#I’m just something and I can’t figure it out

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

not editing this or proofreading it. school is hard, so all you guys get is my shower thoughts for now 😔 this shit is so unserious. i also lost motivation for this one, so… have this

cw- demon!sukuna, chubby!reader, smut, mdni

imagine summoning demon sukuna on accident in your sleep only to find out he’s actually an incubi.

he stares at you with a smoldering gaze as his wets his lips with his forked tongue. he’s eager to indulge, and you are the perfect prey.

seeing this as something you can use to your own advantage, you ask him to take care of your little “problem”… the problem being that you’re a complete loser virgin.

also, this is just a dream, right? it’s not like you’re going to suffer any real life consequences! maybe your subconscious will come up with a juicy enough scenario to satisfy your urges without having to look for a real man because… ew.

the only dick you’re getting is in your dreams… that is until he reveals to you that he actually has two dicks.

“o-oh!” you gape as you’re unable to tear your eyes away from him. two whole dicks… his presence is suffocating in your mind.

“already taking back your request, woman?” he asks in a low rumble. he’s definitely challenging you right now.

“no! it’s not like it’ll hurt-“

your words are cut off by him removing the sheets that were covering your body. he curls a finger into the waistband of your panties, and he can feel his mouth already begin to salivate from the promise of burying his tongue so deeply into your weeping pussy until you’re writhing and begging for a break.

however, his one track mind is completely halted once he lays eyes on said slickened pussy.

“what- is something wrong?” you quickly ask, looking down for yourself. not a fictional dream man already making you feel self conscious about your body.

“you’re hairless.” he notes bluntly, leaning in to get a closer inspection.

“stop that!” you bat him away, crossing your legs so he can’t see you anymore.

“don’t hide yourself from me.” you swear you hear him growl as he forces your plush thighs back open. he leans in closer, and he takes a deep breath. the scent of your arousal has him throbbing in need, but he’s completely mesmerized by the fact that there’s not any hair.

“did you just sniff me-?” you ask, unsure if you want the answer to that question or not.

“you smell normal.” he remarks with the same blunt tone. he then leans into you — his warm breath caresses your sensitive skin, and you feel your back arch involuntarily for him.

his tongue laps just once, savoring you as if he’s at a fucking wine tasting, and your virgin ass is already on the cusp from a little lick. you whine, trying to lift your hips as if to silently ask for more.

“you taste perfect.” he continues with his observations before his long fingers gently caress the small bundle of nerves that only you have ever touched, and fuck, he’s so skilled with moving his hand in perfect circles until your damp cunt is making wet schlicking noises.

you nearly cum when he slips two fingers inside your inexperienced hole.

“feels normal.” he comments, not paying any mind to how you’re nearly coming undone on his hand.

“are you fucking— oh sh-shit… giving me a doctor’s visit right now?” you manage to pant out as you look down at the demon.

“just trying to figure out why you’re hairless.” he obliges you with an answer while casually pumping his fingers in and out, curling them to brush against a spot that makes you cry out.

“i-i shaved!” you answered him frantically, rolling your hips as you shamelessly grind against his hand. the incubis smirks at your clear desperation. he feeds on it.

“shaved?” he asks, stroking his fingers against that spot with more vigor until he’s recklessly pounding his fingers into you.

“yes- oh my—… i’m gonna cum… don’t stop. oh right there!”

“tell me more about this shaving thing. why would you do such a thing to your pretty cunt, hm?” he prompts as if he’s not relentlessly finger fucking your poor pussy.

you can’t give him an answer because you literally can’t think. this demon is making you see the gates of heaven with his fingers.

it’s not a minute later before you’re screaming out in pleasure, soaking his hand in your juices as you finish on his digits.

he leans his monstrous sized body over yours, still leisurely pumping his fingers in and out of your fluttering cunt as he gives you an expectant gaze. he’s still waiting on his answer.

“it’s mostly for… for aesthetic purposes,” you manage to breathe out while your body is still vibrating from your orgasm. you’ve played around a time or two with your toy, but it had never felt this damn good.

“aesthetic purposes for who? you’re a pathetic virgin, are you not?” he asks with a low chuckle. “you humans are so perplexing. you’re lucky i find the rest of you aesthetically pleasing.”

you feel your face warm as you look down at your body. no one usually compliments your body. being a big girl means getting compliments about your smile or your hair — never your body because it’s never good enough.

“you do..?” you ask, unsure of if he truly meant his words.

his fingers slowly slide out of your warm channel, causing you to shudder from the emptiness.

“oh pet, i wouldn’t have answered your pitiful calls if i didn’t find you so tantalizing,” he slowly reaches his hand up, and he pinches your nipple, “i’ll have so much fun with you,”

then, he’s gone.

you startle awake in your bed, leaning up and looking around as you pant heavily. that all felt so real. sukuna felt so real.

peaking under the blankets, your eyes widen as you can immediately see that your orgasm was real. your bedding is completely soaked…

and you can’t wait to try and summon him later tonight again.

[rorynni]

vbs doodle idea: toya discovers nail polish (probably by An or Mizu)

/nf!!

OKAY SO my thought process here was that an and toya are both wearing black nail polish in their BURN MY SOUL outfits, and since that was actually the first time toya wore nail polish in a card, an did his for him

[missdynamighttt]

Situationship with Bakugo 😵‍💫

a situationship with katsuki bakugo would be chaotic, intense, and incredibly frustrating.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who's not the type to do things halfway, so the fact that he won’t fully commit (or admit his feelings) means he’s fighting himself the entire time.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who takes care of you in little ways—grabbing your favorite snacks when he’s out, making sure you get home safe, memorizing all your food orders from various places—but if you call him out on it, he’ll scoff and say, “tch. don’t think too much about it. it was just on the way.”

KATSUKI BAKUGO, where he’s got no problem pulling you into his lap, throwing an arm around you, or grabbing your wrist to keep you from walking away during an argument, only for you to cuddle right back into his arms again. "you always come back anyway. might as well stay where you belong."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who will go out of his way to coincidentally be where you are, but if you ask, he’ll act like you’re the clingy one. "the hell are you lookin’ at me like that for? it’s a free fuckin’ country—you act like i’m followin’ you or somethin’. maybe you’re the one who can’t stay away."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, the man who kisses you like you’re the only thing keeping him sane but refuses to call it love. the man who pulls you into his arms after a rough day but won’t say he needs you. the man who gets pissed when other guys flirt with you, yet still won’t claim you as his. he knows they’ll never measure up to him.

but then, one day, you get tired of it. tired of the mixed signals, tired of feeling like you’re caught in something he refuses to name.

so you pull away. stop answering his late-night texts. stop letting him hold you like you’re his when he won’t even say the words. stop caring because what’s the point when he won’t admit he cares just as much?

at first, he acts like he doesn’t notice. like it doesn’t bother him. but it does.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who sees you laughing with someone else and his jaw tightens so hard it aches. he catches himself reaching for you before stopping short, fingers twitching like they’re fighting the habit of pulling you close. he sees you stop waiting for him and realizes, too late, that he never thought you would stop.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who stands at your doorway, all heat and tension, eyes burning like a wildfire ready to consume you whole. he doesn’t say a word at first, just grabs your wrist—gently, but firm enough that you can feel his frustration thrumming beneath his skin.

“you’re ignoring me,” he accuses, voice low and dangerous.

you lift an eyebrow. “i thought you didn’t care.”

his grip tightens just slightly before he lets go, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

he hates this. hates feeling out of control, hates that you make him feel anything at all.

but he’s done lying to himself.

“you think i don’t care? you think i don’t—” he cuts himself off, exhaling sharply through his nose.

you scoff, crossing your arms. "you sure as hell act like it. or is this just another one of your games?"

his jaw clenches. "it was never a damn game, sweets."

"then what was it, katsuki?" you throw your hands up. "because it sure as hell wasn't a relationship."

"you think i don’t—" he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise, pacing like he's physically fighting with himself. then he turns back to you. "damn it, i was trying!"

"trying what?" you challenge. "to string me along until you got bored? to keep me so that no one else could have me?"

"no! i was trying to—fuck—i was trying to figure it out! trying to—" he stops himself again, exhales hard through his nose, then looks at you, really looks at you. "trying to not fuck this up."

the words hang between you, heavy, aching.

your voice is softer now, but no less sharp. "and yet, you still did."

for a moment, he just stares at you. and then, before you can turn away, before you can push him out of your life completely, he closes the distance.

"no," he growls. "i'm not letting you walk away from me again."

you shake your head. "you already let me go."

"the hell i did!" his hands grip your arms, not to restrain but to hold on. "you think i don’t want you? that i don’t—"

he stops, sucks in a breath, and then—

he cups your face and kisses you. not like before. not out of desperation, not just because it’s easy. not like the heated, desperate, i need to feel something kisses he’s stolen in the past. this one is different.

raw, messy, everything he’s been too damn stubborn to say.

this one is real.

and when he pulls back, breathless, eyes blazing, he mutters, "you wanna know what this is? it’s me, fucking telling you, that i’m all in on this. now tell me you don’t want me, and i’ll walk."

you swallow, your own breath uneven. but you can’t say it. because you do. you always have.

and he knows it.

you stare at him, chest heaving, your lips still tingling from the force of his kiss. your mind is screaming at you to push him away, to remind him that he had months to figure this out, to tell him that it’s too late.

but your heart? your heart is beating so damn loud it drowns out the logic.

katsuki sees the hesitation, the war behind your eyes. he doesn’t rush you. for once, he doesn’t bulldoze his way through with brute force.

"you’re such a fucking asshole," you mutter, shoving at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

he exhales, a short, almost bitter laugh. “i know.”

you lick your lips, looking anywhere but at him. “you put me through hell, katsuki.”

“i know that too,” his voice is rough, but there’s no anger anymore. just quiet, painful honesty. he huffs, rubs a hand down his face before dropping it. “i was scared, sweets.”

you blink. katsuki bakugo, scared?

he sees the doubt flash across your face and scowls. “don’t. don’t look at me like that. like i don’t get to be scared of this—of you.”

your breath catches, and suddenly, the anger flares up again. “me? you were scared of me?”

“yeah,” he scoffs, eyes flicking between yours. "i ain't good at this shit, alright? but don't ever think for a second that i didn't want you."

your jaw tightens. "then why the hell did it take losing me for you to say it?"

something flickers across his face—regret, maybe. frustration. the words sound like they hurt to admit. "because i was a goddamn coward. because i didn't know how to have you without screwing it all up."

you stare at him, searching his face, waiting for the catch—for him to backtrack, for him to make another excuse. but he doesn’t.

instead, his grip on you softens, hands sliding down to your wrists, fingers brushing over your pulse. he watches you carefully, fingers grazing your wrist.

"tell me you don’t feel the same, and i’ll let you go. but if you do…” he leans in just slightly, gaze flickering to your lips. “then stop fighting me and let me be yours.”

and damn it—damn him—because you do. you always have.

your breath is unsteady, your chest tight as you stare at him. he looks like he’s ready for a fight, ready to prove himself, but you’re not making this easy for him.

he doesn’t deserve easy.

you step back, but he follows, unwilling to let space grow between you again. "if you really mean it, you’re gonna have to work for it."

his lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to say that. then, he huffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "fine. i will."

"you don’t even know what that means."

"doesn’t matter," his eyes burn with determination. "i’ll figure it out."

you study him, searching for hesitation, doubt—any sign that he’ll walk away the moment things get tough. but all you see is conviction, a stubborn resolve that’s so him it almost makes your chest ache.

still, you’re not going to let him think this is some quick fix.

"no more mixed signals," your voice is firm. "no more acting like i don’t matter just because you're scared of your own feelings."

his jaw clenches, but he nods. "yeah."

"and no more kissing me like i’m yours and then pretending it doesn’t mean anything."

his eyes darken slightly. "that one was never pretend."

you don’t give in just yet. you let the silence stretch, let him sit in it, let him feel the weight of what he’s asking for.

then, finally, you nod. "alright. then we’ll see."

from the moment you demanded he work for your trust, he treats it like the most important damn mission of his life.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who starts showing up—not just in the ways he used to, sneaking into your life with little gestures he refused to acknowledge. no, this time, he makes it clear.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who texts you good morning. goodnight. little things throughout the day that show you he’s thinking about you. "did you eat? i know you don’t like the coffee at work, so i left one for you on your desk, call me if you need a ride."

KATSUKI BAKUGO, where at work, he swings by your office under the pretense of “checking in,” but you catch the way his eyes linger, the way his fingers tap against your desk like he’s resisting the urge to touch you.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, when he knows you’re out with friends, he doesn’t pull the usual possessive coincidentally running into you routine. he lets you have your space but makes sure you get home safe. "text me when you’re back."

but the real proof is in the way he listens. the way he remembers.

KATSUKI BAKUGO, who recalls things you mentioned offhandedly weeks ago—your favorite dessert from that bakery downtown, the dumb movie you wanted to watch but never got around to. one night, you mention offhandedly that you’ve been stressed, and the next day, he drags you out of your apartment. "c’mon. you need a break."

you expect something explosive, something him—but instead, he takes you to a quiet spot, lets you rant, doesn’t rush you. just listens.

and when you look at him, skeptical, waiting for him to make some kind of sarcastic remark, he just shrugs. "told you i was serious."

he never demands anything from you. never pushes you for an answer.

but one night, after another long day, after another moment where he reminds you, without words, just how much he’s changed—how much he’s trying—you finally give in.

you reach for his hand.

it’s tentative, just a light brush of your fingers against his. he looks down, then back up at you, something unreadable in his expression.

you squeeze lightly, voice quiet. "okay."

he blinks. "okay?"

you take a breath. "i believe you."

and for the first time in a long time, he smiles. really smiles.

then, with all the patience he’s learned just for you, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

"’bout fuckin' time."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ hi!! a little something to publish bc i feel i havent been posting much like i've been before? js burnout from school and shit, also indulging my free time😭 hope you guys enjoy💜💜

[fireinmoonshot]

kiss it better | joaquin torres x reader

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Reader Summary: While attempting to hide a present from Joaquin, you give yourself a minor injury. Joaquin has a habit of overreacting whenever you injure yourself – no matter how small. Warnings: Mentions of a paper cut and hurting your hand. Word Count: 1.6k A/N: This is completely self indulgent because I did slam my finger in a door at work today and I immediately thought about how Joaquin would make such a big deal about tiny injuries, so I suffered through the sore finger while typing to write this tonight 😂💗

“Angel, I’m home!” Joaquin calls, closing the door to your apartment behind him and dumping his gym bag on the table by the front door. He kicks off his shoes and looks into the apartment, confused at the lack of response from you. “Angel?”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks for new messages from you but sees none, confusing him even more. If you’d left the house, you would have texted him to tell him, knowing he was due home from the gym soon. There was nowhere else you could be and he was certain of it.

Frowning, Joaquin wanders further into your apartment, figuring he’ll just go room to room and find you that way. You have to be here somewhere. He won’t let himself worry about where you could be if you’re not here. 

“You in here?” Joaquin attempts, calling out again as he pushes open the door to your bedroom. The light is on and the curtains are open, letting the evening light into the room. If you’d gone out, you would’ve shut the curtains and turned off the light…

He’s about to call out again when he hears a muffled swear word from the walk-in closet, just off to the side of your bedroom. He heads towards it, pulling open the door to see you hurriedly pulling a blanket over something in the corner of the room and then clutching your hand to your chest with a wince.

You’re hurt.

“Angel, what happened?” Joaquin is in front of you in seconds, his hands reaching out to take yours in his and inspect it. He’s confused when he can’t see any visible damage. There’s no cuts and there’s no blood. It doesn’t dull his worry, though.

“It’s fine, baby,” you attempt to pull your hand out of his grasp to no avail. “I just accidentally slammed the drawer and caught my finger in it. It’ll hurt for a bit but it’s okay.”

Worry fills Joaquin’s eyes. Even though it’s only a small injury, he takes it very seriously. He steps beside you, wrapping his arm around you and holding your injured hand with his other hand before leading you out of the closet and into the kitchen.

“Sit here,” he says, pulling a stool out for you and making sure you sit on it before he grabs a tea towel and heads to the freezer. He fills the towel with ice before coming back over to you, gently placing your hand on the counter and holding the ice to your sore finger. “Hold this on there for a while, okay? It’ll help with the pain. Do you want some painkillers?”

You shake your head. “It’s really okay, Joaquin. I’ve done this before. I think everyone has slammed their finger in a door at some point in their life. It’s like an unwritten right of passage.” You listen to him, though, continuing to hold the ice to your finger. It’s throbbing, shooting pain through your hand, but you try to ignore it as best you can.

Joaquin’s immediate response to the injury does make you smile, though. No matter how small the injury was, you could always guarantee that Joaquin would make a big deal out of it and treat it like it was life or death. You vividly remember the time you got a paper cut while wrapping Christmas presents and he’d been two seconds away from driving you straight to the Emergency Room. 

