n jaw, making him look up at him. “Don’t. Start that.” David warned him, his eyes flashing a golden-yellow.

The feeling of Marko sinking down on Y/n cock mad him roll his eyes back, mouth agape as a loud moan exits his mouth. “Oh f- please please!—“

Paul stood to the side jacking off his cock while Y/n was facing Dwayne while he had Marko on his hands and knees, facing you while David slammed into Y/n from behind. Gripping the back of his head. “Open your mouth, pup.” David snarled, pushing your head towards Paul’s cock.

Y/n opened his mouth breaking eye contact with a moaning out Marko, taking Paul into his mouth as he looked up into his eyes.

The sound of skin against skin was loud, echoing through the cave they called home. “Dirty fucking boy, Y/n. Letting us fuck around with you like a mutt in heat.” David snarled again y/n’s shoulder, biting into it. Blood filled David’s throat as a orgasmic moan left the two of them.

Y/n moaned around Paul as he finally began thrusting into y/n’s mouth, hitting the back of his throat. “Look at you, pup. L-Looking so obedient on two cocks!” Marko moaned out as Dwayne pushed his face down onto the bed.

Fire caught in y/n’s stomach, as his balls tightened. David thrusted in and out as he could scenes y/n closeness. David gripped y/n’s throat, pulling him up and off of Paul’s cock. Making them both groan out. Y/n made grabby hands towards Paul, trying to get his mouth back on his cock.

“Uh uh- stop that.” David gripped y/n wrists, pulling them behind him and gripping the creases of his elbows as he used them to pull y/n against his cock over and over again.

“N-no!” Y/n whined, the high pitched sound escaping his throat faster than he could think. Making everyone including y/n.

“awe- y/n made a puppy noise.” Paul teased, making y/n blush hard. but the sound made Marko cum hard and when he tightened around Dwayne it caught his orgasm too, making the two of them collapse on the bed. Paul walked on his knees, closer to Y/n and David. Putting y:n in a vampire sandwich as David continued thrusting. Paul gripped Y/n’s cock, sliding his hand up and down y/n’s cock with a fast pace.

“oh f-fuck! Please please-“ David put y/n into a headlock, grinding his hips into y/n’s ass, getting closer to cumming.

Y/n reached his hand down to Paul’s cock, slightly his hand up and down it swiftly as Paul leans down and kisses y/n, then leaning up and kissing David as the three of them cum together. Y/n and Paul’s cum mixing as it hits their chests.

Y/n moaned out as David pulled his arm from around his neck. Paul had already collapsed backwards, his head landing on Dwayne’s thigh while Marko placed his head on Paul’s shoulder.

David pulled out of Y/n, helping him lay down on Paul while he lifted his arms to Y/n, wrapping them around him.

David rolled y/n over onto his back. A laugh erupted from Marko. “He’s out like a light.” He said softly.

David chuckled, lying down beside them all. “Let’s get some sleep so we can feed well tomorrow.”

The smell of blood filled y/n’s nose.

The same dream again.

But something was different, she scenery was different. It was inside the place y/n’s boyfriends slept— now he could actually see it, not only hear it. In the dream, y/n saw three boys. They looked to be about 15 or 16.

One had a steak, aiming it towards… “Marko!” Y/n jumped up swiftly, tears running down his face. Waking up the boys.

“hey, hey it’s okay!” Dwayne mumbled against his cheek. Rubbing his hand up and down y/n’s arm.

The vampires all looked at each other, exchanging worried glances. If they were worried before, they definitely are now.

“Did he say anyone’s name before?” Paul asked into the back bone, looking at y/n who had already fallen back asleep against Dwayne.

Marko looked at y/n, then back at his brothers. “No.” He shook his head, speaking into the bond.

The four boys knew something was happening. They knew the more frequent y/n had the same dream means that something bad was going to happen soon. And by the looks of it, something bad was going to happen to Marko. For the first time in ages, fear seeped into the four vampires

[markos-husband]

Would you do poly!lost boys X Male!werewolf!reader who has a musk kink?

Maybe normally it’s not that bad and reader can hide it but his heat just started and now he’s forcing the boys down to scent and sniff every inch of them after they get back from running errands?

This kinda switched from a musk kink to more of an ABO scent type thing but I hope you still enjoy!!

Marked

♤ Poly!Lost Boys x male!werewolf!reader

♧ Smut, ABO themes but not stated, musk kink, scent kink, heat/rut, marking, breeding mentioned at the end, praise, puppy/pup used for reader, bottom/switch reader

Word count: 646

A/N: I like my werewolves pent up and whiney

"Uh, what the fuck is going on?"

David questioned, met with the sight of Marko pinned under you. David, Paul, and Dwayne had gone to run some errands and Marko had, so graciously, volunteered to stay home in the cave with you. They knew your heat was starting soon so they let Marko stay with you, to help with your heat, this wasn't a great idea.

"He won't stop smelling me, he hasn't even tried to fuck me yet!"

Marko whined, extremely annoyed. He without a doubt thought he would have some crazy sex with that would make the other boys jealous but instead, he had been getting scented for hours. A nip from you made Marko groan as he reached up and played with your hair.

"Sorry, sorry, I'll stop moving. You guys gotta help me."

Marko pleaded, looking at David, Paul, and Dwayne with his best pout. It made the other chuckle as they approached the two of you. Marko sighed in relief as you perked up from his neck, which was raw and red from you rubbing your scent against it and biting.

"Hey, pup, you doing alright?"

Paul grinned, letting you kiss his face before trailing down to his neck. He let out a chuckle as he heard you growl slightly at his scent. You were definitely smelling the people Paul had passed on the boardwalk and it was making you jealous.

"You smell wrong."

You grumbled, pulling Paul down into your nest. He chuckled again, grabbing onto your hips as you rubbed against his neck.

"Sorry, babe, I'll let you fix me up- OW, shit!"

He yelped as you harshly bit down on where a scent gland would be on a werewolf, upset when no scent came out even as you licked at the bite.

"This isn't right!"

You whined, getting frustrated that you could properly mark and scent the boys. Fat tears welled up as you tucked your head into the crook of Paul's neck.

The boys didn't know what to do. Paul hugged you, caressing up and down your back as he stared at the others for a solution. Marko rubbed at his neck, still red, and shrugged. Finally, after a moment, Dwayne approached your nest, scratching your head.

"Puppy, get up, let me see you, baby."

Dwayne murmured sweetly, gently stroking your face once you peeked it up.

"There he is, there's our puppy."

Dwayne cooed softly, noticing the way you were slightly grinding against Paul because of his praise. Paul also noticed, grinning as he slipped his thigh between your legs to give you something to grind on better.

You sniffled, tears rolling down your cheeks as you pouted in frustration. Dwayne wiped away the tears as he kissed the tip of your nose.

"I know, it's frustrating, but let us make you feel good, okay?"

Dwayne murmured before kissing down your neck, paying extra attention to your scent gland which seemed to make your hips buck. Gently, he rubbed his face against it, nipping slightly. You turned into a mess, practically riding Paul's thigh as he joined Dwayne, kissing your scent gland and covering himself in your scent.

"That's it, puppy."

David's cool voice cooed. He cupped your face, tilting it up so Marko could join Dwayne and Paul.

"We smell good now, don't we?"

You nodded, the boys completely marked by your scent. Your hips sped up as you grinded faster on Paul's thigh. Your release was so close. It took Marko getting a little revenge by biting on your scent gland for you to cum. Your hips stuttered as you moaned out, squirming a little.

The satisfaction of cumming didn't last long though. A new insatiable hunger to breed the boys sparking now that they were properly scented. This was going to be a long heat.

[the-gayest-one-ever]

The Lost Boys Masterlist

The Lost Boys Masterlist

Requests are open. I will do most stuff expect for the obvious stuff. :)

Poly boys

The Lost Boys Incorrect Quotes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

What I think the boys would call their s/o

The Lost Boys Love Languages

The Lost Boys Favorite Flowers

The Lost Boys x Autistic!FTM!Reader

The Lost Boys Reaction To Receiving A Gift

The Lost Boys x Autistic!FTM!Reader who changes their hair a lot

David

Fluff Alphabet

Marko

Fluff Alphabet

Marko x Male Reader Headcanons

Paul

Fluff Alphabet

Dwayne

Fluff Alphabet

I Hate You But No One Else Can Have You

Michael

Fluff Alphabet

[the-gayest-one-ever]

The Lost Boys Incorrect Quotes

A/n: I'm planning on making a part two of this if it does well :)

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

Marko: I'm not that stupid! Paul: Marko, you literally ate the wax from a babybel. Marko: DAVID TOLD ME IT WAS EDIBLE!

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

after discussing a plan David: Does anyone have any questions? Dwayne: Is this legal? David: Does anyone have any relevant questions?

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

Marko: Okay, but if you're not gay then why are you always holding my hand and kissing me and telling me I’m your boyfriend? Paul: Dude- Its satire! Marko: THAT'S NOT WHAT SATIRE MEANS!

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

Y/n: You are an absolute fucking dork. Marko, singing: Yeah, but I'm your dork! Y/n: *sighs* Yeah, you're my dork.

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

Paul: walks to cabinet, removes oreo box, takes half a sleeve, throws empty box out Hi! Marko: Hey- what are you doing-? Paul, shoving an oreo into his mouth: I am saving space :D

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

David: How would you like to live forever? Y/n: I'd hate it. Shut the fuck up.

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

Dwayne, watching Marko & Y/n panic : What's going on? Paul: Marko is having a midlife crisis and Y/n is just having a crisis.

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

Marko: You are irrationally angry 365 days a year. Y/n: Well, that’s just your personal opinion, I don’t have anger issues. Do you guys think I have anger issues? Dwayne: Well, I wouldn’t really call it an issue. An issue is something you can fix.

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

Dwayne: Which way did Marko go? Y/n: Well, based on the direction of the wind, the broken sticks in the corner, and the slight disturbance in the dirt, I'd guess he went left. Dwayne: You could really figure it out from that? Y/n: No, you idiot, Marko sent me a text. See?

[vxncevis]

GIYSSSS

Is this a comeback??🫪

[vxncevis]

Can you do a poly lost boys including michael x male reader fluff comfort

Safe with us. ────୨ৎ────

Pairing: Poly!TLB + Michael/Male!Reader

Warnings: Bit of angst, but ends with a bunch of fluff.

a/n: I hope it’s okay if I made reader a werewolf??😭😅

🏷️: @lunarwhitewolf7 @ariastur9z @margotwantstoknow @scrrry-mnsters @scrrry-mnsters @vntage-babi @aviradasa @dushku @thelostboysforeva @acotar-lover @theorizinganomaly @fanofgunsnroses @bimboreader @6lostgirl6

You didn’t know what it was. You weren’t upset with your boys’ you never could be. Well—not for long at least. But for a few weeks you were on edge. Not wanting to do certain things you usually did. You never straight up and asked for help even though you needed it. You just stood there and suffered with your brain going a million miles an hour.

You, previously being in a wolf pack had its ups and downs. Good thing about leaving the pack was that you didn’t have a curfew and didn’t have to commit to a mate without your consent. Downfall of it was that it was stressful—having to get used to fending for yourself without 6-9 other werewolves helping you hunt.

Even though you were with the boys now, it was still hard. You get territorial over a hunt, snapping at the boys and nearly hurting them. You didn’t want that.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Dwayne was the first to see it, as he used does—being that he pays more attention to his surroundings than his brothers. He could see how you were more tense than usual, snapping at David and rolling your eyes at Marko’s snarky remarks. Usually Dwayne would brush it off as you being hungry, or the full moon—but this? Was entirely different.

Michael was second to realize what was going on, only cause the first day you started acting different was because you were with him. He didn’t say anything cause he wanted to wait till he was with the others to say something. Despite him being newer to this whole vampire thing, he still had a slight hold to his humanity.

Soon, David had pulled you to the middle of the cave and confronted you, setting you down on the old couch. Paul had his arm wrapped around your shoulder, Marko laying his head down on your lap, Dwayne sitting under Marko’s legs, David sitting on his wheelchair, and Michael sitting on a recliner, leaning forward on his knees.

You knew it was coming. Whether you liked it or not— “What’s wrong pup?” Dwayne said gently, speak up first, knowing that his words would come off easier than David’s.

That nickname always made you calm. Reminding you that you did and still do, have a humanity side. It eased your mind a slight bit, but not enough that it changed your attitude.

