#Will I ever stop being tired before school starts? Who knows!

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me)

Short steddie idea I had about what if they’d met somewhere around end of s1-s2 | kinda angsty | R: G | 2580 words | could be canon if the writers weren’t cowards (nowhere does it say this doesn’t happen)

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Steve was tired. It was a Saturday night and there were people at his house. People he didn’t know, some who knew him. Somebody brought beer, it was Saturday night and there were people drinking beer at his house and Steve was tired. Exhausted.

 He thought he would be done with house parties when he had his fall from popularity, when he was no longer King Steve but he had a big house and crowds liked space. He didn’t want them here, only recently recovered from the nightmare fuel that went down at the Byer’s house. He wanted to spend his night alone, in his bed, maybe watching a movie. He didn’t want to spend it cleaning up after high schoolers and playing messenger between a fighting Tommy and Carol who had stopped talking to him three months ago. 

“Steeeeeve!” There was a girl calling his name, tripping over her feet on her way to reach him. He fell back further into the crowd.

Somebody was pulling him onto the designated dance floor. He didn’t want to dance, he didn’t want people calling his name from across the house. Get out, please just get out.

He just wanted these people out of his house but the music was too loud and he couldn’t find it in him to send a gaggle of drunk kids out into the public unsupervised.

So he was going to block it out and let them have their fun until people started passing out on his floor and then he was going to go to bed. This was the last, last, party that would ever be held at his house so he could rub his temples and toughen up for one night. Always were too whiny, Steven. Never could toughen up, don’t bother now. His father’s voice, always his father’s voice.

Steve was trying to keep it together but he was getting a headache and the music was too loud. He distracted himself by picking up crushed solo cups and taking cans from people who were a little too drunk already, dodging Tommy when he tried to clap a hand on his shoulder. The music got louder. He was done, done with Tommy Hagan and his romantic troubles, done being Carol's personal coat rack and gossip boy.

“Steeeve,” he heard Carol shout over the music—was somebody turning it up?—from his left, “Tell Tommy-!”

“Don’t listen to that bitch, Harrington. No good cheater!” Tommy spat, coming up on his right.

Steve was so focused on getting away from the nagging voices that he didn’t notice he was marching into a denim clad shoulder. 

“Hey, man, watch where you’re going-” the guy said, he stopped when he turned around, coming face to face with Steve. If Steve were a girl he’d say the guy was gorgeous—but he wasn’t a girl so the guy wasn’t gorgeous. Steve thought he’d seen him around school, they might’ve been in the same grade.

Steve barely heard him—who was turning up the goddam music—“Watch where you’re going.” He snapped.

The guy scoffed, mumbling a quick asshole under his breath before turning back around. Steve was faced with tangled, curly hair instead of big, brown eyes.

“No, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Steve was trying to be a better person these days, he didn’t much like who he was before Byers beat him around the head. Step one was apologizing.

“Yeah well I didn’t mean to be here tonight. Guess neither of us are happy.”

Okay rude, here Steve was trying to apologize and the guy was complaining about his party—a party he hadn’t even thrown!

“Why don’t you leave if you hate it so much?” Steve questioned, again trying to sound open and nice and like a good host instead of taking the guy by the shoulders and shaking him around, you think I want to be here either?

“My friends need a ride. I came here to deal. I’m actually really enjoying myself but I didn’t want to say that to your face. Take your pick, King Steve.” God, Steve hated that name. Even when he was popular it made his skin crawl.

“I hate it here too.” It was too quiet, he wasn’t sure Brown Eyes heard him. Steve didn’t know why he said it, didn’t know why it came across as more than being done with a shitty party, why it came across as if he meant—

He didn’t know the guy, “They keep turning the music up.” There definitely wasn’t any reason to say that, Brown Eyes didn’t care that he was a baby who couldn’t handle loud music anymore.

The boy stared at him for a second and Steve wondered if this was his way of politely telling him to fuck off, but then he was being dragged through the crowd by a hand on his wrist. Carol tried to latch on to his other arm but he shook her off, he supposed he could shake off Brown Eyes too but he didn’t want to. He didn’t know where Brown Eyes was dragging him to, it could be a quiet corner to kill him for all he knew about the guy. Maybe—maybe Steve would let him, maybe he would show him where the knives were tucked away in the kitchen and tell him which ones were too dull to get the job done. But Brown Eyes didn’t look like the type to kill on first meeting.

“Where are we going?” Steve managed to ask, only after Brown Eyes opened the patio door.

“Outside.” Brown Eyes grinned.

“No shit, you don’t say.” Steve grumbled.

“You said you hated it in there so I brought us out here. It’s not like you can leave your own house party so this is the next best thing.”

 The boy plopped down at the edge of the pool. Steve hadn’t sat so close to it since Barb died, he hadn’t even opened it since Barb died but some asshole found their way out here and tripped into the switch. It screamed when it opened, a horrible sound Steve had been trying to forget since being dragged into the mess that was the Upside Down, and he’d nearly stopped breathing when the guy who opened it almost fell in. 

He sat down, keeping his legs far from the water, unlike Brown Eyes who’d already gotten his shoes off and dunked his feet. Steve had to sit on his hands to stop from grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging them both back inside, away from the pool. He had bite the inside of his lip until he tasted blood to stop from saying something stupid, something like please don’t sit so close to the water don’t get in don’t let it touch you because the last person who sat like this never made it past graduation. 

In his search for a distraction, anything to keep words sure to get him a look from tumbling out, Steve noticed that the guy had a metal lunch box with him when he lifted the lid, bringing out weed. Oh. They were here to smoke. Something Steve hadn’t done since, well a long time.

“It’s not mine.” Steve mumbled in the silence. 

Brown Eyes raised an eyebrow from where he was bent over a lighter.

“The party. It’s not—I didn’t throw it.” Steve felt silly saying that, it was his house after all so he was responsible.

Brown Eyes just hummed, didn’t question it, only asking, “Who did?”

Steve took the joint when Brown Eyes handed it to him—out of habit, he’d say later. He’d say a lot of things later.

“Tommy. Or Carol. They’re the only ones who know where the spare key is and I sure as hell didn’t unlock my door for a dozen people.” Steve sighed, blowing out the smoke.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes took the joint, exhaling his own drag before he spoke—Steve would say, later, that it didn’t make his stomach swirl like the smoke between them— “You know you could get them arrested, right? That’s technically breaking in. Think I even saw some kid break a fancy little vase. Breaking and entering right there.”

Steve winced, his mom loved those vases more than him—not exactly a difficult thing to do but he was sure to be skinned alive if she found out, “Like Hopper would believe I wasn’t just saying that to get rid of the blame. He’s busted my parties one too many times and he’s not exactly up to date on the high school drama that is my fall from grace.”

“Well you have one eye witness if you decide to go to the cops. Though I can’t say how reliable they’ll find me.” Brown Eyes turned to him with a grin. 

They passed the weed back and forth for a while. Steve didn’t like being high much, this felt different, every other time he'd had to keep up the image. Sitting and talking high with Brown Eyes was easier than talking to Carol and Tommy sober. Steve would decide that was the weed talking when he got his brain back. Easy conversation about nothing, probably classes they had together, led to Brown Eyes asking what had caused Steve’s downfall.

If Steve hadn’t stopped breathing that moment he might’ve spilled his guts about the Upside Down. If his heart hadn’t stopped and he didn’t need to get away from the pool immediately, he would’ve just kept talking. The real answer to Brown Eyes’ question was Barb’s death. The real reason he lost his popularity was the night Nancy’s best friend died in his pool and everything had gone to shit.

Brown Eyes noticed his panic, “Woah there, okay that’s enough weed for tonight. You okay, dude? You’re, like, super spooked.”

“I-yeah, I’m fine. Just, there’s more to the story than high school drama. Stuff I’d really rather not relive.” Steve scooted away from the pool a little further and hoped, pleaded with every bone in his body, that Brown Eyes wouldn’t press.

He didn’t, thankfully, just sat back with Steve—out of the water Steve realized, “We’ve all got ghosts in our closets.” He said.

Steve huffed out a laugh, “Isn’t it skeletons?”

“That would mean somebody sees them, Stevie. Ghosts are much more invisible.”

“You have ghosts?” Steve asked, quiet.

“Oh, loads.” Brown Eyes shrugged, “I’m basically a haunted house, man.” That made Steve laugh, “What about you? The ones you can talk about anyway.”

“You mean other than the fact that my house is a ghost town in and of itself? Try parents that are never around to watch you at sports you joined for their attention or friends who only like you when you’re rich.” Steve sighed, “God that’s so fucked up, I should be grateful for the money. Not complaining like an asshole.”

“You know I might’ve agreed with you a few months ago. I don’t think it’s actually the money you’re talking about, though. It’s the life, right?”

Steve felt himself nodding.

“You’re not an asshole for being lonely, Harrington.”

Steve almost remembered he never asked Brown Eyes’ name. Almost remembered to ask it now, but he didn’t, just let them lapse into silence. Steve didn’t look up for a few minutes, but when he did Brown Eyes was looking at him. Steve felt his breath hitch for a second time, not out of a panic like before. When had they gotten so close? Were their pinkies always just barely brushing?

Steve would make a dozen excuses later. Maybe he was just too high, maybe his hand slipped and he accidentally fell forward. He was lonely, Brown Eyes had said it himself. Maybe he was imagining a girl in Brown Eyes’ place. But when Brown Eyes leaned closer, a question in his eyes, Steve didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want to be the one to break this, he wanted to see how far Brown Eyes would go. 

He told himself he only closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see when it happened, only pushed forward that last inch because—maybe he didn’t have an excuse for that but it didn’t matter because Brown Eyes didn’t pull away and he didn’t pull away. He felt the foreign feather light brush against his own lips distantly, an out of body sensation that left him tipping forward when Brown Eyes scrambled back.

“Oh shit.” Brown Eyes muttered, pushing a finger to his lips, “Oh fuck this is-this isn’t—”

“We’re just high, right?” Steve pushed off the concrete, standing probably a little closer to Brown Eyes than necessary. 

Brown Eyes was avoiding Steve’s gaze. He knew Steve was grasping at excuses he didn’t even believe himself. Brown Eyes seemed to deflate, hunching in on himself and Steve would think it looked almost disappointed if he could think anything at all right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, one joint split between us and we’re both high enough to kiss, right King Steve?” Sarcasm dripping through his words but it didn’t feel mean, it felt desperate.

It was then Steve realized he never asked the guy’s name. He needed-he wanted to know now. Before he could ask, though, Brown Eyes was backing away.

“I-I’ve got to go. I… I’ll see you around, Harrington.” 

“Wait-I never—” never got to finish his sentence. Never got to ask Brown Eyes for his name. Because Brown Eyes was through the door and disappearing in the crowd inside before Steve could get a word out and he was alone. 

Steve stayed by the pool for a long time, the longest he’d been out there even before Barb’s death. The air turned cold, leaving him littered with goosebumps, but Steve just stood there. He wanted to scream, wanted to kick and cry and throw a tantrum. That’s not how Harrington’s act, Steven, don’t be such a big baby, Steven. He could practically hear his fathers voice digging its way into his ears. God, he was a dead man if his dad found out about this, he was a dead man and there wasn’t a thing his mom could do—if she would even still stick up for him now. 

He wanted to believe she would, wanted to think she would tell him it was going to be okay but she’d just stand back and start planning for his funeral. Maybe she’d remember the time they sat in the garden years and years ago and Steve told her his favorite flowers were the daisies she would tuck into her hair on summer afternoons, maybe she would remember sliding them into his hair and then picking them out before they went inside as she told him it would be their secret and maybe she would lay them over his coffin.

In his panicked state, he noticed the guy left his shoes behind, black converse coming apart at the seams. There were little drawings scattered around the bottoms, Steve saw, smudged and dirty. He should return them. He doesn’t know who they belong to but he should return them. He couldn’t just leave them outside, at least that’s what he told himself as he trudged through his now empty house, hours later. It was the weekend anyway so he couldn’t even return them, that’s why he found a place for them in his closet. He didn’t know who they belonged to, that’s why he kept them there until summer bled into fall bled into winter. 

———————————————————————— Part 2??

Fun fact: I was listening to acolyte by slaughter beach, dog when I finished writing this

[magpies4nights]

What?! What day is it again?! (Dev log #6.9)

Oh god, it's 2024. What the hell. Where am I.

Anyways, I would have uploaded yesterday (January 1st) but I felt incredibly tired and nauseous from the night before. I couldn't sleep till 1 am because I ate too much (12 grapes is already too much for me). I'm still tired because I haven't been able to sleep properly for 2 days. I don't know if I've been staring at my computer for too long or what.