Joaquin sighs and pulls out the stool beside you to sit down on it. “What were you doing in there anyway, angel? I called out when I got home and you never replied. Made me worried as hell.” He reaches out a hand and rests it on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

That… was not something easy to explain. Joaquin’s birthday was coming up in a few weeks and the present you’d ordered for him had arrived a week and a half early from the estimated delivery date. You’d been figuring out a way to hide it so that he wouldn’t see it, deciding that the corner of the closet he very rarely even used since most of the things in it were yours, was the best place… until he got home from the gym earlier than you’d expected and you’d slammed your finger in the drawer you’d gotten the blanket from.

“This is going to sound so sketchy,” you sigh, resting your good hand on top of his. “But I can’t tell you yet. Can you just believe that I had a good reason to be in there and not replying to you when you called out to me? I promise you’ll find out in due time.” 

Joaquin is not the type to fight you on it but you can see the confusion in his eyes. Thankfully, he agrees to let it go – for now. “All right, but only if you promise I’ll find out the reason eventually. I’ll hold you to that and you know I will.”

“I promise,” you smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “How long do I have to have this ice on my hand?” You look over at it. “This ice is freezing and I think I’m starting to lose feeling in my fingers. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

Your words are, unsurprisingly, taken much too seriously by your boyfriend. Joaquin stands up from the stool, grabbing the ice and removing it from your hand. He peers down at your hand, which looks exactly the same as it did before, just much colder. 

“You know, I think maybe you should have your finger looked at,” he starts. “What if you broke a bone and it’s not just bruised? I’ll just go and get changed out of my gym gear and then I’ll go pull the car around the front so you don’t have to go all the way down–”

“Joaquin.”

You cut him off, placing a hand on his arm. There he goes again, being overly cautious with your small injuries. It’s hard not to smile at him. The look on his face makes you fall in love with him even more. 

“I haven’t broken a bone, baby. It’s just bruised and still sore cause I only did it like five minutes ago. It’s going to take a while to feel better again,” you explain. “I don’t think we need to rush off to the hospital for something like a smashed finger.”

Joaquin’s eyes widen. “A smashed finger sounds pretty bad…”

You can’t help but smile at him now. The poor boy is unaware of how completely adorable he is. With everything he does for a job, you’re constantly surprised at how innocent he can be regarding certain topics. 

“Let’s make a deal,” you offer. “If my finger is still hurting really badly tomorrow, if it’s really swollen and I can’t bend it, for example, then I’ll let you drive me to the hospital to get it looked at. But if it’s fine, but still sore, then we don’t have to go to the Emergency Room.”

Joaquin sighs and looks between your face and your hand before slowly nodding his head. “Okay, deal. But you promise you’ll tell me if it’s hurting really badly or you can’t bend it?”

“I promise,” you nod, a thought suddenly occurring to you – a sure fire way to make Joaquin feel better about the whole situation. “But one more thing…” 

“Anything.”

You raise your hand a little off the table. “Will you kiss it better for me?”

A smile makes its way onto Joaquin’s lips, a sudden playfulness replacing his worry – not entirely, but enough to make a difference in his attitude. “Of course I will, angel. We both know that my kisses have healing powers.”

You gasp jokingly. “Does that mean you’re going around kissing people when you’re off saving the world? And all this time I thought you were being a badass Falcon…”

Joaquin smirks, clearly amused. “Pretty sure we’ve established this many times before, that you are the only person on earth who gets my kisses these days, and for the rest of our lives if I have anything to say about it,” he says. 

Gently, he reaches his hand to take yours, making sure not to put too much pressure on your sore finger, and bends down to press his lips to your hand. He’s careful with his kiss, really only brushing his lips lightly over the injury, but it makes you smile nonetheless.

“I think I’m all better now,” you grin up at him as he stands up straight again. 

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Despite my healing powers, will you still let me look after you tonight?” 

“It’d be my honour to be taken care of by you, Joaquin Torres,” you reply. “We could even play a video game if you wanted? I know there’s that new one you were talking about playing with me a few weeks ago.”

Joaquin sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “Okay, first things first – you gotta know how attractive you are telling me you wanna play a video game with me. But second – playing video games involve using controllers, which means having full use of all your fingers, and considering one of your hands is injured, at least until my healing powers really kick in, I’m gonna have to veto that option.”

“You make a fair point,” you hum. “Rain check on the video game, then?”

“You bet I’m gonna take you up on that offer, angel,” he smiles. He leans down and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. It instantly warms you up from the inside out, even managing to somehow warm your still ice chilled hand. “Now, should we order takeout? I’m thinking Pizza or Mexican. Thoughts?”

[rosiecosy]

game over˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

(wonwoo x reader) — fluff

"hi, everyone," wonwoo says, adjusting his headset. chat is already going wild, excited for another gameboi live.

but today, there’s a twist.

"so… i have a guest today," he continues, turning to look at you with a knowing smile. "she insisted on playing, so… this should be fun."

"hi!" you wave enthusiastically at the camera. "just a disclaimer—i love games, but i don’t actually know how to play them."

"yeah, i figured," wonwoo mutters under his breath, but the fond smile on his face gives him away.

the game loads up—a simple co-op adventure game. should be easy enough.

"okay, just follow me," he instructs.

"yup! got it!" you announce confidently.

and then immediately run in the opposite direction.

wonwoo stares at the screen. "wait—where are you going?"

"i don’t know! my character has a mind of their own!"

"you’re literally holding the controller upside down."

"oh." you flip it the right way. "okay, that might have been the problem."

chat explodes.

[PLS NOT THE CONTROLLER BEING UPSIDE DOWN]

[wonwoo looks like he’s questioning everything rn]

[he’s so whipped i can’t]

finally, you get the controls figured out—just in time for the first enemy to appear.

"OH MY GOD—WONWOO WHAT DO I PRESS IF I NEED TO RUN?!"

"just move the joystick—"

"WHICH ONE?!"

"…the only one that moves your character?"

you start mashing buttons, and instead of running, your character just… squats.

"why are you crouching?" wonwoo asks, struggling not to laugh.

"i don’t know!! i pressed something and now i’m stuck!!"

"babe," he sighs, reaching over to gently place his hand over yours. "just press this."

his fingers guide yours to the right button, and suddenly, your character moves again.

"OH. you saved me," you say dramatically. "you’re my hero."

wonwoo huffs out a small laugh. "you’re ridiculous." but the way his ears turn pink says otherwise.

chat, of course, notices.

[DID HE JUST BLUSH??]

[wonwoo.exe has stopped working]

[the way he helped her so gently... i'm sick]

the two of you continue playing, and every time something happens, your reactions are so over-the-top.

"AHHHH, WONWOO, IT’S COMING FOR ME—"

"then attack it?"

"WHICH BUTTON IS ATTACK??"

"…you’ve been playing for twenty minutes."

eventually, after some progress (mostly thanks to wonwoo), you reach the final boss.

"okay," wonwoo says. "we just have to time our—"

"YOLO!" you yell, charging in headfirst.

"WAIT—"

game over.

silence.

you turn to wonwoo, trying not to laugh. "…sooooo, do we try again?"

he just stares at you for a second before sighing, shaking his head with a small smile. "yeah. but this time, maybe let me explain first?"

"no promises."

he rolls his eyes but reaches out to fix your headset, fingers brushing against your cheek for a second longer than necessary.

"what was that?" you tease.

"what was what?"

"the way you just touched my face so lovingly."

"i was fixing your headset."

"mhm. sure."

he huffs a small laugh, flicking your forehead gently. "focus, troublemaker."

chat is already going insane.

[“fixing your headset” YEAH OKAY]

[the way he looks at her… i can’t do this anymore]

[wonwoo’s patience is unreal but also he’s so soft for her]

the game restarts, and as wonwoo focuses on explaining the strategy properly, you lean in slightly, resting your head on his shoulder.

"…what are you doing?" he asks, not moving away.

"recharging."

he exhales a laugh, shaking his head. "you’re impossible." but he tilts his head slightly, just enough to rest against yours.

and chat loses it.

[krazycat6167]

Say No

(written for @keferon’s Apocalyptic Ponyo AU. A bit of Jazz and Prowl set after most of the events of the au. Enjoy!)

-.-.-.-

Prowl watches from the sidelines as Jazz goes through yet another interview. He can’t shake the feeling that there is something off with Jazz. That there is something that isn’t right. 

Oh sure, Jazz looks happy, but Prowl doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t trust it though, so he’s scrutinizing Jazz and his behavior to try and figure it out. 

The other orca mer is smiling, talking as animated as he usually does (though notably trying to be polite by staying in one general area), using his hands as he speaks. Those are normal Jazz things to do, even if he seems a bit…more Jazz-y? He’s using a bit more inflection, slightly more exaggerated movements, a smidge extra charm behind the smile. The effect is entertaining, sure, but-.

But…he is…being entertaining. He is here, in an interview, answering questions both benign and personal, and he is putting on a show. 

Prowl’s gaze flicks around the room. Multiple cameras, stage lights, a dazzled audience. 

The interviewer, masterfully directing Jazz through the narrative with light and heavy topics and making sure to end on a high note. 

Jazz, big movements, big personality, put on display like a thing to be marveled at. 

A large grin that had been bothering Prowl the whole time because it is wrong. And now he knows it’s because it is fake. 

When the interview ends and Jazz swims offstage, Prowl takes his arm and leads him away. Away from the crowds, the lights, the cameras. Just away. From everything. Anyone who even thinks of approaching the two as they leave take one look at Prowl's hard expression and become too scared to even try. 

“While I enjoy swimming with you,” Jazz says when they are properly away from everyone, “is there a reason we left so quick?”

“You were uncomfortable.” Prowl answers. 

“Is that so?” Jazz says, amused. 

Prowl stops and turns to Jazz, stopping the other mer cold with a hard stare. “Yes, you were. You were putting on a show like it was still an obligation you owed for living somewhere when in reality you don’t owe anyone anything of yourself that you don’t want to give.”

The fact that Jazz looks shocked by this makes Prowl’s heart clench painfully. 

Prowl takes both of Jazz’s large hands in his. “I’m sorry,” he says while giving his hands a reassuring squeeze, “that I didn’t see it sooner. You did so many interviews and I didn’t see how similar they were to that tank until now.”

“Wha- hey, no,” Jazz brings their hands closer to his chest. “don’t apologize for this when it wasn’t even your fault. They asked to hear my story and-“

“And you could’ve told them no.” Prowl interrupts. “You don’t have to do these things anymore. You can say no. You can leave off you want. You aren’t confined to a small space anymore with no escape and no privacy. You can say no.”

“I- I can say no.” Jazz whispers like it’s revelation straight from the vents below. “I can leave.”

“You don’t have to do things you don’t want.”

Jazz floats there, clutching Prowls hands to his chest like they’re a lifeline, as his gaze drifts down in thought. “What I want…”

Slowly, Jazz looks up at Prowl. “I want you to show me that Crystal Reef you were talking about.”

Prowl smiles. “This way then.”

-.-.-.-

Two of the things Jazz loves about Mer society are the pouches that he can carry stuff—his stuff—in and the phones. After years of seeing humans use them (filming him, taking pictures of him), he now has one of his very own. An underwater phone, a fish phone, a fone (“It’s funny Prowler, trust me.”). It’s awesome!

Not very awesome right this second though. 

It’s vibrating, meaning someone is calling him. The screen only shows a frequency instead of a name, meaning it’s someone he doesn’t know. 

He sees Prowl look at him curiously from where he’s been sunbathing next to him as Jazz answers.

“Hello?”

“Hello! I am Undertow, a reporter with The Tuning Trident. Is this Jazz?”

Jazz sits up. “Yeah, I’m Jazz.”

“Excellent!” Undertow says, chipper. “We have been working on an article covering your story and the trials you went through. We here at The Tuning Trident are dedicated to bringing our readers the most accurate information that we can provide and we were wondering if you could come over sometime within the next few days to answer a few questions we have about your experience.”

Jazz freezes. He…doesn’t really want to talk about it with reporters anymore. He’ll just have to politely turn them down. 

Jazz opens his mouth, but no sound comes out. His throat is suddenly dry. He swallows his trepidation and tries again. “Uh…”

Is that it? Is that all he can bring himself to say that isn’t a fake and enthusiastic agreement?

The reporter on the phone starts talking again. “Of course, if coming in is an inconvenience, we can have a small team come to you to conduct the interview. We are very flexible here, so whatever may be best for you, we can certainly work with!”

That was even worse! He didn’t want nosy strangers coming to his favorite spots!

But he still can’t say no. 

His gaze flicks to Prowl, desperately and silently pleading for help. 

Prowl sits up and holds his hand open to Jazz. Jazz gives him the phone. 

“I regret to inform you,” Prowl says with no regret or remorse, “that Jazz won’t be doing any interviews for the time being.”

“It’ll just be a quick thing.” Undertow promises in a small tinny voice that Jazz can still hear. “Only a couple of questions to clarify a few facts.”

“No.”

“I- but- who is this? Who are you to speak for Jazz?”

“His manager.” Prowl's tone turns cold. “He is not available for an interview at this time.”

“Why not?”

“Jazz has his reasons and he doesn’t owe them to you. Good day.”

“Wait, if you could just tell us-“

“No.” Prowl hangs up. “The nerve of some Mer, it’s like they forgot that you're an apex- urk!”

Jazz hugs him, eyes shut tight, tucking his head into Prowl’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Thank you.” He whispers, voice wobbly. 

Prowl returns the hug, using one hand to cradle Jazz’s head. “Of course. You deserve some peace.”

“I tried.” Jazz says to Prowl’s shoulder. “I wanted to say no. I tried but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get that one word out and I tried.”

“I know.” Prowl pats Jazz’s head through his beanie. “It’s okay. You keep trying. And until you are able, I can say no for you whenever you need.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

[rhyrhy]

Venom in the veins 🕸️

Spider!Ellie x Fem Villain reader

✦ Synopsis: When trust is broken, and alliances shift. Your local friendly neighborhood spiderwoman! is forced to choose between her love and loyalty!

✦ Warnings: enemies to lovers to enemies..? Angst, violence, death/grief , language, romantic tension, familial issues. 5k words.

A/n: thank you to @s0phi3w4lt3n , because their lovely brain is helping make this possible. This is chapters 1-2. (3-7 will be separate posts!) + Ellie’s suit desc is based off this beautiful art!

October 5th

I guess I finally understand what it means to wear the weight of something bigger than yourself.

Nobody tells you how lonely this gets. They say it’s a responsibility. A privilege. But nobody warns you about the nights when your body’s so sore you can’t move, or when you have to smile at people who would hate you if they knew the whole truth.

And the worst part? I should’ve seen it coming.

I should’ve known the second I woke up with a spider bite the size of a penny and a bad feeling in my gut.

But I was just a dumb kid clinging to Joel’s leg in the ER, sure I was about to drop dead…

Being a hero wasn’t as simple as they made it look in the comics she read. It wasn’t just about the mask—it was about juggling the power, the responsibility, and the weight of knowing that, at any moment, everything could come crashing down.

And in the end? It was always a game of masks. Who’s hiding behind them, and who’s fooling who?

Ellie wasn’t the best at keeping secrets.

Especially not when she had a spider bite the , wrapped in white gauze and held together with SpongeBob bandages that did little to ease her nerves. Her pain tolerance wasn’t exactly low, but weren’t black widows deadly? She could still feel the long-gone venom burning in her bloodstream—or maybe she just thought she did.

“Joel, I’m too young to die!” A younger Ellie whined, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clung to his leg.

“You aren’t dying. They said you’ll be sore at most.” He sighed, patting her head.

“Dramatic” wasn’t the word he’d use to describe the distraught figure clinging to him like she truly believed her life depended on it. Eleanor “Ellie” Anna Williams, at the ripe age of twelve, gave her adoptive father more wrinkles than he could count.

This time, it wasn’t a scraped knee from wobbly attempts at skateboarding, or a burn on her forearm from trying to make him breakfast. It was a spider bite. She didn’t get a good look when she flung her head after the sting set in, but she was almost certain what that eight-legged creature was that had crept onto her hand while she doodled on her notebook in science class.

She rambled about it the whole way from the school’s nursing office to the emergency room. Not even the radio could drown out the frantic girl, who loved all things nature—as long as it wasn’t trying to kill her. She’d just learned to use a training bra. She couldn’t die now.

“I’m not?” she said, her green watery eyes looking up at him.

“No. Weren’t you listening to what the nice lady said? The one in blue scrubs?”

To be honest, she wasn’t. However, she did remember the woman he was referring to—and the way she made her heart race. Even now, as a young adult, Ellie would bring her up when questioned about her gay awakening.

“You’re goin’ to be fine kiddo” He bent down to her level, his Texan accent dragging out his “n”s.

Comforting her had become something Joel mastered over the years. Trying to navigate Ellie’s spectrum between smart mouth and nervous breakdowns wasn’t easy for a man in his early thirties. But he’d found a way to wedge himself somewhere right in the middle—right where she needed him.

If there was one thing Ellie learned quickly, it was that Joel knew best. With legs full of scars and scrapes and a pair of worn-out Converse that Joel begged her to throw away, Eleanor—who preferred just ‘Ellie’—skated into her high school years.

