#and then when I scrolled up to check something

[isabelckl]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

You were already five minutes into tuning out Miss Alvarez’s ongoing dissection of The Great Gatsby—something about disillusionment, green lights, and doomed men with god complexes. Hard pass.

Your friends beside and behind you were snickering about something—probably someone—but you were too bored to care. Their laughter filtered through like white noise, low and distant.

So, as usual, you turned to the one thing that offered any real entertainment when boredom hit terminal levels. You checked your notifications, cleared out stupid texts from stupid boys, and finally opened that app.

Before doing anything, you glanced around lazily, then dropped your screen brightness and tilted your phone just enough to make sure no one behind you could peek. The layout loaded instantly, familiar and weirdly comforting. No photos, just bios, vague usernames, and chat boxes that were a little too easy to open.

You scrolled through a few profiles aimlessly before switching tabs and landing on your ongoing conversation with someone under the name E.

You’d been messaging back and forth for almost two weeks now. You didn’t know who she was, not really—just that she was clever, a little snarky, and definitely someone who knew how to keep you engaged without even trying. Sometimes it felt like talking to a complete stranger. Sometimes it felt like she knew you better than half the people at this school.

You stared at the last message she’d sent you last night, the one you’d read four or five times even though it was short and kind of innocent.

E:

“i love reading :]”

Your thumb hovered for a second before you started typing, slouched low in your chair, phone hidden beneath the desk. You tried not to smirk as the words appeared.

You:

what if we kissed behind the nonfiction aisle jk unless??

You set your phone down and pretended to scribble something on your notebook, resting your cheek against your hand, bored again within seconds. The teacher’s voice faded into a drone. You started writing nonsense loops with your pen, not really listening to anything anymore.

A buzz cut through the room. Not yours. Loud. Sharp.

You blinked up. Ellie Williams, seated near the front, fumbled to silence her phone while the screen lit up in her hand.

“Please turn that off, Miss Williams,” Miss Alvarez snapped without missing a beat.

A few classmates laughed quietly. Ellie didn’t say anything, just shrugged like she couldn’t care less and slid her phone into her lap.

You went back to wasting ink, your pen dragging over the edge of the page as your phone buzzed, quiet and controlled this time—just once, the vibration barely a tick beneath your palm.

You flipped it open carefully and read her reply.

E:

only if you promise to dog-ear my soul and underline my bad habits

You blinked, raising an eyebrow at her reply.

You stared at the message a little longer than you meant to, eyes dragging over the words again—dog-ear my soul, underline my bad habits. You weren’t sure if it was weird or kind of... brilliant. Either way, it hit somewhere low in your stomach.

You glanced up lazily, scanning the room like it’d help ground you. Miss Alvarez was still going, pacing at the front of the classroom with a paperback copy of Gatsby clenched in one hand. Your friends were still whispering behind you—some drama, someone’s hair, someone’s outfit. None of it mattered.

You typed back.

You:

what bad habits?

name three rn.

You sent it and immediately slid your phone under your notebook like you’d done something criminal. Your pen moved again, looping nonsense in the margins, but your heart was thudding a little now.

The reply came faster than you expected.

E:

falling for girls i shouldn’t

answering texts in class

making it way too obvious when it’s you

Your brow furrowed instinctively. The message was clever, yeah, but the third line sat wrong in your chest.

You typed before thinking.

You:

weird

That was it. No emoji. No punctuation. Just the word sitting there like a raised eyebrow.

You waited.

Her response didn’t take long.

E:

everyone’s a little weird.

some of us just hide it better.

You scoffed quietly through your nose, thumb hovering over your keyboard.

You:

i’m not.

E:

pls.

everyone’s weird.

even you, i know

You hesitated, eyes flicking up again, like anyone in this room might somehow be listening in on this dumb conversation through sheer telepathy.

You went back to your screen.

You:

ok then

tell me 3 weird things about you

You tossed the phone back under your notebook, leaned your head on your hand again, and tried not to look as keyed-up as you felt.