Onto actually talking about development. It's been a slow one, especially since I came back home. The only thing I would say I completed are the portraits, mostly because so far there are approximately 72 of them. If you're asking who's got the most portraits so far, I would have said guess, but people don't like doing that so I'll tell you. It's Priyah (applause). Xandra is in 3rd place.

(not actual dialog. so far.)

I don't have any new music for this time around. I guess college gives me more inspiration than I thought, which is surprising especially since every time I come back from it I want to move to mars (and risk my life) with how the people are there. Y'all, if you're going to look for universities in Texas... go to New Mexico or literally anywhere else. For your own sanity. Anyways, Happy late new year, and Happy late 3rd Anniversary GASA4am! (I unfortunately don't have anything for this wondrous occasion)

[barley-st-band]

hey does anyone know how we’re supposed to survive it all. asking for a friend

[inmirova]

"it's easier to leave an abusive situation than it is to stop an abuser" :^( but it's not easy :^(

[beloveds-embrace]

Thinking about designationless reader...

Imagine how alone she must've been for all her life. It started since she was young, her parents pushing her to the corner of the home, away from the family, and naturally, her siblings would follow their parents' lead, pointedly ignoring her, and finding any excuse available to be out of her presence. She wouldn't understand them anyway, she can't tell the difference between noises nor could she even recognize scents. It just wouldn't work.

Reader thinks that maybe she could find someone, anyone in school, but kids are like sharks, except instead of smelling blood, they smell the lack of all scents on her. Most kids have a combination of their own and their family members' scents. Reader has nothing, so everyone continues the pattern, but now with more stares and jeers and hushed giggles. Reader knows that bullying is bad, but anything would be better than simply not existing to anyone. That's what the others say, at least, that she's nothing, nobody. Never to her face, though, just in the whispers shared between friends.

She eventually tries to find others like her through the wonders of the internet. There's maybe a handful more scattered in her country, but none are her age, and all have their own families who care about them. Was it just her who wasn't deserving of love, of connection? Reader reaches out to them, and they talk a little, but before long, through no one's fault, it falls through. She was bad at talking anyway, even if she doesn't have to worry about scents or sounds that aren't there, she never knew much about context or connotation. She never had the opportunity to learn about the intricacies in communication. Reader is back alone.

The military eventually scouts her, and it's the first time anyone has ever really looked at her. Sure, they look at her like a valuable tool, but a tool is better than nothing. Reader obviously joins, desperate for crumbs. She climbs the ranks, gets the job done. She is good at her job, so people respect her. She learns how to talk professionally, emails, texts, and so one, but no one talks to her on leave. No one invites her to the pub after a good mission. No one even talks to her in the mess. But people do talk to her when they have to, and that's enough. Maybe she even gets a callsign. Doe. After Jane Doe, the placeholder name for unknown individuals, and insult if anything.

Now there's the 141. They invite her to things. They talk to her. They touch her. Reader exists for them. She isn't just an unknown person stuck in the background and invisible to everyone else, and Reader doesn't know what to do. Her speech is awkward and overly professional, even in personal settings. How is she supposed to be friends with someone, multiple someones? How is she supposed to move? To act? To express? She doesn't know, but she really wants to learn. At least now she has good teachers.

ANON YOU GENIUSSSS okay but this? Perfect. AHHHH I ADORE THIS IDEA!! Esp the jane doe callsign omg yes

You weren’t used to being seen.

Growing up, you learned quickly how to make yourself small- how to exist quietly, without taking up space, without asking for too much. Because the few times you had asked- asked for a hug, asked to be let into the nest, asked why you felt so different- the answers had all been the same.

No.

Not now.

Not you.

It wasn’t that your parents didn’t love you. You were sure they did, in their own way. But love was hard to feel when your mother flinched at your touch like you were something disgusting, when your father sighed like he was tired every time you entered the room as if you were taking up space he was saving for his other children. When your siblings built their nests without you, curling into piles of warmth and safety while you sat outside the door, knees pulled to your chest and hands balled into fists to keep them from knocking, a cold ache burrowing itself in your chest.

You stopped knocking eventually.

You stopped trying.

You used to wonder if you’d done something wrong- if maybe you could fix yourself and everything would go back to normal. But it wasn’t something you could fix. It was just… you.

Scentless.

Designationless.

Invisible.

School had been worse, perhaps the worst. At least your family had pretended not to notice how different you were. The other kids didn’t bother pretending. They stared openly, whispered behind your back, laughed when you walked by. You’d caught bits and pieces of what they said- weird, wrong, broken, as if they hoped by having you hear their words, they’d convince you to leave at last.

You’d started keeping your head down after that, slipping through the halls like a shadow. No one talked to you unless they had to, and even then they either did it with a mocking, jeering tone that echoes in your nightmares or with a meek tone; as if your lack of everything is contagious. No one sat next to you at lunch, either. When partners were assigned, you always ended up working alone per your teachers’ instructions.

It was easier that way.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

By the time you joined the military, you’d gotten good at being alone. You didn’t need friends. Didn’t need packmates. You had work, and work didn’t care if you were quiet or awkward or too stiff to laugh at the right jokes. Work didn’t care if you flinched when people got too close or froze when someone raised their voice. Work demanded to be done, and you had nothing and no one to stop you from that.

But the military also has the same teens who used to bully you so consistently. Rookies all to ready and happy to lord over you. It’s how you get your despised callsign, Doe. Jane Doe. A cruel mockery, comedy wherein you are the joke that has the world laughing.

Still, you wear it. It’s still an acknowledgment and that will always be better than never being seen. You flit from team to team, unit to unit, always an observer from afar, watching everyone around you speak a language you can’t.

But the 141 was different, when you eventually end up working for them.

They cared.

They cared in ways you weren’t ready for.

Soap was relentless, dragging you into conversations even when you barely knew what to say. He filled the silences like it didn’t bother him, kept talking for the both of you, lounging against you unbothered, until you started talking back. Gaz was gentlest, steadier. He never pushed, just lingered close enough to remind you he was there, waiting, whenever you were ready. Quiet, silent acceptance you’d never been given before, and you were yet far too afraid to so easily cling to it.

And the Alphas- Price and Ghost- were worse.

Price had a way of looking at you that made your chest ache, like he saw you, really saw you, and didn’t mind what he found. Scentless, with no designation and all. Ghost was quieter, sharper, but his eyes tracked you everywhere, presence wrapping around you like he was staking a claim you didn’t understand, like he was teying to etch every part of you behind his eyelids.

You didn’t know what to do with it.

They didn’t give you space. They sat next to you at meals, tugged you along when they went out for drinks, called you over during breaks like it was the most natural thing in the world. And it felt natural- until it didn’t, because sometimes you still felt like an outsider.

Like you didn’t belong.

You tried to hide it, but they saw through you. They always did, and they never shied away.

When you started avoiding the mess hall, it was Gaz who caught you, shoving a plate of food into your hands and dragging you to sit with him like it wasn’t a big deal. When you hung back during missions, letting the others fall into their pack dynamics without you, Soap was the one who looped an arm around your shoulders and pulled.

And when you flinched, once, at the sharp sound of someone’s voice echoing down the hall- when you tensed so hard it made your fingers tremble- it was Price who closed the distance, standing in front of you like a wall and letting Ghost linger at your back. Neither of them said a word.

They didn’t have to.

You weren’t used to being protected. You weren’t used to belonging.

But they made it hard not to.

[starkwlkr]

I LOVE YOUR CHARLES FICS ESPECIALLY THE RUBY ONES OMG! This might sound strange, but could you write one where Y/N gets tired of the paparazzi and tries to physically fight a reporter? Kinda like the björk reporter incident in the 90’s. I wanna hear Charles and ruby’s reactions!

that’s my wife! | charles leclerc

charles: you know the only reason i got married was so i could yell that’s my wife whenever i wanted?

also i made it SLIGHTLY different so instead of fighting the paparazzi, mama leclerc throws hands with toxic f1 fanboys 😍

Y/n always hated paparazzi, it was no surprise. She knew from the start of her relationship with Charles that she would be photographed whenever they stepped out. She knew what she was getting herself into when she started dating Charles and she tried to ignore it. It worked for a couple years and then Ruby and Mathéo came along. Being a mother changed Y/n. She was more protective of her children and husband.

When she wasn’t in the paddock, she was back home in Monaco with the kids and Pascale. The wag pages updated on where she was and some fans would try to find her.

During the week that Charles was away, Y/n was out with the kids in sunny Monaco. Ruby needed new school supplies and Y/n needed to buy Mathéo new clothes so she took both of her kids to the store. Charles has told her many times to at least have someone with her when she went out, but Y/n didn’t think it was necessary.

“Maman! Can I have this one?” Ruby pointed to a pink backpack that was on a window display.

“You already have a backpack, my love, we are only buying items we need like journals and books for you and new clothes for Théo, okay? And maybe we’ll get ice cream after. How does that sound?” Y/n asked the little girl, who seemed bummed that she wasn’t getting the pretty pink backpack she saw, but cheered up when her maman mentioned ice cream.

Ruby held onto the stroller as the family of three walked the sidewalk to the nearest store that sold school supplies. That’s when Ruby noticed a man pointing his phone at them. She wondered why and asked her maman.

“Let’s go inside, quickly.” Y/n told Ruby as they finally made it to the store.

“Why is he staring?” Ruby stared back at the man and even stuck out her tongue at him when he wouldn’t stop recording.

“Don’t pay attention, Ruby Jules. Let’s go.” Y/n grabbed Ruby’s hand.

“I don’t like him, maman.” Ruby whispered.

“I don’t either,” Y/n sighed as she started her shopping. But the man, who was still recording, decided to make her day worse.

“Tell Charles that Max is the better driver!” He was clearly trying to get a reaction out of her. “Fuck Ferrari!”

And suddenly, Y/n had so much anger built up in her that it made her snatch the phone from the man’s hands and throw it as far as possible. It practically landed on the other side of the shop.

“What the fuck!”

“Don’t ever disrespect my husband like that. Have the day you deserve, shithead.” Y/n turned the stroller holding a sleeping Mathéo and grabbed Ruby’s hand. “Fuck you.” She pushed past the man as she exited the shop.

As the mom had her back turned, Ruby stuck her tongue out again at the stranger.

“And then maman said a bad word and we left! But the phone flew so far and the man looked like he was going to cry!” Ruby said enthusiastically into the phone. Charles was still gone, but news spread of the incident in the shop. Most people were defending Y/n’s actions since the man was clearly harassing the family.

“Really? So maman almost made a grown man cry, that’s my wife!” Charles laughed. Before talking with Ruby on the phone, he had gotten the full story from his wife.

“That’s my maman!” Ruby yelled.

[covenofagatha]

But you're my stepmom! (Part 1)

A year after your dad's divorce with your mom, he introduces you to his new wife, Agatha. And she just wants to get to know you better.

Word count: 1500+

Warnings: mentions of underage drinking, blood

Taglist: @stayevildarling

A/N: trying to make this more of a slowburn, but we'll see how long that lasts lol. Part 2 should be up by tonight hopefully

“Are you sure your dad won’t mind?” Wanda asks hesitantly, a few steps behind you as you stop in front of the gate. 

You had gotten so bored in fifth period English that you had all but dragged your best friend to your car to skip the rest of the day. And now you were at your dad’s house, sneaking into the pool in his backyard. He lived in a house twenty minutes away from your high school and your mom’s house in hopes that you would come visit him often. You knew your dad wasn’t supposed to be home until late that night, so he would never find out that you had been there. 

Things with your dad hadn’t been great ever since you had been the one to find out he was having an affair two years ago with a woman that he worked with. You told your mom, who promptly filed for divorce, and then your dad got dumped by his side piece because she was tired of not being able to go public soon enough. The irony still makes you laugh. 

Almost a year after the divorce, he had sat you down and said: “Sweetie, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Enter Agatha Harkness, your dad’s new wife. The first thought that went through your mind when you first saw her was, is this woman blind? She was so far out of your dad’s league it wasn’t even funny. Your dad is a relatively short man, more gray than black hair at this point, with a square-shaped face. Meanwhile, Agatha was ethereal. Her piercing blue eyes always gave you the feeling that she knew something you didn’t, and her luscious dark hair was always shiny and cascading over her shoulders perfectly. 

And there was something about her long fingers and veiny hands that made you want to scream. 

You weren’t exactly sure how a woman like this had ended up with your dad, but out of spite for your dad and everything he had put your family through, you made it a point to stay as far away from her as possible. They had been married for about a year now and you can count on one hand the number of interactions you’ve had with her.

“Y/n?” Wanda brings you back to focus. Apparently you’ve just been standing in front of the gate. 