You said nothing, just looking down at Marko as you ran your fingers through his curls gently. Your heart ached, throat becoming tight as you held back your emotions.

Back when you were in the wolf den, fear or emotions got you put at the bottom of the food chain.

“Y/n.” David spoke up, catching your attention as you looked up from Marko, a single tear rolling down your cheek. From that single tear, you felt the feeling and emotions of the cave change. Dwayne pulled you closer to him as Marko lifted his legs off of Dwayne’s lap. Dwayne shushed you calmly. Pulling you onto his lap as he rubbed your back, looking over at his pack mates as your tears soaked his skin. Paul and Marko shifted closer, moving closer and holding you.

Michael felt his heart tense. Something he hasn’t felt for a good few months since he turned. Looking over to David who’s expression was one of softness, eyebrows furrowed as he exchanged looks at the others.

“I-I’m sorry for everything. I just..” you sob, shoulders shaking, voice breaking as your hands clutched ahold of Dwayne’s jacket.

“No pup. It’s okay.. we understand.” He coos against your cheek, giving you a kiss there.

“Yeah. We might not know what it is you’re going through, but we’re here for ya, man.” Marko says softly, kissing the back of your neck.

You shift, sitting up from Dwayne’s shoulder, wiping your face from tears. You hear David call to you, looking away from Dwayne, shifting your gaze to David then to Michael who stands beside him.

David gave you a look, you knew that look.

You get up from Dwayne’s lap, walking over to David slowly. David held his arms open a bit, you instantly move over to sit on his leg, laying your head in his neck as he wrapped his arms around you.

Paul looked over at Marko who was chewing on his glove nervously, bouncing his knee. Paul placed his legs off over Marko’s lap, skin on skin contact was somewhat helpful for Marko.

Dwayne pulled Marko’s hand from his mouth, holding his hand gently as Paul leaned on Marko’s shoulder from beside him.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” David spoke softly, moving one of his hands to the back of your neck, holding pressure there as he listened to your heartbeat steady.

Michael stood near you from the side, running his fingers through your hair as he looked at David with a worried expression. A few moments later David picks you up as he stands, walking to the shared nest you all have.

Paul smiled, getting up with a hop as he followed, along with the others.

Dwayne played down first, then David placed you on Dwayne to which you tighten your arms around Dwayne. Hugging on to him tightly.

David laying down beside the two of you as the others piled in, cuddling up and filling in around you. It eased your mind.

No worlds were said, but the feeling of all of them around you made you feel safe. Their cool bodies against your warm skin, lulling you to sleep. A sleep that you didn’t know you needed.

Before falling asleep you hear David murmer against your neck before kissing it. "You're safe with us."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

[pang3l]

And what if I'm insane?

[ysketball]

Homoerotic "subtext" sitcom "best friends" that are "opposites".

[clearxx]

⋆.𖥔˚ | SILENT OBSESSION..

| ⋆˚꩜｡ yandere/dark! Si-eun X gn! reader .ᐟ | pt.1, pt.2? |

── .✦ summary: IN WHICH... after [Name] woke up from their coma, Si-eun obsession and protectiveness only got worse every day.. his only goal is to be with [Name] forever...

── .✦ warnings: dark themes, ooc?, obsession, you take the place of Su-ho, manipulation, toxic friendships, jealously, trauma, naive reader, grammar mistakes (sorry, english is not my first language), messy writing, abandonment issues, etc .ᐟ

── ⋆.˚༄ ...SI-EUN WOULD ALWAYS REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME Y'ALL MET... it was like you brought color to his gray life. Si-eun always had trouble communicating with others, which he actually didn't worry about that. His only goal in life was to study.. study..and study.. He was lonely.. but he didn't care.. he preferred that, to have a boring life..

that was until you came..

you came into his life without warning, he was annoyed at first with your presence.. but slowly, he started to enjoy it.

maybe it was a dangerous move to his boring life routine but he didn't care, you silently brought company into his life.. and out of nowhere, he got a friend group..you and Beom-seok..

a friend group that he never knew he needed it.. he would forever cherish the moments he had with you and Beom-seok..

but he never knew he would lost everything in a instant..

it began with a argument between you and Beom-seok.. making you and Beom-seok separate.. Si-eun tried to fix it.. but there was nothing he could do..

and out of suddenly.., you ended up in a coma and Beom-seok left without a trace.. leaving him alone again.

the thing that hurted him the most.. was to see your unconscious body in the floor.. a person that was once full of life now laying on the floor, not even breathing..

after that moment, he completely turned himself off.. he couldn't even sleep without remembering you..

every single day after school, he would visit you in the hospital after school.. always leaving you flowers and food, even though he knew you weren't gonna wake up soon..

he could barely look at your face without the guilt eating him..

he soon moved schools.. since he got expelled for beating up the people who hurt you.

when he moved schools, his goal wasn't to study anymore.. it was to see your beautiful eyes open again.

and out of suddenly, he got a friend group.. a friend group that helped him through difficult times.

but none of them could take your place.

you were someone special in his heart, you were someone he could trust, you were his first..

and he would never.. ever.. forget you.

each day that passed.. he was slowly losing hope. he began to worry that you would never woke up.

until he received that call.

he ran faster than his friends.. ran to the hospital, thinking only about you.

and then his eyes widen.. there you were, breathing with your eyes open.. sitting in a wheelchair outside admiring the view.

and for the first time after a long while.. he truly smiled.

he felt a mix emotions inside him.. relief, happiness, joy...

but there was a ugly feeling that he felt inside him..

it was the dangerous feeling of possession and obsession..

── ⋆.˚༄ "SI-EUN.. HOW MANY TIMES I HAVE TO ASK YOU.. LET ME MEET YOUR NEW FRIENDS.." you complained as you sat in the hospital bed, as you looked at Si-eun.. who was doing his homework in a chair, sitting besides your hospital bed.

Since you woke up, he started to act like his old self.. a stoic guy who goal was to study and study..

"no. instead of worrying about meeting my friends, you should rest more." Si-eun bluntly responded.. his eyes still on his homework.. even though he was only thinking about you.

"ugh, you are a pain in the ass.." you rolled your eyes before you glared at him. his lips twitched.. he missed those warm moments with you., the way you always looked pissed of by his stoic behavior even though you never gave up in him.

"but can you at least tell me more about them?"

"why you care so much?" he finally looked up at her, his eyes dark.. looking like he was staring inside your soul. He didn't like the way you were so interested in his friends. They didn't matter for him.. the only thing that matter is you and him. that's it.

"because I can't believe a stoic guy like you could become friends with a group, no offense though".

"mhm.." he hummed in response, as he looked back at his homework. He wasn't planning for you to meet his friends, and maybe never. In his opinion there wasn't a reason for you to meet his friends. It was already perfect. just you and him.

"can we go outside? I'm want to get some fresh air" you suggested, the last time you went outside was the time when Si-eun met you again.. which was 2 weeks ago.

"no. how many times I have to tell you, you have to rest more." he bluntly said.. as he looked up at you.

"why not? there's literally nothing wrong going outside for some fresh air" you responded back, you were slowly getting pissed of by his protectiveness, it was getting so suffocating.

he didn't responded back, he observed you quietly for some long seconds, before he stood up from his chair and went besides you on the bed. He kept staring at you before he finally said something.

"I know you have feelings for me." your eyes widen when those words came out from his mouth. 'how did he-' you shook your head, there's no way he knew it.

"you look like your panicking, that means you do love me" he says, observing you with his eyes that carried a lot of emotion. "I.. like you too" he voice slightly broke..as he stared at you.. his face may look stoic but his eyes.. was full of love, desperation, possessiveness.

you only became quiet.. not knowing what to do after you knew the truth. He noticed how you became quiet.. he then slowly started to lean in closer to your face as he looked at your lips.

he then pressed his lips against yours.. and stupidly, you fell into the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck. the kiss was soft but full of passion and unspoken feelings. his lips perfectly moved against yours.

the room was quiet, only the sounds of y'all passionate kiss filled the room. your eyes were closed while his was open, wanting to see how you fell for the kiss.. fell only for him.

between the passionate kiss, he could mutter something dark that you didn't catch..

"you're mine.. this kiss gonna seal us together.. forever.."

── .✦ a/n: eeeek finally my first yandere fic in this acc!! i might do part 2, maybe smut??? btw, im gonna make a yandere weak hero series.. might post the info tomorrow..tell me if you wanna get tagged.. well tysm for reading !!

[writing-mlm]

The atoms that Connect Us [Jordan Li x Gender Neutral!reader]

Series summary: You’d think that Vought making Compound V was the worst thing they were doing in secret— god, you really shouldn’t have made Luke those shrooms. And to make it worse, your partner is obsessing on the wrong part of this whole fucked up situation.

Series tags/trigger warnings: talks of addiction/self-harm/suicide attempt (addiction is in a couple of chapters, the description of the self-harm/attempt will be in one self contained, skipable chapter), smut, reader is a supe, borderline abusive parents, canon-level things, established relationship, talks of grooming, smut, powers based off of atom-eve, they/them for Jordan, they/them for reader

0.1- That's a rough start. buddy

0.2- Tired of the interview bullshit

0.3- Gala's are for rubbing elbows and the stars of the night being stupid

0.4- Lesson learned: we are never going back to Dusty's

0.5- Bad memories TW: suicide attempt. chapter is skippable

0.6- This is a bomb and I cannot be making it, sorry

[writingbyshiloh]

Third Time's the Charm

Request: Hii,if your request are still open can i request something for Gen V?Can you write something where Jordan and fem reader are childhood best friends and Jordan had always been in love with her but they feel insecure because they don’t know if reader will like them in both forms romantically?So when,in ep 3,Jordan dad goes like “Y/n and Jordan will be husband and wife” reader goes “Maybe we will be wife and wife”because she loves Jordan just like they are?

AN: Reader wants to be the first supe president (just to explain why they’re at the gala), I changed the timeline of the ep a tiny bit. I have another request about meeting Jordan's parents but that one might be more angsty.

CW: fem!reader, kissing, no beta, Jordan's parents are just their warning. The start is all flashbacks so I may have slipped on the tense a few times, no beta

WC: 2.0K

Jordan Li was your first kiss. Twice. The first time was in kindergarten, when they tried to kiss you and you smacked them with your Queen Mauve lunch box. Your second first kiss (the one you consider your actual first kiss) was done by you while playing truth or dare at 14. After picking a dare, you were asked to kiss the best-looking guy in the group. You shrugged and picked your best friend - Jordan. 

At age six, they were there when you broke your ankle trying to see if you could fly (you couldn’t). When you did get powers, they were the first person you told.

When Jordan came out to you as bigender, you did an internet deep-dive, trying to understand as much as possible.

Jordan listened to every interaction you had with your high school crush while quietly dying inside, wanting you to be happy. When your high school boyfriend cheated on you and then dumped you for the girl he cheated with, Jordan was there, ready to sink hours into their Xbox to keep you distracted.

The worst week of your life was when you didn't speak to Jordan for 9 whole days. You got into a petty argument where you called them self-absorbed and they called you clingy. The fight snowballed into yelling arguments and ended with you receiving a cold shoulder from Jordan. 

When Jordan got their wisdom teeth removed, you camped out in their room, snuggled under their duvet with them to watch Property Brothers for two days straight. You even made sure they took their painkillers on time and used ice packs.

Every fight with their parents, you were outside in your car ready to pick up Jordan to stay with you. Once you showed up at their house at 6:03 am, eyes blurry with sleep and still in pyjamas. Jordan was crying, bob haircut looked messy from sleep. You drove them to Vought-A-Burger, still half asleep and ate greasy breakfast sandwiches in your car until Jordan stopped crying. 

Jordan was even your date to prom, taking photos with you in their masculine form to get their parents off their back. Once their parents were happy, you snuck them back to yours, where you stashed their prom dress. 

You both even applied to God U together. Too nervous to check your acceptance, Jordan checked yours and you checked theirs. Sitting across from each other on your bed you both log in before giving the laptops to each other.

“Okay, three, two, one…” you counted down, opening Jordan’s laptop. Your eyes scanned for any promising words like congratulations, or welcome. "Accepted" was the first word your eyes caught but you need to fuck with them.

“Jord… I’m so sorry.” You start. Their face falls, and you feel like a dick for doing this. But the opportunity is too good to pass up. “That you believed me! Because you got in!”