Going from Little Orphan Annie, which she hated when assholes at school called her that, to your average teenager in the big city of Seattle, everything was completely normal.

Except it wasn’t. At all.

In fact, nothing about Ellie was normal. But the unusual started small—extremely small—and Ellie didn’t know any better. At first, she thought it was just the weed she smoked with Jesse still messing with her system.

Because ever since that fateful day in seventh grade, weird, borderline supernatural things had started happening.

She couldn’t tell you exactly how it all started—at least, not without cringing through the many, many journals she kept as a teenager—but somewhere in the mess of scribbled notes and half-finished sketches, there was an entry about a joke gone wrong.

One night, on a dare to see how long she could hold a handstand, Ellie found herself upside down—only she wasn’t just balancing. She was walking. On her ceiling.

The next morning, she convinced herself it was just some weird, half-awake dream. But when she tried it again—yeah, no. She wasn’t dreaming.

“Holy shit!” she blurted out, stumbling back to the ground.

“Language!” Joel’s voice rang out from the living room, blissfully unaware of the very sticky situation unfolding just a few feet away.

Ellie swallowed, staring at her feet. “Holy shit…” she whispered again, this time to herself.

For a while, she tried to ignore it. Between figuring out her sexuality and preparing for an upcoming science fair, she had enough on her plate. So when weird things happened—like catching something mid-fall way too fast or feeling vibrations through the walls—she brushed it off.

But the signs were getting harder to ignore. Especially when she asked Riley if she could hear that sound—

—and Riley just stared at her.

“Hear what?” Riley asked, setting up their volcano project.

“That—” Ellie waved her hand vaguely. “You seriously don’t hear it?”

Riley squinted. “Williams, I love you, but you have absolutely lost it.”

Ellie would’ve argued back, but the sound was coming from three tables down.

“Booger-eater James?” Riley snorted, nodding toward the kid hunched over a glass box of spiders. Not sure how that was science experiment. “He’s just standing there. With his creepy crawlers. I pray for him once we hit eleventh grade—he’s never getting a girlfriend.”

Panic set in—sudden and overwhelming—as her mind spiraled. Was this some weird side effect of the bite? Or was it something worse? She thought about her biological family, about the things she didn’t know, about the one thing she did worry about when it came to her health.

These were crazy person signs, right? Or worse—crazy person genes running through her blood. Torn between telling a school counselor or just locking herself in the bathroom to cry, Ellie excused herself from Riley and approached the table. But the closer she got, the louder the sound became. A crawling, chittering hum that made her stomach flip.

There was no way she was communicating with something that had more than two eyes and eight legs. An arachnid, for crying out loud.

Don’t get her wrong, Ellie loved science. But people who claimed this kind of stuff? They got laughed out of programs. Stripped of titles, accreditations. Blacklisted. Snow White talking to animals was one thing. A teenage girl talking to spiders? That was an entirely different planet.

But the more she thought about it… the more it made sense.

The heightened senses. The weird reflexes. And that bite mark—the one she was so sure would scar? It was completely gone the next morning when her bandage fell off in the shower.

What started as a sneaking suspicion was quickly turning into a daunting realization.

Ellie tried to ignore it. She really, really did.

For the next few weeks, she chalked it up to stress, exhaustion, anything that made more sense than the alternative. But the signs weren’t stopping. If anything, they were getting worse.

The way her body moved before she even had time to think. The way she could feel things that weren’t there—like the vibrations of footsteps before someone entered a room. The way her grip had changed—how she accidentally shattered a glass one night at dinner, how the basketball stuck to her hand a second too long in gym class.

She stopped journaling about it. She stopped mentioning it to Riley. But she couldn’t stop thinking about it. this was so , so much worse than the time she wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table until she finished her brussels sprouts.

And that was how she found herself standing in front of her bedroom window one night, hoodie zipped up, black Converse laced tight.

Sneaking out wasn’t new to her. She’d done it before. Skating out to meet Jesse, tagging walls in alleyways. But this?

This wasn’t just sneaking out.

That night, she got her first real taste of herself without the skintight suit she now wears like a badge.

Little did she know at the time, how important that near miss would be.

“Glad nobody saw that.” An embarrassed Ellie giggled to herself, standing to her feet after stumbling for the hundredth time.

Parkour always seemed a little odd to her—she preferred her guitar or a late-night reading session, but those seemed to lay still on her bookshelf nowadays. I mean, who wanted to potentially hurt themselves running along buildings, jumping from concrete to concrete, brick to brick? Short answer: she did.

Long answer: the stairwell right behind her apartment building, leading to the city’s rooftops. Mariano’s, her favorite pizza joint that always closed way too early in her opinion, the old library that closed down only to be replaced a few doors down, and the laundromat. Dusting off her jeans, she’d do this for what felt like hours.

The back and forth would make normal civilians sick—feet swollen to hell. But for Ellie, after a fight with Joel about curfew or an unnecessarily long school day, as soon as the sun set, this was her heaven.

She wasn’t normal. She’d established that a long time ago. But it’s not like she could exactly tell people she could do these kinds of things. They’d look at her the way Riley did. A FYI, she was so right about James—after graduation, he still never got a girlfriend.

Ellie, on the other hand, had quite a few up until graduation.

A shared kiss with Riley, a faded stick-and-poke cat the girl in her art class gave her, and her unforgettable first time with the first girl she could truly say she loved: Dina.

To say “fair share” was a bit of an understatement. It was more about quality than quantity. Her building real connections, some still lingering around. Some took the high road, choosing to stay the bitter ex. But Ellie didn’t see it like that. She appreciated the good and the bad, even if she did have to get a real tattoo over that stick-and-poke cat.

But times like these, where she let her feet carry her across the city, were when she was allowed to forget about all that, leave it in the past where it belonged, and focus on the future. But even with her tassel turned, she always found herself in that alleyway, climbing up that same fire escape to get to the roof.

The city lights below flickered like distant stars. So many people, but none of them knew her name. Maybe that was for the best. In this city, the only person Ellie needed to be was herself.

The wind against her skin felt sharper tonight, like she could almost taste the city’s pulse. A distant car honked, but she didn’t hear it the same way anymore. It was all part of the rhythm, the energy that seemed to flow through her, the way the rooftops called her to them.

For now, the rooftops were hers. But she knew, deep down, that wouldn’t last forever. Heroes, villains—one day, someone would come looking for her. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Maybe.

Freshly graduated, Ellie was hanging out with friends at her favorite pizza joint, the smell of pepperoni filling the air, and the sound of laughter ringing in her ears. It was one of those normal, relaxed nights. nothing out of the ordinary. Or at least, it didn’t seem that way at first.

But when a hooded figure paced back and forth in front of their table for the fourth time, Ellie couldn’t help but feel a cold chill run down her spine. Her green eyes snapped to the sound, hands slowly lowering the slice of pizza she’d been about to take a bite of.

“That young man stole my purse!” A woman’s voice broke through the hum of the restaurant, her trembling hands pointing toward the culprit.

Ellie’s green gaze snapped to the man now hurrying down the sidewalk, his steps quick, his movements too frantic. The adrenaline surged through her as she pushed her chair back and stood, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the glass door. She didn’t wear her mask yet, but the sensation of needing to act was unmistakable.

She couldn’t just let it go.

The man was fast, but he wasn’t fast enough. Ellie darted into the street, weaving between pedestrians like a blur, the sound of her footsteps muffled by the city’s noise. When she reached him, she tackled him with everything she had, the force knocking the purse out of his hand and sending him stumbling backward.

He didn’t stick around to fight back. In a flash, he bolted, disappearing into the shadows before Ellie could react.

She stood there, chest heaving as she clutched the purse in her hands. The woman, now catching up to her, approached with wide eyes.

“You got it back!” The woman gasped, her voice thick with relief.

Ellie smiled awkwardly, handing the purse back to her. “I… I guess I did.” Heart still racing.

Before she could say more, the woman pulled her into a tight hug. Ellie froze, not knowing what to do. She had no idea this small act of kindness would cause a strange warmth to spread through her chest.

“Thank you,” the woman whispered. “I don’t know what I would’ve done…”

Ellie gently pulled back, her heart still racing. She was pretty sure she was just a regular girl, with no superpowers or any big secret to her name. But in that moment, the feeling of doing the right thing—of helping someone in need—felt bigger than anything she’d ever experienced. Maybe she was crazy. But a little bit of crazy could do good.

And Ellie? She loved justice.

“Bullshit. No way you tackled him like that.” Abby’s voice rang out, interrupting Ellie’s storytelling.

“Alright, maybe I exaggerated a little bit, but I’m telling you, I kicked ass.” Ellie laughed, holding the door open for the tall blonde.

“Uh huh. Sure, Williams.” Abby huffed, walking past her into the bookstore. The familiar chime of the doorbell rang out above them, a small sound that felt like a second home.

Ellie inhaled deeply, taking in the comforting smell of ink and crisp pages being turned. She loved it here, more than the silly pictures of cats online, which, in the Williams world, meant a lot.

Abby, tall and always a step ahead in the teasing department, fell into step beside her. One of the few friends Ellie could confide in. Even if that came with endless ribbing. Ellie could admit that she’d told the “first save” story a million times, but it was one of the few she could tell without giving herself away—without breaking her promise. The promise she made to herself when she officially earned her title as ‘hero.’

But here, in the bookstore, she could nerd out all she wanted. No secrets to hide, no need to pretend. She could throw in the subtle bragging without fear of it getting back to the wrong people.

Ellie wasn’t a huge talker. She preferred humming to herself or getting lost in her own thoughts. As she scrolled past the comic book section, her fingers brushing against the glossy covers of vibrant colors and bubble letters, she was suddenly back in time. A place of nostalgia. Staying up way past her bedtime, reading comics under the covers with a trusty red flashlight.

When the small tv in the corner of the store caught her attention. A new report, crime in the city’s streets. detailing the latest wave of crime sweeping through the city. From petty purse snatching to stolen identities—and sometimes, even lives. It was all too familiar.

“This just in: Another robbery in the city’s streets. Police are still on the lookout for the suspect,” the newscaster announced.

She hated it, the fear in people’s eyes. The feeling of a warm blanket being ripped off all because a few people probably weren’t hugged enough as kids. If anybody knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie, and what she didn’t do was use that and take it out on the world. The last thing she expected years from this moment is trying to be understanding with the one who did.

If anyone knew a rough childhood, it was Ellie. But she didn’t use that as an excuse to lash out at the world.

In fact, the last thing she ever expected, years from this moment, was to try and understand the person behind the violence.

“Jesus, this city’s falling apart,” Abby muttered, her eyes still glued to the screen. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

It made her sick. The injustice. The feeling of helplessness.

“Sometimes, people just need to learn the world doesn’t owe them anything,”

Abby looked over at her, but Ellie kept her eyes on the chaos. The sirens were already wailing in the distance, but they’d never get there in time—not when the damage had already been done. And when the cops finally showed up. Just yellow police, tape and tears.

“Scary, huh?” Abby said, standing beside her, arms crossed. She shot a glance at the scene before turning back to Ellie. “Where are the cops when you need them?”

Ellie scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, they always show up too late. After the damage’s already done. It’s like they just don’t care enough to stop it before it gets out of hand. Makes you wonder if anyone’s actually doing anything about it.”

Abby sighed in agreement. “Someone should.”

Ellie’s mind wandered then, as it often did in moments like this. She’d seen it all too many times—the heroes who talked big but never seemed to get things done. But the ones who really caught her attention were the ones who operated in the shadows. The ones who didn’t care about fame or recognition.

Her thoughts drifted to The Phantom—a mysterious figure who’d been cleaning up the streets for years. Nobody knew their true identity, and that was the way they liked it. No flashy costumes, no headlines, just quiet, effective justice. They worked in the shadows, out of sight, but the results spoke for themselves.

“Maybe someone like that could show up,” Ellie murmured. “Someone who teaches people the lesson that their actions have consequences. Not just words, but real, lasting consequences.”

Abby raised an eyebrow, casting her a sideways glance. “Wait, are you seriously saying you’d want to be like them? A shadowy figure, handing out justice however you see fit?”

“Maybe. I mean, someone has to.”

And someone did. She did, she had to. things quickly escalated from saving purses to kittens out of trees you name it Ellie was there.

So what about the fabric hung deep in her closet. The one she mentions hundreds of times in her journals throughout the years.

Well, It wasn’t like she had a fancy suit. No, Ellie had to make do. Her costume came from a combination of chance and necessity. Absolutely one of those “it just happened” moments that ended up being so much more.

It started with a hand-me-down.

After one night where she barely managed to escape with a bruised arm and a scraped knee, Ellie found herself on the edge of the city. In a forgotten corner of a local alley, tucked behind an old, unused storage unit, Ellie found a discarded suit. It was a mix of gray, black, and green fabric—more rugged than sleek, a little worn out, but something about it screamed potential. Her hand reached out for it, like she could feel the joy she’d bring with it on her skin.

fit like a second skin. It didn’t stand out too much, which was good; Ellie didn’t want to draw attention, not yet. The colors worked too—gray for blending in, black for stealth, and green because… well, why not? It matched her eyes.

One afternoon, Ellie had found herself standing outside a local store, looking out over the city, when a voice caught her attention. It was a soft voice, one that belonged to a little girl.

“How’d you get up there? You move like a spider.”

Ellie smiled beneath her mask, thinking about the first time she made the jump to scale a building. She was very clumsy, but she’d learned quickly. It was funny, she hadn’t really thought much about it until now. A spider… That’s what had started this whole thing.

The bite she thought would kill her.

“What’s your name, hero?” the little girl asked, her wide eyes.

Ellie hesitated. A name?… A spider? This was a loaded question. But That’s what they called her, wasn’t it? She was just some kid trying to do right by the world.

“Spider… uh… girl… woman!” She blurted out, almost embarrassed. Hoping it sounded cool, so in the moment, she went with it.

“Spider Woman. Yeah, that’s it.”

She didn’t mind the title. It was fitting, simple.

Spider-woman. Silly, right? It sounded like something out of the DC Comics stacked in her room. And she loved it.

The name was sung like gospel on the news, printed in bold ink for those who still bothered with newspapers.

On one channel, a reporter stood in front of a cityscape, microphone in hand.

“The masked vigilante, called ‘Spider-Woman’ by the public, continues to stir-up debate. Some call her a hero, while others question if she’s just another masked threat. We hit the streets of Seattle to hear what the people really have to say.”

Cop, off duty: “Look, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them. Vigilante or not, she’s got a record, and that means trouble.”

Masked kid in a homemade costume: “She’s like, a ninja or something! I think she’s cool!”

Teen girl with dyed hair: “She’s kind of badass, not gonna lie.” She shrugged.

younger woman with a toddler: “Are you kidding? She’s the only one out here actually doing something! You ever had a gun in your face? ‘Cause I have. If she’s around, I know I’m making it home.”

The tv Cuts back to the news anchor at the desk, straightening their papers.

“You heard it here folks! Love her or hate her, one thing’s for sure. she’s out there. And she’s just getting started.” The news reporter finished.

But every hero had their villain.

And Ellie? She was crushing on hers.

With Brown hair tied back, wheels skimming smoothly across the pavement. No suit today, just a hoodie and jeans, her usual off-duty attire. As a creature of habit, she skated her way to the bookstore like clockwork, the same route.

Had she finished the last two comics she bought? Absolutely. A little faster than intended. But a five-minute ride was nothing for a girl who spent most of her nights swinging across the city, trying to do right by the world. In her own way.

The streets of downtown Seattle buzzed with life, familiar shop signs blurring past her periphery—the record store with the neon “Vinyl Lives” sign, the café that always smelled like burnt coffee, and the corner thrift shop with racks of clothes spilling onto the sidewalk.

Then—“Shit—!”

Ellie barely had time to swerve, nearly colliding with someone standing dead center in her path.

“Sorry!” she called over her shoulder, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

The person barely reacted. Headphones on, phone in hand, just a slight jerk of the shoulder to let her pass. like they’d done it a thousand times.

Ellie shot them one last glance, catching just a flicker of their face. The shape of their eyes, the calm in their posture despite the near collision. No sense of surprise, Weird. Most people flinched.

Shaking it off, she kicked forward again, hitting the sidewalk with a small exhale. Board tucked under her arm, she pulled open the door to the bookstore, the familiar jingle of the bell bringing an easy grin to her face.

“Like clockwork. You are so predictable, Williams,” Josh, the store clerk, greeted from behind the counter.

“What can I say?” Ellie shrugged, stepping inside. “When you’re a comic book connoisseur—”

“—It becomes a lifestyle,” Josh finished, smirking. “Indeed you are.”

Ellie chuckled, already making her way toward the shelves, completely unaware that the person she nearly crashed into was about to become a permanent part of her life.

She just didn’t know it yet. And neither did you.

Just few moments before …

“What an idiot,” a deep voice muttered, entering the back alley. Away from prying eyes.

You rolled your eyes, arms crossed as you leaned against the brick wall beside him. “She was skating. God, do you ever lighten—”

His hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind you. Not a threat. Not yet.