“He’s working late,” is all you say, sliding your key into the lock and swinging the gate open. Your mom may have dragged your dad through the ringer in the divorce, but he had bounced back alright. Or this was all Agatha’s money. 

“What about your stepmom?” 

You shrug. “No clue what she does. But there were no cars in the driveway so we’re probably fine.” You lead her into the backyard, throwing your school bag onto a chair and stripping off clothes. Before Wanda can say anything, you jump into the pool in only your bra and underwear. “Come in!” You shout happily, splashing water at your friend. 

Wanda finally lets go of her reservations and follows suit. The two of you splash around for what feels like forever, just enjoying the sun and each other’s company. You were so thankful for Wanda; she had been with you through everything and was truly the best friend you could’ve asked for. 

“Do you want something to drink?” you ask, after you guys have just been floating for a while. 

“Um, sure. Could I have some water?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” You get out of the pool, not even bothering to dry yourself off even a little, and enter the house through the sliding glass doors that your dad should really start locking. You pad through the hallway to the kitchen before filling a cup with water and grabbing two of the beers from the two packs on the shelf in the fridge. You doubt they’ll even notice. You shut the refrigerator door, whirl around to go back outside, and jump. The beer bottles and the cup of water you’re holding slip out of your grasp and smash onto the floor. 

Agatha Harkness is standing right there, watching you amusedly. “You’re soaking wet, darling.” The innuendo makes your stomach heat up ever so slightly. And then you realize what’s going on.  

“What are you doing here?” you ask, panic running through you. If she tells your dad–

“I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn’t you be at school? Can’t be skipping during your senior year.” Her eyes glide up and down your scantily clad body and you suddenly get the urge to wrap your arms around yourself. 

“I–”

“You’re bleeding, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You finally look down at the ground and see a mess of broken glass and alcohol. And blood, from your right leg. The pieces of the beer bottles must’ve cut you. 

“Oh, shit,” you say distractedly, watching the way the red streams down your leg and collects in a pool, mixing with the beer. 

“Come on, we can take care of this later,” Agatha says, helping you carefully step over the pile on the floor. She chews her lip while you watch her try to decide where to put you. You can’t lay on the white couch because you’re actively dripping with blood, and it’ll be too uncomfortable for both of you to have you stand. So you hop onto the counter top, staring at her expectantly. “That works,” Agatha agrees and grabs some paper towels. 

You stick your right leg out and she gently applies pressure with the paper towel, trying to stop the block. You then realize just how close the older woman is to you. She’s standing in-between your legs, her face only about half a foot away from yours. You can’t stop yourself from looking down at her lips. She glances at you and your eyes immediately dart up, but you don’t think it’s quick enough based on the knowing smirk that’s playing on her lips. You’re still practically naked and goosebumps are lining your skin, both from the cold and from her.

You clear your throat. “You’re not, uh, gonna tell my dad, are you?” You wince as she presses down harder on a cut. 

“What, that you skipped school, broke into our house, went swimming in our pool, and then was underage drinking?” Her grin is wolfish and you inwardly snarl. 

“Technically, I didn’t drink,” you point out. She raises an eyebrow at you. You slump down. “Please don’t tell him.” Your voice is soft, but pleading. She finally takes off the paper towel and assesses the damage to your leg. The cuts don’t look that deep. You doubt you’ll need stitches. 

“Let me get some bandaids and then we’ll talk.” She leaves the room and you quickly bolt outside, where Wanda is still lounging in the pool. 

“There you are!” she exclaims. 

“You gotta go,” you hiss urgently. “Agatha’s here and she already caught me but I don’t want you to get in trouble.” At the mention of your stepmom, Wanda jumps out of the pool, frantically throwing on her clothes. 

“I knew we shouldn’t have cut class!”

“It’s a bit too late for that now, Wanda.” You root around in your bag for your keys and thrust them into her hand. “Take my car and then I’ll call you when I need you to come pick me up.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yes, now go!” You usher her out the gate, sprinting back inside, the sliding glass door closing right as Agatha comes down the stairs. She’s holding a pack of bandaids.

“I’m guessing you also don’t want me to tell your father about your friend?” 

Fuck. “Agatha, please. You can tell him about me but please don’t mention Wanda.” 

She beckons you to follow her back to the counter and she silently smears neosporin over your cuts before bandaging them up. You ignore the way her hands feel on your leg. 

“I won’t tell your father,” she says finally. You breathe a sigh of relief and almost throw your arms around her. “If you clean up the mess you made in the kitchen, and if you let me take you out to dinner tonight.” 

Your brows furrow in confusion. You obviously get the cleaning up part. But the other part..? “Why dinner?”

Agatha smiles and pats your thighs, still close to you. “I want to get to know my step-daughter a little better, darling. And your dad has a dinner thing to go to, so I’m all alone. I won’t tell your dad about your little afternoon escape or dinner. It’ll be our little secret,” she says teasingly, winking at you. Your mouth runs dry. 

“Yeah, dinner sounds good. I need to run to my mom’s house and maybe change my clothes,” you say, also needing to get your car back and take Wanda back to school. You leave that part out though. Her hands, still on your thighs, travel up, closer to your center, and your breath quickens. And then she squeezes and steps back, you missing the warmth of her already. She offers you a hand and helps you get down from the counter. “Pick me up at 6?” you ask.

She smiles and nods. “It’s a date.” 

[bluesidez]

Can I request a Miguel O'Hara x Curvy reader where they both get intoxicated from sex pollen ??

[Sticky-Icky]

lab taster: @waterinthefire 🩻

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Curvy!Reader

summary: He's a lot less irritating when he puts his mouth to better use.

content warning: a PWP but you guys know me (there's a little plot), this is so 18+ that it's crazy so MDNI, sex pollen (or more like Miguel is playing around and doesn't know wtf he's doing), unprotected p in v sex (WRAP IT UP 🫵🏾) manhandling, temperature play if you squint, standing 69, facefucking, creampies, wrong use of webs, biting, breeding, spitting, squirting, cunnilingus, fellatio, fluff if you squint...I think that's it. my god.

word count: 4.3k, halfway proofread

a/n: Listening to Sticky by Ravyn Lenae inspired part of this. Also watching several episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, Hell’s Kitchen, and Law & Order: SVU in the bg kept me sane. And one more rewatch of ATSV.

My duty as a fanfic writer is fulfilled as I give you this mandatory trope. 🫡

When you first started working at Spider HQ, you were amazed by the fact that one man was able to create all of this.

It was astounding, beyond what the gray tones of Nueva York could ever present to you.

Now, you think back to your glittering eyes during the first year working here and laugh.

Working for Miguel O’Hara was like squeezing a watermelon through a straw. He was impossible.

Nothing you did was ever satisfactory for him. Something could always be fixed. Sometimes, you wonder why he still kept you employed here.

Currently, he was turning his nose up at a salve you were working on for spiders whose healing time wasn’t nearly as quick as others.

“Run a new test. This batch is no good.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“The formula could be better, it’s too thick, and why does it smell like that?”

The scent was similar to one you wore often and a lot of the spider-people that swung by the pharmacy seemed to like it.

“Uh, jade tea.”

The pinch in Miguel’s eyebrows deepened as he sniffed the air.

“Switch it to something else.”

You huffed, already tired of this conversation, “Well, what smell do you suggest?”

“Anything but this.”

“How about lavender, then? Perhaps peppermint.”

“And now, you’re being childish,” Miguel put the tin down before placing his hands on his hips. “You know there’s spider-people who can’t smell too much of that.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

He plopped a giant file on your desk, “Deal with that later. I need you to work on something else. For some reason, villains across dimensions are obtaining access to a substance similar to rapture. Every time there’s a mission, the spider-person of that dimension has been left affected. I need something to subside the effects until we can get them back here.”

“Ok, well do you have the substance with you?”

“No. But I’ll get you something soon. For now, I have a year’s worth of research on rapture. It should be of some use.”

You took the rubber band off of the manilla folder, something so old school for this era of tech.

You saw a line of formulas that started to make your head spin.

“Are there a lot of people affected right now?”

“Only a few. They’ve used the leftover solution I made a long time ago. It’s only going to work for so long,”

“Good. I need to sleep on this.”

Miguel’s head knocked back an inch, “Are you refusing work? The state of the heroes of different universes relies on this research. It’s not some science project-“

“I understand completely, Miguel, but I’m off the clock.”

He stopped and checked his watch, the red six o’clock burning back on him.

“I only work the hours you pay me, Spidey,” you reach to pat his arm and regret it when his stern face doesn’t move.

“Not interested in paid overtime?”

You bit your cheek to stop the laugh from coming out.

“That’s nice and all, but I’ve got plans.”

“Like what?”

“Like resting, sleeping, not touching lab work with a you-sized pole. All of these are things you aren’t familiar with. Plus, I have a date.”

A pause went through the room as you started to gather your things.

“Since when do you date?”

You push your chair under your desk harder than you mean to, “Since when do you care?”

“I,” he follows to the elevator, “care about my employees.”

“Sure, Miguel.”

If it weren’t for your tired state, you would think he looks a little sad at your statement.

“See you tomorrow, then?”

The doors start to close as you nod your head, Miguel’s gaze stuck just above your head.

Weird. Just like his frequent stops to your lab.

The feeling doesn’t leave your gut even as you’re smiling in your date’s face.

One minute, you’re laughing at a story about some amateur skateboarders Downtown, and the next, an electric billboard is being covered in tiny nano-spiders across the street.

“So the guy just takes one step on the board and then he’s flying. A straight line across the park.”

“That’s,” the spiders start to crawl into different lines. Then a logo forms, displaying the spider on Miguel’s suit next to an exclamation point. “So hilarious.”

Your date chuckles then follows your gaze, the silence too long, “Is there something wrong?”

The nano-spiders flipped around, the regular billboard showing like normal. You squint.

“No, I thought I saw something. Must have been my imagination.”

���You did say you were a little tired from work. Should we raincheck? We can always catch a movie another time.”

You wanted to say no, you’d been looking forward to tonight.

The billboard flickered to a little picture of Lyla with “SOS” above her head.

“Yeah, I should probably get going. Sorry about this.”

The way he doesn’t sweat you practically ditching him makes your heart pang. You’re already dreading another night exhausted and alone. Your date seemed promising.

You wave at him from your taxi, the route leading back to Spider HQ feeling like torture. You unclasp your purse and check your gizmo.

40 missed messages.

It’s not until you’re walking into the regular lobby that you turn it on.

“What is so important that you waste Margo’s time to interrupt my time?”

Lyla pops in your peripheral, hands up and wary, “I’m only doing what boss asks! Don’t get mad at me.”

“Lyla, why am I back here right now?”

“Well, Miguel has gotten himself in some particular trouble.”

You punch the elevator button, “Get to the point, please.”

“He went into your lab to try and start the solution he talked about earlier. After his first accident, he’s never had any luck with lab work, so uh. He’s kind of made a mess.”

The elevator moves and you look at Lyla, “What kind of mess?”

The doors open and you can smell it before you see it.

It’s poignant, like perfume soaked roses and patchouli. The scent hits you hard enough to make you grip the metal opening as you come out.

“What exactly did he do?” you breathe out.

Your limbs start to shake, nerves drumming from the inside out. A weight feels like it landed on your core, your stomach twitching as you continued to take in whatever had transpired.

“Something about DNA splicing and plants. I can trace his movements back if you’d like, but I’m also currently trying to figure out how to reverse it.”

“Great.”

You swing open the door to a disheveled Miguel. He’s sweating profusely as he tries to clean up your lab desk.

Before you can even begin to yell he’s fussing, “Lyla, I told you not to call her!”

“But you obviously don’t know what you’re doing.”

He bites his lip as he tries not to look at you, fingers trembling as he starts to store materials back into their drawers.

“Thought you had a date.”

“And I thought I told you stay away from my station,” you feel like a baby deer walking over to him.

When you get closer he sucks in his breath like you cut him, stopping in his tracks.

“I don’t think you should be near me,” he grunts. His eyes are dark, lips swollen with the way he’s biting them.

“What are you talking about? I’m trying to help you.”

You round the corner of the desk, the image of you two almost comical. Miguel moves to the edge of the desk, chest moving faster, while you chase after him trying to get a hand on his forehead.

He felt extremely cold compared to the numbness of your palm, despite how flushed he looked. His eyes close as your hand slides from his head to his neck, muscles there tensing.

“Please. Don’t,” he whispers.

“Who else is coming here to save you?” you ask, frustrated. “What did you do anyway?”

He doesn’t answer as he peers at you. Your heart is beating faster and you can’t tell if it’s because of the air or because of the way he looks like he’s about to climb you.