They lunged across your bed to see what the screen says. You saw Jordan's eyes scan the same letter you just read, picking out the same words. 

“You’re such an asshole!” they told you, rolling their eyes, gently hitting your arm with the back of their hand

You’ve never been shy about showering Jordan with compliments. Saved in screenshots never to see the light of day, Jordan has kept some of them. 

You: OMG!!! Jordan you’re so pretty. I’m so lucky to call you my friend. 

You: You’re so handsome!!! I love your hair slicked back! If she doesn’t agree you need to drop her. 

You: ur a solid 9/10. Lost a point for not giving me a sip of your drink yesterday lol

Jordan Li has been in love with you since age 16. Probably earlier, if they want to admit that to themselves. You’ve only ever expressed interest in men so they kept their feelings to themselves, not wanting to make you uncomfortable, figuring it was better to have you as a friend only than not at all. 

In your first year, you were even roommates. While Jordan flourished in crim, you bounced between majors before settling into politics.

Every time you brought some frat guy to your shared dorm, Jordan died inside. Trying to get over their long-standing crush, Jordan did the same.

When Jordan made number 2 on the top five, you celebrate with them. Maybe a bit too hard that night.

You were there when their ranking dropped after the death of Brink. A man you only met twice, but you would do anything for Jordan. Especially given how hard you fell for both versions of them last year.

“I’m going to try to tag team with your dad, get some points for you and keep him engaged, yeah?” You ask over your shocker. Jordan is behind you, ready to help with zipper duty for your dress.

“You don’t have to.”

You let out a small scoff. “Dude. I’m doing poli supe. Schmoozing with rich people is like half our courses. Zip me up please.”

“How long have you known Jordan? You seem to be a good couple.” The man you and Jordan's dad suckered into a conversation asks. He's sitting beside Jordan's parents, while you and Jordan are on the edge of some fancy pit or table. 

“Well, these two have known each other pretty well over the years. Jordan tried to kiss her when they were kids, and she hit him with her Black Noir lunch box.”

“It was a Queen Mauve lunch box, actually.” You say with a laugh.

“And she called him ‘Jojo’ for probably the next two years out of spite.” Kayla laughs. It's a special embarrassment when your parents tell stories about your childhood. All the stories are about you but it's been so long ago you can’t remember any of it. Jordan looks worse off, slouchy posture against the banister, while you sit next to him. Part of you wants to tell him to sit up straight, but you figure you can play the grief angle better this way. 

“Oh, and remember when Jordan got his wisdom teeth out? You guys were inseparable. I think I still have the photo of you two passed out watching TV!” Kayla gushes, reaching for her phone to find the photo.

“We all thought you two would be president and First Gentleman.” Dad insists. Your smile is fake and tight, knowing if Paul pulls out prom photos, you would have to quietly fling yourself out of a window. 

Maybe you drank a bit too much liquid courage. Maybe the tension between them and their parents was getting to you. To give Jordan some space, you took their parents for a tour of your classes, knowing they’ll be talking to your family when they go back to Rochester.

Jordan shifting doesn’t even cause you to raise an eyebrow, the subtle sound just blurs into the background.

“Or president and First Lady.” You blurt out, four pairs of eyes darting towards you. “First supes in the Whitehouse? It would be political dynamite.”

“You like this version of Jordan?” Dad asks with bewilderment.

“Of course. I like Jordan because of how smart and driven they are. I like Jordan because of their weird sense of humour. It doesn’t matter what they look like.” you say, trying to prove it to their parents, but also to them. You’ve picked up on their crush many times, too kind to say something that would embarrass them or hurt them. It’s only recently how much you found yourself staring at fem Jordan and wanting to kiss her too. 

“I’m going to go and mingle some more.” says the man, Brad or Rob maybe. You forgot his name right after you met him. His words are like a bucket of cold water was dumped over you. You don’t confess your feelings to Jordan just to Jordan, but in front of their judgy parents, and a possible donner. You need to go. 

You stand and straighten out your dress. 

“I’m going to go too. Other donors to talk to. Go Jordan!" You finish with an awkward laugh and even more cringy go team! gesture by yourself. 

You didn't lie to Jordan and their parents. You did go and talk to other donors but it twists your stomach every time you bring up how amazing their grades are, or how skillful they are at fighting. After donor number three gives you an answer that technically was “we’ll see” but heavily implied to be "yes for Jordan” you went to hide in the bathroom. You have enough battery left on your V-phone to keep it going for most of the night. Tomorrow you can talk to Jordan and hope you don’t fuck it all up. 

You barely look up when the door opens, already have done too much for the day to care who it is. 

‘Hey, can we talk?” You snap to attention at the voice. Of course, you know that voice. It's Jordan, still feminine presenting. 

“Fuck, Jord, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have spring that on you. I promise I’ll just go back and try to get you some votes, you’re going through a lot.” You say, in a rush to get the words out, desperate not to fuck up you’re friendship. The rim of the sink is hard against your back but you can’t help but shrink into it. 

“Did you mean it?” They ask, still keeping a distance from you.

“Yeah, of course, I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“No, what you said in front of my parents.” 

Oh right. Your confession. Fuck. It's already out there, might as well keep it going. 

“I may, uh-” you curse yourself for leaving your drink outside the bathroom, wanting something in your hands to stall. “-have a crush. On you. My best friend.” You twist your hands together, wishing Jordan didn’t look so pretty. If your heart beats any faster you may go into cardiac arrest. 

It's Jordan that indicates your third first kiss. It's gentle, and fast, like the second one. She pulls back quickly, but you run your fingers through her hair and pull her closer. The intensity from the first first kiss is still there, only this time you both share it. Her hand smooths up to your face, thumb stroking your cheek in a silent invitation to open your mouth. You comply, and tilt your head into her palm. Her tongue sweeps into your mouth and you can taste the champagne they were drinking. 

The sound of the door opening makes you both jump.

“Stall?” You ask, voice low and hushed. You squirm out from where she has you between the sink and her. You push the door open to the nicest-looking stall, desperate to keep kissing Jordan. They follow your lead eagerly, one hand wrapped around your shoulder to keep you near. 

Dipping their head, they softly kiss your jaw before moving onto your neck. You silently thank the other two women arguing in the bathroom so that your gasp goes unnoticed. Giving Jordan's hair a small tug, you pull them back up to you. The shit-eating grin they flash you makes you want to almost get caught again. 

Your free hand moves to their waist, trying to get as close to them as physically possible. 

You pull back slightly, wanting so desperately to get lost in the moment, but the commotion in the other stall is distracting. Plus you’re nosey.

Jordan frowns when you pull away, eyes scanning your face for something they did wrong. You shake your head and tip it over to the stall.

“The fuck?” They mouth to you, hand still around your shoulder.

You gently push Jordan against the door to give yourself space to squat down. You see two pairs of feet in the stall across the wall. You hear the voices quiet down, before the sound of someone peeing. You frown slightly, weird fetish to do at a memorial gala but you hear rumours about students into more fucked up shit. 

“We should get outta here.” You whisper to Jordan. 

“Weird place for our third first kiss.” Jordan whispers back. You reach around them to unlock the stall door. Third first kiss. You replay the words in your head, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 

You gently push them out of the stall, trying to keep your laughs quiet as you both scurry past the other couple in the stall. 

[blondekisses]

Sam Riroden x Reader

Sam just wants to know who Greg is ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

MINORS DNI 18+ | Kinktober Day Twenty-Four ☆

Kinks: jealousy, manipulation, dry humping, possessive

Your power had always been called “adorable.”

Literally. It was in your nickname on campus: Charmlight. You could bend light, make it shimmer, refract, sparkle, and if you really wanted to, use it to distract, dazzle, or disorient someone. Basically, weaponised glitter.

You used to joke that you weren’t dangerous, just aesthetic.

But that was before everything went to hell.

Before the woods. Before Elmira. Before Sam Riordan became a name everyone whispered about for reasons that made your stomach twist.

Now, a year later, the world looked different. Godolkin University had rebuilt. Students strutted around like the massacre never happened. And Sam, Sam, was one of them again.

No longer the haunted boy you’d once found hiding in the labs, trembling and wild-eyed. Now he was a name on posters, a Supe who’d fought beside Homelander, whose nervous grin was plastered on Vought’s PR feeds. Everyone wanted to talk to him. Everyone but you.

You’d tried. You’d waved. You’d smiled. He never waved back.

So you stopped trying.

You didn’t get sent to Elmira, but you may as well have. You stopped showing up to labs, skipped training sessions, stopped answering messages.

Being near Sam hurt too much, the boy who’d once held your hand in the dark now standing beside Homelander, the monster who made your stomach twist with fear.

So when this new semester started, you promised yourself: no more Sam Riordan.

And for a while, you kept that promise.

You hung out with Marie and Jordan and Emma again when they came back from Elmira, it felt safe, familiar, even if everything still buzzed with unspoken tension. And then there was Greg.

Greg with the shy smile and the plant powers and the voice that always went soft when he said your name. Greg who showed up to lab with coffee for both of you. Greg who made you laugh when everything else felt heavy.

He made you laugh. He called you “princess” because of your bratty attitude when something doesn't go your way. He bought you cherry sodas from the vending machine after training. It was easy with him. Safe.

Until Sam came back.

Now he was everywhere. In the quad, at team meetings, on the stupid supe social feed. Godolkin’s golden boy, the reformed rebel. Everyone loved him he was popular.

Vought-polished, interview-ready, walking God U’s campus with Cate and the Homelander crowd like he’d been rewritten. Students stared when he passed; professors pretended not to.

Except he wasn’t looking at the cameras.

He was looking at you.

You could feel it, the burn of his stare from across the training hall, the way his jaw clenched when Greg’s hand brushed yours, the way he suddenly started hanging around the group again, pretending it was coincidence.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to smile when Greg leaned close, explaining how his kinetic field worked, tried not to flinch when you caught a flash of blonde hair and blue eyes in the mirror.

But Sam noticed everything.

The way you laughed too hard at Greg’s jokes. The way Greg touched your elbow when you passed through a crowd. It made something in Sam tighten.

Something ugly, new, and raw.

Every time Sam saw you two together, his jaw would tick. He’d tear open cans of energy drink like they’d offended him, shove his hands in his pockets, pretend he didn’t care.

You told yourself you understood.

He’d been through hell.

But understanding didn’t make the quiet sting any less.

When the group finally ended up in Stan Edgar’s bunker, half refuge, half prison, you hadn’t expected to talk to him at all.

The bunker smelled like metal and dust and too many people in one small space. Dust hung in the air like static. Dust hung in the air like static.

You sat cross-legged on an old couch, tapping your nails against your phone screen, trying not to think about the way Sam paced nearby in a white tank top, muscles catching the dim light.

Emma was talking to Jordan. Marie and her sister were arguing quietly. It should have felt crowded, but all you could feel was him.

The tall, restless boy on the other side of the room.

Sam looked different now, steadier, but still dangerous in a way that made your chest feel too tight. He ran a hand through his hair, then looked straight at you.

He didn’t say your name at first; he just looked at you.

That look you used to know, the one that saw straight through your glittery armour, except now it was sharper. You could feel it like static crawling up the back of your neck.

You focused on your phone screen, scrolling absolutely nothing, pretending not to notice. It didn’t help.

“Something funny?” Sam’s voice broke the low murmur in the room.

You startled. “Huh? Oh—no, I’m just—” You dropped your phone. It hit the floor, clattering against the concrete. Perfect.

When you bent to grab it, he was already there, crouched, picking it up in one easy movement. Up close, he was all warm skin and restless energy; that faint scent of metal and soap. He handed it back, eyes unreadable.

“You drop things a lot when I’m around,” he said. Not mean, not teasing. Just a statement.

You tried to laugh. “Gravity hates me.”

His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Greg doesn’t seem to mind it.”

You froze, clutching your phone. “Greg?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms. The motion made the fabric of his tank stretch, his forearms tight, veins standing out. “He’s always around you lately.”

You forced a bright, brittle laugh. “We’re friends. Remember those?”

“I remember,” he said, and the way he looked at you made your pulse jump. “Just didn’t think you needed new ones.”

“Sam.” You sighed, voice soft, trying to sound calm. “You can’t be mad at me for moving on.”

“I’m not mad.” His jaw flexed. “Just weird watching someone else get what I—” He stopped himself, breathing hard through his nose.

You blinked, heart hammering. “What you what?”