The buzz came just as you started drawing a rectangle around nothing in your notes.

E:

i know how to pick locks.

once convinced a teacher i was allergic to chalk to skip a presentation.

i wear rings just to fidget with them when i’m lying.

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or raise your guard. You weren’t sure if she was trying to impress you, scare you, or lowkey admit she was a professional liar.

The last one made you pause. You pictured it—hands, silver rings, nervous fidgeting. You glanced around the classroom like the answer might be hiding between pencil cases and Gatsby annotations.

You looked away quickly, back down at your screen.

You:

well that’s very u

you wanna know 3 things about me?

A second passed.

E:

sure :]

You typed, trying not to overthink it.

You:

i once cried because my nail broke before a party

i memorize random license plates when i’m bored

You paused, rereading the first two. They were fine. Harmless. The kind of “weird” that still sounded cute if someone repeated it out loud. The kind of weird that kept your walls up just enough.

And then, without really thinking—or maybe thinking too much—you typed the third.

You:

i have a nipple piercing

You stared at it for a second before hitting send, lips twitching.

Delivered.

You kept your phone down in your hand and leaned back in your chair like you didn’t just casually confess one of the most insane things you’d ever told a stranger.

You felt the beat of your pulse in your throat as you stared straight ahead, pretending to care about whatever Miss Alvarez was saying about Gatsby’s “moral decay,” while your phone sat under your hand like a loaded weapon.

You glanced down when you felt another buzz.

E:

what the hell

you can’t just drop that as number three like it’s nothing

You snorted. Quiet. Sharp. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep it contained.

E:

i’m rereading it

you said “i have a nipple piercing” like i say “i had cereal this morning”

You tapped your fingers against your notebook, smirking a little now.

Another message popped up before you could even open your keyboard.

E:

who gave you the right

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. There was something kind of stupid and hilarious about watching a stranger completely spiral over a throwaway confession. It was stupid and thrilling.

You finally replied.

You:

u said u wanted weird

don’t complain now

The three dots appeared immediately.

They vanished.

Then reappeared.

E:

you’re lucky we’re in public right now

because i have questions

You stared at the screen for half a second longer than you should, something sharp curling at the edges of your mouth. You knew exactly what you were doing.

You:

u wanna see?

lmao jk

but ??

You didn’t move. You just sat there with your phone tucked beneath your hand, like you hadn’t just said the most unhinged thing of your entire academic career. (Well, obviously—because you only let this side of you out with girls.)

E:

JAIL.

straight to jail.

You pressed your knuckles against your lips to keep the sound in. You could feel the heat in your cheeks now, but you were smiling. Fully smiling. You hadn’t even noticed that Miss Alvarez called on someone, that your friends had gone quiet behind you, or that class was dangerously close to ending.

Your phone buzzed again.

E:

i mean

not no

but also

JAIL

You let out a breath through your nose and replied, just two words:

You:

thought so

You didn’t expect her to respond immediately.

The bell hadn’t even rung yet. The room still buzzed with half-bored energy. Your phone was still in your palm, screen lit from her last message.

You stared at it for a second, letting the silence settle. Letting the grin fade into something more calculated. You tucked your phone into your hoodie pocket, raised your hand just high enough to get Miss Alvarez’s attention without actually trying.

“Bathroom?” you asked, already standing halfway.

Miss Alvarez waved you off with a distracted, “Be quick.”

You slipped out of the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, heart pounding like you’d done something criminal—which, to be fair, you were about to.

The hallway was quiet. Most people were still trapped in last-period misery. You headed straight for the nearest bathroom—one of the nicer ones. Clean mirrors, locked stalls, no broken soap dispensers.

You locked yourself inside and exhaled.

For a second, you just stood there. Not thinking. Not second-guessing. Just staring at your reflection like you were waiting for her to dare you again.

You slid your phone out, opened the camera. Angled it in front of your opened blouse—not too obvious, not too graphic. Just enough. A glimpse of skin. A flash of silver.

Sent.

