starfishinskyy - Tumblr blog

starfishinskyy · 3 days ago

Note

THIS IS EVERYTHING

girl me and you both loveee misty!!

can you please do one where misty has to tutor reader and one day they just HAVE to have a sleepover to study and reader is lowkey like in love with misty ??

i wanted to write smth like this but i ended up not liking how i went with it 😔

punnet squares

a/n: listen guys this is a long ahh fic and i dont know why 🙏 it just felt wrong to cut any of it so you’re welcome!! there’s no nsfw it’s literally just misty and reader being teenagers in love so yeah!! first misty req!! hope i did it justice 🙏

pairing: misty quigley x reader

tags: fluff, idiots in love, i decided homophobia doesn’t exist, reader has a loving family, misty is oblivious, reader is also oblivious, no nsfw, reader can be read as any gender and there is no description of reader or use of Y/N.

“No, you’re still doing it wrong,” Misty sighed, reaching across you to write on the paper. “You’re putting both letters on top of the same box, it’s supposed to be one each.”

You shoved down the flutter in your stomach at her closer proximity and shook your head a little, like a horse irritated by a fly. “You said yesterday that it was both letters.”

She gives you a look. “Both letters go inside the box. Only one goes on top.”

You slumped back in your chair, blowing out a breath. “How badly do I really need to know this, huh? What am I gonna do with Punnet Squares? Like, ever in my life?”

Misty set her pencil down, crossing her arms. “Everything we learn in school is useful.”

“Yeah? What do you plan on doing with Punnet Squares, hmm?”

She paused. A red flush crept up her neck. “You want to pass Biology, right?” She asked, ignoring your question.

“Yes,” you said glumly, sitting back up.

“Okay, then. You need to know Punnet Squares.”

You groaned, putting your head down on the table. She laughed above you, a sound that made Punnet Squares seem very worth the headache.

“Same time tomorrow?” You asked, pulling out your green folder labeled Biology and tucking your homework inside.

“I can’t,” She replied, also putting her own homework away. “My mom and dad are spending the night at a hotel a couple towns over for their anniversary, so I have to be home right after school so they can drop me off at my aunt’s house.” She grumbled, pushing her glasses up as they slid down her nose.

You cocked your head to the side. “You don’t like your aunt?”

Misty shrugged. “She’s fine, I guess, but she’s got three kids under 10 and they’re all crazy.”

You fell silent for a moment. “Well, I mean…”

She looked up at you. “What?”

“I was just… well, if you really hate your aunt’s house that much… you could sleep over at my house tomorrow night.”

Her lips parted, her head tilting to the side as she looked at you. Then her jaw set. “Are you making fun of me?” She asked, hurt in her voice that made your chest ache.

“No!” You said quickly. “I just thought… I mean, I need all the Biology help I can get… if you don’t want to, it’s fine, I just thought-“

“I’d love to.” She said. You watched as a giddy smile started to creep onto her face.

A beat of silence passed.

“I mean, yeah, anything beats my aunts house.” She backtracked quickly, “I’ll have to ask my parents, though…”

You smiled, giddy with your partial success, digging around in your backpack and pulling out a marker. You uncapped it and held out your hand.

She stared down at your open palm.

You smiled a little at her confusion, grabbing one of her hands and pushing up the sleeve of her sweatshirt. You felt her arm tense a little as you touched her.

Her skin was soft, and you tried to ignore each freckle you passed as you traced out the ten numbers to your landline.

Once finished, you let go of her, and the palm of your other hand where it had rested on her skin felt oddly cold.

“That’s my landline,” You said, almost hesitantly, capping the marker. “You can ask your parents tonight and then call me and tell me what they say.”

She looked down at the marker on her arm, then back up at you. “This isn’t a joke, right?”

You dropped the marker into your bag. “No, of course not!”

She sighed, seemingly unconvinced. “No one’s ever invited me over before.”

Your heart gave a lurch, and you tried to brush it off. “No one’s ever been as bad at Biology as I am,” You tried to joke.

You watched as something changed in her face. “So this is… this is just for studying, right?”

A wave of uncertainty swept over you. “Yeah. Just… just for studying.”

She nodded, seemingly satisfied but still looking put off for some reason. “Okay, I’ll… I’ll ask my parents and… and call you.”

She stood up to leave, and you waved, smiling nervously at her. She smiled back and then swept away, her blonde curls bouncing as she left.

If you said you weren’t basically glued to the phone the entire night, you’d be lying. Your heart gave a lurch every time it rang (which was only twice,) and both times you set down the receiver before realizing you hadn’t even asked who was on the other end yet.

When the call did come, it was in the middle of dinner. Your mother rolled her eyes as you scrambled out of your seat to hover your hand over the ringing phone like you were afraid it would burn you.

One second passed. Then two.

“Are you gonna answer it or not?” Your dad asked playfully.

You shot a glare at him over your shoulder and shakily picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi.”

You paused. “Misty?”

She laughed, a sound that made your heart flutter. “Oh! Yeah. Sorry, I don’t call a lot of people.”

You shrugged before realizing she couldn’t see you. “That’s okay.” You said. “So… what did your parents say?”

She sighed over the receiver. “They said it was alright, but only if I could get a ride home with you after school.”

“That’s fine!” You replied eagerly. “I take the bus anyways.”

“Oh!” She said, sounding relieved. “Okay. Well, I’ll… I’ll bring my stuff to school with me, then…?” She said, trailing off like it was a question.

“Okay!” You said. “I’ll, um… I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow!”