He looked away, toward the far wall where Emma and Jordan were laughing about something, then back at you. “Forget it.”

You took a step closer before you could think better of it. “No. Finish that sentence.”

His eyes found yours again, darker now, something raw flickering behind them. “What I miss.”

The room was still buzzing with low conversation, but it felt like the two of you were sealed off, a tiny pocket of air humming with things neither of you wanted to name.

For a second, all the restless anger in his posture eased. His shoulders dropped. He looked almost shy again, the Sam you remembered from before everything went sideways.

Emma’s high-pitched giggle cut through the tension. "Okay, Jordan, enough!" she laughed, shoving Jordan lightly toward the heavy bunker door. "We need more snacks. Like, yesterday."

Jordan grinned, already heading out. "Marie? You coming? Vending machine run." Marie glanced back at you and Sam, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded silently, following them out.

The reinforced steel door groaned shut behind them with a final, echoing clunk.

Silence slammed down. Thick. Suffocating.

Dust motes danced in the single overhead light’s harsh glare, suddenly the loudest thing in the room. You were alone. With Sam. The air crackled, heavy with everything unsaid.

Your phone felt slippery in your clammy hand. You stared at the scuffed concrete floor, tracing a hairline crack near your boot. Anything to avoid looking at him.

Anything to avoid acknowledging the raw vulnerability in his whispered confession: What I miss.

Your cheeks burned. Why did Marie have to leave? Why did Jordan pick now for snacks? The silence stretched, tight as a wire about to snap. You could hear the faint hum of the bunker’s ventilation system. Hear Sam’s slow, deliberate exhale.

"So," Sam finally rasped, the word rough, scraping the quiet. He hadn’t moved from leaning against the wall. His gaze was fixed on you, intense and unnervingly direct. "Greg."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement loaded with something dark and possessive. You flinched, instinctively stepping back, bumping against the worn armrest of the couch.

"Sam," you breathed, your voice barely audible above the hum of the ventilation. "He's just Greg. He's nice."

"Nice." Sam pushed himself off the wall, unfolding his lean frame with predatory grace. He took one step, then another, closing the distance until you could see the faint pulse in his temple, the way his blue eyes seemed to pierce through your feeble defences. "He buys you sodas. Calls you princess." He spat the last word, his lip curling. "He touches you. Like he owns you."

"He doesn't!" The protest sounded weak, even to you. You clutched your phone tighter, the plastic casing digging into your palm. "He's just… friendly."

"Is that what you call it?" Sam stopped inches away, the heat radiating off him palpable. His gaze dropped, lingering pointedly on your thighs where Greg's hand had brushed earlier.

A slow, unsettling smirk spread across his face, devoid of warmth. "Friendly." He let the word hang, heavy with implication. "You used to be friendly with me."

You swallowed hard. "Things change." You tried to inject steel into your voice, but it trembled.

"Do they?" His smirk widened, sharpening into something dangerous. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that sent shivers down your spine despite the stifling heat. "Because I haven't changed. Not about you."

His breath ghosted warm against your ear. "I thought about you. Every damn day. Even when you stopped looking at me. Even when you pretended I didn't exist." He paused, letting the confession sink in, his eyes locked onto yours with unnerving intensity. "Especially then."

The manipulation was subtle, insidious.

Wrapping his longing in a barbed wire of accusation, making you feel guilty for moving on. He didn't say he missed you, he said he thought about you, twisting his own absence into your perceived betrayal.

Your breath caught, trapped somewhere between disbelief and a terrifying pull. His proximity was overwhelming, the scent of soap and clean sweat mingling with the metallic tang of the bunker.

His gaze slid deliberately down your body again, lingering longer this time on the curve of your hip, the line of your thigh pressed against the couch arm.

"Missed this," he murmured, the rough scrape of his voice unnervingly intimate against the bunker's stale air. His lips brushed the frantic pulse point beneath your jaw, a feather-light touch that ignited sparks beneath your skin. "Missed you."

It wasn't gentle; it was possessive, an assertion. "Ever since the woods." His breath was hot on your neck. "Ever since I saw you in that lab coat, hiding me."

Another kiss, lower this time, near the sensitive curve where neck met shoulder. His hand settled firmly on your waist, fingers pressing possessively into the fabric. "Always wanted to do this. Taste you here." His tongue traced a slow, deliberate path upwards.

You gasped, a sharp intake of air that sounded deafening in the silence. Your hands instinctively flew to his shoulders, not pushing away, but gripping the taut muscle beneath his thin tank top. "Sam…"

It was a protest choked by sensation.

He pulled back just enough to lock his stormy eyes with yours.

The raw need in them was terrifying, mixed with a dark certainty. "You miss it too," he stated, his thumb brushing the frantic flutter in your throat. "Missed me. Missed how I knew you. Really knew you."

His other hand slid lower, tracing the outside seam of your leggings, his palm heavy and warm against your thigh. The pressure was deliberate, suggestive. "Not like Greg." He spat the name, a venomous dismissal.

"Pretty boy with his plants and his sodas." His fingers tightened, pressing your thigh firmly against the couch armrest, a subtle shift that mimicked the friction of riding. "He'll never let you feel this."

His voice dropped to a rough whisper, lips brushing your ear again. "Never let you lose control. He'll keep you safe. Bored." His gaze was intense, manipulative, searching your face for confirmation. "Safe feels like hell now, doesn't it?"

You couldn't speak. His words were hooks, sinking deep into insecurities you hadn't voiced.

The comparison was cruel, designed to isolate. His proximity, the heat of him, the possessive weight of his hand anchoring your thigh, it short-circuited thought.

Your power flickered instinctively, tiny sparks of light dancing erratically around your clenched fists, betraying the chaos inside. He saw it, a predatory gleam flashing in his eyes. He leaned in again, capturing your lips this time.

It wasn't tender; it was claiming.

A desperate, bruising kiss fuelled by a year of silence and simmering jealousy, designed to obliterate Greg, obliterate safety, obliterate everything but the raw, dangerous connection crackling between you in the suffocating silence of Stan Edgar's forgotten bunker.

He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving you gasping, your lips tingling.

Before you could react, he moved with startling speed. His hands slid firmly beneath your thighs. A sharp lift, a controlled pivot, and he sank onto the worn couch cushions, pulling you down with him.

You landed straddling his lap, knees bracketing his hips, the sudden intimacy stealing your breath. His hands locked onto your waist, fingers digging possessively through the fabric of your shirt. His gaze, dark and intense, held yours captive.

"See?" he breathed, voice rough with triumph and something darker. "This." He shifted deliberately beneath you, the hard ridge of his arousal pressing unmistakably against the thin barrier of your leggings.

The friction was immediate, electric. "This is what you miss." His hands slid lower, gripping the curve of your hips, urging you forward with insistent pressure.

Manipulation wrapped in velvet touch. He pressed kisses against your jawline, your cheekbone, feather-light yet demanding, while his hands guided your hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm against him.

"Tell me he makes you feel like this," he murmured against your skin, punctuating the words with a sharp upward thrust of his own hips that forced a choked gasp from your throat.

His fingers tightened, digging into the flesh above your leggings' waistband. "Tell me he knows how wet you get just thinking about me."

The words were a weapon, twisting your body's undeniable response into proof of his ownership, erasing Greg with every calculated press and grind. His gaze burned into yours, daring you to deny it, searching for the flicker of surrender he knew was there.

He didn't ask if you wanted this; he forced the confession through your body's traitorous movement, his hand firmly guiding your waist, grinding you down onto him with relentless, possessive pressure. He knew you wanted this.

"Say it," he breathed, his lips brushing yours again, a promise and a threat tangled together. "Say you missed this."

You couldn't.

Words were ash in your mouth.

Only sounds escaped, low, involuntary whines that rose from your chest, turning into breathy mewls as the friction intensified. Your hands, trapped against his shoulders, clenched and unclenched, nails scraping the worn cotton of his tank.

Every nerve felt raw, exposed.

The bunker’s stale air thickened with the scent of exertion, soap, and the sharp tang of your own arousal blooming beneath the fabric separating you. He shifted subtly beneath you, angling himself to hit the perfect spot with each grinding circle he forced your hips to make.

With the pressure against your clit through the leggings was relentless, maddening. Your head fell back, eyes squeezing shut against the overhead light’s harsh glare, a desperate whimper escaping as sensation threatened to overwhelm you.

Your thighs trembled against his hips, muscles straining with the effort of maintaining the rhythm he dictated.

"Look at me." His command was low, guttural. You forced your eyes open, meeting the storm in his gaze, jealousy, possession, and a terrifying vulnerability he’d never shown anyone else. He saw the tears welling, the frantic pulse in your throat, the way your lips trembled.

A dark satisfaction flickered across his face, he thrust up sharply again, wrenching another sharp cry from you. "Only me." His hand slid from your waist, fingers tracing a deliberate path down your spine, pressing firmly against the small of your back to arch you harder against him.

As the increased pressure became electric, stealing your breath, your hips stuttered, losing the controlled rhythm, grinding down desperately now, seeking relief from the unbearable tension coiling tighter and tighter.

The rough fabric of his jeans, the hard ridge beneath, the damp heat building between your legs, it fused into a single, overwhelming sensation. Your whines climbed higher, sharper, dissolving into mewling gasps as you chased the peak he was ruthlessly orchestrating.

Your power flared uncontrollably, tiny, frantic sparks of light bursting around your clenched fists like dying stars, illuminating the dust motes dancing violently in the charged air. Your forehead pressed against his shoulder, muffling the helpless sounds escaping your throat as your body moved frantically against his, driven by instinct and his relentless manipulation.

The climax slammed into you with brutal suddenness.

Not a wave, but a detonation. Your entire body locked, back arching violently against his restraining hand as a ragged, high-pitched cry tore from your throat.

Sensation flooded you, white-hot and obliterating, radiating outwards from the core where you pressed desperately against him. Your thighs clamped around his hips, trembling uncontrollably as the aftershocks ripped through you.

The sparks flared brighter, momentarily bathing the grim bunker walls in chaotic, shimmering light before flickering out. You slumped forward, forehead pressed hard against his collarbone, breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps.

Silence descended, thick and heavy, broken only by your uneven breathing and the frantic thud of your own heart against your ribs. You felt utterly spent, exposed, hollowed out.

His arms encircled you, holding you tightly against his chest as your tremors subsided. He didn't speak. He just held you, his own breathing rough against your hair. The silence stretched, filled only by the fading hum of the ventilation and the phantom echo of your own shattered cries.

Outside, the heavy bunker door remained stubbornly shut.

Sam shifted beneath you, his arms tightening possessively. His voice, when it finally came, was a low rasp against your temple, devoid of its earlier sharpness, replaced by a chilling certainty.

"That wasn't just friction" He smoothed a hand down your spine, the gesture almost soothing, yet laced with triumph. "That was us. That spark, that… chaos." His fingers traced the damp fabric clinging to your lower back.

His other hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes were intense, dark pools reflecting the harsh overhead light.

"He doesn't know you. Who screamed at Homelander's hologram on the news." His thumb brushed your bottom lip, still swollen from his kiss. "He'll never push you. Never touch the darkness because he's too afraid of it. Too afraid of you." He leaned closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

His gaze held yours, stripping away any pretense. "I'm not afraid. I want it. All of it. The light, the dark, the goddamn glitter explosion. Because I am it too." His voice dropped to a near whisper, intimate and manipulative.

You trembled against him, the aftershocks of your climax mingling with the cold dread his words instilled. He was twisting your vulnerability, your undeniable response to him, into proof of something deeper, darker.

Proof Greg was inadequate. "Sam…" you breathed, voice shaky. "It wasn't…"

"Wasn't what?" he interrupted smoothly, his hand tightening on your jaw. "Wasn't real?" He gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Your body doesn't lie. Not like your words do." He shifted subtly beneath you, the hard ridge of his arousal still pressing insistently against your core through the damp leggings.

A reminder.

You flinched at the truth in it. the terrifying allure of the chaos he embodied.

Safety had started to feel suffocating. Greg’s kindness felt… distant. Sam’s intensity was a drug you’d forgotten the potency of. "Sam," you whispered, voice thick with exhaustion and confusion. "It’s complicated."

"Is it?" He tilted his head, a predator assessing wounded prey. "Seems simple to me." He leaned forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead.