Every move you made felt like sharp pricks in your skin, the tight material of your dress digging into your hips. It felt like the ends of burning flames and you wanted it off. Your breaths were picking up and you couldn’t quite comprehend what was going on other than Miguel being your cooling solution.

“Miguel,” you sounded like you ran a marathon when all you did was step into his space.

“It’s the shocking formula that I screwed up. That’s why everything feels-“

“Like I need you,” you interrupt. “Like I want you on top of me.”

The insides of your thighs were fighting against themselves to stay together, the urge to let your legs fall around him strong.

“That’s just the chemicals talking. W-we can get somewhere safe and separated.”

You grab the back of his neck and pull yourself even closer, his hands gripping the table like a lifeline as he groans.

“So you don’t want me?” you press against him, caging a knee around him right next to his hand. “You don’t think about me?”

You can almost feel his heartbeat matching yours as you pull yourself up.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You don’t wonder how I feel when you come into my lab snooping around? How I feel when you come in here barking orders?”

Your face is in his neck and you feel yourself clench around nothing as you take a deep breath. He smells like coffee and fabric softener, but there’s an underlying wave of musk. Of something so unbelievably him and you want to keep that scent close forever.

“I imagine you’re annoyed. But a job is a job.”

“But you still come in here asking for things you know someone else can do,” your panties are soaked, and from the way his nose flares, you know he knows. “Why?”

His teeth grit as you start to grind on him, the feeling giving you an inch of relief that only makes you want more.

“I, I don’t- It’s because I,” the counter began to crack under his hands. His muscles were pulled taut. “Dios, ayúdame.”

Maybe you were wrong, and your hazy mind only brought thoughts from the subconscious one.

“Fine. I get that you don’t like me but could you at least give me some type of relief?” you were whining in his ears at this point, a complete 180 of how you left him earlier today. With every grind of your hips, you left noises in his skin, desperate.

The desk made a terrible sound as Miguel finally lets go and grabs around your waist. Your breath is slammed out of you as your back hits the wall, Miguel’s hand holding your head to stop it from crashing into the wall too.

Your throat makes a gargled sound as Miguel licks down your jaw, his talons ripping into your dress. His tongue swipes into your mouth, breaths rapid as he finally gets a taste.

“I do like you. More than I should,” his words were passed right into you. “You and your smart mouth.”

“Then stop talking and do something about it.”

A yank in your hair stops your complaints, Miguel kissing down your side. Every press of his lips left a chilly flutter. Your hips are moving frantically, patience wearing thin. Right as you’re about to say something again, he flips you, the layers of your dress falling as he rips into your panties.

The blood rushes to your head as he takes a bite into your thigh, sucking as your legs fall to his shoulders.

You moan his name, hands gripping at his thighs. His kisses led to your lips, swollen and dripping. From your clit to your entrance, he groaned as he covered you, drinking like you were water in the middle of the night.

You felt like you were going to slip, but Miguel’s arms were looped around your legs, not letting go. His suit was in your way, your mouth salivating as his crotch stared back at you. Your fingers could only dig as far as his suit allows and you have half a mind to call Lyla to disengage it.

“Please,” you sigh as you rub his bulge with your cheek. “I need it so bad.”

“Cállate,” he hums, face delving deeper into you. The sound of him licking up every drop echos off the cool walls and the light of his suit dims away letting you see what you’ve been waiting for.

His length hits your chin, precum spilling down and you’ve never been more excited for a man to go commando. You open your mouth and let your breath hit him as you take a swipe down to his balls.

Miguel’s grunts and shifts his hips back. His tip swerves around your face as he tries to find your mouth without unlatching his jaw from your sex. You help out with the last bit of sanity you have, and once you wrap your lips around him, his hips snap hard onto you.

All you can feel is Miguel entering you from top to bottom, his hands keeping you stationed in your position. There’s no room to do anything as he’s devouring you and taking your breath away at the same time. Two of his fingers sink into you, and you jerk from the difference between his skin and his tongue.

Miguel nibbles at the hood of your clit, urging you to be still. Whenever his fingers leave you, his pelvis fills your senses. Your throat gags around him, spit building to keep up with his thrusts.

“So good,” he hums. His pace picks up and the tears in your eyes fall to the floor. “Made for me. Only me.”

Your fingers wrap around his thighs and squeeze tight, your vision fading as you try to take in pockets of air. The shake in your legs and the broken moans that escaped your lips only ignited him.

“Bebé,” his hips stutter. He’s sloppy as he drools over the entrance, voice loud. “Bebé, you’re so, ngh.”

He cums down your throat, balls twitching against your face. You close your eyes and try to swallow everything, jaw aching. Miguel groans your name as he slides his dick out to the tip, a few spurts still landing on your lips. You cough, position making everything go north.

The taste of him was delicious, but you needed more of him elsewhere. Your mouth was as drenched as your cunt and yet you still felt empty.

When Miguel flips you back upright, you’re ready to pounce on him again. The state of you both is alarming. Your breasts have completely fallen out of your dress, that black thing barely holding on by its zipper. Miguel’s suit is phasing in and out in the most obscene places. There’s slick up to his eyebrows and his cum is all over your cheeks.

He grabs your jaw and runs his tongue over your face, cleaning up his mess. You let him live in his own bubble before that burning in your core came back.

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your whispers of “more” come to light. You’re clawing at him like a cat begging him to do something, anything, to make this feeling go away.

“Miguel,” you gasp as he sinks his teeth into your skin. “Miguel, it hurts. Fix it, Miggy, please.”

You guide his hands down your body and place them on your ass. His touch sates you for only a moment, but your body reacts as if he needs to be deep in your bones. He spreads your ass and groans as the sound of how eager you are for him follows.

“You’re not ready,” are the words that make you even more frustrated. Your hands pushing and pulling at him, ready to try and put him where you want him to go.

He clicks his teeth and flexes his wrists. His webs tie your wrists together, neon red strings leaving a buzz on your skin. He yanks your dress off and you stumble with the motions.

The clinical room doesn’t aid the building heat you feel, but Miguel turning you around and pressing you into the wall as he cuts the rest of your panties off does.

He squats and grabs two hands full of you.

He spits onto your hole, mesmerized as he watches it slide to your entrance. “Qué hermosa,” he whispers.

You bend, whimpering as your folds cover his nose, clenching and grinding.

“God,” you sigh. Something this small was going to bring you to the edge so quickly. “D-don’t stop.”

“Greedy,” Miguel says as if he’s not moving the fat of your ass to nudge his face into you. The arch in your back deepens as he continues and your whines get higher.

He smacks your right cheek, sound echoing off the metal tables, and you shout his name as you coat his tongue.

Tranquility clears your mind for a second, one where the flowery scent in the air is less strong.

The peace leaves just as fast as it came when Miguel gets rid of his suit and stands behind you in all of his glory.

His eyes followed from your dewey face to the curve of your hips to bitten thighs to feet with one heel still on.

“He didn’t deserve to see this,” he says.

“W-what?”

Miguel ignores you and pulls your wrists up straight, a confused noise leaving you. He wraps another web around your ankles and huffs. He sets your arms under your chest, your hands in front of you like a prayer.

When he picks you up by your waist, his dick lines up with your ass.

He groans as he grinds, watching himself disappear and reappear.

You try to move with him, “No, not there. Inside.”

“You’re always so distracting,” he growls. He slides his length between your thick thighs and you nearly scream as his hips hit your ass, his tip just barely passing over your clit. “Can never think straight when I see you.”

He rubbed over the bite he left on your shoulder, “So pretty. My pretty baby.”

His low voice right in your ears only made you wetter. He was holding you like you were his toy, fucking the inside of your thighs with ease.

Miguel could cry watching your ass bounce on his stomach. Your legs were soft and warm and he just couldn’t stop.

“Want you so bad. Need to fuck you again and again and again,” he said as your thighs quivered around him.

“Please, Miguel. Make me yours,” your voice crowded the sound of his grunts as he held you up and pounded away.

Those were the magic words to get him to lean back with a firm grip on you and release all over the wall. It was everywhere, from your legs to the wall to the ceiling.

He set you to the floor with shaky arms, and you started to sob.

All of this and you still wanted more. If this was making you feel this insane, you can only imagine the small relief Miguel was feeling after being exposed for longer.

“C’mere,” he pulls you to the bare floor and cuts the webs. You immediately try to climb him, legs wrapping around his waist.

He was painfully hard for someone who came twice now.

Your cries of “inside” slur together, tears running down your face. Miguel was no better, fangs dripping with venom and the hairs on skin raised.

The two of you tussle as Miguel tries to keep your hips to stay stationary. You kept jerking in order to get some sort of friction but he was baring his teeth to get you to quit.

You dip your nails into his shoulders and arms while he drags a talon down your sternum to snap your bra off.

A clatter of your stiletto sounds off across the room as he pinches your thigh, “Easy, beautiful. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

“Fucking hurry,” you whine.

He shushes as he plunges inside of you, the noise you both make as loud as a choir.

Your eyes roll back as Miguel presses, bending your body in half.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Miguel leans to whisper onto your lips.

Tight is the first thing that comes to mind and heat is the next.

He moves his hips up and slams back down, your ass shifting from the pressure.

“Miguel!”

“That’s it. Talk to me.” All of that chatter earlier and now you can barely get out a word.

“H-harder,” your hands don’t know where to go. They’re grabbing Miguel, they’re falling next to your head, they’re grabbing at your breasts as Miguel jerks your body.

Miguel goes to open your jaw, lips pulling on your tongue to suck. It’s tender and sensual compared to the way his balls are slapping against you. There’s a ring of white on his shaft getting thicker and thicker as he continues.

“Pretty thing,” he says as he lets your tongue go, a string of saliva falling to your neck. “Watched you on the cameras. Always.”

That stirs something in you, a spark in your chest as you see stars.

“Did you want to do this to me when you watched me?” you manage out.

“Yes.”

“I can put on a show for you next time.”

“Yes.”

“You can come in here. ‘N fuck me over the counter.”

“Sí, sí, baby,” his hands push your knees next to your head and he ruts against you. His thighs were straining as he took and took.

A yell pulls itself from your core, that burning feeling getting a crash of cold water. The dam bursts and you’re running all over Miguel, essence leaving every time he inches out and back in.

“Gonna fill you up,” he rasps, eyes glazed over.

You nod your head, clenching and pulsing around him.

His eyes don’t leave yours as he shudders against you. You suck him in, gaining a deep moan from him, “Así, bebé. Take it.”

It’s like you can finally think as his cum overflows, your heart rate finally slowing.

He stares at you as you both come back to reality. Your body is limp, the weight of Miguel making itself known.

“Holy shit,” you wiggle and he catches the hint. He lifts a bit and pulls out. The swirl of you two falls out of you in waves. “What. The fuck.”

“God,” Miguel mumbles. “No shocking way we just did that.”

“You can’t say that when the evidence is leaking out of me.”

Miguel groans as he watches you, your face pouty and your hole glistening. It was intoxicating.

His dick twitches, coming to life again the longer he watches.

“‘M sorry in advance,” he says as he pulls you into his lap.

“Just take care of it, O’Hara.”

The two of you sat in the middle of the floor, breathing hard. Pieces of consciousness were starting to come back.

“You looked stunning tonight,” Miguel said. He looked at your shredded dress on the floor. “I’m glad he won’t see you in that dress anymore.”

The snort that leaves your nose turns into a full-blown laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You just took my soul ten times over and you’re worried about a guy I just met less than a week ago. I fear I’m ruined for anyone else.”

“Oh,” he smiles. “Good.”

“You still should take me on a date. You’ve got a lot to explain.”

Flashes of him confessing to his habit of watching you from afar come back, “O-of course.”

“And you owe me a new dress.”

“On it.”

Lyla pops up next to you both, a blindfold over her shades, “Is it safe to talk to you guys now?”

Miguel checks his gizmo, “I think we’re good for about forty minutes. The effects are starting to wear off.”

“Excellent!” She throws the fabric to the side, “Oh my god, this room is a mess.”

You look at the array of substances over the room and grimace. The entire hall will have to be on lockdown.

“Well, I managed to vent out the solution. You two should be ok soon.”

You lean on Miguel’s chest and close your eyes, happy to hear good news.

“Kind of sad that this is what it took for you to confess, Miguel,” she comments.

“Lyla!”

You laugh again, “Some confession.”

“That’s enough,” Miguel scowls.

Your giggles die down as you pull yourself onto Miguel’s thigh, bubbles in your chest molding into moans as you start to grind over his thigh.

“I’m starting to think you guys are just bluffing,” Lyla gags before she disappears. “Let me know when you’re done.”