Your mouth shut. Swallowing your retort.

He exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. Thinking. Shit. Your gut told you to argue, to roll your shoulders back and step away. But you didn’t.

She wasn’t. You knew that. But your world didn’t allow second guesses.

Unlike Ellie, there were no scraped knees followed by fatherly reassurances. No kissing boo-boos, no gentle words. Hell, in your world, mistakes didn’t just hurt. They burned.

And the man towering over you now, eyes sharp as a blade’s, wasn’t the type to let things slide. The city dubbed him Red Hand, a name spoken in hushed whispers.

But you just settled for—

“Will you relax, old man? I get it.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away.

Old man. Boss. Everything but Dad. He didn’t deserve that title. Maybe once, when you were too young to know better. But now? Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you saw anything close to affection in his eyes. Sure, you’d hear a gruff, “You did good, kid,” now and then—but only after running his errands. Only when you were useful.

That’s how this started. You don’t grow a hatred for the world overnight. It’s molded into you when you’re most likely to sponge it all up. Seeing people for what they really are, learning early that it’s survival, not love.

Your real parents? Nothing but a shadow of the past. A blanket. A half-hearted note. A promise that you’d be “taken care of.” Not loved. Not held. Just… handled.

And he did. In his way. He didn’t mark your growth on a doorframe. He didn’t pack lunches with little notes that said, “Have a great day, love you.”

No, that was too soft. The Red Hand was feared. With just a snap of his fingers, his problems were taken care of—no questions asked.

At first, you weren’t sure who they were—the ones who carried out his orders, the ones who came and went like shadows. Or why he always denied your late-night tea parties with Mr. Bear.

One eye missing. Fur worn and faded from too many hugs. The first toy he’d ever bought you. Well, stolen. But it was a gift nonetheless.

You used to crack your bedroom door open at night, small fingers barely making a sound as you peeked through the gap. Trying to make out the hushed conversations happening just a few feet away.

Never catching much. But it was whispered for a reason. And even as a kid, you knew better than to ask.

Then came second grade. You walked through the door with puffy eyes and a fresh bruise on your cheek. He barely looked up from his paper as he slid an ice pack across the table.

“And did you hit them back?”

Your small legs dangled off the couch as you shook your head. “No…”

The paper rustled as he set it down, finally looking at you. “C’mere, kid. Let me show you something.”

And he did. With careful, practiced movements, he taught you where to aim. How to make it count. Jabs, punches.

“Those little shits won’t bug you too much after this.”

You learned quickly. Not just how to hit, but when. Where. How to read a room. How to never show weakness.

Because in his world? Weakness was a death sentence.

So no, there were no bedtime stories. No reassurances whispered into your hair. Just lessons. And you learned them all. After all, it paid to be useful. Even if that meant the occasional run to the principal’s office

The city doesn’t care. People don’t care. They’re too busy fighting to stay on top. So why bother trying to be something else? Why bother saving anyone when they’ll just let you down? He’d shown you what the world truly was. A place where you had to take what you wanted.

A place where you had to survive, no matter the cost.

You’d stopped asking questions a long time ago. Why did they leave? Why did he allow you to stay? What was that gnawing feeling deep in your gut? You’d stopped wondering about what could be, what should be. This was it. This was all there was.

And as Ellie’s world spun with hope, with the promise of doing right, yours had long since given up. Because in your world, saving lives wasn’t enough. The world didn’t reward you for being a hero. No. It rewarded you for knowing when to stop asking, when to take what you were given.

Dressed in black, learning what was most important: to keep moving.

To be continued …..

Line dividers | 2 | 3

Ellie m.list

Taglist @0h-basic

[stargazedwinchester]

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `unseen, sam winchester

Summary: You're Charlie's sister, and you get way less attention from the boys regarding that. Sam wants to change that dynamic. Word Count: 1,003 Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader

Being Charlie Bradbury’s sister has its pros and cons. She’s so cool and carries fun wherever she is. The cons, though, Charlie brings you to them.

You’ve never really got on with the Winchesters, but realizing they’re close to Charlie, you can’t really escape seeing them. She practically forces you along, knowing that you won’t say a word.

You arrive at the bunker with Charlie, exiting her sunshine yellow vehicle. She shoves the iron door open, allowing herself inside. You lock the door behind you and shuffle down the stairs behind her. Dean stands in the lobby with open arms. “Charlie!” He exclaims, and she rushes toward him. “Sup, bitches!” She releases from Dean’s grip, moving over to Sam to give him a hug as well. You stand there awkwardly, making eye contact with Dean. “Hey, Y/N. How’re you doin’?” Dean pats you on the shoulder before moving over to join Charlie and Sam in conversation.

This always happens. She leaves you for them and it’s almost like you slip away into nothingness. It’s like they don’t even notice you’re there. Thank God you bring your laptop, headphones and book with you every time. As you make your way to the library where it’s quiet, you don’t notice it, but Sam’s focus is on you. Pulling out your laptop, you set it down on the table next to you. You connect your headphones and turn on some music. Taking your book out of your bag, you flitter through the pages to find your bookmark.

“Y/N?” A tall figure stands before you, making you jump. “Oh! Jesus,” You slide your headphones off of your ears and place them on your lap. “Yeah?” You look up, seeing Sam tower above you. “Can I?” He motions over to a seat next to you, and you nod. He pulls the chair up and plants himself on it. His eyes dart over you, unclear of where to begin. He huffs. You purse your lips awkwardly.

“Can I help you?” You ask, ready to put your headphones back on and drown them out. Sam hesitates. A slight smirk appears on his face before he starts. “I feel so guilty from the past times you have come here and retreated away from us. Even Charlie. I’m not sure if anyone else has noticed, but I have. And I want to say I’m sorry.” His pretty hazel eyes look up at you; genuine apology shines in them. It’s not like the brothers make you feel uncomfortable, or that you hate them. It’s the pure fact of never wanting to get to know them or having the effort to talk to them. Charlie gets along with them famously and surely that’s enough, right? Guess not.

You attempt to avoid eye contact with Sam, but he’s leant forward with his arms resting on his lap. He’s looking at you, waiting for an answer. You frown, shaking your head. “You don’t have to apologise, Sam. I enjoy being alone.” You admit. He sighs. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make… I-”

Charlie makes her way over, glaring at Sam. “What’re you doing with my sister?” She shouts at him playfully. Sam runs a hand through his hair and chuckles. “Nothing. Just, uh, talking.” He says, glancing over at you. You smile shyly at him. Admittedly, Sam is very good looking. He’s smart, careful and considerate when he needs to be. You’ve known him and Dean for a couple of years, and from what you know, he’s not allowed himself into a relationship for a long time. It’s hard to understand why, but guessing from his chaotic lifestyle, he’s avoided it all completely.

There’s a weird silence. Like Charlie just interrupted something. She stands there next to a bookcase, eyeing you both sitting next to each other. “Well, anyways. Sorry to cockblock, Sammy, but we’re heading out now.”

“Really? This hour's drive for us to just stay for two minutes?” You whine, closing your laptop and getting your bag ready. “Oh, so now you’re complaining that you don’t want to leave?” She remarks, folding her arms across her chest. You scoff. “I don’t want to stay, it was-”

Sam stands up, clearing his throat. He smiles down at you. A warm, friendly smile that you see occasionally. Sam is definitely the friendlier one compared to Dean, but this smile felt more… personal.

“I know. I’m kidding. Gosh, sisters, huh?” She mocks. You zip your bag up, glancing at Sam, who’s still looking right back at you. You lug the bag over your shoulder, and pass him a quick grin. “See you,” you hush, and he replies the same. You also say goodbye to Dean before leaving the bunker.

Entering the car, Charlie buckles her seatbelt and faces you immediately. “He so has a crush on you.”

You shove the seatbelt into the lock. “What?” You ask, completely taken aback by her comment. “Did you see the way he was looking at you when I came to speak to you? Damn, wish I had a lady that would look at me like that,” she laughs, and you internally facepalm. “No, he doesn’t have a crush on me. He came to check on me and apologise for not being more welcoming. That’s it. That doesn’t mean a thing.” You shut the idea down completely, even though you wouldn’t exactly go against it if her judgement was true to real life.

Charlie turns her whole body and folds one leg under the other, fully facing you this time. “Listen, my little Y/N. I just know when Sam has a little bit of passion for someone. He’s not very obvious about it, but when you know him…” She rolls her hands as if to allow you to finish her sentence. “When you know, you know.”

Charlie clicks her fingers. “Exactly.” She turns around and flips the engine over, a smug smirk is plastered on her face.

“Sammy and Y/N sitting in a tree…”

“Shut the hell up, Charlie.”

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Mydei x (fem) reader x Phainon

Taking care of them while their drunk

The lively atmosphere of the tavern was beginning to die down as the night stretched on. Most patrons had already stumbled home, but two familiar figures remained seated at a corner table, both looking far too pleased with themselves.

Y/N stood nearby with her arms crossed, watching the unfolding disaster with exasperation.

“You two are unbelievable.”

Phainon grinned, raising his empty mug in triumph. “Unbelievably strong, you mean!” He hiccuped. “I told you, Mydei, you can’t outdrink me. I am victorious!”

Mydei, slumped slightly over the table, lifted his head with a scoff. His normally sharp gaze was unfocused, and his face was faintly flushed. “You’re not victorious… You’re just… full of hot air.”

Phainon gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “How dare you.”

Y/N let out a tired sigh. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re leaving.”

Mydei groaned, pressing his forehead against the wooden surface. “Too… heavy.”

Phainon waved a hand. “Let him sleep here. I’ll stay and protect his honor.”

Y/N grabbed both of their arms, hoisting them up. “Neither of you are staying here. I am not dealing with the consequences of leaving you in a tavern overnight.”

Phainon blinked down at her, swaying slightly. “You’re… so small.” Then, as if coming to an epiphany, he turned to Mydei. “Why is she so small?”

Mydei, still clearly drunk, squinted at Y/N like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle. “She’s not small… We’re just too big.”

Phainon gasped again, as if this was the greatest revelation of the night. “That makes so much sense.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “I swear, I’m going to throw you both into a ditch.”

With great effort, she managed to haul both of them up, throwing one of their arms over her shoulders. It wasn’t easy considering how tall and broad they were, but sheer determination (and irritation) kept her moving.

As they stumbled toward the exit, Phainon suddenly perked up. “Wait, wait, wait—should we go on an adventure?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate. “No.”

“But Y/N,” Phainon whined, “imagine it! We, the great warriors, on a secret mission in the dead of night—”

“We are on a mission,” she interrupted. “The mission is getting you two to bed before you do something stupid.”

Phainon pouted but allowed himself to be led outside. Mydei, on the other hand, was muttering under his breath. Y/N turned slightly. “What?”

“…I could carry you home,” Mydei slurred, half-lidded eyes glancing at her. “It’d be easier than this.”

Y/N scoffed. “You can barely stand.”

Mydei frowned as if that was a personal attack.

They made their way down the cobblestone streets, Y/N practically dragging them along. Phainon, despite his drunken state, seemed to be enjoying himself, humming a tune and swinging their arms like a child.

At one point, he gasped dramatically. “Y/N!”

She nearly tripped. “What?”

“I have an idea.”

She braced herself. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“But it’s a great idea.”

“No, it’s not.”

Phainon leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if… I climbed on Mydei’s shoulders? And then you climbed on mine? We’d be unstoppable.”

Y/N deadpanned. “That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Mydei, however, seemed to be considering it. “Hmph… We would be taller…”

Y/N groaned. “No one is climbing anyone! Now, walk.”

Finally, they reached her home. With a final burst of strength, Y/N shoved them inside, slamming the door behind them. Mydei flopped onto the couch like a ragdoll, arms hanging limply. Phainon, on the other hand, latched onto Y/N the moment she let go of him.

“You’re so nice,” he mumbled against her shoulder.

Y/N rolled her eyes, prying him off. “Sit down. Both of you.”

Phainon pouted but obeyed, sinking onto the couch beside Mydei, who had his head tilted back with his eyes closed. Y/N hurried to grab some water, handing each of them a cup.

“Drink. You’ll regret it in the morning if you don’t.”

Phainon took a sip before setting the cup aside and throwing himself sideways—right into Y/N’s lap.

She froze.

“Ah, perfect,” Phainon murmured, closing his eyes. “You’re soft.”

Mydei’s eyes snapped open.

There was a tense silence before Mydei reached forward, grabbed Phainon by the collar, and yanked him back.

“Oi.” His voice was low. “Get off her.”

Phainon blinked at him. “But she’s comfy.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes before, to Y/N’s complete and utter disbelief, he leaned over and rested his head against her shoulder.

Y/N stared down at him, stunned. “What are you doing?”

Mydei muttered something incomprehensible, arms loosely crossing over his chest as he settled against her.

Phainon let out an exaggerated gasp. “Are you stealing my spot?”

“I’m reclaiming what’s mine,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon squinted at him before throwing himself at Y/N’s other side. “Fine, I’ll just share.”

Y/N sighed.

She was now sandwiched between two ridiculously strong and clingy warriors, both of them completely unapologetic about it. Phainon had draped an arm over her, and Mydei, while more reserved, refused to move from his position.

“This is going to be a long night” she muttered.

Mydei hummed sleepily. “Mm… you’ll get over it.”

Phainon chuckled. “You love us.”

Y/N sighed, but a small smile played at her lips. “Yeah, yeah.”

They would absolutely regret this in the morning, but for now, she let them have their moment.

Y/N sighed as she glanced down at the two men leaning against her, Phainon snuggled up on one side while Mydei rested against her shoulder on the other. Their breathing had evened out slightly, though the weight of both of them was starting to make her shoulders ache.

She huffed, shaking her head with a fond smile. “What am I going to do with you two?”

Her fingers moved almost instinctively, gently threading through their hair. Phainon let out a pleased hum, nuzzling into her touch, while Mydei barely reacted, though the tension in his shoulders loosened ever so slightly.

Y/N chuckled softly. “Big warriors, huh? You’re acting like children.”

After a few minutes of letting them relax, she shifted, earning a grumble from Phainon as he instinctively tightened his hold on her. Mydei, too, frowned slightly but didn’t protest when she carefully slid out from between them.

“Alright, come on,” she said, tugging at their arms. “You can’t sleep here. Let’s get you to bed.”

Phainon groaned dramatically, flopping backward. “But I don’t wanna moooove.”

Mydei muttered something under his breath, rubbing his face. “Tired.”

“I know,” Y/N said patiently, “but you’ll be more comfortable in an actual bed. Now come on.”

She managed to get Phainon up first, draping his arm over her shoulder and guiding him toward the guest room. He stumbled a bit but followed, half-asleep already. Once she sat him down on the bed, she turned back for Mydei, who was still sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

“Mydei,” she called gently.

He muttered something incoherent but made no move to get up.

Sighing, Y/N walked over and reached for his hand, tugging lightly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He exhaled deeply before finally standing, allowing her to lead him to the room as well.

Once she got them both onto the bed, she pulled the blankets over them, tucking them in. Phainon sighed in contentment, rolling onto his side, while Mydei simply let his eyes close, seemingly too exhausted to protest.

Y/N shook her head with a soft smile. “Sleep well, you idiots.”

As she turned to leave, a drowsy voice mumbled, “Thanks… Y/N.”

She glanced back to see Mydei barely peeking at her through heavy lids. Phainon, too, gave a sleepy grin.

She chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t throw up in the morning.”

With that, she left them to their well-earned rest, already bracing herself for the chaos they would bring when they woke up.

The next morning, Y/N woke up early, feeling well-rested despite the chaos of the previous night. She stretched, made herself a cup of tea, and relished the peaceful silence. But as she recalled how she'd had to practically babysit Mydei and Phainon, she smirked to herself. Those two were going to wake up with a killer headache—and, if things had gone the way she suspected, a bit of an unexpected surprise.

She peeked into the guest room, her suspicions confirmed.

There, tangled up in the blankets, were Mydei and Phainon—cuddling.

Phainon had somehow managed to throw a leg over Mydei, while Mydei’s arm was wrapped around Phainon’s waist as if holding him close for warmth. Their faces were almost comically peaceful, completely unaware of the position they had ended up in.

Y/N pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her laugh, but it was no use. A snort escaped, followed by a full-blown giggle.

As if on cue, Mydei stirred, blinking blearily. His body shifted slightly, and it took a few seconds before realization hit him. His arm was around something. Something warm.

Slowly, he turned his head—only to be met with Phainon’s very smug, half-awake grin.

“Morning, sunshine,” Phainon drawled, still groggy.

There was a moment of silence.

Then—

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Mydei practically launched himself off the bed, tumbling onto the floor in a mess of sheets and limbs. Phainon cackled, stretching out as if this was the best wake-up he could’ve asked for.

“You looked so peaceful,” Phainon teased, propping his head on his hand. “Did I keep you warm all night?”

“You—!” Mydei's face was red, and Y/N was full-on laughing now.

“Oh, this is the best thing I’ve ever seen,” she wheezed. “I should’ve taken a picture.”