It was unexpectedly tender, jarring after the bruising intensity moments before. "You’re mine," he murmured against your skin, the possessiveness velvet-coated now.

"Always were. You just forgot." His hands slid down your back, settling possessively on your hips. "Greg’s a nice distraction. Like a pretty plant." His voice dropped, intimate and dangerous.

He pulled back to look at you, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips, the first glimpse of the boy you remembered. "Tell him you need space. Tell him it’s not working. Be kind." His thumb traced your jawline. "Do it today. Before he gets hurt."

The manipulation was breathtakingly cruel. He framed it as concern for Greg, twisting his own jealousy into a shield. He used the intimacy he'd forced, the vulnerability he'd exposed, as leverage.

He offered tenderness after the storm, making his claim feel like salvation instead of captivity. Your legs were still trembling around his hips, the phantom echoes of your climax mingling with the chilling certainty in his eyes.

He wasn't asking.

He was rebuilding your world, placing himself firmly at its centre, using the aftershocks of pleasure as his foundation stones. The bunker door remained shut, sealing you inside his carefully constructed reality.

[arejayhyun]

gen v x pokemon oras au cause ive been playing it lately

[freakshowtwopointoh]

Fic prompt: vampire!MarieJordan. Silly lil supes who may or may not be able to drink blood, turn into horrific bat creatures, and still find a way to juggle college and all the stress with it. Totally imagine the rest of the crew being vampires. Marie feeling lost and adrift without her family after being changed, only to find other vampires in hiding at GodU. First with her roommate, then with her annoyingly gorgeous TA and their friend group. And after years of coping with the curse alone, hiding the secret in fear of being hunted, she suddenly has a coven to call her family.

Navigating life as a vampire wasn't easy at first. After the horrors of discovering her powers at twelve and being sent to Red River, it felt like the worst luck possible that a rogue vampire would attack the supe orphanage just one year later.

The staff scrambled to accommodate the three newly changed teens - blood bags, night school, blackout curtains - but that didn't make it any easier for them to deal with their condition. The isolation, the constant threat of a raid by vampire hunters, the aches from a hunger that was never fully sated...

All of this to say, Marie wasn't sure how to feel about moving away from the only den she'd ever known (god, she hates that term), and to a place where she was 99% sure she'd be the only vampire there.

When she left, she was handed a small duffel bag of blood bags, an extra bottle of sunscreen, and a small note promising she'd be looked after at GodU, signed only by V.

The first vampire Marie met on campus was also the first actual person she met on campus. Her roommate, Emma. A tiny blonde jumping and waving wildly from a similarly tiny boxing platform. It isn't until later on that first night that Marie dared bring up their shared secret. (Vampires can smell other vampires. It's only weird if you make it weird - which Marie was trying very hard not to do).

"I wasn't expecting to find more... people like me."

"Bloodsuckers, you mean?" Marie couldn't help but laugh at that - and a friendship was born.

It would take the taller girl a few days to get used to Emma's blase and blunt attitude, and even longer to the girl's bear hugs.

Not making things weird was what she was trying to do when she came to discuss her enrollment in Crime Fighting with Jordan Li.

Not all supe vampires are as bubbly and effervescent as Emma, if the glare Jordan was sending her way was any indication.

"And you... you don't even have an insta."

Of course I don't have a fucking insta. I barely made it out of high school with my sanity.

She couldn't help but wonder when they were turned. She'd been so sure that vampire and supe were nearly complete opposite - that making it as a hero would be unreachable for her. But Emma had found her niche, and Jordan Li's a TA - and Rank 2.

But an old man with a gun came in - and before she could even move, the gun went off and Jordan's form shimmered, shifting, changing shape. And the bullet compacted into their chest, leaving only a small hole behind.

"You owe me a new shirt, Professor." Jordan remarked casually, plucking the bullet from their shirt and dropping it onto their desk.

If her heart was still beating, it would've been racing - out of fear or desire, she couldn't tell.

And she's pretty sure it would've stopped all over again when the professor rejected her outright from the program.

Well, shit.

If the idea of other supe vampires shocked her, it's nothing in comparison to her face when Emma told her there was a vampire only club near campus.

"A friend of a friend has an in. It'll be fun, we can get out - without having to deal with the smell."

And despite herself, despite everything - there was a part of her that wanted that. She'd been prepared for a lot - being the only vampire at GodU, all-nighters trying to complete classwork... but being rejected from the program based on her social media presence, knowing that somehow, there were others like her - others who seemed to be able to handle it all a lot better than she could.

And she had to stop herself from wallowing in her own self-pity, because Emma was pulling her out of their dorm and into the night.

Vampires - creatures of the night. Except when you're in an orphanage for dangerous, teenage supes. Even the wind feels dangerous - every movement could be a threat. It's been drilled into her since she was turned - hunters will always be looking for you. even if you've never bitten a human. especially because you have abilities. they will find you, they will take you, they will study you, they will kill you.

"Sammy!" Emma's voice was shrill in her ear, causing her to wince as she scanned the horizon. Ah. This must be The Boy. Her roommate hadn't stopped raving about a mysterious boy she'd been chatting up over the summer.

Behind him stand four more vampires - including Jordan Li. Of course.

"Emma, right? Sam hasn't been able to stop talking about you all summer." Sam whacked Golden Boy, and it finally, really hit her.

It wasn't just one successful supe vampire. Or two. The top 3 students were all vampires. Standing there, half lit in the moonlight, looking at her like a puzzle they weren't sure if they wanted to solve.

Marie had wondered, of course. What other vampires were like, where they lived, if there was anything as elaborate as she'd seen in movies or read about in cheesy romance novels. She didn't know anything about the vampire who turned her or the other two at Red River. Didn't know anything about other vampires at all, really. She assumed that most vampires lived in fear. Solitary - or nearly so. Eking out some kind of existence in the outskirts of the world.

Maybe that was just wishful thinking.

"Oh! This is Marie. My roommate. Sam said I could bring her?" Before anyone else could say a word, Jordan scoffed.

"You gonna reject me from this outing, too?" She cocked her head, not intimidated by the glare Jordan sent back.

"I'd love to." They fired back, and there was something in their eyes that she couldn't quite read. All she knew was that she wanted more.

Meeting the unofficial coven of GodU was one thing. Being allowed in was another. Tonight was a test - of that much, she was sure. More than see it (or hear it), she could feel it. Every exchange was charged with a certain tension that had her on edge.

Emma was oblivious to her inner conflict, her eyes glued to Sam like an over-eager puppy. And his voice was warm and easy, his arm wrapping around Emma's shoulder's like it belonged there.

She could feel Jordan's eyes on her too - but they weren't friendly. They were searing, burning a hole into her skin. They're waiting for her to mess up. Mess up at what, she wasn't sure.

It wasn't until Cate had pulled Marie away to dance (Emma and Sam had disappeared long before) that the three heads of the coven could finally confer about the significance of Sam's guests.

"She's not a normal recruit and you know it." Jordan hissed. "Taking her in is just taking a side in this fucked up war, and we can't afford-"

The three of them were powerful enough vampires (and had met Edgar and his kin enough times) to know the distinct scent of those in his family. "But we don't know it. We know what coven turned her, yes. But that doesn't mean that she is or was a member." Luke's voice was even and warm - only those closest to him would be able to hear the slight edge of worry.

"Edgar has always been real cagey about a few of his missing team members." Andre said carefully.

"You know I won't take someone in unless you both agree. But just... try to have an open mind. I have a good feeling. About both of them."

"That's because you're a sap and your baby brother is happy." Andre teased, and whatever pale excuse for a meeting they had been having was dissolved as the two boyfriends went to dance, and Jordan stood in the corner, watching. Waiting. For what, they weren't sure.

It wasn't one thing that made Jordan suddenly trust the mysterious new girl. Emma was easy - she was known. Sam had been talking about her for months, the Meyer coven were a known neutral party, and she didn't have secrets. At least - she didn't make it obvious she had secrets. But Marie carried a weight behind her eyes that both intrigued and terrified Jordan.

So they had ample reasons not to trust her. And yet... she wormed her way into their life, and they couldn't help the way they began to admire her.

The first was her persistence. She didn't just not take no for an answer. She didn't allow for another option. She appealed their decision up to the Dean of Students. Wrote essay after essay, took two placement exams, and was sickening polite every step of the way. No amount of strange hours, trick questions, or grueling physical challenges could keep her from showing up.

And of course, when Brink couldn't keep rejecting her (despite his own misgivings towards the girl, which he did not share), the celebration was at their den.

Ok, ok, it's the coven's den. But she isn't a member of their coven (yet) and they still didn't really trust her. So they're back to standing in a corner and glaring, trying to figure out what it is about this girl that had them all tangled up.

Or maybe, they're just trying to find a reason that doesn't involve her smile.

They'd been trying to hide the way they were staring when Marie gave the first hint that Luke had been right all along. They should've known he’d be right. He usually is. The four girls were standing outside as Jordan sparked a joint, the full moon giving them all a slightly eerie glow.

"I'm still kind of surprised there's so many of us."

"You said that the day we met, too. What, did you think you'd be the only one?" Emma laughed, but Marie just looked a little embarrassed. If she's acting, she's real good at it. Their eyes narrow, imperceptibly. Watching.

Cate seemed to catch on to Jordan's expression. She could see the shift - the questions they weren't asking, the details they weren't sharing. So she did what she's best at. She pushed. "Lots of covens worked with Vought. Made it easier on the kids." Marie only seemed more confused.

"Wait... were you turned on purpose?" Marie's question seemed to echo in the night, and all three girls turned to look at her quizzically.

"Were you not?"

Vampires didn't need to breathe - but most did. Partially out of habit, partially because it felt good. So they could see the way Marie's entire body tensed, whatever breath was in her lungs stilling. She can't be acting. This is... too real.

The silence stretched as they all waited for an explanation from Marie.

"I was in an orphanage. For supes. Someone broke in. Three of us survived, but we were turned." She laughed once, dryly. "The staff had no idea what to do with us. I... you were turned on purpose?" She repeated hoarsely, turning to Jordan like they were the only one she trusted to tell the whole truth. Why, they had no idea - they'd been performing general dislike fairly well over the past month and a half. But there she was, looking down at them with those big doe eyes, looking for answers.

"Yeah, we- we all come from covens. We got turned in these big, bullshit ceremonies." They couldn't keep the bitterness from their tone, despite knowing that Marie's situation sounded far, far worse. "There are very few rogues who get as far as whoever turned you did."

"You were in an orphanage? I'm your best friend, why didn't I know that?" Emma's tone is playful enough to make it clear she doesn't actually hold it against her roommate, but Marie looks admonished just the same.

"It's a long story, Em." She hedged. “Not one I like reliving.” That they could understand. They were beginning to see Marie in a new light - and they passed her the joint wordlessly. 

“What do you know about... our kind? Other than the... obvious.” Cate’s question was innocent enough - and it fit the news they’d just received - but Jordan wasn’t oblivious to what she was really getting at. Another test. If Marie was acting, she was damn good at it. But she’d be expecting this question. If she was a spy for Edgar - or someone else - she would’ve been trained on exactly how to answer this question.

Marie took a few moments to answer - but she didn’t seem to be searching for a script or for distant memories. She was assessing risk. 

“Basically nothing.” She finally admitted. “The only reason I’m not trapped in some lab or a pile of dust is because of some anonymous... benefactor who keeps me fed. I know there are vampire hunters everywhere, I know I can’t be in the sun without the crazy thick sunscreen...” her face twisted slightly as she thought back.  

Hunters. Not something they thought about much anymore, if they were honest. Being a part of a coven shielded them some, of course, but after the power shift within Vought that left Compound-V an open secret... 

 The hunters became the hunted. Most areas had a certain level of truce for non-offending vampires,  and that was that. 

This girl really was clueless - or from another era.. Maybe both.

Cate quirked an eyebrow. “Who taught you all this stuff? You said the staff was clueless,” She smiled, easing the younger girl’s nerves effortlessly as she plucked the still smoldering joint from her fingers. Marie’s brow furrowed in thought.

“There was a book. Sherry said it showed up a week after, along with a note.” Marie paused again, another furtive look across the faces of the other vampires. “It said Sorry for the trouble. He won’t be back.” The way she pressed her lips together made it clear to Jordan she was still withholding information. But in a way, it only made them trust her more. If she’d been given a script, or if she was lying... she wouldn’t have anything to hold back.