There was a beat of silence before the line went dead.

You set the receiver back on the hook with a shaky hand.

“Great,” Your dad said, taking a bite. “So your girlfriend is sleeping over tomorrow?”

You went bright right, whirling around. “She’s not my girlfriend! We’re just… study partners!”

Your parents looked at each other. You groaned and stomped downstairs to your room, ignoring the laughter you heard as you descended.

School was long the next day, longer than what felt normal. The minute hand seemed to be going backwards, mocking you.

And then, to make matters worse, in your last class, Biology, Mrs. Springfield sprang a disaster on you.

“Everyone, come stand at the front of the room.” She called as the bell rang. “Bring your backpacks. New seating chart.”

Everyone groaned, tugging their backpacks back over their shoulders and trudging up to the chalkboard. You glanced over your shoulder at Misty, who sat three rows behind you and two to the left. She wasn’t looking, too busy stuffing her butterfly pencil case back into her backpack.

You made your way to the front of the room as a sick feeling settled into your stomach.

“I’ll call your name and point to your new seat.” Mrs. Springfield said as the last few stragglers came to stand at the board with everyone else.

You swallowed, looking down the line at Misty, who, surprisingly, was looking back at you.

You made a face at her, rolling your eyes at Mrs. Springfield and pretending to vomit. Misty covered her mouth with her hand, eyes crinkling in a smile.

You perked up as Mrs. Springfield called your name. You chanced one last glance at Misty before making your way to your new seat. Third from the front, in the middle row.

To your disbelief and delight, Mrs. Springfield’s next words were “Misty Quigley,” as she pointed to the desk in front of yours.

You grinned widely at Misty as she came to set her backpack down next to her desk. You leaned forwards to whisper to her as she sat down.

“I was afraid you would be all the way across the room. How would I steal your answers?”

She looked over her shoulder at you, unamused. “How will you learn?” She asked in a whisper.

“I was kidding, Misty.” You said, eyeing Mrs. Springfield, who’d finished with her names and was making her way back to the front of the room.

“Alright. This will be our last day on Punnet Squares before our test on Monday, so I suggest you all pay attention and ask your questions while you can.”

Class began, but you didn’t hear a lot of what Mrs. Springfield was saying.

You were a bit distracted by the cloud of blonde curls in front of you that shifted every time Misty bent down to add to her notes.

It was a godsend when the bell finally rang. You rushed to cram your folder, notebook, and pencil case back into your backpack.

When Misty looked up from where she was carefully sliding her folder into her bag, you were standing over her, bouncing eagerly on the balls of your feet.

“What?” She asked, pushing her glasses up where they’d slid down her nose.

“Do you… Uh, do you need to grab anything from your locker before we get on the bus, or…?” You asked, suddenly uncertain as your heart fluttered inside your chest.

“Oh!” Misty said. “Yeah, I have my stuff in my locker. It’s on the way to the front doors, I-“

“I know where it is!” You said, grinning.

She tilted her head questioningly at you.

You thought quickly. “You, um… I’ve seen you there before.”

“Oh.” She said. “Okay.”

You’d be lying if you’d tried to say that there wasn’t a bounce in your step as you walked with Misty to her locker and then out to the bus.

“I take 45 home,” You told her, pointing to the yellow school bus with the piece of paper reading ‘45’ taped in the front window.

“I know.” She said. “I mean, I’ve seen you. Get on the bus, I mean.” She said, pushing up her glasses again.

You nodded, climbing up the steps of the bus.

She filed in behind you and sat next to you, her backpack on her lap, duffel bag on the seat next to her.

Part of you was wishing she would move the duffel bag to the other side so she could sit closer to you, but the other part of you was kicking the first part in the shins for being such a hopeless loser.

The bus ride was bumpy, and you pretended not to notice the way she inhaled sharply every time a turn sent her falling into you.

“This is me.” You said as the bus rolled to a stop.

She jumped up like the seat had burned her, heaving her backpack onto one shoulder and her duffle bag onto the other and filing off the bus. You shuffled after her.

She squinted around in the sunlight at each surrounding house as you stepped down next to her.

“This one’s mine,” You said, pointing at your house.

She turned, taking in the brown stucco and red brick, the yellow garage door that your dad had painted last summer for some reason.

“It’s not much,” you said, suddenly self-conscious as you started walking up the path to the front door.

“It’s cute,” Misty said. “I like it.”

You ignored the swooping feeling in your chest.

As you pushed open the door, your mom was already hovering around you like she’d been waiting for you to get home.

Which, now that you thought about it, was probably true.

“Hi, Mom,” you said awkwardly, confused as to why she was just standing there.

“This must be Misty.” Your mom said with a smile and a wink at you.

“Hi!” Misty said as she looked nervously up at your mom.

“Yeah, this is Misty. We’re just gonna…” you said, jerking your thumb towards the basement door.

“Okay, well, nice to meet you, Misty! You girls have fun…” your mom called after you. “Not too much fun, though!”

You groaned and rolled your eyes, going slightly red as you pulled open the door to the basement. “I dont know why she’s being weird.”

“I like her, she seems nice.” Misty said, following you into the basement. “Your room is in the basement?”

“My room is the basement,” You laughed, turning on the light.

Misty’s jaw dropped. “You have a couch in your room? And a TV? And your own phone?”

“Don’t you have your own phone too?” You asked, dropping your backpack onto the couch as she turned in a slow circle, taking everything in.

“Well, yeah, but…” She let her backpack slide off her shoulder and onto the plaid couch next to yours.