“You should have!” Phainon agreed, grinning. “Memory of a lifetime.”

Mydei, still flustered beyond belief, groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I’m never drinking with you again.”

Y/N, still chuckling, crossed her arms. “Oh, I don’t know. It was pretty entertaining.”

Phainon stretched lazily. “You hear that, Mydei? We should do this more often.”

Mydei’s glare could’ve burned a hole through him.

Y/N just smiled. “Breakfast, anyone?”

She walked off, still laughing to herself, while Mydei sat in silent regret and Phainon basked in the victory of the most hilarious morning yet.

[kiyoomiee]

Your bestfriend, Yuuji’s older half-brother Sukuna, who always had this grudge towards you and you can’t pinpoint why.

You first met him during summer break. Your couldn’t keep up with your dorm fees anymore and happened to mention it to Yuuji one time.

“You could stay with me! I have a spare room nobody’s using.”

“Are you sure Yuuji? I don’t want to impose on you.”

“Of course I’m sure. You don’t even have to pay rent or anything.”

A home that’s close to uni and has no fees? It was heaven sent for a broke college student!

“That’s the last of them. Thank you Yuuji, I really appreciate the help. If there’s anything I could do around here just let me know.” You told him after dropping your stacking your last moving box into your new room.

“No problem. Just a heads up though, my brother also lives with me. Is that okay with you?”

“Sure, it’s fine with me.” Your famous last words.

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

“Sukuna can be..difficult sometimes. But it’d be nice if you two would be friends. If not, ehh, just avoid him if you can.”

You should’ve headed the red flags when Yuuji tried to warn you about his brother.

To say that Sukuna had a bad day at the tattoo shop was an understatement. His new assistant never arrived, he was dealing with a shit client plus, his ink almost ran out.

His frustration echoed throughout the two-storey house when he slammed the front door shut.

He was confused by the smell coming from the kitchen as he walked in. Is Yuuji cooking? Nah, his idiot brother would burn the house down if he even tried to get near the kitchen.

Instead, he finds a woman’s figure busy behind the kitchen counter. It made him stop his tracks.

Beautiful, he thought. But too young for Sukuna’s taste. Plus, he doesn’t like it when a stranger touches his favorite spot in the house.

So great, his bad day is about to become worse.

“Who. The. Fuck. Are you?” You almost screamed when your eyes went to the man that appeared behind you.

He looked similar to Yuuji, but the aura was very different. His build was larger, jaw sharper, and he had looked furious.

Oh, he must be Yuuji’s brother, Sukuna. You tensed up unintentionally while his eyes wandered on what you’re wearing.

“You one of Yuuji’s girls? I told him not to bring his hookups here.” He uttered, eyes not leaving yours.

You wore a tank top with cotton pajama shorts. You looked too comfortable just to be visiting.

“No! I-I’m Yuuji’s friend. It’s nice to meet you.” You said nervously.

“Can’t say the same sweetheart. I’m not so fond of strangers in my house. So open the front door and walk outside.”

What? Is he kicking you out?

“Wait! Yuuji didn’t tell you? He allowed me to stay at the spare room down the hall.”

“He what?” Sukuna was fuming. Every step he took closer to you looked like he was going to eat you alive.

“YUUJI!” His voice thundered all over the house.

“I-I think he’s sleeping in his room.” You winced at the string of curses that came out of his mouth.

“Whatever conversation you had with my dumb brother, it’s not happening. You can’t stay here.”

“But it’s the start of the semester, I can’t find a new dorm in a snap!”

“You shouting at me, girl?”

“N-No, I mean-just please, I can take care of the house. I can even cook for you. I can’t afford to leave, not right now.”

Before Sukuna could open his mouth, Yuuji’s footsteps rang out from the stairs.

“Sukuna, you’re back! Wait, did something happen?” Yuuji looks at your nervous face.

“Yeah we’ve met alright.” Sukuna muttered, arms crossing to his chest.

“Yuuji, your brother’s kicking me out.” You tried to hide behind Yuuji’s form.

“What? You can’t kick her out!”

“I can because it’s my goddamn house. If don’t want some girl in here, she’s got to go.”

“You can’t! To be fair, I did tell you that my friend’s staying with us for a while and you agreed.”

Yeah he did agree but he thought that black haired kid was moving in, not you.

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Sukuna exclaimed and you could tell he’s about to lose it.

“I’ll stay out of your way all the time, I promise. You won’t even notice I’m here.” You pleaded him.

“Yeah, I doubt that. Clean up your damn mess.” He said harshly and glared at you before stomping his way upstairs.

“I’m so sorry. My brother’s not so good at making first impressions.” Yuuji pouted.

He’s an asshole, you wanted to say.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad he didn’t kick me out.” You exhaled in relief.

If that was his reaction during your first meeting then what about the upcoming months?

“He won’t. I’m sure you’ll grow on him, you kinda have that effect on people.” Yuuji tried to cheer you up but you just gave him a faint smile.

Yeah, somehow you doubt that would work on Sukuna.

——————————————————

note: Sukuna is 29 in this fic and your age gap is 6 years. I don’t like doing age gap with minors, so just think that everyone in this fic are 18+.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀✸⠀⠀𝓑𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐘 𝓞𝐅 𝓣𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝓜𝐄𝐒𝐒⠀⠀┈⠀﹙⠀𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟏⠀﹚⠀ა ︎ ﾞ .

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀summary.⠀you’re nine months pregnant and your baby could arrive at any moment. you and miguel are excited until he’s called back for a dangerous mission, left to deal with the hardest decision ever, leaving you and the baby.

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀content.⠀angst, some fluff, pregnancy, heartbreak, arguments, emotional distress, firearms, mentions of violence, mentions of death, military shenanigans, sorta hurt/comfort

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter⠀ ❜

time has passed and you’re 9 months pregnant and your due date is three weeks away. while feeling utterly exhausted, you and miguel are excited for your daughter to come and start your life as a family. everything is prepared when the time comes. hospital bag filled with everything you need, nursery set up looking pretty for your baby girl, the entire apartment is baby-proof which was miguel’s doing. until you find another apartment or a house, which miguel has been house-hunting for months now, your apartment will be your home for your little family. you two couldn’t be more excited for this.

you, especially, are excited to pop out this baby because damn you are tired as hell. you told miguel no more babies after your first because pregnancy is exhausting. well, at least no more babies for a long time since who knows if you and miguel wish to have more in the future. he can’t blame you after seeing the exhaustion on your face during these last few months. but for right now, this baby is all you need and you can’t wait to meet her.

“i just realized we don’t have a name yet.”

you and miguel sit outside the patio of your apartment, sunbathing while enjoying a bowl of fruit. you wear a simple periwinkle babydoll dress with daisies, your large baby bump sticks out adorably in it. the bowl of fruit rests on top of your belly as a table, a tiny plastic bowl of course, easier to eat from. your legs rests comfortably on miguel’s lap as his large, calloused hands caressed them.

“oh, you’re right. we haven’t thought about one.” his brows furrowed slightly, thinking as miguel takes a few grapes from the bowl.

“all this time, three weeks until she’s born and we still haven’t thought of a name for her.” you giggle, munching on a few of your favorite fruits.

miguel huffs, grinning. “great parents, huh?”

you think as you feed him a strawberry. “any ideas?”

he ponders for a moment of possible names but nothing comes to mind. “not really, ¿tú?”

no ideas popped in your mind. “nope.”

“what about your name?”

you wipe off that smirk on his stupid handsome face by feeding him another strawberry.

“we’re not following that damn hispanic tradition of naming your first kid after you.”

miguel chuckles at your bluntness. “just an idea.”

“my sister wasn’t named after my mom because she hates her name and didn’t want to do that to my sister so we’re gonna do the same thing.”

“you hate your name?” one of his thick brows arched.

“well… no. i didn’t say that! there’s one person in this family with my name and that’s me.”

that elicits another chuckle from him. “i’m just messing with you, bebé. but i love your name.” he leans forward and leaves a soft kiss on your forehead.

you roll your eyes, shyly smiling. “thanks.”

while munching on fresh fruit, no name ideas popped in either of your heads.

“ugh! why is it so difficult to come up with a name?” you slouch in your seat grumpily.

“we still have time, we’ll figure out something.” miguel reassures you, rubbing your swollen belly. “don’t stress about it, okay? it’s not good for both of you. it’ll come to us one day.”

a sigh escapes your lips. “hopefully.”

another kiss on your forehead. “for now it’ll be princesa.” his hand caresses your swollen tummy which results a kick from your baby. “she likes it.”

you hum happily, leaning against him. “i love it when you call her that, it melts my heart.”

his arm wraps around your shoulders, embracing you comfortably as his other hand grabs the bowl from on top of your belly and holds it. “i’m glad to know. she is mi princesa y tú mi reina.”

you lift your head up and look at him with a loving smile. “té quiero, mi osito.”

miguel’s heart flutters every time you call him that. you consider him your big teddy bear and he loves it. resting the fruit bowl beside him on the sofa, his hand gingerly cups your face as he leans closer and captures your lips in a gentle, loving kiss. your hand does the same and cup his cheek. the kiss is interrupted by a faint kick in your tummy.

you pull away with a giggle, caressing his cheek. “every time we kiss, she always kicks.”

“maybe she’s happy that her parents are in love.” a silly grin plastered on his face.

“they are and her parents love her.”

you and miguel go in for another kiss, resulting in another faint kick. you agree with miguel, your baby girl is happy that her parents love each other. you want nothing more than your daughter to grow up with loving parents and who love each other, to demonstrate a loving relationship.

later in the evening, you and miguel just finished having dinner. tonight was ravioli, a craving of yours which miguel had no problem making. he loves cooking for you, one of his many acts of service. you also love his cooking, he could be a chef as a side job. you told miguel once that he should have his own cooking show. he laughed and said that you should be the one with a cooking show, he adores your cooking. maybe a couple cooking show.

you rest on the couch watching a movie while miguel cleans up the kitchen. the man won’t let you touch or lift anything, just like throughout your entire pregnancy but is even more insistent about it since you could pop at any moment. in the beginning you were against it but not so much anymore considering your basketball sized tummy. besides, you get to watch your boyfriend maneuver around. admiring those bulging muscles ripple as he moves. biceps, shoulders, back, thighs. all so scrumptious.

once the dishes were washed and stored away, miguel makes a quick visit to the bathroom but not before leaving a kiss on your forehead then finally making his way over there. after doing his business and while washing his hands, he feels his phone vibrating in his back pocket. quickly drying his hands with a towel, miguel reached behind with a hand, grabs his phone and sees who’s calling.

‘IRONHEAD’

flash is calling him and that’s not a good sign. there are only two reason why he would call him: either for a mission or get-together with the team. miguel really hopes it is the second option even though he isn’t in the mood to go out, not with you about to give birth soon and he told the guys that.

exhaling deeply, miguel presses the green button and brings up the phone to his ear. it was a very long, hectic conversation. frustrated groans, mumbling, and swear words thrown around. it was so long that you eventually got worried since he has never taken that long in the bathroom. miguel knew you would eventually make your way over here. finally, he hangs up and heads back to the living room with not so good news hanging heavily on his shoulders.

you’re about to get up until miguel enters the room. the relief smile on your face falters when you notice his anxious expression. thick brows furrowed and eyes filled with apprehension.

“what’s wrong?” now your brows furrowed.

another long, deep breath of anxiety escapes his lips. “we need to talk about something…”

suddenly, your heart starts beating fast with anxiety. oh that isn’t good and honestly you’re scared. the moment miguel sits down next to you, the tension settles in. thick, heavy, and unsettling. both of you are nervous wrecks but miguel is more anxious since he’s about to tell you the worse news imaginable. he can already envision the tears of anger and frustration that will soon come in a few seconds.

“flash called me…” miguel starts off, his hand seeking yours and gently holds it. god, he feels like dying of anxiety. too afraid to speak the truth but mainly your reaction and where this conversation goes. “there’s a mission that i can’t back out.”

your brows furrowed a bit more. a mission, okay. the man is in the military, it’s bound for missions to come up. however, they can vary and the apprehension on miguel’s face say this isn’t an ordinary mission.

a shaky breath escapes his lips as miguel prepares to spill the unfortunate news of all.

“it’s in south america and… i don’t know long it’s gonna take and i have to fly out tomorrow.”

you feel your heart drop so suddenly. a plague of anxiety invades your veins completely, coursing through your body so viciously.

“t-tomorrow? what do you mean tomorrow?” you panic. “you can’t leave, not right now.”

“i know, baby, i know.” miguel squeezed your hand reassuringly, his heart breaking at your panic state. “i don’t want to leave either but i can’t back out on this, i have no choice—”

“you do have a choice!” you stand up abruptly, as much as you can due to your heavy tummy. “you don’t have to leave, miguel! you can’t leave!”

his heart continues breaking. “mi reina, siéntate por favor.” miguel tries to reach out for your hand to calm you down but you back away from his attempt.

“no, miguel! you can’t leave! she’s almost here and you’re leaving?! i need you here! she needs you here!”

he knew it would reach to this breaking point. you panicking, crying, and begging to him to stay. each cry is a stab to his heart. miguel hates seeing you cry, especially when he is the reason for it.

miguel stands up, a remorseful look in his eyes. desperate to reach out and pull you back into his arms. “mi reina, i know. i want nothing more than to stay here with you and be here for you and our daughter. i don’t wanna leave you two, it’s the last thing i want and i fucking hate leaving you. i told flash no many times, that i refuse to go. he understood, he and the guys don’t want to do this either but command left us with no choice and said the mission won’t be successful without me.”

all you do is keep shaking your head no, refusing to believe this is happening. the love of your life, the father of your child is leaving you for god knows how long before the birth of your daughter. suddenly, it feels like your world is crumbling. everything is crashing down like a paper plane. one minute you were enjoying fresh fruit and sunbathing while discussing possible baby names, then your boyfriend has to leave you and your baby for a mission in another fucking country for an unknown amount of time. how the fuck did things change so drastically?

“no, you can’t.” you keep shaking your head in denial as tears spill uncontrollably. “you can’t leave. she’s almost here, miguel. she’s almost here and i can’t do this alone, please don’t do this.”

miguel’s heart continues breaking immensely at the sight of your tears. it triggers his own tears to fall. “lo siento, mi reina. lo siento mucho.” he attempts to reach out for your hand and you don’t fight back, bringing you closer to him into his hold.

“miguel, por favor.” you look up at him with pleading, glossy eyes. “please don’t leave me… not again…”

fuck, that shatters his heart completely.

he left you once, broke your heart, broke your trust, and he forever hated himself for that. now miguel has to do the one thing he swore to leave do again, only this time he had no choice. now he hates being in the military. he has to leave you and it fucking hurts, especially to leave you when your baby will arrive soon. miguel doesn’t want to miss the birth of his daughter. he needs to be there for her, for you.

why did it have to be now?

at this moment, he hated being in the military.

“lo siento mucho, mi reina.” his calloused hands gently cup your face and wipe your never-ending tears. “i don’t wanna leave you and our baby. not again, mi reina. i’m so so sorry…”

your apartment is filled with the sounds of your sobs. both of you are crying at this moment. you completely break down and miguel doesn’t hesitate to pull you to his chest and embrace you tightly, feeling your trembling figure in his arms. afraid to let you go, doesn’t ever want to let you go.

the rest of the night was a sobbing catastrophe. the four walls of your apartment concealed with your heartbroken sobs and pleads.

what if he doesn’t come back?

what if he’s killed in combat?

what if, instead of celebrating the birth of your daughter, you are mourning the death of your boyfriend?

the excitement of becoming a family now ruined.

the day you and miguel have been dreading has come. the day he leaves for south america. since you’ve been crying all night, you feel utterly exhausted besides feeling depressed. you sat there in bed all miserable watching miguel pack up and get ready for his departure. every time your eyes meet, miguel had a guilty, remorseful expression. it pained him to see how miserable you looked. those tearful eyes silently begging him to stay, stop packing, dive back into bed with you, and stay with you forever. miguel hated this just as much as you do.

despite how much he hates to leave you, there is only one person miguel trusts to take care of you while he’s gone. he contacted his mother and ask her to stay here with you until he returns. the woman did not hesitate to agree and make her way over. you didn’t bother to argue, too busy being miserable. but truth be told, you actually don’t mind conchata staying here and helping out. you would love to spend more time with her, you know she’d do anything for you and the baby. she’s pretty much your mother-in-law. you agree with the plan. however, you still wish for miguel to stay.

through teary tears, you watch miguel return from the bathroom clad in all black attire. even feeling miserable, he still manages to take your breath away. he approaches the nightstand, opens the drawer, and takes out his pistol that he keeps here ever since he’s been staying at your place. protection purposes of course. miguel won’t take any risks, especially when it comes you and the baby. no harm has come yet the man is accustomed to securing and protecting. after checking the clip of ammo and putting the safety on, miguel shoves the pistol in the back of his pants and covers it with his shirt. his eyes meet yours once again but this time you look away, concealing the tears already spilling. his heart aches every time, so much guilt plaguing his body.

eventually, conchata arrives to see the heartbreaking sight in front of her. her son prepared to leave for another dangerous mission and her future daughter-in-law silently crying. you and miguel are in the living room by the time she gets there. she greets her eldest with a hug and kiss before approaching you.