That’s when Marie’s story really hit them. The transformation ceremony may have been bullshit, it may be so trenched in traditional gender roles that they felt a crawling sense of wrong for days after, but at least they knew what was coming. At least they’d always known what they’d become. It was hard to imagine waking up one day not even knowing vampires exist and going to bed with that gnawing, aching hunger. Not understanding what was happening or why.

“A book?” Emma’s voice cut into their revelations, grinning widely. 

“A Brief Guide to Living Undead, I think?” Marie’s brow was still furrowed as she tried to remember. “They were worried we might ruin it, or something, so they didn’t actually let us read it.” 

“Ok, that’s kind of insane.” Jordan’s mouth moved before their brain caught up, but they wouldn’t take it back. “You were in an orphanage, not jail.” 

“It... was a bit more complicated than that.” Marie said after a moment. The silence hung in the air for a moment - not uncomfortable or tense, just calculating. The only one who wasn’t playing a game was Emma, and they could feel her eyes darting between them and Cate, searching for answers. But Jordan kept their eyes on Cate for a long while. Waiting for a shift, a signal that she’d noticed something they hadn’t. But there was nothing. 

“Alright. Tell Luke we’re good.” They said finally. Cate grinned. They could see out of the corner of their eye, the way Marie stiffened. Like she hadn’t even realized this was part of the test.

“Welcome to the coven, girls.” She said, her smile only widening when Jordan flipped her off. They turned to the other two. 

“Technically, you aren’t a part of the coven until the initiation with Luke. But that’s all formalities.” They waved dismissively. “You’re both in.” Emma squealed before running off to tell Sam. Both Jordan and Marie had to suppress a smile as they watched Emma go. The little blonde had a way of worming into people’s hearts. But Marie turned back to Jordan, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

“How much of that was a test?” Marie asked them skeptically, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. They had to suppress the nerve to swallow hard under her scrutiny. Despite the way her doe eyes had entranced them just a few minutes earlier, her gaze was now stern, almost piercing.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that.” They parroted. She raised an eyebrow, and they caved. “Ok. Let’s start here. You know how you can scent other vampires?” They couldn’t help the way their teacher voice turned on as they spoke. If Marie noticed, she didn’t say anything. She just nodded, her eyes on them and them alone. “Some vampire families have... distinct smells.” They added, watching her face for any reaction or confusion. But her face gave nothing away. So they continued. “You were turned by someone in a... powerful family.” They watched her reaction - the way her eyes widen slightly, the way her body freezes for a brief moment, her trembling hands. This poor girl has no idea the world she was forced into. “We weren’t... trying to test your knowledge or extract your trauma. Just-”

“You wanted to make sure I wasn’t a spy.” Their jaw snapped shut, and they nodded. 

“Sometimes I forget how smart you are.” They muttered to themself.

“Try not to make that mistake again.” She smiled at them, moving back towards the main house. They smirked in return, grateful for once that they couldn’t blush.

Things fell into a strange yet easy routine after the initiation. Emma and Marie had to complete their residency at the dorms - though Emma spent most nights in Sam’s room at the den, leaving Marie alone in the dormitory. At first - that was great. She could watch what she wanted, do homework when she needed, and masturbate when the mood struck her. She’d never had a room to herself - co-sleeping with her parents to sharing a room with Annabeth to the room of bunks at Red River to the dorm she shares with Emma...

Alone time can be nice. But the night comes and the lights go off and she’s staring at the ceiling, trying not to remember the horrors that haunt her nightmares, and all she wants is a reminder she isn’t the only one alive. 

When you’ve seen a dead body, you never forget the look in their eyes. The light entirely sucked out, nothing but flesh and bone and blood where love and life used to be. She can see her mother’s dead eyes clearer than her smile. The smell of the kids at Red River who didn’t survive long enough to be turned can never be washed from her mind - and in the quiet of the night, she can almost smell it still.

She needs some fucking air.

That’s how she ends up wandering through the quad, walking through campus like the night air could wash away her guilt. She notices Jordan immediately, but she doesn’t say a word. Not even when they step next to her, matching her pace as they walked.

“Can’t sleep?” They ask, their voice slightly gruffer than normal. Marie shook her head, not quite trusting her voice yet. But Jordan just nodded, allowing them to slip into an easy silence. It’s another few minutes before they break the quiet again. “You know... I... I can’t imagine what it was like. The not knowing.” They didn’t dare look at her, unsure of how she would take this. This honesty was new for them, a kind of vulnerability that they rarely allowed themself to exhibit. Marie paused for a moment, taking them in again with that searching look of hers that made them feel exposed. 

“Was that why you let me in?” They had to look away - she could practically see right through them. “Because you pitied me?” Her voice was cold, and they had to fight the urge to shrink back at her tone.

“No.” They said firmly. “Those questions were exclusively to see if you had a scripted response. Besides - you know me by now. I’m not that easily swayed.” They bumped her shoulder easily, ignoring the spark that ignited in their chest when they touched her. “I just meant... things are different now that you’re one of us. And they’ll get even better once you guys are actually home.” 

Marie had to fight to hide the way her whole body reacted to that statement. Home. They’d said so easily, so naturally, like her belonging there was a foregone conclusion - and one they were happy about. 

“You don’t sound too bothered by having your home crashed by two more weirdos.” She said lightly - though she was watching their every move. Waiting for their reaction.  

“If I was bothered, I wouldn’t have given the go ahead.” Another not-so-casual shoulder bump. Another hidden smile. Another spark dancing across their skin, which had been cold for too long. God, she’s beautiful. They can’t help but drink her in - the moon in her eyes, the smile playing on her lips. “Besides, it’ll be nice to have someone who’ll actually want to study with me. Andre’s come up with some wild excuses to skip out on classwork.” They watched Marie’s face carefully. Were they being too forward? But she smiled back at them, a knowing look in her eyes.

“Are you asking me on a date, Li?” They felt the smile stretch across their face and didn’t feel the need to fight it. 

“You’ll know if I’m asking you on a date, Moreau. And our first date won’t be studying in the den’s library.” They scoffed playfully, stepping closer to Marie and taking her hand on instinct. What was it about this girl that made them so bold?

“You seem pretty confident there will be a first date.” But she let them hold her hand, their fingers intertwining like they belonged together. 

“There’s something about you, Marie. There’s always been something about you.” They squeezed her hand, feeling (not for the first time) that emptiness where a heart should be. The missing human part of them that should be responding to her. But they can still feel her - feel that bubbling, rushing, lurching feeling of falling. 

It almost feels like the moment they were turned - the moment their heart thudded to stop. And it feels like the first time they shifted. Fear, excitement, and a sense of certainty.

Like this was exactly what they were meant to be doing.

One Year Later

“Hey, baby,” Marie couldn’t help the way her body sagged into her partner’s as they came up behind her, the transformation from bat to vampire just as seamless as their transformation between forms. “I told you not to wait up for me,” They chastised her gently, pressing their lips to her head, her cheek, her neck....

“And I told you I worry,” she murmured back, turning to face them. “You may be immortal, and invincible, and incredibly charming, but -” she ducked her head to hide a smile (and definitely not to give Jordan more access to her skin). “ - these meetings could go sideways in an instant.” Ever since the Christmas Surprise, the issue of who exactly turned her and what her connection to the Edgars was became less of a curiosity and more of an urgent concern. 

Getting a monogrammed stake on Christmas morning will do that to a coven.

“The boys have my back.” They tried to ease their girlfriend’s worries, pressing another kiss to her neck, relishing soft sighs slipping from her lips.

“Because they know I’d stake them on sight if they didn’t bring you home to me.”  One moment, Marie was resting in Jordan’s embrace, letting them press their lips along the line of her throat. The next, she had them pinned against the wall, her eyes darkening as she held them easily against the drywall.

This wasn’t the first time she’d said something like this, but they couldn’t blame her. There was a reason they didn’t let her come along - and it wasn’t because she was incapable. No matter how logical Cate sounded when she explained it or how powerful they knew Marie was, their girlfriend was not about to be bait for one of the most historied covens in the city.

“Angel,” Marie’s hold didn’t falter as they spoke. “As much as I enjoy all of this,” Their hand snaked around her waist to grab her ass. “I was sent up here to get you.” There was a flicker of something in their eyes, a fondness that seemed slightly out of place for the heated moment. So despite wanting nothing more than to throw the shorter girl onto the bed behind her and make them listen, she let them down gently. 

“More meetings?” She hoped she didn’t sound like she was whining.

Jordan never answered her question, just smiling slyly and taking her hand, leading her down the winding stairs. And there, hanging above a folding table weighed down by fancy blood-based cocktails, was a banner that read:

H A P P Y  O N E  Y E A R  E M M A,  M A R I E,  A N D  S A M !

Her whole coven was grinning and clapping, Emma was wearing a sparkly sash and cheering loudly, her partner was smiling at her like they won something magnificent, and she was struck by all the love that surrounded her. Love she thought that she lost the right to years ago.

When being a vampire really settled for her, maybe a few months into living at Red River, she had a hard time imagining any kind of happy future. She’d get some meaningless degree, work some shitty job, and live on the outskirts of society for all eternity. She thought about becoming a nurse - easy access to blood bags, a chance she might be able to atone for her mistakes. 

That felt like the best life she could hope for. Hiding, running, surviving. And then Emma Meyer comes bounding into her life, bringing with her more vampires and more happiness than she thought was possible. It was like Jordan said under the moon, all those nights ago. 

She’s home.

[freakshowtwopointoh]

Apex Predator - Cross The Line Part 1

They're the queen of beasts, at this beastly school

Gotta keep things cool with the apex predator

| next >

When you've been in the dance world for long enough, you know that warm-ups aren’t really to warm up. They’re to demonstrate to the other dancers what you can do. Especially so close to the first auditions. She may be a freshman, but Ella’s been dancing since she could walk. Ballet lessons since 4, and she was in a very competitive studio in high school. That’s how she got in here - her performances as Clara and Odette had impressed the admissions board enough to give her a full ride. Unfortunately, rumors spread quickly around here, so most of the other students had formed their opinions on her before even meeting her. Snobby, spoiled, arrogant. That’s what they all thought. But it doesn’t matter what they think. As long as she can make a name for herself, as long as she can keep dancing, they could all think whatever they want. 

It’s weird, going from the studio you’ve been at your entire career, to a more competitive and intense environment. College is great and all, but it seems like everyone is so much more cutthroat. Like yeah, high school ballerinas are intense, but they weren’t needlessly cruel. Some of the people here seem to delight in watching the other dancers struggle. She's barely been here a week, and she's heard multiple fights be organized - although she has no idea if they actually threw any punches. If she was honest, seeing the way they all treated each other so early in the semester did not encourage Ella to make friends, as her coworkers had suggested.

She sighs, and continues her stretches. No matter what she does, people will have their opinions. She hears the whispers, she knows that people think she’s cocky and spoiled - that she’s gotten everything handed to her on a silver platter. Not that they know anything about her. Not that it matters. She just has to keep her head down, and focus on proving to everyone that she has the talent and that she deserves to be here. And most importantly, she can't let anyone get to her. Not the judgmental girls, not the harsh professors, and certainly not the upperclassmen who think they're hot shit.

The worst was Jordan Li. They were an upperclassman, and they were on their way to becoming an instructor. They worked hard, spending most of their time out of class in rehearsal rooms, practicing. And yet, the school’s golden boy, Luke Riordan, had always just barely beat them out for the lead. At least, that’s the rumor. The worst part of it was that they were hot. Like... hot hot. And all they seemed to do was glare, party, and dance. Whatever. Ella didn’t have time for romance anyways. That didn’t keep her from watching them during class, and after. Watching the way their muscles flex as they demonstrate whatever complex step the instructor is looking to teach us. God, that cocky smirk on their face. And the absolute worst part was that even though they were cocky as hell, they're incredibly talented. They make everything look so easy, even when they're lifting another dancer above their head and holding a perfect pose.

The instructor, Lynne, calls everyone to the barre, and the real class begins. She focuses on her form, really not looking to embarrass herself by forgetting something stupid. 

Eyes Up. Follow your hand. Maintain the position. Hold. Keep your face neutral. Gentle arms, delicate fingers.

She can feel Jordan’s eyes on her when she takes her turn to try out a complex step, and ignores them when they laugh quietly at her mistakes. Of course, they had no issues. It was like they just knew how to orient their body exactly as it needed to. Ella often felt like she was stumbling her way through dance, fooling people into thinking she was better than she was. Not like Jordan, who clearly had natural talent. She wasn’t jealous, per se.... 