You watched her examine your room, suddenly nervous. Yeah, you’d spent the better part of three hours making sure everything was spotless, but what if you’d missed something?

“So, um…” Misty said, clasping her hands in front of her. “Should we start? Mrs. Springfield gave us that study guide packet…”

“Oh!” You said, remembering why she was at your house in the first place. “Yeah!”

But your heart wasn’t really in it. You couldn’t bring yourself to really focus on those stupid little boxes when Misty Quigley was sitting in your bedroom, on your couch, leaning over your coffee table to scribble numbers and letters onto a piece of paper, her hair falling over her shoulder and tickling your arm…

She snapped in front of your face. “Are you paying attention?”

“No!” You said. “I mean, yes! Uh… what was the question?”

She gave you an amused smile. “You just wrote that fifty percent plus fifty percent equals two hundred percent.”

You looked down at your paper. “Oh.”

She laughed as you erased it quickly and rewrote the correct answer.

“It’s because I’m hungry,” you said defensively. “Do you want… like a snack, or something?” You glanced at the clock. “Well, I guess it would be dinner by now.”

She shrugged, pushing her glasses up her nose. “Sure. Whatever. I’m not picky.”

You nodded, thinking. “You like pizza?”

She tilted her head at you. “Your mom is making pizza for dinner?”

You laughed. “No, Friday night is pizza night at my house. We can order something, or I think we have frozen pizzas in the garage too.”

She blinked.

“Or we can have something else!” You said quickly. “I think there’s leftovers, or something, uh-“

“No, it’s okay, pizza is great!” Misty cut you off. “It’s just… my mom doesn’t believe in takeout, so… I don’t get to have pizza that often.”

You grinned, reaching over her for the landline. “You like cheese or pepperoni?”

She smiled.

As the night went on, you could feel Misty start to loosen up. Her smile got wider, her shoulders slumped lower, her laugh got louder and louder until she snorted, which made you laugh even harder.

The door to the basement opened. “Girls, it doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of studying going on down there…” Your mom’s voice floated down the stairs.

“Studying has many forms, Mom,” You retorted, pretending not to notice Misty’s red cheeks.

“Alright, well, Dad and I are going to sleep. Don’t stay up too late.” She paused. “Misty, honey, are you allergic to blueberries? I put them in pancakes, but I can make a batch plain for you…”

“Blueberries are great, ma’am,” Misty said, her face still burning.

“Alright. Good night, girls…”

“Goodnight, Mom,” You called, the tone of your voice making it clear that the conversation was over.

The door shut, and you turned to Misty.

Your eyes met, and immediately you burst out laughing again.

“She really likes you,” You laughed.

“God, I hope so, that would be so embarrassing. My first sleepover, and I make your parents hate me.”

You paused.

“What?” She said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“This is your first sleepover?” You asked.

Misty blinked. “Um, yeah. I guess.”

“Oh my god, Why didn’t you tell me? We haven’t done any sleepover things!” You said.

“I mean, I’m at your house, is tending to spend the night… What else is there to do?” She asked, staring at you as you stood up.

“There’s so many things!” You said. “We have to get into our pajamas. Ooh, and tell ghost stories. We have to watch a movie, and play truth or dare, and stay up late, and-“

“I didn’t realize sleepovers were so complicated.” Misty said, pulling her pajamas out of her duffel bag. “Should I…?”

“Oh!” You said. “You can change in the bathroom. If you want. Or you can change out here, I mean, I don’t care if you don’t care…”

Misty pushed her glasses up her nose, looked around, and then made her way to the bathroom.

You sighed as she shut the door behind her, only a little bit disappointed, but nevertheless you grabbed your favorite pajamas out of your dresser and started to pull them on.

Misty came out of the bathroom wearing a pair of pink pajama pants with flowers on them and a matching top.

She didn’t seem to really know what to do with herself after she’d put her school clothes back in her duffel bag, so you jumped in.

“We have to build a fort.”

Misty cocked her head to the side. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “It’s a sleepover thing, Misty. Cmon, help me move the coffee table.”

She bit her lip, seemingly hiding a grin, and bent down to help you drag the coffee table away from in front of the couch.

You started pulling cushions off the couch, dropping them in a pile. She stood, watching as you collected pillows, blankets, chairs, and cushions.

“Okay.” You said, hands on your hips. “Push those two chairs next to each other like this on that side.” you pushed two chairs next to each other, the backs facing inwards.

Misty mirrored you, a curious look in her brown eyes.

“Okay, take the other end of this blanket-“ you tossed her one end of a large tan blanket, “-and tuck it under the chair legs.”

She laughed as she tried to mirror your movements, knocking a chair over in the process.

You laughed, walking over to help her and tripping over the fallen chair in your haste, which only made her laugh harder.

The fort-building process moved forwards similarly, with a lot of laughter and a lot of error. By the time you were both sitting inside, lights off, surrounded by pillows and stuffed animals and a bowl of popcorn you’d snuck upstairs to acquire, both of your faces were red from laughter.

“Now what?” Misty asked, flicking on her flashlight.

You thought for a moment. “Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head to the side.

“Truth.”

You paused. “Hmm…. ooh, okay.” You grinned at her. “What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever done?”

She thought about it before saying, “I once wore the same pair of socks for a week straight.”

You laughed. “Oh, ew, why?”

She shrugged. “They matched my outfit.”

You laughed harder. “Anything for the outfit.”

She fell silent, and you prompted her. “Now you ask me.”