You:

proof

(bc apparently ur dramatic)

You locked your phone immediately after, heart hammering in your ears. You didn’t even wait to see if she replied. You just breathed. Stared at the stall door.

Your phone buzzed.

Three times.

That was enough.

You didn’t open it.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, smirk already tugging at your lips, and unlocked the stall.

Your reflection was flushed. Just slightly. Lips pink. Expression smug.

By the time you pushed open the classroom door, everything looked the same—except you knew it wasn’t.

You walked in like nothing happened.

You were halfway down the aisle toward your desk when you passed Ellie.

She was still slouched in her chair, pretending to read the half-assed notes on her desk. But you caught the way her eyes flicked up the second your steps slowed.

Your eyes met.

Her mouth was slightly parted as her eyes followed you.

You raised an eyebrow, just barely, and kept walking.

You dropped into your seat with the same calm as before, tossing your bag down, and shot a knowing smirk at your friends—who were, of course, snickering over something unrelated and way less interesting.

You spun your pen lazily between your fingers, shoulders loose.

For some reason, your gaze landed on Ellie again.

She was still looking at you. Watching you.

You raised your eyebrows again, sharper this time—What?—the kind of look that always worked on everyone. The kind that meant quit staring.

Her gaze raked over you, slow and unreadable, and you frowned without meaning to. Just as you turned back around, you caught it—the faintest smirk tugging at her lips before her eyes flicked forward like nothing happened.

You rolled your eyes, turned around, and smiled to yourself as you pressed your thumb against your phone screen.

[kxsagi]

Bllk with a reader who is always at their home and the moment she isn't they panic/feel lonely lowkey me

“𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧”

a/n: just watched flipped and i need a yearnful man

ft. isagi yoichi, mikage reo, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, karasu tabito, yukimiya kenyu, shidou ryusei, bachira meguru, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he walks into the apartment whistling, all happy and boyfriendly, expecting you to be on the couch wrapped in a blanket like a human burrito watching your 20th true crime doc. 

but the moment he opens the door and it’s silent�� he freezes mid-step like he just triggered a tripwire. 

“love? you taking a nap?” 

no answer. his eyes dart around like a detective. he starts checking rooms, corners, under the bed? 

calls you immediately. your phone rings from the kitchen counter. 

“oh my gosh she left her phone. she’s dead. she’s in a ditch.” 

doesn’t even sit down. just holds your throw pillow to his chest, stares blankly at the ceiling and whispers, “this is what grief feels like.” 

when you walk back in, he’s like, “i thought you got kidnapped and forgot your phone during the struggle. i already made a missing poster.” 

you were gone for an hour to buy dish soap. 

mikage reo

reo swears he’s the most chill, secure man alive… until he opens the door and you’re nowhere to be seen. 

immediately texts you: where are you did i do something be honest. you hate me now right i’ll buy you a new apartment 

facetimes you and just stares at the screen without blinking. full deadpan. no words. just sorrow. 

“you weren’t here to greet me at the door like a happy little wife. how am i supposed to go on?” 

lies dramatically on the couch like he’s in a 1920s soap opera. holds a photo of you to his chest. 

considers texting your mom just to feel closer to you. 

the moment you walk back in with iced coffee: “oh so you’re alive. and caffeinated. but not emotionally invested in my suffering? okay.” 

nagi seishiro

the moment he realizes you’re not home, he literally just… stops functioning. 

like, deadass stands in the living room for three minutes straight. motionless. 

throws himself on the bed dramatically. 

calls you and groans into the mic when you pick up. 

“this sucks. i was gonna lay on you like a body pillow.” 

ends up opening the fridge 14 times out of boredom, forgetting every time that you’re the one who actually cooks. 

texts you “when are you coming home 😩” every 10 minutes and leaves 28 voice notes, all of them sighs. 

when you return: “finally. i was thinking about ordering you off amazon if you didn’t show up.” 

itoshi rin

rin acts like it’s whatever. says, “she’s probably out. it’s fine.” 

it is not fine. 

starts pacing the apartment like he’s rehearsing a monologue. 

checks the time like he’s your parole officer. opens the closet to see if your shoes are still there. 

mutters “what if she met someone smarter. taller. funnier.” like he’s fighting inner demons. 

keeps walking into rooms and frowning like they offended him. 

when you come back, he’s sitting in the dark, arms crossed. 