That’s a lie. Of course she’s jealous. They’re so graceful, easily performing every necessary step. And yet - they’re always in the practice rooms, snapping on gum, gracefully showing off, demonstrating perfect arabesques and pirouettes every time. Making every one of the girls swoon. She’s lost in her brooding over Jordan and almost misses her queue. Falling into line, she does the step again, earning the approving nod from Lynne. 

By the time class was over, Ella was exhausted. Lynne claps once. “Well done. Now, auditions are in two weeks for our first performance of the year - Romeo and Juliet. Be prepared, and work hard. Now, go!”

She packs up quickly, which always earns glares from the girls in the dressing room. They like to socialize, chatting and gossiping while they change. But, unlike them, Ella has a job she has to do. They think she’s stuck-up, and she’s uninterested in correcting the record. If any of them asked her, or even bothered to talk to her, maybe she’d feel differently. She ducks out, heading to the Crocus coffee shop. Does she love being a barista? No. But it pays her bills, and they let her change her schedule when she needs to audition or perform or whatever. She pulls on my apron, and greets my coworkers. 

“Hey, Anna! Hey, Jane!”

They wave back, and she gets to work. It wasn’t too bad, if she’s honest. She finished up ehr shift, closed the shop, and made her way back to the studio. She hadn’t needed to use a practice room before today, but since auditions are coming up, she really needs to work on her... well, her everything. She gets dressed and step into the room, and the only one in there is Jordan fucking Li. Of course. She ignored them, and pulled up her computer for a practice set. 

“I was wondering why I haven’t seen you in here before. You scared to practice around the big kids, freshie?”

She ignores them. She doesn’t have to explain shit to a snotty rich guy with nothing to lose.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

That freshman is going to be the death of them. First, she waltzes around like she owns the place, just because she performed as Clara at an Opera House or whatever. And she’s always so perfect, and she doesn’t talk to anyone. And she barely practices. She thinks she’s so much better than everyone else here. Such a snob.

Not that anyone seems to talk to her either. Not just Jordan, but even the other underclassmen. The airheads are intimidated by her and instead of doing anything about it (like actually trying), they bitch and moan. It’s like they want her to win. They roll their eyes, stretching after practicing all evening. You can’t just let people be better than you. You have to work your ass off until they aren’t better than you any more. It’s not that hard. 

Except when you’re dealing with a nepotism baby like Luke Riordan, the company’s golden boy. He’d been here just a year longer than Jordan had, but he’d always gotten the lead. Rich parents, pretty blond boy, it doesn’t take a genius. But Jordan was a better dancer than Luke. They deserved the lead. 

They have to beat Luke this year. They need that fucking part. They may hate Romeo and Juliet, but they need that lead. After all the hiding and the grinding and fighting and working, they need this part. 

Their parents don’t give a shit about their dance. Or them, if they’re honest. Not like all the girls, whose mommies and daddies have doted over their precious ballerinas since day one. Even Luke’s parents are oh-so-proud. But Jordan’s parents wanted a mini-Superman, not a bigender ballerina. They allowed them to dance, because it made them look good to the other board members, but everything else about them must be hidden. No powers, and definitely no shifting. Their parents' words echo in their head. 

You can’t have everything, Jordan. You have to choose.

You’re lucky. You can be a boy all the time.

You’re too much for people. If you just -

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. They just have to focus on getting Romeo, showing everyone that they are the one to watch. That they aren’t some misguided kid pursuing their dreams, but that this is what they are meant to do. Once they do that, nothing else will matter. 

They shake their head, and watch Ella practice. She isn’t half bad, they admit to themself, for a freshman. Her core is weak, and she’s obviously self-conscious, but she might turn out ok. Certainly better than some of the dancers ahead of her. But she really isn’t that good. Or that pretty. They try to convince themself as they taunt her.

“I was wondering why I haven’t seen you in here before. You scared to practice around the big kids, freshie?”

She rolls her eyes at them and continues practicing. They snap their gum in annoyance. They don’t understand why she bothers them so much. But her quiet judgment gets under their skin, and the way she looks when - Focus Li. Focus.

“Well, you’re in luck, because I was about to leave.” They announce, as if they’re expecting her to care. 

“Good for you!” She calls out sarcastically, and that makes their heart stutter. Did the freshman just... talk back to them? On like, day three? Most of the other dancers could barely make eye contact with them. 

Yeah, she’s going to be the death of them.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ .

Good for you? Good for you? Why, oh why did she think that was a good idea? Being stone-faced was a great play when you’re the new kid, but it doesn’t work if you get snippy at the tiniest quips.

What is it about Jordan fucking Li that gets under her skin so easily? None of the other dancers made her want to prove them wrong as much as Jordan did. The way they were always around, watching her. The way they acted like she was a child who couldn’t do anything herself. The way they looked when - Fuck El. Focus. Focus. You need to do well. She shakes her head, and forces herself to finish the practice set. She has to prove to every last dancer in this fucking company that she deserves to be here.

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au by @poppy-metal

edits by @barbieprincesshilton

[freakshowtwopointoh]

Prelude - Next to Normal Chapter 1

Instrumental

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Marie Moreau did not have time for deviations from her schedule. What with balancing a double major in Musical Theater and Mechanical Engineering, plus two jobs - every minute counted. Which meant it felt like she spent half her time bemoaning other people’s inefficiencies -- like the bus to the grocery store that was routinely behind schedule anywhere from two to twenty minutes. She hoisted the large paper bag back onto her hip before making her way into her small but cheery dorm room, five minutes later than she would have liked.

“Are you a bunny?” Emma, her roommate and closest friend, questioned in lieu of a greeting. “Or are you trying to fend off the inevitable deterioration of your eyeballs?” Despite knowing Marie’s proclivity for food that didn’t taste like it came out of a toaster oven, she never failed to tease her about her ‘rabbit food’.

“Excuse you, my grandmother didn’t need glasses until she was seventy.” she retorted, snatching the two bags of baby carrots from the smaller blonde girl and put one into the mini fridge. “They’re good! And they keep me from becoming a zombie after 3pm.” She ripped open the other bag, popping one into her mouth. Unlike the jokes most students make, sleeping well and eating at least some fruits and vegetables is part of how she doesn’t entirely fall apart. It’s just unfortunate that their school mandated meal plan had woefully limited selections in the nutritional department.

“You know what keeps me from being a zombie?” Emma laughed, holding up the six pack of Monster energy drinks she’d requested. “Sugar and caffeine.” 

“Touche. Those things taste awful and yet are the only thing to get me through finals week.” Not everything they say about college is an exaggeration - finals week at G.I.T. is a special kind of hell, especially for the engineers. Last semester, she’d canceled her voice lessons and her shifts at Jitter Bean to focus on studying. Camping out in one of the private study rooms, she worked her way through an entire notebook just for practice problems, and she and Emma would trade off quizzing each other. And her hard work paid off - she still had a screenshot of her straight A’s that she kept on her phone as motivation.

“Some of the new flavors are tolerable.” Emma remarked, perching on the edge of Marie’s desk. She sighed, having long since stopped trying to get the blonde to sit in the chairs. But ignoring Marie’s glares had become something of a specialty of Emma’s, managing to be just adorable enough to earn forgiveness from the older girl.

“I don’t have new flavor kind of money. That’s a whole extra dollar.” She said playfully, putting away the rest of their groceries. And while Emma looked mildly admonished, it was a massive improvement from a few months ago. When Marie first let slip about her history, Emma had overcompensated for a while. She would flush red whenever she caught herself complaining about her parents or invited Marie to something she couldn’t afford. But by the third or fourth time of Marie insisting she wasn’t offended (and a few awkward moments of her own which she’d rather not recount), Emma stopped apologizing.

“Sometimes, joy is worth an extra dollar.” The blonde pointed out, gesturing with the black and neon green can.

“And that’s why I buy carrots.” Marie said matter-of-factly, folding the paper bags up for future use. You never know when you’ll need it. Her father’s voice echoed in her mind, unbidden. She smiled to herself as she tucked the bags in their place under her dresser.

“See, you are a rabbit!” Emma announced jovially, only to get one of their many colorful throw pillows thrown at her head. Adorableness doesn’t save her from everything. Marie began gathering her things, stuffing her work shirt into her bag and situating her headphones over her locs. She turned to the blonde as she pulled on her jacket, the slippery lining of the trench coat sliding over her toned arms.

“I gotta go. I’ve got -”

“The room booked for your rehearsal. Like always. See you after work!” Emma said cheerfully, popping a carrot into her mouth in spite of her complaints.

“You know I’d never miss Golden Girls night.” Marie said, smiling and snagging a few more carrots to go and ruffling Emma’s hair on her way out.

“Thank you for being a friend!” The blonde sang out as the door closed behind Marie. She squared her shoulders and zipped up her jacket before heading on her way to the music building.

Despite the differences between the two of them, Marie wouldn’t trade their friendship for anything. They were thrown together by luck last semester - courtesy of the university’s automatic roommate selection. She’d been skeptical when she saw dance major and night owl on the compatibility form, but Emma drew Marie out of her shell in a way that never felt forced or overbearing. They even have a secret signal for when they need to leave a party or event as fast as possible. She’s also taken it upon herself to ‘educate’ Marie on the various movies and television shows she loves. Mondays were Golden Girls, Thursdays were movie nights. Emma did have to quickly get used to Marie’s need for routine and desire to plan ahead - Emma is the kind of person to announce that the most important event is happening about five minutes before they would have to go. 

The ten minute walk from her dormitory to the arts building was another part of her routine she’d learned to cherish. It’s one of the few times where she can be alone without feeling lonely. She kept up a brusque pace nonetheless, her combat boots crunching shallow sheets of ice on the pavement. The brick buildings of the other dormitories and gray expanses of parking lots blurred together as she made her way through the familiar campus sidewalks. She began running over the different pieces she’s currently working on with her voice coach. Marie’s been working with the same coach since her mom died. She’s an older Russian woman with a traditional attitude, she loved Marie’s mom, and in turn, Marie herself. Taking voice lessons online felt a little impersonal, but it’s not like she could afford any of the coaches around here. And all things considered, Mrs.Petrov was kind enough, and she knew Marie’s voice inside and out.

She sighed in exasperation when she walked up to the practice room and found the door still shut tight. It seemed like every single week, this girl with a too-tight ponytail and a voice that leans a bit too nasally pushes her voice lessons five minutes over at least. Marie’s standing by the door, tapping her fingers impatiently against her arm. Finally, the girl (Christine? Justine? Who cares) left with her private tutor and Marie was able to get started. She walked brusquely into the room, the accompanying track already prepared on her phone. She let out a long breath, taking in the unassuming white room, featuring only a piano, a speaker, and a music stand.

She forced the irritation down, rolling her shoulders back a few times to focus her mind. She has 25 minutes to herself, to just be. Well, 22 now. Warming up is almost meditative for her, as she puts all other feelings aside to focus on her technique and pitch. Hums and tongue twisters roll off her tongue like second nature, and she lets her eyes flutter closed. It feels like a way to honor her mother, in her own small way - as a child, she hated warming up or practicing on anything she didn’t like singing. All she wanted to do was sing pop and R&B - some of the girls at school had fawned over how she sang just like Beyonce and she had never felt cooler. Time and time again her mother would patiently explain to her the importance of protecting her voice and the benefits of working her vocal chords, while she forced herself not to roll her eyes. Her mother was kind, but not a pushover - there was no amount of whining or pleading that could get her or Annabeth out of the bevy of drills their mother knew.

Marie shook the memories away - it gets even harder to keep her parents off her mind as she inches closer to another anniversary. Her counselor would remind her she can’t schedule her feelings, and she should allow herself to feel and grieve when it comes up. But sometimes, you have 22 minutes to yourself before you have to stand for hours making coffee for college students, and you’d like to actually get some real practice in. Her barista job was the worse of the two, which is why she casually suggested to Emma they do their girls nights after her shifts there. Nothing gets you through making the most obnoxious coffee monstrosities like the promise of comfy pants, shitty booze, and fun television. Adjusting her long locs into a loose ponytail, she begins working on her current recital piece, some irritating opera piece that (if she remembers the translated lyrics correctly) is about your lover dying of the plague. Or something. What it actually means is that she’s going to have the German lyrics running through her head through her entire shift at Jitter Bean. 