“Oh! Right,” she said. “Truth or dare?”

You grinned. “Dare.”

She smiled, tapping her chin with her finger. “I dare you…. I dare you…” She was silent for a moment long time before her shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.”

You grinned. “Okay, give me a truth then.”

She though about it for a minute. You watched the color start to rise in her neck as she said “Do you have a crush on anyone?”

You felt your face get hot as you thought about answering.

Yeah, Misty, I have a crush on you.

But you didn’t say that.

“Yeah,” You said, failing to suppress a grin.

“Who?” She asked.

You paused. “It’s… it’s a secret.”

She slumped, disappointed.

“Who do you have a crush on?” You asked, changing the subject.

She looked away, her ears burning. “That’s a secret too.”

“Well, fine, then,” You teased.

You sat in silence for a minute before she spoke again.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?”

You went red. “No.”

She blinked. “Really?”

You shrugged. “Not yet.”

She seemed unconvinced. “But you went to homecoming with Roger Lewis this year.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t kiss him,” You said, making a disgusted face. “He’s gross.”

She laughed. “I saw him pick his nose in Health class once. He didn’t even wipe it on a tissue afterwards, he just wiped his hands on his jeans.”

“Oh, ew!” You exclaimed, laughing. “Well fine, have you ever kissed anyone?” You asked, leaning towards her conspiratorially.

Misty went even redder. “No.”

“How come?” You asked.

She gave you a look. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

She looked away, eyes downcast. “Who wants to kiss me?”

You felt your heart break a little.

I do, you thought.

“Lots of people, I bet.” You said instead.

She laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “You know that’s not true.”

“Sure it is.” You said. “I can think of… well, I can think of one.”

Anxiety started to build in your chest as she looked at you, confused. “Who?”

You took a deep breath.

“Me.”

She looked at you. For a moment, hope flickered on her face, only to be replaced by distrust and hurt.

“You’re making fun of me.” She said.

“No, I’m not!” You said.

“Yes, you are,” She said, her eyes going shiny with tears. “I’m not the kind of girl people want to kiss.”

“Says who?” You said, almost desperately.

She looked away, swallowing hard. “Everyone.”

“Not me.”

She straightened up, her voice aloof to mask the hurt in her eyes. “If your whole plan was to… to invite me over so you could tell everyone that… that I… I don’t know. It’s not going to work. I’m not falling for it.” She said, crossing her arms.

“Misty, that’s not what I…”

“Well, then what was your plan?” She asked, sniffling.

You took a moment to steel your nerves before making up your mind.

Before you could back out, you took a deep breath and pressed your lips to hers.

The moment felt infinite.

She didn’t push you away. She didn’t move, she didn’t even breathe.

You pulled back.

Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and she was staring at you like she couldn’t believe you were real.

“You believe me now?” You asked in barely a whisper.

Misty nodded, still frozen.

“I like you, Misty. Like, a lot.” You said. “An embarrassing amount.”

She swallowed. “Lucky.. Lucky you’re so bad at Biology, or we never…”

You laughed a little bit. “Can I tell you a secret?”

She nodded, eyes still wide.

“I have an A in Biology. I’ve had an A the whole year.”

“You… what?”

You shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t know how to talk to you… so I lied. Asked you to tutor me.”

She stared at you for a few seconds. “You’re… you’re serious.”

“Yeah.”

“You just wanted… what? This?” She asked, gesturing between the two of you.

“Well, yeah.” You said.

She smiled. “I...”

You grinned. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

She smiled and nodded.

And this time, when you pressed your lips to hers, you let yourself live in it.

She was soft, and warm, and the buzzing in your chest seemed to lessen to a thump as your lips moved against hers.

She tasted like popcorn and peppermint toothpaste. Her hair was soft, softer than you could’ve imagined as you threaded your fingers through it.

When she pulled away, breathing hard, she smiled at you, wider than you’d ever seen her smile.

“I really like you, too.” She whispered, leaning her forehead against yours. “I don’t think I told you that.”

You laughed, kissing her again, feeling her smile against your mouth. “Somehow, I think figured it out…”

“Oh, yeah?” She asked.

“Yeah. Maybe.” You replied. “Kiss me again and I’ll let you know for sure.”

I do not own Yellowjackets or its characters

dividers made by saradika-graphics

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starfishinskyy · 6 days ago

Text

😍😍

BUSY WOMAN. — ℳisty 𝑸uigley.

꩜ now playing.. busy woman – Sabrina Carpenter.

꩜ series masterlist.

꩜ warnings.. kinda ooc?

꩜ words.. 1.8k

꩜ jinxs notes.. shes fr a busy woman even in the show

Misty didn’t know how to live slowly. She was a woman made of haste, as if time were sand slipping through her fingers and she refused to lose a single grain. Her heart was always carried by the next address, the next job, the next story. She changed cities like one changes coats, without hesitation. One week she was a caregiver for the elderly; the next, an amateur detective; now, her most recent position: secretary at the largest company in Wiskayok, under the Matthews’ empire. With each new role, Misty molded herself as if she were water — always finding a crack to slip through and fit in.

Still, even knowing she wouldn’t stay for long, she formed bonds easily, like someone planting flowers even in passing lands. Work consumed her days, but she still had energy for the gym, for nighttime crocheting, for inventing little routines that would soon be abandoned. Misty collected beginnings — but rarely allowed endings.