“I think,” you nuzzle into his neck, “this’ll be the last time. I’m tired.”

“If not, we can take it to my house.”

The world blurs again as you and Miguel connect under the white lights.

Take a shot every time I say breath or breathe 😭. Anywho, as always, if you enjoyed, please like, reblog, and COMMENT!

[sweetlyvibe]

» 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦, 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗜𝗦, 𝗪𝗛𝗔𝗧 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗕𝗘 «

PAIRING : Atsumu Miya / Suna Rintarou x Fem!Reader

GENRE : hurt / comfort

WORD COUNT : 4.8k

SUMMARY : Unspoken feelings break the bond between you and Atsumu. As you try to heal, Rintarou steps into your life in ways you never expected. But with lingering regrets and new emotions, what happens when the past tries to catch up?

CONTENT / WARNINGS : Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, unrequited feelings, heartbreak, romantic tension, use of [Y/N], mentions of past relationships, slow burn, and light references to jealousy.

You and Atsumu Miya had been inseparable for years. From the very first day you met, something clicked between you two. You knew each other’s quirks, your favorite foods, the stupid inside jokes that no one else would ever understand. Everyone around you always teased you both, constantly dropping hints that it was obvious to anyone that you liked each other. But you two? You pretended to ignore it.

Atsumu never said anything, and neither did you. There were moments, small gestures, like the way his eyes softened when you laughed, or the way you could tell he was thinking of you just from a quick glance. But every time the tension became too palpable, one of you would retreat. It was always safer to stay in the realm of friendship. But everyone could see it. And deep down, you could feel it too.

Then, everything changed. It wasn’t sudden—more like a gradual shift that you couldn’t quite pinpoint. It started when Atsumu began pulling away from you, and at first, you chalked it up to him just being busy with volleyball. But days turned into weeks, and the distance between you two grew too noticeable to ignore. He was still the same Atsumu—playful, loud, and always there for the people he cared about. But he wasn’t there for you. Not like before.

You’d come to expect him to show up at your favorite café, or to make his usual sarcastic remarks when you were hanging out with friends, but he stopped. You’d leave him text messages, but the replies were shorter, less frequent. He’d cancel plans, and when you saw him at school or during volleyball practice, there was a clear gap between you two—an invisible wall that you could never quite break.

It hurt.

You couldn’t understand why he was distancing himself. Every time you saw him, you fought the urge to confront him, to demand answers. But you knew him too well. Atsumu wasn’t the type to share his feelings easily, especially when it came to something like this.

It was a quiet afternoon when it all hit you. You had been sitting in the back corner of the café, sketching aimlessly in your notebook, trying not to notice how the seat across from you was empty.

Then Atsumu walked in. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat. His usual grin was nowhere to be seen. He didn’t even glance in your direction as he walked past you and sat with someone else—another teammate, someone you didn’t even know.

Your stomach twisted into knots, but you kept your cool. You told yourself it was nothing. But the longer he stayed, the more you felt the weight of the situation. He was avoiding you.

You were left with only your thoughts. Had you done something wrong? Did he find someone else? Was it possible that Atsumu had grown tired of your friendship?

—

A few days later, you found yourself standing in front of his house, your heart pounding against your chest. You hadn’t seen him in days, and you couldn’t take the silence any longer. You had to know why.

You knocked on the door, and when Atsumu answered, you were met with his usual teasing smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. What’s up?”

His voice was too casual, too distant. Something in his expression made you feel like a stranger, like he was seeing you through a veil.

“I need to talk to you,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He blinked at you, clearly caught off guard by the question, but the smile stayed. “Avoiding you? C’mon, you’re overthinking it.”

But you weren’t. You could feel it. The distance, the silence, the coldness. It wasn’t like before.

“Atsumu, stop.” You stepped forward, your voice trembling. “You’ve been pulling away for weeks now, and I need to know why. What happened?”

For a moment, it seemed like he might actually say something. You saw the conflict flash in his eyes, but just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. He took a deep breath and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing, alright?” His tone was defensive, but there was something in his voice that made you pause. “I just need some space, okay? You… you won’t understand.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach. You had no idea what was happening, but the feeling of rejection stung deeper than you’d ever imagined. You could tell this wasn’t a simple issue. But instead of pressing him further, you took a step back, feeling like the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat.

“I’ll give you your space then,” you whispered. “But I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me what’s going on.”

Atsumu didn’t respond. He just watched you walk away, the door clicking shut behind you.

Days turned into weeks, and you fought every urge to reach out to him again. You tried, really tried, to keep yourself busy. You spent more time with friends, buried yourself in schoolwork, but everything reminded you of him. The silence between you two was unbearable.

—

It had been weeks since you last saw Atsumu properly—really saw him, like how it used to be. You were tired of the confusion, tired of overthinking, and most of all, tired of missing someone who was right there but felt a thousand miles away.

So when you caught him alone after practice one evening, you didn’t hesitate. He was leaning against the wall of the gym, scrolling on his phone, and when he noticed you approaching, his expression froze.

“We need to talk,” you said, your voice firm but not angry. You weren’t sure what you were feeling anymore—too many emotions swirling in your chest.

Atsumu sighed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Alright. Let’s talk.”

You searched his face, looking for the boy you used to know, the one who made you laugh so hard your stomach hurt. But all you saw now was a mask of discomfort, like he was bracing himself for a storm.

“Why?” you asked simply. “Why have you been avoiding me? What did I do wrong?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking away from you. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then why?” Your voice cracked, but you pressed on. “Why did you push me away? Why did you leave me out of your life like this?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. For a moment, it seemed like he wasn’t going to answer. Then he took a deep breath. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You felt the air leave your lungs, your heart dropping into your stomach. “You… what?”

“I’m dating someone,” he said again, his tone quieter this time. “That’s why I’ve been distant.”

You stared at him, trying to process the words. It wasn’t just that he had moved on—it was that he had chosen to leave you behind without a word, as if you were disposable.

“So that’s it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re leaving me—your best friend—for someone you’ve known for what, a few weeks?”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, but you could hear the guilt in his voice. “She’s… She’s uncomfortable with me having a girl best friend, okay? I didn’t have a choice.”

Your heart cracked further at the excuse, the way he tried to justify abandoning you. “You didn’t have a choice?” you repeated, bitterness creeping into your tone. “So instead of talking to me, you just decided to disappear? To act like I don’t matter anymore?”

“It wasn’t like that,” he insisted, though his voice wavered. “I just— I thought it’d be easier for both of us.”

“For both of us? Or just for you?”

Atsumu looked at you then, really looked at you, and for the first time, you saw the truth in his eyes. It wasn’t about the girl he was dating. It was about something deeper, something he wasn’t saying.

But you were too tired to push any further.

“Fine,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “If that’s what you want. If you really think it’s easier to just… cut me out of your life, then fine. I’ll do the same.”

“(Y/N)—”

“No, Atsumu,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “You don’t get to leave and then act like you’re the one hurting. You made your choice. I hope it’s worth it.”

His face fell, but he didn’t stop you as you turned and walked away. You didn’t look back, even as your vision blurred with tears.

And Atsumu, standing alone outside the gym, let you go. Because even though every part of him wanted to stop you, he convinced himself that this was for the best.

Rintarou Suna wasn’t usually one to get involved in other people’s business. He observed things from a distance, took mental notes, and let the world unfold without interfering too much. But watching you these past few weeks made something in him stir.

You were a shadow of yourself—walking through the halls like you carried the weight of the world on your shoulders. The bright, cheerful person who used to light up every room was gone, replaced by someone quieter, someone hurting.

It was impossible not to notice.

And as much as he tried to convince himself it wasn’t his place to step in, he couldn’t ignore the pang in his chest every time he saw you. He knew what had happened with Atsumu. It was impossible not to know. Atsumu might’ve been his closest friend, but even he couldn’t understand why the setter had let you go like that.

So, one evening, Suna found himself staring at your name in his messages. He didn’t overthink it—just sent a simple text.

True to his word, Rintarou showed up at six the next evening. You weren’t sure what to expect—it wasn’t like the two of you had ever hung out one-on-one before. You were always part of a group, usually with the Miya twins.

He took you to a casual ramen shop, the kind of place you wouldn’t have picked yourself but immediately loved. It was quiet, tucked away from the busier streets, and the food was amazing.

You were nervous at first, unsure of how to act around him. But Rintarou had a way of making things feel easy. He wasn’t overly chatty, but he had this calm, steady presence that put you at ease.

After eating, the two of you wandered to a nearby park. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink.

“I didn’t know you liked ramen so much,” you said as you both sat on a bench overlooking a small pond.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Rintarou replied, smirking slightly.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m ridiculously good at claw machines.”

You laughed, the sound surprising even yourself. It was the first time you’d genuinely laughed in weeks, and Rintarou noticed.

“See? Told you I was good for something,” he said, leaning back against the bench.

The conversation flowed easily after that. You talked about everything and nothing—your favorite shows, the places you wanted to travel, the things that made you happy. For the first time in weeks, you felt like yourself again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you glanced at Rintarou and realized how much you appreciated his company. He wasn’t trying to fix you or force you to talk about what happened with Atsumu. He was just… there. And that was enough.

—

A month passed, and your hangouts with Rintarou became more frequent. What started as casual conversations turned into late-night texts, impromptu coffee runs, and long walks through the park. You hadn’t felt this close to someone in a long time, and it scared you a little.

One evening, you were sitting on the swings at the same park, the stars shining brightly overhead. Rintarou had been quieter than usual, and you could tell something was on his mind.

“What’s up?” you asked, nudging him with your foot.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I like you,” he said, the words blunt but sincere.

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “And I know you’re still trying to move on from… everything. I’m not trying to rush you or make things harder for you. I just wanted you to know.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. You didn’t know what to say, and he seemed to notice your hesitation.

“I’ll wait,” he added quickly. “As long as it takes. I just… I think you deserve to be with someone who actually sees you. Someone who doesn’t walk away when things get hard.”

His words hit you harder than you expected. You thought about all the times he’d been there for you over the past month, the way he made you feel seen and understood.

You didn’t know if you were ready for something new, but one thing was clear: Rintarou wasn’t like anyone else.

“Rin,” you started, your voice soft. “I don’t know if I can—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “And that’s okay. I’m not asking you for anything right now. Just… think about it, alright?”

You nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt a spark of hope.

The relationship with the girl Atsumu had chosen over you didn’t last long. At first, it felt like a distraction—a way to silence the feelings he was too scared to confront. But the more time he spent with her, the clearer it became: she wasn’t you.

Every laugh, every conversation, every small moment felt hollow. He’d catch himself comparing her to you—the way she didn’t understand his jokes the way you did, or how her presence didn’t bring him the same comfort.

By the time the relationship ended, Atsumu was left with an emptiness he couldn’t ignore. He had thought pushing you away would make things easier, but all it had done was make him realize how much he needed you.

And now, as he sat alone in his room, scrolling through old photos on his phone, the ache in his chest felt unbearable. One picture caught his attention—it was from last year, the two of you grinning at the camera with Osamu and Rintarou behind you, all mid-laugh.

He stared at the image for a long time before closing his eyes, his fists clenching. He couldn’t keep running from his feelings. He needed to tell you.

It had taken Atsumu days to work up the courage to confess. He had rehearsed what he would say over and over in his head, imagining every possible scenario. Would you forgive him? Would you hate him? Did you still care at all?

But before he could act, something stopped him in his tracks.

It was a Friday night, and he was scrolling aimlessly through Instagram when he saw it: your story.

The first slide was a picture of food—burgers and fries from one of the places Atsumu knew you loved. He almost swiped past it, but the next slide made his heart drop.

It was you, sitting across from someone at a dimly lit table. The photo was candid, your smile so wide and genuine it almost hurt to look at.

Then came the next slide: Rintarou, leaning back in his chair with a small smirk, his eyes focused on you like there was no one else in the world.

Atsumu’s chest tightened, his breathing shallow.

No.

His thumb hovered over the screen, his mind racing. He stared at the story until it looped back to the beginning, unable to process what he was seeing.

It couldn’t be.

But it was.

He put his phone down, his hands trembling. All the confidence he’d built up, all the plans he’d made to confess—it shattered in an instant.

Because it was too late.

He spent the rest of the night lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. His thoughts were a whirlwind, alternating between disbelief, regret, and a sharp, unrelenting pain.

Rintarou. Of all people, it had to be Rintarou.

They had been friends for years, practically brothers. Atsumu couldn’t even be angry at him—he knew Rintarou wasn’t the type to swoop in unless he was serious.

But knowing that didn’t make it any easier.

The memories flooded back: the way you used to laugh at his dumb jokes, the way you’d tease him when he got too full of himself, the way you always seemed to know when he needed someone to lean on.