Most people would never understand the way it felt for her to finally get to let loose and sing. Even Emma didn’t quite get it - she might be a dancer, but she was driven by familial duty, not passion. And those who didn’t know her would say it was only for her mother, that she made music out of some misguided obligation to her late parents. Her mother may have introduced her to music, but it was more a part of her than anything or anyone else. It ran deeper than DNA, deeper than duty, it was like the need to breathe. More often than not, she was stopping herself from singing or humming along to the music playing or the song stuck in her head. 

She left the music room exactly as the clock turned over (because she’s courteous - unlike Ponytail), pulling her work shirt over her top. Somehow, the fabric of this shirt is both slippery and scratchy, the microfibers catching on her nails. Whatever I’ve got to do to get to Annabeth. She reminded herself. And besides, being a barista wasn’t the worst job in the world. She punched in her employee ID, starting her shift.

Into the fray. She braced herself, pulling the cap down over her hair and readjusting her name tag. And despite her coworker spilling an entire pitcher of iced coffee down her front, and the three professors that came in and backed up the line making small talk, it wasn’t a terrible shift. One of the interim professors brought in her baby, a chubby-cheeked infant with a babbling giggle that filled the cafe with joy, which improved her day immeasurably. Still, a wave of relief washed over her when she was finally able to clock out, the sunset giving the campus a pinky-orange glow. 

She opened the door to her dorm, only to be greeted by the smell of weed, nail polish, and popcorn. “Welcome home!” Emma called out, cotton balls wedged between her toes as she attempted to finish painting them a neon shade of pink.

“Sorry, Ems, I gotta shower before we can start. I changed shirts but I still smell like stale coffee.” She said, still slightly irritated, taking her coat off and hanging it up in the closet as she spoke.

“Butterfingers at it again?” Emma asked, her eyes trained on the job at hand. With surgeon-like precision, she brought the brush to her nail, only to drip a glob of the polish onto her leg. “Fuck!” She cursed under her breath, wiping the pink goop with her sock.

Marie suppressed a grimace - there are cotton balls right there! “Uh, yeah, Mike lost an entire pitcher down my shirt.” She said distractedly, still mildly concerned by her roommate’s choice of rag. She just shook her head in bemusement, snagging her shower caddy on her way to the communal bathroom. She stood in the hot water, letting it run off her shoulders as she let her mind wander. Auditions for the spring musical are arriving fast, and while she’s not deluded enough to think that she’d be the first freshman to get a lead, she does know that auditioning every year improves her chances drastically. She’ll have to pick her audition song carefully - the theater program has a reputation of being particularly judgmental about what number you choose to audition with.

But that was a problem for later. Once dry, she grabbed her dad’s old tee shirt and her sweats, shaking the water from her shower cap before putting it back in the caddy with her shoes.  And snuggled into Emma’s bed, the familiar theme song began to play, and Marie let herself relax. Life was good.

Jordan Li preferred to arrive early, no matter where they were going. She thinks it has something to do with her father’s inability to ever arrive on time. There’s always an excuse - each one slightly less believable than the one before. Besides, since she started working at the mechanics down the road, they realized how much smoother an introduction can go when she doesn’t have to apologize right away. There’s a few older folks who seemed to have taken a liking to them, and they’re always pleased to make small talk about their grandkids or dogs before she has to get started underneath their car. One of her favorites was an older gentleman named John, who had interesting taste in cars and a sweet disposition. He walked into the shop as the clock ticked over to 1 p.m.

“Ah, if it isn’t Miss Jordan today! I was telling your counterpart about the neighbor’s dog who destroyed the missus’ garden. I’ve never seen a cuter ball of chaos.” He chuckled to himself, already fumbling with his phone to pull out the picture he’d shown them the other day. He was enough of a regular to notice that there are “two” Jordans who work there but didn’t realize they were the same person. She never had the heart to tell him the truth. Besides, she likes hearing his stories twice over. 

“Hello, Mr.Henderson! I hope she’s able to salvage them - I know she loves her flowers. How have you been?” Brushing imaginary dirt from her hands, she reaches out to shake his hand firmly. Like a grandfather she never had, he barely treats the two sides of them any differently.

“Doin well, ma’am. And you?” He slowly makes his way to the small waiting area, his cane making a satisfying sound against the concrete floor. And she can’t deny the comforting sense of validation when he calls her ma’am - as antiquated as it is.

“Can’t complain. What am I looking at for you today?” She turned to him, despite knowing exactly what he needed. 

“I think the brake pads on my old Datsun are wearing a little thin. Mr.Jordan said he put in an order?” She chuckled, smiling as she pretended to check the computer. It was already pulled up - another benefit of being early.

“Oh, I see that here. It looks like Mark left the package out for me - he knew you’d be here.” They began unpacking the pads before looking back up to see John settling into the chair he always sat in - a maroon cushioned armchair that looked almost out of place in the shop. “You make yourself at home, and I’ll get right to it, sir.” She smiled again before getting to work. 

And god, does she love working there. Their father is actually almost proud that his “son” works as a mechanic (See, now that is a respectable job for a young man. Did you hear your cousin is a barista now?), but that doesn’t matter as much as they thought it would. It just feels good to work with their hands, to fix something for someone else. That was the idea of going into engineering anyways. At sixteen, it felt like the answer to all her problems. Prestige for her parents, money for their hobbies, and good work for their conscience. Now, it feels like another cage. Half her peers are remarkably chill about the concept of working for defense contractors - which is a fancy way of saying building weapons. But the worst part was how... clinically it was discussed. He’d get halfway through a conversation with a recruiter at the career fair before realizing she’d just given her resume to a subsidiary of Lockheed Martin. 

She finished up with John, and tidied up before making the short drive back to campus. She should be able to get to the engineering building five minutes before her office hours are supposed to start. She doesn’t miss much about Rochester, but they do miss the country roads. They’d just drive, as long as she could, blasting MF DOOM or the shitty fucking American Idiot CD that their cousin “forgot” at her house when Jordan’s parents tried to ban scary music. (This music is corrupting my son, Kayla! This .... just isn’t good for a young man’s mind!). She’d whined and complained to Ruby for days until she came over to visit for dinner one night. She remembers waiting eagerly until her parents went to bed, snatching the CD from where she’d stashed it, and popping it into his disc player - also courtesy of Ruby. They listened to it so many times he memorized where all the skips were. 

She might be an engineer by trade (or will be - once she’s finally out of this hellhole) but music is what makes life worth living. And not just listening to music, but making it. She used to say they loved math because it felt like solving a puzzle. But that was before she started making music. Something just clicks when they get the bridge right or work out a kink in the melody. It was a stroke of luck that their friends also wanted to make music - Luke was the first one to bring up the idea of a band, because of course he was. And Cate came up with the name - Replaced at 9. Her, Jordan, and Luke had all discovered their abilities around that age - with varying degrees of success and heartache. But it’s Jordan who basically writes all the songs - staying up late pouring over Garage Band, or taking electives on music production. There’s this feeling she gets when they finally get the sound they’re going for. It’s like all these pieces finally come together and create the story she was aiming for. They tried explaining this once but Andre just laughed at her and called her a sap. But they can’t help it - she’s been listening to this kind of music for so long, she wants to finally put their ideas to record.

When she was fifteen, a friend from summer camp burned a Paramore album and a My Chemical Romance album onto a series of blank CDs. The two teenagers gleefully took the camp’s collection of sharpies and labeled them Mozart and Jazz Classics, complete with flowers and hearts. That alone would have been enough to write this memory into her soul forever. But later that night, they were staring off at the girls cabin, leaning against each other in the kind of way that made their heart race.

“I wish I was a girl sometimes.” They whispered, twisting their hands together while staring off into the distance. Jordan froze.

“I turn into a girl sometimes.” She whispered back. And before she could convince herself it was a bad idea, she shifted, her body shrinking against her friend. Their eyes went wide, looking Jordan up and down. Her heart was in her throat, and she looked down at her lap.  “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to brag or anything, it’s kind of a curse. My parents hate it.” She said awkwardly, fiddling with her fingers. She didn’t want to switch back - she didn’t know why yet, but sometimes, being in this body just felt like home. After another moment or so, their friend relaxed again, leaning back against Jordan as if nothing had changed.

“I mean, my parents hate it too. That I want to, I mean. When I was a kid... I told them once, and my dad got real mad. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about....” She gestured at Jordan’s new body. Then she paused. “Do you... like it? Like, if their opinion didn’t matter, what would you...” She trailed off. Jordan considered lying. 

“If I could do what I wanted? I don’t know, I like.... I like being both, I think. That probably sounds insane.”

“Nah, I think that makes sense, kinda. I mean, as much as me wanting to be a girl forever.”

“If you could be, what would your name be?” Jordan asked. She had never heard of someone else wanting something like she did. Boys weren’t supposed to like or want anything feminine. Her parents had convinced her that this form was something to be ashamed of. That they had to over-perform masculinity to compensate for this secret shame. But maybe... maybe there was another way.

“Iris.” She said quietly but immediately - This was something she had thought about.

“Well, Iris, I hope one day we can live lives we can be proud of.” They said, staring off into the stars. 

They found her on instagram last year - celebrating her first day on estrogen, no less. He wished he knew what to say to her - how to explain what that moment meant. But he’d just kept scrolling, trying not to dwell on the way Iris seemed to glow with happiness. Happiness they weren’t sure they could ever find. He slid his car easily into his favorite spot outside the engineering building, shifted, and made her way inside. Ten minutes early - perfect.

And yes, her friends found it mildly irritating that he beat them everywhere, but it’s not her fault that Andre has an inability to go anywhere without forgetting something at home. And if she’s honest, she likes to take the extra few minutes to herself. They’ll arrive to band practice early, taking the time to practice a bassline or complex guitar riff. Or, in the case of her T.A. work, she can make a dent in the slog of emails before the underclassmen begin to pile in. Although it usually takes another 15 minutes or so before the bravest of the students will actually approach them to ask questions.

She never really understood why people were so intimidated by them, but Andre says they give off an intense vibe or whatever. There’s a few students who have gotten somewhat comfortable just... asking for help. Which is what she’s paid to do. But each of the four semesters that Jordan’s been working as Brink’s T.A, the professor has had to give various announcements to his students, reminding them to actually talk to Jordan first instead of emailing Brink every time they’re confused. But the worst are the freshmen who will email her during office hours from two tables over. She watched as this one awkward kid with a buzzcut and glasses pretended to be working vigorously while continuously refreshing his email on his phone. Taking a look at her email, she saw the telltale ‘Office Hours Homework Help’ subject line at the top of her inbox. She forced herself not to roll her eyes. They weren’t about to email someone who was sitting less than 30 feet away. They made direct eye contact with him and quirked their eyebrow, uninterested in dancing around the issue. 

“Yo, you still reading the intro to that textbook or do you wanna come over here and I can take a look?” They said, not unkindly. It took him a second to register that Jordan was speaking to him, but he nodded quickly, awkwardly wrangling his books and papers into his bag before shuffling over to Jordan’s table.

It’s not like they are entirely anti-social or mean - they just cut to the chase in a way that makes timid people uncomfortable. At least, that’s what she tells herself. But a well-placed compliment on the student’s band shirt and an easy-going smile was enough to put this kid at ease. Thank God, because he seemed to have slept through half of Calc I and all of Calc II. Jordan mustered up every ounce of their patience, slowly walking him through the partial derivatives he was stuck on.

“Ok, so here,” They said, pointing to a line in his work. “This derivative is actually x2, so you’ve got an extra 4 here.” The kid’s glasses made his eyes look even more owlish as he blinked up at them. 

“But I thought the derivative of y is 1?” He said, his browline furrowed, and they had to hide their irritation. Everyone learns at a different pace. Brink’s voice echoed in their mind, reminding them to keep calm and stay kind.

“It is, but this is a partial derivative in terms of x, so the y is treated as a constant instead of a variable.” He nodded, scribbling something down in the margins of his paper, but it was clear he didn’t quite understand what Jordan meant. Whatever - they aren’t here to teach this kid calc, they’re here to help him with his physics. To be fair, physics is like 85% calculus, but still. They have to stay on task. The rest of office hours pass without interruption, just a few more students with straightforward questions. It wasn’t long before they were pulling her silken turquoise jacket on, slinging their bag over her shoulder, and making their way home in the orange light of the sunset. Life was good.

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