You, on the other hand, were a portrait of permanence. Your body and soul seemed rooted in Wiskayok, like a tree that never considered leaving the soil where it was born. The same café, the same counter worn by time, the same streets traveled by bike while delivering hot orders to faces that were already far too familiar. You knew every corner, every neighbor, every silent habit of the city. And you loved it. There was no urgency in you, only constancy. Where Misty saw imprisonment, you saw coziness.

You met her by chance — or by the kind of chance that seems orchestrated by fate. That day, your bike was broken, so, going against your routine, you took the subway to deliver the coffees. The car was already threatening to fill when you hurriedly got off at the station, balancing the hot trays in your hands. It was at that moment, in the whirlwind of hurried steps, that you bumped into someone.

The impact was small, but enough for the dark liquid to spill, splattering the elegant coat of the woman before you. Your heart sank instantly.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry…” you murmured, almost swallowing the words.

It wasn’t just guilt over ruining someone’s clothes: it was the fact that, for the first time in years, you were facing a stranger in Wiskayok. There was something foreign about her, as if she didn’t belong to the familiar walls of your city. And the clothes… clearly someone racing against the clock to get to work.

On instinct, you took off your worn jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

Misty blinked, surprised. Not by the coffee stain — but by your sudden, raw beauty, and by the way your genuine panic had something enchanting. No one in Wiskayok had ever affected her like that, so immediately.

“Relax, it’s fine…” she said, giving a polite smile, though her eyes already betrayed the curiosity sprouting there.

“No, it’s not!” you replied, your voice stumbling between nervousness and urgency. “You were on your way to work, and I ruined everything. Look, really, I’m so sorry…”

Fumbling in your pocket, you found a crumpled card from the café where you worked. You handed it to her as if offering both compensation and a piece of yourself.

“Come by any day. I insist, you get a coffee, on the house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…” Misty tried to cut it off, but you left no room.

“I insist.” You placed the card firmly in her palm, pressing lightly, as if engraving your existence there.

She blinked again, slightly dazed, unsure whether to laugh at your persistence or let herself be swayed.

“Alright then…” she replied, still unconvinced. Then she removed the coat you had placed on her shoulders. “Here, take it back, you’ll need it.”

You shook your head firmly and pushed the coat back toward her.

“Keep it. I don’t want you arriving at work all dirty. Give it back when you come to the café.”

The smile you gave was confident, but there was tenderness in it. Misty, who rarely found anyone who made her pause, felt momentarily disconcerted.

“Okay… see you later then.” She waved, almost laughing, before running off down the escalator, the card still warm in her hand, as if carrying something more than just a simple promise of coffee.

The bell above the café door jingled in the lazy afternoon. You were at the counter, arranging orders, not really expecting anything. Wiskayok was predictable: always the same faces, the same orders, the same “good mornings.” So, when you saw Misty enter, the air seemed to change in density.

She was wearing your coat. Poorly folded, slightly out of place on her, yet somehow — almost intimate.

“Hi,” she said, as if passing anywhere, not giving too much importance. Her tone was light, deliberately casual. “I came to return this.”

She placed the coat on the counter with the same naturalness as someone placing coins to pay for coffee. No hesitation. If you wanted to prolong, fine. If not, fine too. Misty never got attached.

But there was something in her eyes that betrayed her — a quick spark, a discreet curiosity. You noticed.

“Oh, right. Thanks.” you replied, trying to sound professional, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

She raised the card you had given her in the subway. Still kept it. A small detail, but revealing.

“I think I deserve a coffee, right?” she said, smiling crookedly, as if it were just a game.

You prepared the order without hurry, overly aware of the silence between you, of the glances that collided and then escaped. Misty, for her part, seemed aloof, looking around as if observing the world just to pass the time. The truth was, she expected nothing from you. She made no plans, imagined no futures. Misty lived on chance, and if that chance didn’t bloom, she would keep walking.

But when she took the cup from your hands, her fingers brushed yours for a moment. And in that moment, it became clear: even if she didn’t expect it, she was willing.

If you wanted, she would stay.

If not, her feet were already too light to be held.

The months in Wiskayok always seemed the same. Trees changed color, the wind varied in strength, but life continued at the same pace. Only, for you, something silent began to stand out from that routine: Misty.

At first, she came to the café once in a while, never notifying, never promising. Sometimes she disappeared for weeks, and you thought she wouldn’t return. But then the door jingled, and there she was, as if nothing had changed, ordering the same coffee as always and dropping some comment about traffic, customers, life. She expected nothing — and therefore seemed lighter, almost untouchable.

Over time, the corner table on the right became hers. Sometimes she brought crochet, sometimes opened a company folder, sometimes just stared outside, as if studying the world’s movements. You served the coffee, and without noticing, you would sit a bit later during your breaks, listening to the fragmented stories she let slip.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this place?” she asked once, stirring her cup. “I mean, living in the same city, same job… same routine.”

You laughed, because the question sounded almost absurd.

“And you never get tired of always running?”

Misty shrugged, indifferent.

“If I get tired, I’ll move again. It’s simple.”

Her simple was everything that wasn’t simple for you.

Autumn arrived. You found yourself walking beside her on the way back from work, without even realizing when it became a habit. Misty always walked fast, like someone wanting to get somewhere, but she slowed down to keep pace with you. She didn’t admit it, but she slowed.

In winter, there was a night when the café was nearly empty. She stayed late, talking about trivial things — strange customers, coworkers, the cold freezing her hands. You offered your scarf, and she accepted without protest. “If you want to lend it, I want it. If not, doesn’t matter,” she said, but didn’t return it that night. Nor the next.