He had taken it all for granted.

And now, someone else had stepped in to fill the void he had left.

The next time Atsumu saw Rintarou at practice, he couldn’t meet his eyes. The usual banter between them was gone, replaced by an awkward tension that neither of them addressed.

He wanted to say something, to confront him, to ask if it was true—but what right did he have? He had been the one to push you away. He had been the one to hurt you.

Later, when Osamu asked him what was wrong, Atsumu just shook his head. “Nothin’,” he mumbled, forcing a smile.

But Osamu wasn’t fooled.

“Yer terrible at hidin’ things, y’know,” Osamu said, crossing his arms. “This about her?”

Atsumu froze, his eyes widening. “What?”

Osamu sighed. “(Y/N). I ain’t stupid, Tsumu. I know how ya feel about her. And I know ya messed up.”

Atsumu looked away, shame creeping up his neck. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered. “She’s with Rin now.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “And yer just gonna give up?”

“What else can I do?” Atsumu snapped, his voice cracking. “I already lost her.”

Osamu didn’t say anything for a long moment, just staring at his twin. Then he clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm.

“Then don’t screw up yer next chance.”

Atsumu didn’t respond, but Osamu’s words lingered long after he walked away.

Atsumu hadn’t planned to do this. He wasn’t sure why he thought talking to you would help, but the knot in his chest had grown unbearable. It wasn’t fair—not to you, not to Rintarou, and certainly not to himself. He needed to say something, to let it out, even if it meant facing the harsh reality that you were no longer his to have.

The opportunity came one quiet evening after practice. He saw you sitting on the bleachers, scrolling through your phone while waiting for Rintarou to finish up. You looked peaceful, content even, and it made his chest tighten.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice hesitant.

You looked up, surprised. “Atsumu? What’s up?”

He hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside you, leaving a noticeable gap between you. The silence stretched as he searched for the right words.

“Can we… talk?” he finally asked, his tone softer than you were used to.

You frowned slightly, concerned by his unusually serious demeanor. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

Atsumu exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve been thinkin’ a lot lately… about us.”

Your eyes widened slightly, but you stayed quiet, giving him space to continue.

“I know I screwed up,” he admitted, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Pushin’ ya away, makin’ ya think I didn’t care… That was on me. I thought it’d be easier, y’know? If I just… buried how I felt.”

Your heart sank as his words sank in. “Atsumu…”

He finally looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But it wasn’t easier. It just made everythin’ worse. And now… now I’m here, watchin’ ya with Rin, and I can’t stop thinkin’ about how it could’ve been me.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because I need ya to know,” he said, his voice trembling. “I need ya to know that I loved ya—still do. But I know it’s too late. I can see it in how ya look at him. And I don’t wanna mess that up for ya.”

The weight of his confession hung heavily between you, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

“Atsumu,” you began carefully, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I’m not going to lie. When you pushed me away, it hurt. I didn’t understand why, and I hated that you wouldn’t tell me. I spent so long trying to figure out what I did wrong.”

He flinched at your words, guilt washing over him.

“But now I get it,” you continued, your tone softening. “And I appreciate you telling me this. I really do. But… things are different now.”

Atsumu nodded slowly, his throat tightening. “Ya really care about him, don’t ya?”

You smiled faintly, a warmth spreading across your face at the thought of Rintarou. “I do. He’s been there for me in ways I didn’t expect. And I don’t want to hurt him, Atsumu. He deserves better than that.”

He swallowed hard, forcing a small, bittersweet smile. “Yeah… he does.”

The two of you sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken feelings finally settling. It wasn’t the ending either of you had envisioned, but it was the one you both needed.

“I guess this is it, huh?” Atsumu said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You turned to him, your eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and gratitude. “It doesn’t have to be. You’re still important to me, Atsumu. Maybe not in the way you want, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

He gave a small nod, though the ache in his chest didn’t lessen. “I’ll always care about ya too.”

As you stood to leave, Rintarou approached, his gaze flickering between you and Atsumu. He didn’t say anything, but his presence alone made Atsumu realize it was time to step back.

“Take care of her,” Atsumu said quietly, meeting Rintarou’s eyes.

Rintarou nodded, understanding the weight behind the words. “I will.”

That night, Atsumu walked home alone, the cool breeze biting against his skin. For the first time in months, the knot in his chest felt looser, the weight on his shoulders lighter.

He knew the pain wouldn’t go away overnight, but he also knew that holding onto something that was no longer his would only hurt him more.

You were happy, and that was all that mattered.

As he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a single tear slipped down his cheek. He let it fall, letting himself feel the loss one last time before closing his eyes.

Tomorrow would be a new day, and Atsumu Miya would find a way to move forward.

Rintarou had never been one to act impulsively, but watching you over the past few months had tested his patience. He had seen you laugh, cry, and slowly stitch yourself back together after Atsumu broke your heart. He’d been there for the late-night texts, the casual hangouts that became something more, and the quiet moments when you thought no one noticed how much you were still hurting.

He noticed everything.

From the beginning, his feelings had been something he shoved to the side. You were Atsumu’s best friend, practically untouchable in his eyes. But now? Now, you weren’t just someone he admired from a distance. You were the person he wanted to see happy, even if it meant waiting until you were ready.

Rintarou was deliberate about everything. If he was going to confess, it had to be perfect—not flashy or overwhelming, but something that felt like you. Something thoughtful.

He remembered a conversation you’d had weeks ago about how you missed doing creative things, like drawing and painting. The way your face lit up when you talked about it stuck with him. That’s when he got the idea.

He spent the next week preparing: buying canvases, paint, brushes, and even scouting the perfect spot in the park where you’d have privacy. The confession itself was the tricky part. How could he say everything he felt in a way that wouldn’t scare you off?

That’s when he decided to let the moment speak for itself.

—

The day of the confession was perfect. The late afternoon sunlight bathed the park in warm hues, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves. Rintarou arrived early, setting up the picnic blanket under a tree with the canvases and paints neatly arranged to one side.

When you arrived, he felt his heart skip a beat. You looked happy, carefree even, and it made his nerves settle just a little.

“This is so sweet, Rin,” you said, sitting down beside him. “I didn’t know you liked picnics.”

“I don’t,” he teased, smirking. “But you do, so here we are.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “You’re not as lazy as you pretend to be, huh?”

He shrugged, pulling out the canvases. “I thought we could try somethin’ different. You said you missed drawing, so…”

Your eyes widened, a soft smile spreading across your face. “You remembered?”

“‘Course I did,” he said, avoiding your gaze as his ears turned pink.

The two of you spent the next hour painting and chatting, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You decided to draw each other, and while you tried your best to capture Rintarou’s sharp features, he seemed oddly focused on his own canvas.

“Are you even trying?” you teased, leaning over to peek at his work.

He quickly pulled the canvas away, his smirk widening. “Patience, (Y/N). You’ll see when it’s done.”

You rolled your eyes but went back to your own work, tongue poking out in concentration as you added the finishing touches. When you were finally done, you turned your canvas to him.

“Okay, don’t laugh,” you warned.

Rintarou’s eyes softened as he took in your painting. It wasn’t perfect, but it was undeniably him—the way you saw him, not just as a friend but as someone important.

“It’s great,” he said sincerely, his voice quieter than usual.

You blushed under his gaze. “Thanks. Now let me see yours.”

He hesitated for a moment, then handed you his canvas without a word.

Your breath caught as you looked at his painting—or rather, what wasn’t a painting at all. Instead of a portrait, Rintarou had written words in bold, neat letters across the blank canvas:

Will you be my girlfriend?

You stared at the canvas, your heart pounding in your chest. Slowly, you looked up to meet his gaze.

“Rin…”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I know this might be bad timing, and I know you’re still—well, I just… I like ya, (Y/N). I’ve liked ya for a long time. And I get it if you’re not ready, but I just wanted ya to know how I feel.”

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten. You thought back to all the little moments with Rintarou—the way he had been there for you when you felt at your lowest, the quiet understanding he offered without expecting anything in return, the subtle warmth that had started to grow between you.

Tears pricked your eyes as you smiled. “You’re not bad at this romantic stuff, huh?”

He let out a breathy laugh, relief washing over him. “So… is that a yes?”

You nodded, setting the canvas down and leaning forward to wrap your arms around him. “It’s a yes.”

Rintarou froze for a moment before hugging you back, his usual smirk replaced with a genuine, almost shy smile.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice soft. “‘Cause I wasn’t gonna give up that easy.”

—

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, the two of you stayed close, the world around you fading into the background.

Rintarou couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, waiting had been worth it after all.

The next time Atsumu saw you, it was at school. You were sitting with Rintarou, your heads bent close together as you shared a laugh. He watched from a distance, his chest tight with emotions he couldn’t quite name.

It hurt, but it also gave him clarity. You were happy, and Rintarou was the reason why.

For once, Atsumu didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to make a joke to ease the tension or fight for your attention. He turned and walked away, knowing that this was the choice he had to make—not for you, but for himself.

He’d hold onto the memories of you, of what you’d been to him, but it was time to let go.

And maybe, just maybe, that was the first step toward his own new beginning.

[orionremastered]

I’m actually so obsessed with the way you write the boys like🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

why thank you anon this made me smile

and because im nice (school hasn't started yet)

Masterlist

911 Texting the Batboys

Dick Grayson

Exactly one minute after you send him the text, the living room window shatters into a million pieces across the floor. Nightwing calls your name, voice raw with concern, before surveying the state of your apartment.

"Oh," you say quietly by the kitchen, staring at the broken pieces of glass across the floor and then at your boyfriend who stares at you, chest heaving as he looks at you, confused.

"You're not hurt?"

"Well— I— the pan caught fire. I put it out though. I'm not burnt, I promise."

He looks at you doubtfully, storming over before pulling you into a tight embrace. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"Don't be. It's okay. Don't be scared to text me if you're in any trouble. Promise you'll let me know if you're in danger?"

"I promise."

"Good," he mutters, though more as a reassurance for himself, resting his head on yours and breathing deeply.

"You can let me go now," you point out gently.

"Two more minutes."

Jason Todd

When your boyfriend takes longer to show up than expected, you start to get confused. And cold— it's the middle of winter and your hoodie was stolen while you were out with your friends.

And that wouldn't be a problem if you're car wasn't starting either.

The familiar roar of a motorcycle engine catches your attention, dark shape speeding down the street towards you. It skids to a stop, the tires screeching in order to slow.

"Hey," you say with a wave and a smile. "Car broke down and—"

Red Hood rushes off his motorbike, carefully grabbing you to look you over in the empty street. When he finds nothing, he sighs. "Thought you'd been kidnapped. Couldn't find you at your apartment."

Without waiting for your reply, he shrugs his brown leather jacket off his shoulders and places it around yours, helping you put your arms into the sleeves despite you protesting that you can do it yourself.

"Let's get you home," he says gruffly, aching to hold you in his embrace when no one can see. "I'll call in a favour to get your car fixed."

Tim Drake

You don't think you'd ever been more embarrassed in your life when you realised you forgot your phone, which has your card in the case, at home.

Tim rushes into the store, having tracked your location immediately and driving well over the speed limit, still in his pristine CEO outfit.

"What's wrong? Is someone bothering you?" his eyes dart around the store, taking everyone's face and putting it to memory.

"No... I forgot my phone and card. And I have a full cart of groceries. Tim, I can't put this all back, that's weird."

"Why didn't you ask me to pay before?"

"I— hmm. I'll do that next time."

You lead him to the counter were the high school aged cashier gapes at the richest man in Gotham who pays for the food without even glancing at the price.

Damian Wayne

When you texted 911 to your boyfriend, you certainly weren't expecting this. Somehow, in the five minutes of the text being sent, he managed to gather ten League of Assassins members that now stand in your suddenly very cramped apartment, sharp katanas at their side.

"Are you alright?" Damian himself has two katanas, glinting in the terrible lights. "What's wrong?"

It seems so stupid now with ten assassins behind him. Maybe you shouldn't have texted after all. "Look, it's really—"

"I don't care how little it is," he states, "You texted me for a reason."

"I... I thought I could hear someone talking and moving in the walls."

All eleven of them tense, exchanging glances. Damian gives them one sharp nod and the assassins begin locating any hollow spaces in the walls, tapping their knuckles and listening closely to the sounds.

"وجدت ذلك," one says after a few seconds.

"Don't worry about it habibi, we'll tear the building apart and find them," Damian assures you, pulling you into his arms.

[often-daydreaming]

Wishes

"I just wish I could help him."