“oh mija…” she gently pulls you into a tight, comforting embrace which you accept immediately and softly sob into her shoulder.

miguel observed solemnly, heartbroken for you and dreading his departure. he really doesn’t want to go, not to leave you crying and begging for him. he didn’t want this yet he was left with no choice. the ringing from his phone snaps him out of those depressing thoughts. a text message from flash saying he and the guys are here waiting in the car outside.

it’s time to leave, unfortunately.

breaking your embrace, conchata gives your arms a comforting rub with a soft reassuring smile before walking over to say goodbye to her son. miguel embraces his mother, exhaling deeply.

“té amo mucho, mijo. lo prometo. cuídate mucho, mijo, por favor.” she glances up at him. “make sure to come back to your family.”

you and your daughter. his beautiful family.

miguel silently promises to not allow his mother to lose another son, to not leave you a widow and single mother, to not leave his daughter without a father.

he will come back, he’ll make sure of it.

“lo prometo, mamá. té amo.” he plants a kiss on her scalp and embraces her one last time before he moves on to you, conchata stepping aside and turning around to give you both privacy.

instinctively, your head starts shaking as tears swell in your eyes for the nth time. “please don’t go…” you grip onto his shirt as if you’re terrified to let him go.

his heart continues to shatter. “lo siento, mi reina.” miguel’s strong arms wrap around you and hold you close to him, as much as your swollen belly allows you which is lightly pressed against his abs. “i promise to come back to you and our baby. i swear it, mi amor. i will come back to you both.”

his sincere words make you break down uncontrollably. you know miguel will do everything he can to come back home to you and the baby. you know he doesn’t want to leave as much as you do. you sob into his chest as his arms tighten around you, holding your trembling form. one last hug before he disappears for who knows how long. one last time to be with each other before parting ways.

miguel leans down, you reach up and capture each other’s lips for one final kiss. a kiss that you wish it could last forever. calloused hands gingerly cup your face. you grip onto his wrists tightly, afraid to let him go. savoring this one final kiss, savoring the taste of each other before drifting away. miguel gives you one last kiss then kneels in front of your swollen tummy and adorns it with loving kisses. your fingers gently brush through those soft brown curls one last time.

“i promise to come back to you, mi princesa.” he whispers against your belly, earning a faint kick which makes you both smile sadly. rising to his full height towering you, he cups your cheek. “i’ll come back to you, mi reina. té quiero tanto.”

“té quiero.” you desperately reach out to tug on his dog tags and bring him down for another final kiss which is sadly interrupted by miguel’s phone ringing, making him groan in frustration.

miguel whispers you a final ‘i love you’ before parting ways and grabbing his black duffle bag from the kitchen counter. you start sobbing more as you watch him preparing to leave. conchata turns around and approached you with open arms. sighing heavily, miguel turns around to look at you both one last time with a remorseful expression before opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him. you broke down once again as you watch the love of your life leave for the second time. conchata brings you into her arms and embraces you deeply as you sob. the four walls of your little apartment conceal the heartbroken sound of your sobs and wails.

your life is changed once again by a unfortunate incident. however, this time hurt much more.

that same guilty, agitated expression never faltered as miguel geared up and sit in his seat of the helicopter. his clothes covered with tactical gear. bulletproof vest, tactical helmet with night vision goggles attached, another pair of goggles that are ballistic meant for eye protection, his pistol as a secondary weapon stored the holster strapped on his right thigh, and additional equipment. a rifle in his hands while waiting for takeoff.

the rest of the squad are strapped in. flash next to miguel, ben and kaine seated across from them. as the engine starts, flash notices miguel’s somber expression which causes him to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. miguel flinched at the contact but immediately recognizes his teammate.

“you’ll make it back to her, both of them.” the blonde gives his teammate’s shoulder a light pat.

miguel sighs heavily, lowering his head with a head shake. “i feel fucking terrible leaving her. leaving at the worst fucking time imaginable.”

the blonde frowns remorsefully. “i know man, i gave command shit but of course they don’t give a fuck. lets just hope this shit isn’t a long one and you’ll be back in time before your kid comes.”

the brunette simply nods. miguel really hopes he’ll be back in time before the baby is born so he can be there for you when the day comes. sitting by your side, holding your hand in his as you welcome your daughter into the world. a dream he wants to come true. he’ll do anything to make it come true.

“appreciate it, ironhead.”

flash pats his shoulder a once again. “always, man.”

the helicopter finally takes off and the men’s journey to south america begins. throughout the flight, miguel only thinks about you. never once you left his mind. he knows you’re struggling with his departure but his mother is there to care for you. he knows you’re safe and being taken care of. but the guilt still lingers in his heart. he would rather be at home with you than stuck on this damn helicopter. however, miguel will do whatever he can to come home to you.

he won’t disappear forever this time.

𝓣𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @lovehadlovelost @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @asterrrrose @glossygreene @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @totallygyomeiswife @mcmiracles @celestialgarden23 @tatatida @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @nocturne-light @xenop0p @juneonhoth @ghostsdoll @marshmallowsforever @ibelyss @imissubaee @demonic-bird @fandomtrash5092 ( if you’re not tagged, age/age-range is require since this fic is 18+, context for reasons why )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[cursedcanon]

BABY!!

how JJK men hold your newborn baby >:D

Characters: Gojo, Choso, Sakuna, Geto, Toji , Nanami, yuji and megumi

Gojo Satoru

Gojo holds the baby like he’s cradling a star — effortlessly, like it was always meant to fit in his arms. He tilts his head, squinting at the baby’s face with a mischievous grin.

“Are you sure this one’s ours?” he teases, glancing at you. “They’re way too cute. I thought they’d come out with sunglasses and an attitude.”

The baby stirs, letting out a soft noise, and Gojo’s playful demeanor falters. His eyes soften, and he presses a kiss to their tiny forehead.

“Hey, kid,” he whispers, voice barely above a breath. “I’m your dad.”

You smile, exhausted but happy. “They already have your dramatic entrance, Satoru. Did you hear how loud they were crying?”

Gojo gasps, feigning offense. “Loud? That was a declaration of power, babe.”

Choso

Choso doesn’t move for a solid minute after the baby is placed in his arms. He just stares, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to figure out a complex puzzle. He finally speaks, voice hushed.

“They’re... warm.”

He presses the baby gently against his chest, heart hammering. His fingers tremble as he strokes their back, and he swallows hard, as if holding back tears.

“I never thought I’d get to feel this,” he whispers, looking at you like he can’t believe it’s real.

You reach out to touch his hand, your voice soft. “You’re a natural, Choso. They already love you.”

His eyes fill with quiet determination. “I’ll protect them,” he promises, voice steady. “I’ll protect both of you.”

Ryomen Sukuna

Sukuna looks offended. He holds the baby at arm’s length, scowling like they’ve personally insulted him.

“This is it?” he grumbles, narrowing his eyes. “This tiny, squishy thing is what had you screaming for hours?”

The baby wiggles, yawning. Sukuna freezes. His scowl fades. Slowly, he brings the baby closer, letting them rest against his chest. His eyes linger on their face, and his voice drops to a low mutter.

“Tch. You better grow up strong,” he mutters. “I’m not raising some weakling.” But his hand stays steady, cradling the baby with surprising gentleness.

You chuckle weakly from the bed. “They already survived you holding them like a sack of rice. I’d say that counts as strong.”

Sukuna snorts, but his eyes don’t leave the baby’s face. “Maybe they’ve got potential after all.”

Geto Suguru

Geto immediately melts. He holds the baby like they’re made of silk, his eyes shining with warmth. He sways instinctively, rubbing slow circles on their back, completely captivated.

“They’re so peaceful,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against their forehead. “Like they know they’re loved already.”

He looks at you, a soft smile curving his lips. “We did good,” he whispers. “Really good.”

You wipe away a tear, your heart swelling. “They’re lucky to have you.”

Geto’s gaze doesn’t waver from the baby. “No,” he says softly. “I’m the lucky one.”

Toji Fushiguro

Toji stares down at the baby like he’s never seen anything like them before. He shifts his grip, holding them with careful precision, as if testing his own strength.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he mutters, noticing how the baby grabs at his shirt with a weak but determined grip. He chuckles, low and rough, rubbing his thumb over their tiny fingers.

“Already fighting,” he smirks, eyes glinting with pride. “That’s my kid.”

You laugh tiredly, watching him. “Looks like they inherited your stubbornness.”

Toji grins, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Good. They’re gonna need it.”

Nanami Kento

Nanami holds the baby like he’s done it a thousand times, but the way he stares at their face tells a different story — like he can’t believe something this small and fragile is his. He traces their tiny fingers with his thumb, gaze soft and steady.

“You’re so... perfect,” he murmurs, voice thick with quiet reverence. “I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

You watch him, exhausted but smiling. “I think you worked hard enough to deserve a little luck, Kento.”

He glances at you, eyes filled with something so tender it makes your heart ache. “Maybe,” he whispers, looking back at the baby. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure I never lose it.”

Itadori Yuji

Yuji cradles the baby like he’s holding the most precious treasure in the world, eyes wide with wonder. He can’t stop smiling, rocking them gently as he talks nonstop.

“Hey, little guy,” he whispers, beaming. “I’m your dad. Isn’t that crazy? I still can’t believe it. You’re actually here.”

He chuckles, wiping a tear from his eye with his sleeve. “I promise I’m gonna be the best dad ever. We’re gonna play games, eat so much food, and I’ll protect you from anything bad, okay?”

The baby lets out a soft noise, and Yuji gasps like he’s just discovered magic. “Oh my God, they answered me.”

You laugh weakly, watching him. “Yuji, they just breathed.”

“I know,” he whispers, eyes shining. “And it was the best sound I’ve ever heard.”

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi looks like he’s in shock. He holds the baby like they’re made of glass, his jaw tense, eyes flicking between their face and their tiny, wriggling hands.

“What if I drop them?” he blurts out, frozen stiff. “Or — or hold them wrong? Or —”

The baby lets out a soft, content sigh and snuggles against his chest. Megumi goes silent. His entire body relaxes, and he stares down at them like they just erased every anxious thought in his head.

You watch quietly, voice gentle. “You’re doing fine, Megumi.”

He swallows, holding the baby a little closer. “Yeah,” he whispers, like he’s finally convinced. “I think... I think I am.”

[astrolook]

The First Lord in Different Houses: Your Personal Astrology Adventure! 🌟

Grab your chart, get comfy, and let's dive into the First Lord and how it impacts your identity. Whether you're the life of the party or the secret genius, this is where the magic happens, and honestly, it's kind of hilarious too. 😜

First Lord in the 1st House

You walk into a room, and everyone knows you’re there—there’s no hiding.

Confidence is your middle name, and you never miss a chance to strut your stuff.

You are an introvert’s worst nightmare!

Independent? Yeah, you invented it.

People say, “Look at them go!”... and you say, “Yeah, I know, I’m fabulous.”

First Lord in the 2nd House

You might lowkey feel like a walking bank account sometimes (it’s okay, you’ve got the swagger).

Money, possessions, and fine dining—that’s your love language.

Your idea of a good time? Maybe buying a new shiny thing or investing in something ‘important’.

A strong connection to your self-worth... and your credit score.

You get really excited about sales. Like, really excited.

First Lord in the 3rd House

Conversations? Oh, you’re always ready for one. And you’re the one leading it.

Your brain is like a Google search engine: full of random knowledge and probably some memes.

You could talk a dog into believing it’s a cat, and they’d never know the difference.

Restless much? Thought so. You’re onto the next idea before the first one’s finished.

Social media’s best friend—wait, is that a notification?

First Lord in the 4th House

You’re basically the “mom friend”—making everyone’s home feel cozy and safe.

Family gatherings are your jam (but only because you secretly judge everyone’s cooking).

Your vibe? “My house, my rules, but I’ll let you have a snack.”

You might look for a place to hide from the chaos and recharge... hello, couch naps!

Your home feels like a warm hug—and you give really good hugs.

First Lord in the 5th House

Drama? You’re probably starring in it (or at least watching it from the front row).

Flirting is your second language—don’t even try to resist.

You’re the life of the party, even if it’s just your dog and a Netflix marathon.

Hobbies? Well, they’re more like passions that take up all your time.

You’ll probably try to make everything a competition. “Who can make the best TikTok?”—Spoiler alert: It’s you.

First Lord in the 6th House

You love a good routine, but only because it means you’re in control.

Your daily mantra: “I’m not stressed, I’m busy—there’s a difference.”

Healthy eating? Absolutely. Just as long as it’s also fun (kale smoothies and 12-step meal prepping, anyone?).

You might accidentally become a perfectionist because, well, why not?.

You can’t relax until everything’s in place. Spoiler: It’s never in place.

First Lord in the 7th House

Relationships are your thing—friendship, romance, business partnerships, you name it.

You need a partner in crime—someone to do life with.

You’ll be the diplomat in any situation: “Let’s just all get along, okay?”

It’s not “me,” it’s we. You’re practically the CEO of Teamwork.

You thrive on validation from others—but hey, who doesn’t love a little support now and then?

First Lord in the 8th House

You’re that one person who probably has a secret collection of ancient texts—or at least watches a lot of true crime documentaries.

Deep transformation is your thing—your emotional rollercoaster has no brakes.

You have a knack for digging into other people’s deepest fears... or maybe just for figuring them out.

You’ll never shy away from a good existential crisis. Isn’t life just a series of changes?

You live for the intense, the mysterious, and, of course, the taboo.

First Lord in the 9th House

Wanderlust is your middle name—you’ll plan a trip to the other side of the world just because.

Your mind is always soaring above the clouds—metaphorically, of course.

You’re a fan of philosophy, and you probably have a shelf full of “deep” books that you’ll talk about for hours.

You think big, dream big, and might just try to change the world (at least your corner of it).

If you haven’t been to at least three countries, are you even living?

First Lord in the 10th House

You’re here to make a mark, and the world is your stage (just don't forget your best performance).

Career is serious business for you—but you’ll look fabulous doing it, of course.

Your reputation? Oh, it’s everything. You’ll take great care of that.

People might ask you what you do, and you’ll casually drop your “BOSS” vibes.

You’re the leader, the boss, the go-getter. They just haven’t realized it yet.

First Lord in the 11th House

You’re always looking toward the future—Hey, have you seen that next big thing?

Your friendships are everything, but don’t expect small talk. It’s all about big dreams and world-changing ideas.

You’re the social butterfly, flitting between events and people... but deep down, you’re a visionary.

If you’re not organizing a group project, are you even living?

You can totally turn any group into a movement—don't underestimate your powers.

First Lord in the 12th House

Solitude is your best friend—you probably thrive on some alone time... okay, a lot of alone time.

You’ve got that “mysterious vibe” going—people aren’t sure if you’re an enigma or a guru.

Spiritual awakenings? You have all the answers, but you don’t always share them.

You might be a secret healer, helping others in ways no one will ever know.

Boundaries? You prefer to merge with the universe, thanks.

Feeling curious about how each House Lord affects your identity and life journey? 🌠

Message me for a complete astrology reading / synastry compatibility reading, and let’s unlock the hidden secrets of your chart together! 📩

Karmic Paths & Soul Purpose: A Complete Guide to the North Nodes & South Nodes in Astrology (13-page report) - $5

Get my full PDF guide for just $5! Payment via PayPal. Once payment is confirmed, I will send you the PDF. It covers North Node & South Node in signs & houses, who you were in your past life, your career, family, love and your relationships in detail. Message me to grab your copy! 🌟

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 22

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: Angst, tension, feeling of betrayal, mentions of loss of appetite, arguments, this ones a looooooong one

The sun is beginning its slow descent by the time I finally drag myself out of bed. My body feels heavy, like I’ve been carrying the weight of the world in my chest. I need something, anything, to ground me, and right now, a cup of tea sounds like the only thing that might help.

That’s the plan. Go to the kitchen, make it, and come straight back up to my room. I’ll sit on my balcony and watch the last bits of sunlight disappear while I think about what to do next.

 But my main goal: avoid Matt.

I slip out of my room, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. The house is silent apart from the distant murmur of voices outside on the patio. I catch a glimpse through the window, figures sitting around, but I can’t make out exactly who. Not that it matters. I’m not stopping to find out.

The only sound that gives away my presence is the low whirl of the kettle. I stand there, staring at it as it heats up, feeling every second drag out like an eternity. I grab a mug and put the tea bag in it so as soon as it clicks off, I can pour the water and milk, moving quickly but carefully. Just get in, get out.

Successfully, I make my tea. 

Mission accomplished. 

Now, I just need to make it back upstairs.

But just as I start up the steps, the sound of the patio door sliding open sends a jolt of panic through me. 

Shit.

I don’t even turn to see who it is, I just pick up my pace, practically going up the steps two at a time.

I reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner, then..

BAM.