When spring arrived, there was already a certain code between you. Misty never said “I’ll be back tomorrow,” but she returned. You never asked, “stay a little longer,” but she stayed. She continued telling herself she expected nothing, that she didn’t care. But with each shared coffee, each comfortable silence, each time her laughter echoed inside her, Misty felt the world’s hurry lose strength.

And you, who always believed in permanence, began to realize that even those who run can, at some point, choose to stop.

The afternoon fell slowly, and the orange light filled the room through the windowpane. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the space, mingling with the soft scent of the blanket covering both of you on the sofa. Misty tucked her feet under your blanket, resting them against your legs, and you couldn’t help but smile. She had that audacious way of invading your space, but never asking for permission — and you liked it.

“You know you’re dangerous, right?” you said, stirring your coffee. “Every time you do this, I think: ‘this woman is never leaving my sofa.’”

“And why would I leave?” Misty retorted, not even looking at you, sipping her own coffee. “It’s cozy, warm… and you’re here. Doesn’t seem like a problem.”

She smiled sideways, her eyes shining with that mix of feigned indifference and genuine curiosity that always captivated you. You leaned slightly, resting your head against hers, feeling the light weight of her body against yours.

“I still can’t believe you decided to stay.” you murmured, voice low, almost a secret.

“I never said it was easy,” she replied, laughing softly. “But with you, it seems worth it.”

The movie on TV played almost unnoticed. You laughed at some scenes, commented on others, but the conversation was just a backdrop for the comfortable silence, the subtle touch of feet, the shared warmth. Misty played with her hair, occasionally brushing her hand against yours, and each gesture said more than words ever could.

You stirred your coffee, looking at her tenderly. “So… you really settled here?”

“I settled, firmly,” Misty replied, sliding her feet even closer, finally nestling against you. “And, you know… I’m not leaving. At least not while you’re here.”

Silence returned, but now it was different: heavy with security, coziness, a silent promise. The world could wait outside. Wiskayok was small, predictable… but there, between coffee and the shared blanket, everything was enough.

And Misty, that woman who always ran, always changed, finally discovered that she could stop. That she could take root without losing her own shine. Because beside you, there was something she no longer wanted to let slip away.

🏷️ @moesthoughts, @antlertruths, @driftstar, @antlerqueensab, @soda-kidz

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starfishinskyy · 8 days ago

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Hey could you write a Van X Female!|reader oneshot of like van being all ibsecure about the wolfbite and shit reader taking care of her and saying she is beautiful? Light making out is ok if you feel comfy? Thx

𝑩𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆, 𝑽.𝑷. ⋆˚࿔

ᝰ 𝖈𝖜 ━ making out , x fem! reader

ᝰ 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 ━ van hasn’t talked to you since her injury but you show her she has no reasons to ignore you

Ever since Taissa’s recent expedition to find rescue, Van has been avoiding you. Well… avoiding everybody really. There were times when you would attempt to start a conversation with her, and she would just fake sleep or ignore you. It hurt. You two have been close for so long… hell, she was the reason you joined the team and maybe even the reason you had been alive for so long in this wilderness. But now she won’t even give you as much as a look.

You knew about the wolf attack. You didn’t even bring it up to her afterwards. You knew that it would just be too much. So instead, you tried starting a conversation about basic things. But she wasn’t going to speak back. You were going to give up… but you couldn’t, not on her.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆

At breakfast, the girls all collectively decided that tonight they’ll have what they like to call: Doomcoming. When they mentioned the idea, you looked up from your cup of maggots at Van, only for her to storm away. You wanted to talk to her so bad. But she wouldn't let you. That’s when you got the idea.

If she wasn’t going to come to you, you were going to go to her.

˚⟡˖ ࣪ ⋆

You found her later, sitting by a tree, hiding from everyone. She was staring down at the ground.

“Van,” you said softly, crouching down beside her.

She didn’t look at you. “I’m not going to that stupid party.”

You didn’t know how to reply. You just looked at her. “Well then… we don’t have to go, I just thought–”

“You shouldn’t waste your time on me,” she interrupted, shoulders tense, keeping her eyes focused on the ground.

You frowned. “Why not?”

She hesitated before replying. “Look at me.”

Your brows furrowed as you shook your head. “Van. You’re not–”

“Don’t,” she snapped softly. “I know what I look like. It’s disgusting,” she gave a humorless laugh. “Even you can’t tell me this doesn’t make me look hideous,” she motioned to her face that was half-covered by torn pieces of clothing.

Your heart clenched, not in pity, but in affection that made you want to take all of her insecurity away and show her exactly what you’ve been feeling this whole time.

“You think this changes the way I see you?” you asked.

“It should,” she muttered.

“It doesn’t,” you answered. “You could have a whole bigger gash on the other side of your face, Van, and I’d still…” You trailed off, aware of how your throat tightened with the truth you never believed you would ever say out loud.

Her eyes finally met yours. “You’d still what?”

You took a deep breath. “I’d still think you’re beautiful. Because you are. Not just here…” You reached up, brushing your fingertips over the exposed skin in between the fabric. “...but here.” Your palm flattened briefly against her chest, over her heart.

She was staring at you like she hadn’t in days. Like she was unsure whether to believe you or not. “You really think that?” she asked.

You nodded your head. “I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The wind brushes the space between the two of you. Her hand came up, hesitant at first, then more sure, cupping her cheek. You leaned into her touch, letting her feel how much you meant everything you just said.

“You’re so good to me,” she chuckled lightly.