Tim sighed, tired eyes staring at the rows of monitors searching for any kind of change as he recalls the last thing he can remember Bart saying to him before everything went to hell when a barrier appeared around Central City cutting it off from the rest of the world. It had taken three days before anyone even realized what had happened and that was only after Barry returned from a mission in space and ran face first into the glowing green monstrosity trapping his friends inside some sort of otherworldly magical nonsense.

And it was kind of depressing that, that was all they knew after two months.

It was pure magic, old, ancient magic that had his friends living out the kind of picture perfect high school drama you'd find on tv and they only figured out that much after Cyborg accidentally picked up a weak signal being broadcast to anyone who got close enough.

That was the only real way anyone had to check up on everyone trapped inside and in a way Tim was kind of glad it was mainly focused on his friends and the meta kid Bart had been trying to introduce to everyone cause he had constant proof they were alive. Everyone else wasn't as lucky.

He was also mostly annoyed though cause the League couldn't even damage the stupid barrier anymore. They'd cracked it once, but that just seemed to annoy whatever was powering the thing because it spread out for miles in every direction in response to the Justice League's attempts at forcing open a door and ended up swallowing dozens of government agents and heroes who couldn't escape the danger zone in time.

"Any changes?"

"None." Like always.

He knew Dick was just as worried as he was about everyone trapped inside but the glowing green eyesore wasn't reacting to anything anymore.

Science didn't work.

Magic annoyed it.

They'd finally started looking into some of the more off world solutions that were available to them but so far nothing anyone tried seemed to affect it and he should know since he hasn't stopped monitoring the situation.

He's offered up rewards, called in every single favor he's ever been owed as Tim Drake and Red Robin and read up on everything magical he could get his hands on.

He's even hacked every government agency on the planet on the off chance there might have been a possible answer hidden away somewhere and was nowhere near as professional or gentle as he usually was while doing it. He was tired, worried and more than a little angry and didn’t care about how much damage he did to anyone's computer systems as he ripped even the slightest bit of information out of any server he came across taking anything and everything from Waller's own notes on the matter to research material from a rogue sect of the government calling themselves the GIW.

That had led him down a rabbit hole of government conspiracies and cover ups that would have normally kept him busy for weeks but he had passed on the worst of it to the rest of the League and focused on the handful of files they had on an off the books company called Fenton Works.

They apparently had a functional portal with more than enough power to punch a hole between dimensions so hopefully an investigation into them would keep him busy while they waited for a response from the Green Lanterns.

-_- -_- -_-

"You need to stop this Desiree."

"Why, Phantom and his paramour are happy aren't they?"

She already knew the answer since it was her magic wrapping such a large area and her grin only grew as she watched Undergrowth's little champion twitch at her words.

Because Phantom was happy.

He was the happiest he's ever been in a very long time and well out of the way on a long overdue 'vacation'. So what if everyone was taking his absence as an excuse to run a little wild. The avatar of the Speed Force didn't mind and Clockwork wasn't interfering either so she wasn't overstepping anywhere that really mattered since the Ancient of Time usually erased anyone who went too far with his favorite student.

He hadn't even popped in to deliver any of his usual threats when she overheard the little speedster's heartbroken wish so she banished the girl back to Amity Park without a second thought.

They couldn't force her to grant wishes anymore, not after Phantom went out of his way to help alter her curse and their constant whining was starting to get annoying.

If it wasn't Undergrowth's champion then it was the Pharaoh or Phantom's sister.

None of them could take the hint and leave well enough alone.

Cause, the thing is, she left more than enough wiggle room in the wish for Phantom to get free if he ever really wanted to get free and she wasn't sure he did.

Oh, on some level he was probably well aware of something being off about the world but he was purposely ignoring that feeling.

He was happy in the world she shaped around him and his little speedster and Desiree wasn't about to ruin that for either of them.

She'd just head back to her lair if anyone tried.

No one could get to her there, not without wasting a lot of power so maybe she'd finally have a little piece and quit to enjoy her favorite show in peace.

It's not much but I wanted to try and think up a way for Danny to experience his very own version of WandaVision.

Essentially a sad Danny from any kind of reason really but for now I'm just blaming his entire life for this one and a desperately trying to be helpful Bart who has vague memories of a future with Danny get a starring role in a new life that was perfectly prepared just for them at the cost of pretty much everyone else.

I don't remember what it's called but there was a Disney movie about a superhero school so I'm kind of imagining that and a lot of really cheesy musical moments thrown in somewhere while everyone outside of the barrier is left worrying about their friends and family.

I know it's weird, but my mind just comes up with really weird ideas when I'm tired.

[elliesspacewalker]

Ellie being the bully of reader but secretly being like very obssesed and possessive over them. Maybe even in a secret casual relationship but being rlly jealous.

I've decided I will make this into a series, so please enjoy!

"shup up Ellie"

Warnings; transgender!ellie, semi enemies to lovers, Ellie plays rugby and so do you, weed usage, Ellie is a jerk lol, pure angst and fluff.

fynn = brother

Ellie fucking Williams, your brothers best friend- she was probably one of the biggest bullies towards you, even after you graduated high school, she would constantly throw slurs at you or make you feel bad about what you were doing. It never mattered what it was, you could just be making food and Ellie would comment on how you're making the food wrong even if you were doing it right.

"Fynn! Come have a look at this fucking idiot" she called your very stoned brother over who laughed at you after you spilt chocolate powder all over yourself. "Ellie it's not funny"

"It's fucking hilarious dude" Fynn says trying to calm his breathing as he laughs even harder, "funniest shit ever, anyways me and Ellie are going to go play video games, don't interrupt us" you scoff, before moving to grab a cloth to wipe up the floor, looking up from the floor you see Ellie still staring at you.

"Bro what do you want?" you ask her and she shakes her head "you look pathetic by the way, you're clumsy as fuck and you need to stop spilling everything" you wanted to cry, Ellie always bullied you, even if she took it too far she never apologized to you. "okay" you say with a tired tone, so done with her shit.

It was 9pm and your parents weren't home yet, but at least you finished baking your brownies! You sigh before grabbing a few and putting them onto a plate, making your way upstairs quietly and knocking on your brothers door softly to see if he's still awake after almost hot boxing the entire house.

Ellie opens the door and a massive amount of smoke blows into your face, you cough and start moving your hands to get rid of the smoke "bro what do you want?" Ellie says with a frown.

"I just wanted to see if you wanted some brownies I made, nothing personal" you hand her the brownies and she looks at you, maybe the only time you've seen her genuinely thankful for something you gave her.

"thanks bro" she mutters under her breath and you give her a subtle 'you're welcome' before shutting your brothers door and making your way to your room...

You sit cross legged on your bed and open your mac book to finally get some school projects done, before you know it three hours had passed and there's a knock at your door.

"come in?" your voice low, but sweet. it was so intoxicating. it was Ellie, you have a confused look on your face- her eyes red and looks like she had been crying but it was just the weed

"it was uhh." she itches her ear, "it was good, thanks" you study her face, and she's being genuine "if you want more go for it" you sigh, closing your laptop.

"you coming to the game on sunday?" she mutters out, "ellie if you're here to bully me or whatever just don't bother with it, I'm done with your shit"

"i'm trying to be fucking friendly for once" she spits out and it gives you a slight shock "right" you nod, she rolls her eyes and slams your door pretty loudly, making you flinch.

You ended up going to the game on Sunday, which fucking sucked- you and Ellie were on the same team during rugby and your team lost by almost 30 points and you didn't know what to do...

You were sitting in the locket room with Ellie, fiddling with your bracelet begging Ellie won't try to talk to you.

"you did good out there" she mumbles to you "huh?"

"I'm saying you did good, we probably would've had it if Bredon didn't fucking injure his foot half way through the match" you giggle and agree.

"Nice bracelet by the way, where'd you get it?" Ellie moves her attention from your wrist to your eyes, you hum and decide if you should tell her or not "my grandma gifted it to me before she passed away"

"Oh- I didn't know I'm sorry for your lost" she says in a sympathetic tone, to say the very least you were confused about why she was acting nice to you... It was slightly overwhelming, you decide the tension is too think and you can't handle it anymore, you say bye before grabbing your gear and going out the locker room.

"Hey hun, that was amazing!" your mom hugs you tightly, you roll your eyes knowing she was only trying to be nice even though you lost, by A LOT.

Ellie was going insane, she felt crazy for the awkward interaction with you "really Ellie?! Fucking 'nice bracelet'" she groans, pulling out her phone and sitting on her bed defeated- she knew what she was doing was wrong but she couldn't help it, she was obsessed and it was unhealthy, even she knew it.

She unlocks her phone before typing in your name on Instagram and following you, she sighs and flops down onto her bed.

Before she knows it, you accept her request and text her.

She shoots up and looks down at her phone to see your notification that says 'hey, did u mean to follow me?' she groans loudly, feeling awkward and didn't know what to say to you.

Hey yeah I did mean to..

Oh k

I don't wanna seem weird rn but what you doing over the weekend?

nm, y u askin?

Wanna come over to mine?

els if this is a game, just don't

Her heart thumped at you calling her els, she hearts the message and replies back fast.

Its not, I'm being genuine

Come over at 7pm tmmr?

sure cya then

a/n: part 2?

[girliism]

before patrick there was you. the first person art ever considered a best friend. meeting in the first grade, you being the only kid in your class who cared enough to befriend the new kid.

“what’s your name?” younger you sat next to him.

art surveyed you. with your wild untamed hair, five different band-aids coving your body, and mix match crocs. “art.”

“cool.” you gave him a wide grin.

-

you practically glued yourself to art. where he was you were.

he hated it in the beginning. he thought you were weird and he didn’t wanna brand himself as “the guy with the girl best friend.” but he couldn’t escape you.

it was an odd duo the two of you made but somehow it worked. no matter what it was you guys trusted each other blindly. so when you showed up to his house in the middle of the night begging him to grab his bike and meet you at the corner he couldn’t not do just that.

“where are we going?” art said, out of breath from running from his house to the stop sign with his bike where you were waiting for him. “i can’t be out so late, you know i have church in the morning.”

you rolled your eyes. “can you not be such a loser for like one second little mouse. we won’t even be gone long.”

art blushed at the mention of that nickname. “i’m not a mouse.” he murmured.

the two of you rode through the dark empty streets, the wind was blowing in your faces and your legs burning from how fast you were going.

art slowed down parking in front of the entrance to a hiking trail. “what, uh- what are we doing here?” you turned to look behind you. “follow me and find out.” you had that all too familiar mischievous smile on your face.

you guys walked the trail with your bikes in hand. you led art off the official walkway and into a more secluded place. before art could say anything he was met with the sight a huge lake, the light from the moon reflecting off of it and lighting up the wooded area.

“i found this like two days ago. been dying to show you.” you told him, stripping your clothes to reveal the one piece you had on before jumping in water.

art watched you swim. your body going under for a period of time then resurfacing. you let out giggles every now and then, kicking your feet and twisting yourself around in the water. “get in little mouse.” you splashed water on him snapping him out the trance you put him in.

“wish you would’ve told me we were going swimming.” art pulled off his pajamas leaving him in only boxers. he wade into the water, shivering slightly at the cold temperature. “was supposed to be a surprise.” you spoke softly.

you and art played around in the water for what felt like hours before settling down to float on your backs, your feet floating by his head and vice versa. your guys hands griped each other’s forearms so neither of you drifted away.

everything around you two felt still. like you guys were the only two people in the world. “i’m so glad we’re starting middle school together.” you thought out loud breaking the peaceful silence. “yeah… me too.” art said distantly. he hadn’t told you yet.

after a while of floating there you eventually got tired of the pruning feeling on your hands and feet so the the two of you got out.

art nervously eyed you putting your clothes back on. he had to tell you now before you heard it from his mother and felt even more betrayed.

“hey, i have to tell you something.” art chewed on the inside of his mouth. “you know that tennis academy i told you about.” you nodded looking up at him from typing your shoes. “well, my mom sighed me up and they accepted me so i’ll be starting school there next year not here with you.”

you didn’t react right away. you gave yourself a second to take in what he said. “your leaving me?” art shook his head. “no, i mean not really. we’ll have summer and winter break. plus weekly calls home. we can chat online as well.” you let out a loud annoyed groan. “what about the days in between that. the days where i’ll be here alone.” art gaped at you not knowing what to say.

“i-i’m sorry.” he squeaked.

one thing you hated about art was that he had a tendency to apologize for things that he didn’t need to. deep down you knew you had no right to be mad at him, but you were hurt and that hurt translated into anger.

“whatever.”

-

the bike ride back to art’s house was silent and cold, you shivered as the air hit your still wet bodies.

you guys parked in front of the dondalson house and art shifted on his feet debating whether to speak or not. “so…. i’ll call you tomorrow?” you grunted out a response before riding off.

even though you were upset with art you still spent the rest of the almost ending summer with him. trying to use all the rest of the time you had left with him.