I nearly spill my tea everywhere as I slam into someone, my breath catching in my throat. I look up, and my stomach drops.

Matt.

For a split second, time slows. His eyes lock onto mine, searching, but I don’t give him the chance. Like I’m on autopilot, my feet keep moving, my mouth stays shut, and I walk right past him without a single word.

I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. I reach my room, step inside, and lock the door behind me.

I let out a shaky breath, gripping my mug a little tighter. I try my best to shake it off. It was just a few seconds. Just an unfortunate encounter in a house that now feels way too small.

I know I’m going to have to face him sooner or later. There’s no avoiding it forever. But I’m not ready right now, not for a one on one, not for the inevitable conversation.

So, instead of dwelling on it, I step onto the balcony. The sun is slowly dropping lower, so I sit here and try an appreciate the sky, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe..

Until there's a knock at my door.

I freeze.

No. No, no, no. If this is Matt, I swear to god.

But then I hear a familiar voice from the other side of the door.

“Y/n? It’s me.”

Nick.

Relief washes over me so quickly it almost knocks me over. I exhale, setting my tea down on the small table before walking back inside. I hesitate for just a second before unlocking the door.

Nick steps into the room, his expression soft but searching mine. "How you doing?"

I shrug lightly, forcing a small smile. "I'm okay.. I just made a cup of tea. Was gonna sit out on the balcony while the sun sets."

Nick nods, his eyes flicking toward the open balcony doors. "Mind if I sit with you?"

"Of course not" I say, stepping aside so he can follow me out.

We settle into the chairs. The silence between us is comforting, a huge difference to the chaos of the past twenty four hours.

After a minute, Nick clears his throat. "I ran into Matt coming up the stairs."

My body stiffens, fingers tightening around my mug. "Oh."

“I just asked if he had spoken to you yet, and he said no."

I huff out a breath, looking back toward the view. I take a slow sip of my tea before turning back to Nick. "So, what's your plan for the night?"

He leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. "I'm gonna go meet that guy."

I raise an eyebrow. "That guy? You’ve been talking about him for days, and I still don’t even know his name."

Nick hesitates, his expression shifting slightly. He looks at me like he's bracing for something.

I narrow my eyes. "Nick.. what?"

He winces, rubbing the back of his neck. "His name is.. George."

For a second, we just stare at each other. Then, at the exact same moment, we both burst out laughing.

"George?!" I manage between laughs.

"I know! I know!" Nick groans, covering his face. "I was hoping you wouldn’t ask."

"I'm sorry, but that’s just- " I laugh harder, shaking my head.

Nick grins, finally giving in. "I know I never pictured myself with a George but I swear, the way he is makes up for it though!"

"I'm sure it does.." I say, still giggling. "It's just.. George."

We end our fit of laughter and I don’t bother asking what everyone else’s plans are, especially after overhearing Chris earlier. My guess is he’s going to meet Rachel. Whether Matt tags along to meet Christina too is a different story. I don’t want to know. All I know is that I’m not moving from this room.

Nick doesn’t press the conversation any further, and I appreciate that. Instead, we sit there, laughter lingering in the air between us. I'm glad Nick came into me because suddenly I feel a little bit lighter.

Eventually, he checks his phone and sighs. "I should probably start getting ready."

I nod, still staring at the sunset. "Yeah. Have fun."

Nick hesitates for a second before standing. "You sure you’re good?"

I glance at him, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I’m good." I mean it is a lie, but he doesn’t call me out on it.

He squeezes my shoulder before heading out. I exhale, setting my empty mug down on the table beside me. I know I should eat something, try to distract myself, maybe even attempt to sleep, but I don’t move. I stay curled up in my chair, staring at the fading sky, wondering how everything changed so fast.

When I finally move to my bed, I pull the covers up around me, but even laying here feels weird. The sheets feel awful against me now, tainted with memories that once brought comfort but now only make my stomach churn. My mind spirals, picturing how easily our history could be replicated in his bed, with someone else. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting it all to stop.

I take a deep breath, then another, but it doesn’t help. My mind keeps circling back to the same place, the same questions, the same ache in my chest that refuses to go away. How could he do this? Did any of it mean anything? Was I just another passing moment for him?

I need to make it stop.

I turn onto my side, curling into myself, exhausted from it all. Being honest, my eyes hurt that much from crying, I don’t find it hard to fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning determined to be a new woman. I have a shower to wash away all of yesterday's sorrow, before pulling out the smallest blue bikini I could find. I make my way downstairs and throw myself together a small breakfast, considering I haven't eaten in over 24 hours but not forcing myself too much as my appetite still isn't fully back yet.

I take my breakfast outside to the patio and I settle onto a lounger, my plate resting on my lap. The villa is silent. Everyone must still be asleep, sleeping off their drunken choices, their reckless mistakes.

Good. I need the peace.

I take a slow bite of my food, staring out at the water. The pool glistens under the morning light, the water undisturbed. Today is a new day. A fresh start.

I adjust my sunglasses and stretch out after putting my plate under my lounger, determined to soak in the sun and let it warm the parts of me that feel cold and bitter. If anyone sees me out here, I want them to see that I’m unbothered. That I’m fine.

A few minutes pass in silence before I hear the sliding door creak open behind me. I don't turn to look. I don't react.

I realise it’s Nate and Nick coming out, both looking more awake than I expected.

"Morning" they say in unison, and I greet them with a small smile “Morning early birds.”

I turn to Nick first. "Soooo? How was your night with George?"

Nick rubs the back of his neck, and I can tell he’s holding back his excitement for my sake. "It was good" he says simply.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Nick."

He sighs, then finally lets the grin slip through. "Okay, fine. It was great, actually. We got drinks, had a laugh. He’s funny, really easy to talk to."

I smile at him, genuinely happy. "That’s what I like to hear. You deserve a good time."

Nick gives me a look, like he’s checking if I really mean it. I do. Just because my love life is a disaster doesn’t mean I want everyone else to be miserable with me.

I turn to Nate next. "And what about you? What were you up to?"

Nate stretches his arms over his head, looking far too well rested. "Didn’t move from my bed. Best sleep I’ve had in weeks."

I laugh. "Of course you did. You look like you just got back from a spa retreat while the rest of us look like we barely survived the night."

The three of us settle into conversation, and for a moment, I let myself enjoy the lightness of it. But in the back of my mind, I know this moment won’t last. The rest of the villa is still asleep, for now. And soon enough, I’ll have to face the reality I’ve been trying to avoid.

"Is Chris up?" I ask Nate, trying to sound casual.

Nate shakes his head. "Don’t think he even came back here last night."

I swallow hard, nodding slowly. "Oh right"

There's been no sign of Matt either. That tells me everything I need to know.

Guess that means he went out with Chris and stayed with Christina last night again.

I should’ve expected it, but expecting something doesn’t make it hurt any less.

For the rest of the morning, it stays just me, Nick, and Nate chilling outside. The sun climbs higher, and the villa remains quiet, no sign of Chris or Matt. I sip on my water, listening to the distant waves crashing on the shore, slipping in and out of conversation with Nick and Nate as a distraction.

By midday, that peacefulness is interrupted. I hear the sliding door open, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.

I lift my head slightly, peering through my sunglasses. Chris and Matt step outside together. Just seeing them like this, together, appearing at the same time, only further confirms what I already knew. 

Matt was with Christina last night.

I can feel my heart break over again, but I refuse to let it show.

Without a word, I rest my head back down on the lounger, keeping my sunglasses on, blocking them out. I’m not ready for any type of conversation. Not yet.

Nate and Nick casually greet them, like nothing is out of the ordinary. Chris stretches, rubbing the back of his neck, and asks if anyone’s hungry.

My stomach twists at the thought of food. The second I saw Matt, my appetite vanished again. So I keep my mouth closed.

Nate says he is and disappears inside with them, leaving just me and Nick alone by the pool.

The quiet settles between us for a moment before Nick turns to me. “Are you coming to dinner tonight?” His tone sounds like he wants me to be there, even though he understands If I don’t want to.

I hesitate. The idea of sitting at a table with Matt, pretending everything is fine, feels impossible. I open my mouth to say no, but Nick is already cutting me off.

“You don’t have to talk to him at all” he reassures me. “I’ll be there the whole time.”

I exhale, chewing on my bottom lip. I do feel bad if I don’t go. It’s just dinner, right? I mean, the tension between Matt and I is like old times, nothing I haven’t had to deal with or experience before. The only thing is, the feeling in my chest is a hundred times worse than it ever was before.

“Okay” I finally say. “I’ll come.”

Nick grins, tapping my arm lightly. “We’ll have a good time, I promise.”

I nod, but the weight in my chest doesn’t lift.

By now, it’s nearly 3pm, and the sun has drained me but nowhere near as much as the situation with Matt has. The exhaustion clings to me, both physical and emotional, and I know if I don’t rest now, I’ll be useless later.

“I think I’m gonna go for a nap” I mumble, pushing myself up from the lounger.

Nick gives me a small smile. “Good idea. I’ll wake you if you’re not up in time.”

I nod again, grateful, and make my way inside. The second I hit my bed, the world around me fades.

When I wake up, the air in my room feels heavier, the remnants of my dreams still in my brain. I shake them off and head straight for the shower.

By the time I step out, wrapped in a towel, I feel better. Maybe, tonight won’t be as bad as I think.

I walk out and go to sit at the vanity, but I feel like I need to lift the vibe even more.

A drink and music.

That’s what I need if I have any chance of enjoying myself tonight.

Still in my towel, I make my way downstairs, moving quickly so I don’t run into anyone. I pour myself a vodka lemonade, throwing pieces of ice into the fancy glass.

Running back up to my room, I shut the door, take a sip, and set my speaker on full blast. I turn on It’s ok, i’m ok by Tate McRae, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home. I let the music drown out my thoughts as I start getting ready, determined to feel like myself again, even if it’s just for tonight.

I move through my routine on autopilot, letting the music and the slight buzz from my drink carry me through. I’m not overthinking my outfit, my makeup, or my hair, yet somehow, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I look effortlessly put together. Maybe it’s the lighting, maybe it’s the fact that I’ve just given up on caring, but either way, I feel like this is the best I’ve ever looked.

I pick up my phone and text Nick, asking him to come to my room to take pictures. It barely takes a minute before he’s knocking on my door, slipping inside with an approving grin.

“Damnnnn!” he says, dragging the word out. “You look amazing.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that creeps onto my lips. “You have to say that.”

“I really don’t” he laughs, already pulling his phone out. “We need evidence of this moment.”

We take a few pictures together, Nick hyping me up between shots, making me laugh just enough to keep it natural.

When we’re satisfied with the pictures, I wonder where it is we’re actually going to eat. “So, where are we even going for dinner?”

“Some Italian place Chris booked” Nick says, glancing at his phone. “He said he made the reservation earlier.

I nod, I love italian food, so I’m hoping this whole thing is just easy. I grab my purse, double checking that I have everything, phone, keys to the villa, money. I take a deep breath before heading downstairs with Nick.

The moment we step into the foyer, I see them. Chris, Nate, and Matt are all standing together, talking casually like nothing has changed, like the last few days haven’t flipped my world upside down. Matt looks up first. For the briefest second, our eyes meet, and I swear I see something flash across his face, it’s something, but I can’t make out what. But I don’t let myself dwell on it.

I adjust the strap of my purse on my shoulder, forcing my expression to remain neutral. This is the closest I’ve been to Matt since the nightclub, since everything, but I refuse to let it get to me. Not tonight.

I tilt my chin up slightly, gripping onto my confidence like it’s my lifeline, and step forward like I don’t have a care in the world.

I stay locked in conversation with Nick as we leave the villa to make our way to the restaurant, trying to distract myself from the tension in the air. Chris lingers back slightly, eventually matching my pace as we walk. His presence next to me is quiet at first, almost hesitant, before he finally speaks.

"You okay?" His voice is low, careful, like he already knows the answer but feels the need to ask anyway.

It’s a weird one. I haven't heard from Chris since everything went down. He’s been distant, not in a hostile way, but in a way that tells me he didn’t know how to approach me. And now, here he is, finally asking.

I glance at him briefly, weighing my response before settling on, "I will be."

Chris nods slowly, seeming to accept that answer. “Can we talk later? About everything?”

I exhale softly, not quite ready to dive into whatever everything entails but knowing that it’s overdue. I don’t think there was any malice from him in this situation. And I’m not mad at him at all. I would like to know what his thought process was throughout all this. And maybe, he's actually done me a favour. “Yeah,” I agree. “Later.”

That seems to be enough for now. The group keeps moving, making our way toward the restaurant. When we arrive, the guys step inside ahead of us, but I notice them mumbling amongst themselves, their voices low and almost hurried, like there’s some sort of confusion.

Something about their body language makes me pause, and I follow their line of sight before realizing exactly what has caught their attention.

Rachel and Christina.

They’re seated at a table near the back. Five empty seats are pulled out beside them, waiting.

A sharp, sinking feeling settles in my stomach.

Of course. 

Of course they’re here. It was already bad enough having to see Matt, to sit across from him and pretend I wasn’t still breaking, but now, this?

I don’t even have to look at him to know. I can feel his presence, his hesitation. I wonder if he knew they’d be here. If this was always the plan.

My fingers tighten slightly around the strap of my purse as I will myself to keep my composure.

This night just got a whole lot harder.

Nick squeezes my hand gently, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that I’m not alone in this. “What do you wanna do?” he asks quietly, his voice just for me.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “Sit at the other end” I say, keeping my voice even, refusing to let this shake me any more than it already has.

Without hesitation, Nick follows my lead, guiding me toward the farthest end of the table, away from Rachel and Christina. I slide into my seat, positioning myself as far as I can from them, while Nick sits beside me, his presence like a barrier between me and whatever mess is sitting across the table.

Matt and Chris take their seats. Chris next to Rachel and Matt next to Christina. Whether it was planned or just happened naturally, I don’t know, but it doesn’t make a difference, the damage is done. 

The tension is suffocating. You could cut it with a knife. I never thought at the start of this trip I’d be sitting diagonally across from Matt and another girl.

Nobody speaks at first. There’s an awkward shuffle of menus being picked up, the quiet clinking of silverware as waiters move around us, but no real conversation. 

I keep my gaze down, focused on the menu even though I’m not really reading it. My appetite had started to come back earlier, but now? Completely gone again.

Nick, ever my lifeline in this nightmare, leans in slightly constantly making sure I’m okay. “You good?” he murmurs, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

I nod once, though I’m not sure if I mean it. “Yeah” I lie. “I’m fine.”

But we both know I’m not.

I try to keep my focus on the menu, pretending to be absorbed in the options, but it’s impossible to ignore Christina. She is relentless, shifting in her seat so she’s angled toward Matt, her body language screaming interest. The way she leans forward, the way her fingers reach out casually to graze his forearm as she talks, it’s all so intentional.

“Oh my God, Matt, you look so good tonight” she purrs, tilting her head as she studies him. “Did you do something different? Your hair? A new cologne?”

Matt barely reacts, only offering a tight lipped smile as he glances at her briefly. “Uh, no. Same as always.” he replies, going back to his menu.

But Christina isn’t deterred. She lets out a soft, exaggerated sigh. “God, I can’t believe we’re all in Hawaii together. It feels like such a movie moment, don’t you think?” She flicks her gaze up at him through her lashes. “Like, if this was a movie, we’d be the main characters.”

Matt huffs a small laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Yeah, I don’t know about that, don’t really take myself as the main character type of guy.” His tone is light, but there’s no real engagement. He’s keeping it neutral.

She’s not giving up, though. She leans in again, dropping her voice to something more sultry. “You know, I had so much fun the other night” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear. 

My stomach twists, but I don’t react. I refuse to. Instead, I lift my glass of water to my lips, taking a slow sip as if I’m completely unbothered.

Nick shifts beside me, subtly kicking my foot under the table as if to say don’t react. I know he’s watching me closely, waiting for me to crack, but I won’t.

Chris, who’s been silent this whole time, suddenly clears his throat. “Christina, didn’t you say this was your first time in Hawaii?”

It’s so obviously a distraction tactic, and I can’t tell if he’s doing it to get her off Matt’s back or because he knows I’m sitting here, silently absorbing every word.

Christina finally tears her gaze away from Matt and glances at Chris. “Oh, yeah it is.” she says, waving a hand dismissively. 

Matt doesn’t say anything. He just flips a page of the menu, like none of this is even phasing him. Meanwhile, Rachel is watching me like a hawk, waiting for a reaction.

I meet her eyes for a split second and give her the most nonchalant look I can muster before turning to Nick. “What are you getting?” I ask, my voice steady.

Nick glances at me, eyes scanning my face for any sign of weakness before answering, “Probably the carbonara.”

I nod. “Good choice.”

Nate, ever the sweetheart, seems to pick up on everything, the way I’m keeping my head down, the way Nick keeps a protective presence beside me, the way Matt and Christina’s exchange is unfolding just within earshot. Without missing a beat, he slides into conversation with me and Nick as he’s seated opposite us, as if we’re in our own little bubble, separate from the tension on the other side of the table.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Nate asks, leaning forward with a smile. “I was thinking of heading down to the beach early. Maybe rent a jet ski or something. You two in?”