Her mouth shifted upward. Then, before you could think about it too much, you leaned in. The kiss began slowly, testing, your lips brushing hers gently. She sighed against your lips, and the sound sent a shiver through you. Her hand slipped to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss.

You let yourself melt into her, your fingers pulling at her shirt, holding you close. Every inch of her felt so warm and new.

When her thumb brushed across your jaw, you pressed forward, kissing her harder this time. She responded instantly, parting her lips for you. The kiss slowly became messy and desperate.

Finally, you broke apart just long enough to breathe, your noses brushing both of you, smiling and panting.

“Beautiful,” you whispered again, and you felt her smile against your lips.

When you finally pulled back, you stayed close, foreheads almost touching. “So… what do you say? Doomcoming?”

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head like she wanted to say no — but she didn’t. “Yeah, for you.”

#yellowjackets #van palmer #yellowjackets x reader #van palmer x reader #yellowjackets x female reader #vanessa palmer #van palmer x female reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x reader #liv hewson #oneshot #van palmer oneshot

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starfishinskyy · 8 days ago

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Forever my favorite Jackie feast looks

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starfishinskyy · 9 days ago

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I AM OBSESSED

Teen misty x fem reader, misty conditioning this girl to rely on her. Misty stealing her class work and " finding it" for her. Always offering her food or a jacket, gotta be the dependable one. Its not till a party goes south and drunk reader seeks out misty that she knows she's won.

Winner takes it All

Misty Quigley × fem reader

Tags: Mind conditioning, sfw, jock!reader × nerd!misty

Word count: 1856

It started off all in small doses, a fleeting thought. All of a sudden, you needed more; of her. Before the coming semester, you hadn’t ever really bumped into Misty Quigley. You knew the back of her head from passing by her in the halls, and there were a couple of classes you shared, but your desks were far apart.

GPA hanging by a thread, Misty was assigned to you as a mentor, to help you make it through your final year. It would be a shame to have endured all of this bullying and bullshit without graduating.

Reluctantly, you find your way to the school library. Bland, beige and boring. Scribbles of pens, and whispers, and pages flapping fill your ears, and as you cross the threshold from hallway to Library, your throat constricts with the apprehension that speaking freely is frowned upon. It unnerves you. You're not one for rules.

Behind a pillar adorned with posters, you spot Misty; waiting impatiently. Her curls are toppled upon her head, with a couple of escapees getting caught in her earrings, and her glasses. Noticing you, she untangles them, frenziedly.

“You’re late.”

“Sorry.”

You’re not.

Huffing, she rubs her glasses on her jumper and puts them back on. “I don’t have to do this, you know.”

She spits impatiently, fed up of being taken for granted all the time. “You’re the one who’s gonna get kicked out.”

“I know…” You say, sheepishly, taken aback by her hostility, and sit down immediately, afraid of her temper rising. Focus refreshed, she sighs and unfurls some of her books and notes from her bag, and spreads them out across the table.

“Mrs. Johnson said Math wasn’t your strong suit, so we’ll be starting with algebra.” She explains, deadpan.

A groan rumbles in your throat.

Not a soul came to save you from the afternoon being swallowed up by confusing sums, some bullshit about variables and values, crammed into one of your ears, and slipping out the other. As you clutch your head in despair, she suggests to call it a day, wanting to avoid any tears.

“I’m not stupid, you know!” You insist, small. “I’m just not good with numbers…”

To wrap things up, she sighs and pulls a piece of paper from her pocket for you to take.

“Look, if you can’t save your grade with Math, why don’t you try out for The Soccer team?” She says with sympathy.

“We’ll still have to meet up for study sessions..” Her heart lurches when she sees your focus switching to The Yellowjackets instead. “Just to keep Mrs. Johnson happy…”

Kicking a ball around a field had always sounded rather stupid to you, but your parents would have your head mounted on a wall if you got kicked out of Wiskayok. Plus, in the past you’ve been told you’re a pretty good runner, so you’ve got to give it a try.

Unsurprisingly, Misty isn’t a part of the panel. However, she sets up the track, and takes charge of registration. Your name is first on the list. A sophomore is turned away for not signing up, even though she swears her name was on there earlier.

“Good luck!” She smiles as you pass her by.

Coach Scott leads you and the other participants through warm-ups, before tossing you all in at the deep-end: drills. He observes how you pass and control the ball, communicate with the rest of the team, especially during the scrimmage at the end. Attitude and physical attributes also make you stand out.

Benches look like heaven when you’re absolutely fucking exhausted. Stumbling into the locker room, you crash into the wooden lats; panting. You hear a ‘clang’ as the door is flung open, all the other girls barging in, an overpowering buzz of chatter.

Irked, you shut your eyes and lay there, moving for no one.

“Here.” There’s a tap at your shoulder. Begrudgingly, you look up and see Misty looming above you, holding something. You sit up, and feel every ache of your joints.

“It’s a protein shake.” She beams, and becomes anxious as she notices you studying the ingredients.

"What’s wrong?”

Your eyes squint at the tiny words on the bottle. “I’m just checking there’s no coconut.” Your eyes flicker to hers, as you take a swig. “I’m allergic.”

By the skin of your teeth, you made the team! Misty even had the pleasure of announcing your name to the whole School once the decision had been made. Truth be told, you guys had become friends over the past couple of weeks. After every game, sometimes even after practice, she’s waiting by your stuff to give you a rub-down, insisting that she’s helping you avoid an injury in the long run. Study sessions have turned into casual conversation disguised as studying.