-

it was the last week of summer and you were helping art pack his stuff into the. “sorry your parents won’t let you fly florida with us.” art threw one of his bags into the trunk. you shrugged. “it’s fine, it’ll give me time to missed you.” you picked at a lose thread on you shorts awkwardly before pulling out a brown wooden box. “i made this for you, you know since i may never see you again.” you said. art rolled his eyes at your dramatics but took the box from your hands.

it was one of those boxes you’d find at an antique store that’s been around for years.

art unlocked the little latch and looked inside. it was filled with memorabilia from through out your guys friendship. “you do know i’m not dying right?” art joked. “mmm, you never know.” art shook his head before throwing his arms around you pulling you in for a hug. “thanks.” you tightened your arms around his body, and buried your face in his neck. “no problem, little mouse.”

“alright you two, time to go” art’s moms voice pulled you guys apart. “you all ready artie?” art gave you one last longing look before turning to his mother. “yeah.”

“don’t forget to message me when your settled in.” you yelled to art who was hanging out the window waving at you. “don’t forget to answer!” he yelled back.

art watched you through the back window. your figure getting smaller and smaller. he didn’t turn around in his seat until they turned the corner and even then he looked back every once in a while.

you stood there for like twenty whole minutes hoping that mr and mrs.dondalson would realize they couldn’t bare sending art so far away and turn back around, but they never did. so you went home.

-

[pha55ed]

Attracted to U | F2 (kimi bday celly!)

type :: fluff tw/cw :: sex joke (ollie) contains :: kimi!, ollie, pepe request :: attracted to u by pinkpantress w ollie, paul, kimi, pepe (damn u guys really love this quad LOL - but im a littleee tired so i didn't do paul for this :( sorry love!) link to kimi bday celly!

Kimi Antonelli | 04

When Kimi sees Ollie Bearman come into the room, he instantly starts to panic. Not because he doesn't like Ollie, quite the opposite, they're very close friends. But he panics because he knows any and every girl falls for him, and he does not want you to be another one of his fan girls - or even worse, for Ollie to crush on you as well.

But it's too late, it's as if you both charmed each other the second you laid eyes on each other. With a simple greeting, Kimi could already tell that Ollie had a small liking towards you and you felt the same - which only gave Kimi one idea: he must ruin this.

From that day on, he tries to give both of you the ick for each other. He tells you how Ollie can be a slob at times, how he's a slow texter, and how he has a crazy ex girlfriend. He tells Ollie how you're sometimes emotionally unavailable, how busy you are with school, and how your friends are kinda weird. He's doing everything he can to make you both seem like the last person on Earth that you'd want to date.

Ollie Bearman | 87

Although Ollie is a heartthrob, there's another guy on the grid that makes more than heart's throb, and that's Paul Aron. The same exact guy who suddenly started flirting with you right after Ollie brought you to the celebration party from his win. Although Ollie won the race, he felt like the biggest loser as he watched Paul make you laugh.

He knows it's slightly petty, but he can't help but try to butt in and ruin it for you both a bit. He knows Paul would respect Ollie's wish to leave you alone, he just needed to do it subtly so you didn't know. As he walks over to you and Paul, Ollie sneaks as arm over your shoulder - sending Paul a look that says "I called dibs".

Paul catches on and just nods, disappointment that you're already being sought after from Ollie. But as Paul leaves, he whispers into Ollie's ear, "If you mess up, then I call dibs." Instantly, Ollie is a bit offended, but he doesn't worry too much since he's sure that he'll never ever lose you once he gets you - he'll make sure of it.

Pepe Marti | 21

One thing about Pepe, is that he's possessive. Although you're not his yet, he's already called dibs in his mind. So when he see's the new prodigy Kimi Antonelli trying to flirt with you, he's instantly walking up to you two to stop it. But, he's still polite about it, he's never rude to Kimi because he knows that Kimi isn't aware of Pepe's secret crush on you.

He'll walk up to you both, sneakily putting his hand on your waist - something you gasp at lightly since he's never done that before. Although he's not super threatened by Kimi, he just wants to be sure that Kimi gets the hint. Pepe knows you won't think too much of his touch, since you're kind of oblivious.

Kimi gets the hint and backs off, which makes Pepe sigh in relief. He's not the type to share, whether you're dating or not.

[yuu-kantokusei]

~Ensnared by the eel~

Jade Leech x gn!reader

Reader is yuu

Story: one-shot

TW: none

Summary: A quiet evening at the Mostro Lounge takes an unexpected turn when Yuu, working tirelessly to make ends meet, finds themselves caught in a moment of intrigue and mischief with the ever-enigmatic Jade Leech. What starts as an innocent slip soon spirals into something far more complicated—and far more intimate.

The bustling energy of the Mostro Lounge was beginning to wind down. Customers filed out one by one, leaving behind the telltale remnants of their evening—empty glasses, discarded napkins, and the occasional spilled drink. Yuu sighed softly as they wiped a table clean, their hands aching from the constant work. Being in a school filled with athletic, svelte students was challenging, but the job at the lounge helped them make ends meet. Besides, they didn’t mind the occasional kind words from customers who appreciated their service—or the tips left behind.

Grim was counting on them to bring back enough money for his endless snacks, after all.

“Yuu, don’t forget the bar counter,” Azul called out going in his office, his voice crisp yet polite. “And please make sure everything shines. You know how I feel about presentation.”

“Got it!” Yuu replied, brushing a stray lock of hair from their face.

Nearby, Jade and Floyd were already beginning to clean up. Floyd hummed an off-key tune as he tossed chairs onto tables, while Jade worked with precise movements, wiping down surfaces and organizing. The eel-mer’s sharp eyes flicked toward Yuu as they scrubbed the bar counter, their apron slightly askew.

“Working hard as ever, I see,” Jade said smoothly, approaching them with a small smirk.

“You know how it is,” Yuu replied, flashing a tired but genuine smile. “If I don’t, Azul might dock my pay, and Grim won’t let me hear the end of it.”

Jade chuckled softly. “Ah, the trials of responsibility. I must say, it’s rather impressive how diligent you are.”

Before they could respond, Floyd bounded over. “Oi, Jade, stop flirting and keep cleaning! Azul’s gonna flip if he finds out you’re slacking!”

“Flirting?” Jade echoed, his voice light with amusement. “I was merely offering our dear colleague some encouragement.”

Yuu felt their cheeks heat up but quickly turned away to continue their work.

Time passed, and the lounge slowly came back to its pristine state. Jade, Floyd, and Yuu worked in relative harmony, chatting occasionally. But as Yuu carried a tray of dishes toward the kitchen, their foot suddenly caught on a damp patch of the floor.

“Oh no—!”

Before they could steady themself, Yuu slipped, the tray clattering loudly as they fell backward. In a blur, Jade moved toward them, his reflexes as sharp as ever.

But instead of catching them, he tripped slightly on the same wet spot, and the two of them ended up on the ground in a tangled heap.

Yuu gasped as they realized their position—flat on their back with Jade hovering over them, his hands braced on either side of their head. His face was startlingly close, and his usual composed expression had given way to something more surprised and… amused?

“Well,” Jade murmured, his voice low and smooth. “This is… unexpected.”

“I—I’m so sorry!” Yuu stammered, their face flaming.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he said, his golden eye gleaming mischievously. “Though I must admit, this position is rather compromising, wouldn’t you agree?”

Yuu tried to push themself up, but Jade didn’t move. Instead, he leaned in slightly, his smile turning wicked.

“J-Jade, you’re kind of…” Yuu trailed off, their words faltering as his gloved fingers lightly brushed their cheek.

“Hmm? What was that?” he asked, feigning innocence. His voice dripped with honeyed amusement as his hand moved down, tracing the line of their jaw with deliberate slowness.

“You’re too close!” they finally managed, their hands coming up to push against his chest. But his weight, though not oppressive, kept them firmly in place.

“Am I?” he mused, tilting his head. “My apologies, Yuu. But I must confess, this is quite… enjoyable.”

“Enjoyable?!”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Your reactions are simply delightful. Did you know that your face turns the most enchanting shade of red when you’re flustered?”

Yuu opened their mouth to retort, but their breath hitched as Jade’s face dipped closer. His lips brushed against their temple—a fleeting, teasing kiss that sent a shiver down their spine.

“J-Jade!”

“Yes?” he murmured, his lips now grazing the shell of their ear.

“This isn’t— You can’t just—!”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with theirs. “Can’t just what?” he asked, his voice a silken purr. “Surely you don’t mean to suggest that you’re uncomfortable.”

Yuu’s heart pounded in their chest, their body betraying them as warmth spread through their core. “I… I don’t…”

Jade’s smile widened. “Good,” he said simply. Then, without warning, he leaned in again, this time capturing their lips in a slow, deliberate kiss.

The world seemed to blur as his lips moved against theirs, soft yet insistent. His hand cupped their cheek, his thumb brushing their skin in soothing circles. Yuu’s hands, which had been pushing against his chest moments ago, now clutched his shirt uncertainly.

When he finally pulled away, his gaze was heavy-lidded, his smirk thoroughly satisfied.

“You taste as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured, his voice like velvet.

“Jade…”

“Hmm, you’re still blushing” he teased, running a gloved finger along the curve of their neck. “I wonder… should I kiss you again? Or would that be too cruel?”

Yuu’s mind raced, torn between indignation and the heady warmth his touch left behind. One thing was certain—Jade Leech was dangerous, and they were hopelessly ensnared in his net.

[uh-velkommen]

Anyone who knows me knows that I have ALWAYS been a very politically vocal person. I also used to spend a majority of my time on Instagram. But when 2020 hit I became such an unrecognizable person that I had to delete Instagram and cut myself off from everyone just to regain my center and sense of self.

I didn't know it at the time but I think with my autistic sense of justice coupled with my paranoia (like diagnosable, serious paranoia) and how stressful my living situation was at the time, it was the perfect blend for a ticking time bomb. I became so uncontrollably consumed with politics that I would attack anyone and everyone. I was experiencing full mania, posting nonstop on Instagram, arguing with people I followed, cutting off family members, not sleeping, overworking myself protesting, and when I wasnt protesting, I wouldnt leave my bed, all while dealing with the stress of the pandemic, a subpar diet in my neglectful choldhood home, and a lack of space to call my own. Even if I seemed collected on the outside, my insides felt like boiling water. I never got a moment of calm. It was autistic overstimulation amplified. I also felt such a sense of hopeless and really rathered Id be dead than continue trying. All these emotions but I just couldn't stop. I wasn't in control.

After some time, I found my normal again, but it made me so scared to speak out about anything because I didn't want to spiral again. I ignored the news, I muted people who talked about politics, I avoided all things political and any semblance of a political conversation at all costs. I'd never been so quiet before. This was around the time Ukraine and Isreal started becoming the hot topic. You can see it here. All my political posts just stop sometime around 2021. And even though I chose to stop "spreading awareness" about things, I started to feel this immense guilt that I was seemingly not doing my part. Or that my IG account now looked like BLM was a fad I participated in, and I couldn't care less about those pesky Palestinians /sarcasm. All the while, I was dying inside NOT talking about it.

I used that time to read up on the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict, I was reaching out to my high school friends who were now growing families in Palestine, I was trying to think of way to engage in the movement that didn't involve reposting the same 5 Instagram posts that everyone was already sharing, and that didn't involve financial investment as that was SO not a possibility for me. I boycotted what I could, but I was living in Sweden by that time, so it was a boycot by circumstance.

Now, with this whole Banning TikTok debacle, I am just so mad that no one can see that it's a political attack. Ever since 2020, the government has been mad at us for using it as a means of education and organization. That's when the whole subject of banning it arose. We -as in American people - are being punished for utilizing our First Amendment right. That of protesting and organizing (not the stupid misinterpretation of "I can say whatever I want" used by right wingers). It seems like everyone has forgotten that and are just whining about their brainrot being taken away or getting on Twitter to rave about what social media is doing to us. People outside of the US are laughing as if this isn't a modern-day example of mass censorship happening right in front of our eyes. And suddenly, I can feel the boiling water moving up from my toes. Suddenly, I want to slap everyone across the face and get them to wake up. Open your eyes, people! I'm tired of sitting back with this, "we'll there's nothing we can really do that we haven't been doing already" attitude. I want to burn down the white house. I want people to stop treating Luigi Magione like some Robin Hood sex image. I don't want to just settle for this loss of autonomy and progress. I don't want to feel like a minority within a minority within a minority within a minority. What else is there to do when everyone has settled for just dealing?