Nick catches on immediately, grateful for the shift in attention. “Absolutely. I’d love to see you wipe out within the first five minutes.”

Nate pretends to be offended, placing a hand over his chest. “Excuse you, I’m actually a professional. Very experienced!”

I can’t help but smile at their antics, grateful for the distraction. “Professional, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Nate smirks. “Oh, you will. And when I leave you both in my wake, don’t come crying to me.”

Nick scoffs. “Yeah, okay, Nate. Keep dreaming.”

As we laugh, it’s almost easy to forget the rest of the table exists, almost. Because out of the corner of my eye, I see Chris sitting stiffly, glancing between me and the rest of the group, like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He hasn’t even touched his menu. He just sits there, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, like he’s caught in the middle of something he never signed up for.

At one point, he opens his mouth like he wants to say something,to me, but then he hesitates, pressing his lips together instead. His fingers drum restlessly against the table. It’s almost like he wants to acknowledge the elephant in the room, but he can’t.

I keep my focus on Nate and Nick as everyone gives their orders, letting them carry me through the moment, keeping me occupied. And for now, that’s all I need.

The food arrives shortly after, and I focus on my meal, keeping my eyes down, keeping my composure. If I just get through dinner, I’ll be fine.

But Christina doesn’t make it easy.

She just doesn’t stop, her voice carrying just loud enough to ensure I hear every flirtatious remark, every exaggerated giggle. It’s all so obvious, the way she leans toward Matt, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. 

“Oh my God, Matt, you’re so funny” she forces, brushing her fingers against his wrist like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He hasn’t even said anything that funny.

“We should totally do something after this!” Christina continues, tilting her head. “Maybe check out that tiki bar? It would be so fun.”

Matt doesn’t commit. “Maybe.”

Maybe.

That single word twists something in my stomach, because it means he hasn’t outright said no. And I know it shouldn’t matter but that doesn’t stop the sting.

As everyone starts discussing where to go next, I stay quiet, already knowing my answer. The only place I want to be right now is home. I only ever agreed to dinner, nothing more. The idea of trailing behind while Christina continues her performance, while Matt does whatever he’s doing, is unbearable.

I lean toward Nick and quietly tell him, “I’m heading back.”

He nods in understanding, not even questioning it. “That’s fair. I’ll go for one drink, then I’ll be home after. We can debrief, I’ll try to get more info.”

I manage a small smile at that. If there’s anyone I can count on to feed me the details later, it’s Nick.

We both stand, and I feel Chris’s eyes on me, but I don’t meet them. If he wants to talk, he can find me when I’m not on the verge of either snapping or crying.

Nick walks me to the taxi rank just outside the restaurant, following behind me as we weave through the crowd. I should want to stay out, to drown out my thoughts with drinks and distractions, but all I want is to be alone.

“You sure you’re okay going back on your own?” Nick asks as we wait for a taxi to pull up.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. Just over it.”

Nick doesn’t push. “I’ll text you when I’m on my way back.”

A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for me. Before I get in, he squeezes my hand briefly, just a reminder that I’m not alone in all of this.

I nod my thanks, slide into the backseat, and as the car pulls away, I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

I pull up to the villa and thank the taxi man, paying him for the fare. I step out of the car and as I do one pulls up directly behind me.

I freeze for a second, my stomach tightening as I watch Matt step out of the taxi behind me. Of all people, of all times, it has to be him.

I don’t wait for him to say anything. I turn toward the villa, walking quickly up the steps, my heels clicking against the cobblestone pavement. I take my keys out of my bag, unlocking the front door.

I can hear him behind me, his footsteps unhurried, like he’s debating whether to call my name.

“Wait” Matt’s voice finally breaks the silence, and I feel his presence closer than I expected. “Can we talk?”

I let out a slow breath before turning to face him, the front door slightly open behind me. His eyes search mine, like he’s trying to figure out where my head is at.

“Talk about what, Matt?” My voice is steady, but I can feel the exhaustion creeping in.

He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost.. nervous? “About this. About everything.”

“I’m not too sure what there is to talk about” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’ve seen it all. I saw Christina in your bed. I saw how she was with you tonight.”

Matt’s face falls, and he opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but I don’t let him.

“And now, what? You think you can stand here and make some sorry excuse for your actions? Do you even realize how disrespectful that is?” My voice rises slightly, frustration taking over. “You can’t just act like nothing happened, Matt. You don’t get to do that.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Well, it’s a bit too late for that now.” I say, my voice sharp. 

"I’m sorry." he mutters.

I let out a short laugh. "Yeah. So am I.”

Matt stands there looking at me, almost confused.

“I'm sorry I let you play with me for so long. Sorry I let you in, that I actually believed there was something real between us. But it’s clear now, isn’t it? Whatever tension was there, it was only ever sexual for you."

Matt steps forward, opening his mouth to protest, but I cut him off.

"So what now?" I snap, my voice shaking with anger. "What’s your next move? You feel bad for how you’ve treated me, so you’ll do what? Buy me flowers? But never actually give them to me? Did you ever track down Christina’s ex to get her locket back too? Or was that just a special little stunt for me?"

I let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "And don’t you dare try to tell me you haven’t been with anyone else since that night in the house. Christina basically spelled out what happened in Vegas to me at the club.”

Then realisation hits me. “It makes sense to me now, the real reason you customised your jacket that way. You didn’t do it because you felt something for me. You did it so if the topic of her in Vegas came up, you had something to sway me from believing it, so you could keep stringing me along.”

He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Can you please listen to me? I didn’t even know they were coming out here” he says quickly, almost desperately, like that one fact will make any of this better.

I scoff, shaking my head. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes a lot” he insists, stepping forward. “Chris was the one that brought them out here, he has a thing with Rachel and probably just-”

"-wants to smash?" I finish for him, my voice sharp. 

"Yeah, Matt, I know. Just like you said before, that Chris only gave me a job because he wants to smash?" I tilt my head, watching as realization dawns on his face. "Yeah. I heard you when you said that."

Matt shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck. "I never meant that" he mutters. "I swear, I didn’t mean it like that."

"Oh really?" I fold my arms, my patience running dangerously thin. "How exactly did you mean it then, Matt?" My voice is sharp, no bullshit. "Because it sounded a lot like you were trying to discredit any of the work I do."

Matt exhales sharply, looking away. "It wasn’t about that, okay?" His voice is tight, like he’s struggling to find the right words. "Maybe I was jealous, maybe I was pissed off at the whole situation, maybe I just-" He stops himself, his jaw locking.

"Maybe you just what?" I push, my voice rising slightly.

His silence is louder than anything he could say. And then, it hits me.

I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "Oh my god. It was projection, wasn’t it?" I take a step closer, my words like a slap to the face. "You said Chris only gave me a job because he wanted to smash, but really, that was just you speaking for yourself. You only ever kept me around because that’s what you wanted."

I take a breath, my heart pounding. "And congratulations, Matt. You got it."

Matt’s face falls completely.

"And then you got it from her too, only a matter of hours later." My voice is laced with disgust, and I see the tears welling in Matt's eyes, but I don’t stop. "It’s obvious to me now, you never had feelings for me. You never cared."

I take another step closer, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve kept inside. "I know you saw me leave the club that night. I know you saw me walk out. And not once did you check on me. Not once did you care enough to see if I was okay. It was like, out of sight, out of mind. I disappeared, and you moved on like I was nothing."

I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping me. "And then you brought her back here, to the same villa I’m staying in, to rub it in my fucking face? Like this is some sick joke to you?" And then to keep doing it, over and over again, like it wasn’t enough to break me once?" My voice shakes, but not from weakness, from the sheer weight of the betrayal burning inside me. "You didn’t just move on, Matt. You made sure I saw it. You made sure I felt it. Like twisting the knife wasn’t enough, you had to keep pushing it in, again and again."

I shake my head, my breathing uneven. "And for what? To prove a point? To get back at me for something you thought I’ve done? Or was it just fun for you? To watch me fall apart while you played pretend with her?"

Matt’s mouth opens like he wants to say something, to defend himself, but I cut him off before he can even try. "No. Don’t. Because there’s nothing you can say that will make this okay. Nothing you can do that will undo the fact that you chose this. You chose to hurt me. And I’m fucking done." I spit, my chest rising and falling with the force of everything I’ve held back. 

"Because all you’ve ever done is choose to hurt me. Over and over again, like it’s second nature to you." I stop for a second to catch my breath, realising how pointless this all is. "I don’t even understand why you’re standing in front of me right now, when what you want is down at the bar with everyone else. Stop bothering me, and go back down there and get it."

Matt looks at me, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, like he wants to argue. Like he wants to fight his case. But he doesn’t get to, not now. Not after everything.

"In fact" I breathe out a bitter laugh, shaking my head, "don’t ever think of speaking to me again. Because it’s clear now, Matt, we were always better off when we didn’t speak. When we just ignored each other. Maybe that’s what we should’ve stayed."

My heart is hammering in my chest, my entire body shaking from the adrenaline coursing through me. 

I turn around and storm into the villa, slamming the door so hard behind me that the walls seem to shake with the force of it. But he doesn’t follow. He doesn’t even try. Probably heading straight back down to the bar to get exactly what he wants. What he’s always wanted.

My blood is boiling as I march into my room, every step fueled by the sheer rage burning inside me. I feel like a bull, seeing red, ready to destroy everything in my path. But I don’t, because I don’t have time to waste on any of this anymore.

I grab my phone with trembling fingers, my vision blurring from unshed tears as I unlock it.

 I can’t stay here.

I refuse.

I pull up the American Airlines website, my breathing heavy, my chest rising and falling too fast. I don’t even hesitate as I search for the first available flight back home. 

The sooner, the better.

And when I find one, first thing tomorrow morning, I don’t even think twice. I press confirm before I can second guess myself, before the pain can catch up with me.

I’m leaving.

I’m done.

a/n : OOOOF. thats gotta sting.

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[vacate-et-scire]

༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹Baby Whats My Name◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ

There are moments Jason never thought he’d get. The quiet ones, the soft ones. The ones that don’t come with gunpowder in the air or sirens wailing in the distance.

But right now, it’s just the two of you, tangled together on the couch, your head resting against his chest, his fingers idly tracing shapes against your back. The TV hums in the background, some late-night show neither of you are really watching, but neither of you bothers turning it off.

And then, out of nowhere, you say, “So… what do you think of the name ‘Samuel’?”

Jason blinks. His fingers still against your back. “For what?”

“For a kid.”

His whole body tenses for half a second before he forces himself to relax. Not because the thought of kids scares him (okay, maybe a little), but because he wasn’t expecting this conversation at 11:42 PM on a Tuesday.

You shift, propping your chin on his chest so you can look at him properly. “I mean, we’ve talked about having kids before. Might as well get a head start on names, right?”

Jason squints at you. “Are you—?”

“No, I’m not pregnant.” You roll your eyes, amused. “I’d tell you if I was.”

He exhales, a little more relieved than he wants to admit. Not because he doesn’t want kids. But because if that day ever comes, he wants to be prepared. He wants to be ready.

Still, he hums, considering. “Samuel’s not bad. Sam. Sammy.” He shrugs. “Yeah, I could get behind that.”

You smile, clearly pleased with yourself. “Okay, your turn.”

Jason exhales, tilting his head back against the couch. “What about… Elliot?”

You raise a brow. “Elliot Todd?”

He nods. “Sounds solid. Smart. Plus, if the kid hates it, they can go by Eli or Lio or something.”

You tilt your head, considering. “I like it.” Then, after a pause, you add, “I was expecting something way more dramatic from you, though.”

Jason smirks. “Like what?”

You wave a hand. “I don’t know. Something ridiculous. Like Maximus.”

Jason’s grin widens. “Now that would be a badass name.”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “Our child is not going to be named after a gladiator.”

Jason snickers. “Fine, fine. No Maximus.” Then, after a beat, he says, “...What about a girl’s name?”

You perk up. “Okay. What about ‘Ivy’?”

Jason hums. “Pretty. Simple. Also, I know a certain someone in Gotham who might be very smug if we pick that.”

You snort. “True. She would take credit for it.”

Jason taps his fingers against your back, thinking. “What about ‘Rosa’?”

You blink. “Like… rose?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “It’s got an old-school feel to it. Plus, ‘Rosa Todd’ sounds cool.”

You test it out under your breath. “Rosa Todd.” Then, you nod. “I actually really like that.”

Jason grins. “See? I do have taste.”

You roll your eyes but kiss his jaw in silent agreement.

Another moment of silence passes, warm and easy, before you nudge him again. “Okay. What if we just went full Gotham legacy and named our kid something over-the-top?”

Jason smirks. “Like?”

You grin mischievously. “Richard..?”

Jason groans so loudly you can’t help but laugh. “Absolutely the hell not, hat's a horrible idea” he says.

“Is it, though?”

“Yes,” Jason insists. “He would gloat for eternity.”

You shake your head, still laughing. “Alright, fine. No Richard.”

Jason sighs dramatically. “Thank god.”

The two of you settle back into a comfortable quiet, your fingers tracing idle circles against his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. It’s a silly conversation, maybe even premature, but the fact that you’re having it at all—that Jason’s letting himself have it—means something.

Maybe it won’t be tomorrow, or next year, but one day, this won’t just be a conversation. It’ll be real.

And somehow, that thought doesn’t terrify him. Not like it used to.

He glances down at you, lips brushing against your forehead. “Y’know,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out. When the time comes.”

You smile against his skin. “Yeah. We will.”

And for now, that’s enough.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington, who has a very “in name only” relationship with his parents, the people who claim they love him lots but have simply given him cash for his last six birthdays without bothering to send a card. 

Steven Harrington, who lost his connection to the only adults in his life who actually parented him when he had his final fight with Tommy and Carol-- not that they ever really did that much. Having an adult put a bandaid on his knee and complimenting him for being tough was plenty enough. 

Steve Harrington, who drove Dustin and co. to the Byers house that one Christmas and was told by Hopper not to come in; that Joyce was still mad at him about the ‘demodog in the fridge’ and figured his exclusion was fair--it wasn’t like Hopper actually liked him. Joyce certainly had no reason to. It wasn’t like he was doing anything for Christmas anyways. 

Steve Harrington, who is fairly certain Robin’s parents have clocked her as queer but who still treats him in that careful way many parents do when he’s hanging around their daughter. There’s a barrier there, in the way of firm handshakes and “get her back safe”’s that keep things formal. (It’s never bothered him before, and he swears it doesn’t bother him now.) 

Steve Harrington, whose relationships with adults are defined by words like “networking”, “proper connections”, “favors”, and “finances”, who has at best been treated like a miniature version of his father and at worst as a spoilt moron, who encounters Wayne Munson and has no idea what to do with the man. 

Wayne Munson, who asks him actual questions about his life. Who asks him to watch the game with him. Who calls him “boy” and “son” in ways that sound affectionate and not frustrated. Wayne, who shoos him away from the dishes and compliments his cooking, who has invited Steve over when Eddie isn’t even home.

Steve Harrington, who keeps apologizing to Eddie because “I’m not trying to steal your Uncle man, I promise.” and doesn’t believe Eddie when the latter just laughs at him.

(“You can’t steal Wayne, Steve.” Eddie says with a snicker, when he finally figures out what Steve is apologizing for.  The guy apologizes a lot for things that make no sense, it’s a bad habit Eddie’s working on him with. “Though I do believe he has been trying to steal you.” 

“Oh.” This does not relieve Steve. In fact, this seems to make him more nervous looking, which Eddie does not want. 

“I uh. I don’t want to come between you guys so I guess we can just hang at my house…?” The voice he trails off with is downright painful for Eddie to hear, and he’s already slashing his hand in the air in a wild ‘No’ before Steve can even finish speaking.

“Dude you’re fine. I’m glad you guys are getting along! Wayne needs someone to talk sportsball with and clearly so do you because you keep trying to talk about it to anyone who will listen.”

“I guess if you’re alright with it…”) 

Steve Harrington, who allows himself to be adopted by the Munsons much in the way a feral cat lets itself become domesticated, and who starts looking at Wayne like the man hung the moon. 

Wayne Munson, who is referred to by Steve as “Dad” exactly once, and feels so fucking happy about it he misses the panic attack Eddie has to talk Steve through. 

He also misses that that is the moment when Steve accidentally confesses his feelings to Eddie in the Munson’s (new) cramped bathroom, on grounds that “I can’t date you and also call Wayne dad like that, that’s weird! Isn’t that weird!? It feels weird!” 

(“Sweetheart,” Eddie says, trying not to smile and failing entirely. “I get what you’re saying, but I think in your panic you missed something kinda key, there.”) 

Steve Harrington, who gets himself an entire family in the end (and gets to both call Wayne “dad” and Eddie as his boyfriend, without issue, because “we’re not related babe, you can call your inlaw whatever you want.” 

“Now who's skipping steps? When did we get married?”

“The very second it’s legal, that’s when.”) 

--and has never been happier in his life.