“Oh shoot–” She gasps at her watch. “We really need to pack up.”

Reluctantly, you nod, scanning the table for what’s yours, and shoving it in your bag. Your eyes land on a piece of paper covered in her handwriting. “Fuck!”

You run your hands through your hair. “I forgot to do the fucking homework, Mrs. Johnson’s gonna kill me–”

Misty freezes; her mind a thousand miles an hour. “I’ll do it!”

“What?” You say in disbelief. “Really?”

“ーIf you’ll invite me to the Party on Saturday.” She shoots the words at you, her expression stern.

The bell rings.

“I- Yeah sure!” You fumble around in your bag, and hand her the paper. “Thanks, Misty.”

Short dresses, fishnet tights, combat boots and denim jeans with too many rips have eaten up the carpet in your bedroom. As you dab on some finishing touches to your makeup, the telephone rings in the hallway.

“I’ll get it!” You announce to the rest of the house.

“Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s Misty!” Your mouth falls open. “You excited for the party!? I’ve been deciding what to wear for an hour, I think–”

“Misty…how did you get this number?”

You can hear her breathing down the phone.

“It…it was in the phone book!” She pleads, her resolve crumbling. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t give me a fake address…”

You sigh, twirling the telephone cord around your fingers. “Misty, I promise you, I will be at the place I told you to go.”

Never in your life has someone looked so excited to see you. Your feet have barely been on the grass for ten seconds, before Misty lunges towards you, ensnaring you in a hug.

“Hi bestie!” She has on a thin, floral patterned blouse, tucked into her button-up jeans. Sneakers: the same as usual, converse and colourful. Her arms hold you tightly, her skin like puff pastry.

“See, I told you I was coming…” You chuckle, regaining your balance as she lets go of you. There’s already a red plastic cup thrust into your hands.

“It’s punch.” She explains, biting her lip, as she drags you towards the crowd surrounding a boombox.

Who needs to see straight when staggering around the place is a perfectly practical mode of self-transportation? Everyone rushes around to top up their drinks, the music turned down a little, as Shauna leads a game of ‘Never have I ever.’

By a tree, you and Misty huddle together, gossiping.

“Okay…never have I ever…gone skinny dipping.” She yells. She, and a few of the guys lift their cups to their lips. You and Misty catch each other's eyes, sneering.

Jackie rushes into the circle next, Jeff eyeing her up. “Never have I ever...broken up with someone over the phone.”

There’s uproar around the circle. Misty leans into your ear. “I’ve never actually dated someone before…”

You shake your head, leaning all your weight on the other leg now, shivering. “Neither…”

Her curls whip your face as she spins around, retrieving her jacket from atop a beer barrel.

“Here!” She tosses it around your shoulders, her eyes boring into yours in the low light.

“Thanks…” You’re flattered.

“Never have I ever been to a nude beach!” Some jock calls out. Your head whips back to the game. Bashfully, you raise your cup.

“No!” Exclaims Misty, her mouth agape with a grin.

“It was by accident, when I was a kid, but…” You giggle with her. “It still counts!”

The two of you are split up when flashes of red and blue distort your vision, a wail ripping through the sound barrier. Everyone sprints in different directions, abandoning the barrel fires, and booze.

Your feet carry you for a few minutes, until you collapse by a bush. Your mouth is dry but still, you can’t swallow. You put your hands out in front of you, and panic, as they’re freckled in hives.

“Misty…” You choke, disoriented. Drowsy.

“Mithty!”

Someone drops to their knees besides you, throws an arm around you, and hoists you up to sit. Misty's eyes widen at the sight of your lips like sausages on your face. As quick as a flash, she drags you to a nearby porch, and props you up against the railing.

“I’ll be right back…”

Wheezing out tears, you can hear Misty banging on the homeowners door. You blink, and she’s back.

“You’re gonna be okay.” She mutters firmly. Her hands dive to your shorts, unbuckling your belt. As you thrash your hips, she holds them down.

“I have to loosen restrictive clothing!”

She seizes you by the collar, pulling apart your shirt. Her eyes fly over your head as she sees the front door of the house open. She takes off and comes back again, with an older woman, who takes orders from Misty.

“Y/n, I think you’re in anaphylaxis.” She grabs your face, forcing you to look at her. “Where’s your epipen!?”

Your tongue is extremely swollen, but your hands droop in the direction of your handbag. She snatches it away from the road, tipping it upside down until it falls out. She tosses away the cap. Blue to the sky, orange to the thigh.

She rips a hole in your fishnets, mapping out the perfect site injection.

“Stay still, okay?”

She jabs the needle straight into your thigh. ‘Click.’ Still, she holds you steady. You wince at the deep prick of a needle.

Soon, EMT’s arrive, Misty even helps them load you onto a stretcher. Your hand clings to hers, afraid she'll abandon you. But she stays by your side in the ambulance, stroking your hair out of your face every now and then.

“Misty…”

You croak, full of tears. “I’m so glad you were there…”

Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas.

“I know…” She whispers, grinning. Her shoulders drop. “If I wasn’t there, you could’ve been…you know…”

You nod, tears streaming down your puffy cheeks. “I’m so glad I have you…”

Her heart skips a beat. As the ambulance rolls along the highway, and the EMT’s continue to monitor your vital signs, she continues to be friendly and cooperative with them. Through her pocket, she runs her thumb over the small bottle of coconut liqueur hiding in there, running her finger over it like a small trophy.

“I’ll always look out for you, y/n.”

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