“you didn’t text me. or call me. or say ‘rinnie, my love, i’ll be back soon.’ what am i supposed to do with that?” 

then immediately pulls you into a hug like he’s been deprived of oxygen. 

itoshi sae

acts like he doesn’t care. “she’s out. whatever.” 

literally sits on the couch with his arms crossed like he’s waiting to argue. 

glares at the wall. then at your phone charger. then at your slippers. 

ends up scrolling through old texts, rereading the one where you said “brb i’m going pee.” 

calls you and doesn’t even say hello. just: “so you abandoned me now?” 

you tell him you just went out for groceries and he replies, “okay. so you’d rather be with onions than me. good to know.” 

when you come back: “you didn’t even ask if i wanted to come. i could’ve carried the bags. held your hand. flirted with the cashier to get you a discount.” 

kaiser michael

absolutely losing it. like, cartoon-level panic. 

he opens the door expecting to see you, only to be met with dead silence and a couch that looks too empty. 

dramatic gasp. 

“she’s gone. my freundin is gone. and i don’t know who i am anymore.” 

immediately checks your location. sees you’re at the pet store. starts spiraling. 

“what if she meets a guy who likes cats more than me? what if he’s german, too?? no. NO. I’M ONE OF A KIND.” 

facetimes you mid-aisle and when you pick up, he says, “don’t buy a hamster, buy a plane ticket back to ME.” 

when you return: grabs your face in his hands, all breathless like a war reunion. 

“don’t ever leave me again without telling me the exact time, duration, and intention of your trip. and a selfie.” 

karasu tabito

the worst combination: clingy and sarcastic. 

the moment you’re not home, he sends you a video of him dramatically opening the fridge, seeing it empty, and saying, “wow. abandonment. you left me to starve.” 

updates his IG story with a selfie captioned “#widowed.” 

facetimes you and holds your blanket up to the screen like, “you see this? this smells like you. this is all i have now.” 

calls his mom and says, “remember that girl i told you about? yeah. she left me. she’s dead to me.” 

when you get back, he immediately flops on you. 

“i couldn’t even be toxic today. who was i gonna annoy? the toaster?? never again, babe. next time you leave, i’m hiding in your purse.” 

yukimiya kenyu

starts off normal. reads a book. drinks tea. listens to classical music like a refined man. 

but after 45 minutes of silence, he starts looking around like a ghost might appear. 

opens the window and sighs like he’s in a french film. 

talks to the cat you guys don’t even own: “she’s usually here by now. i hope she’s okay. she’s my sun, my moon, my stars…” 

makes himself a sad cup of tea and drinks it in your sweater (that’s too tight for him and the fabric is snapping). 

when you finally walk through the door, he says, “oh. you returned. i only had to make three voicemails about how much you mean to me. no big deal.” 

hugs you for an entire minute and whispers, “next time, take me with you. i can fit in your tote bag.” 

shidou ryusei

bro flips out like a sitcom character whose wife just left him for a yoga instructor. 

immediately calls you and when you don’t answer in 0.2 seconds: “babe? where are you?? i’m losing my mind, i think i’m seeing things. the plants are whispering.” 

drags your hoodie around the apartment like a lost child. talks to it. 

makes a dramatic tiktok where he fake cries into the camera and captions it: “she went outside without me 💔 pray for me y’all” 

tries to track your location. can’t. assumes you’re on the run. 

when you get back, he clings to you like velcro. 

“you LEFT me here, alone, with myself. do you even know how dangerous that is?? never again. we’re getting a gps tracker. download life 360 right now.” 

bachira meguru

step 1: walks in. 

step 2: realizes you’re not home. 

step 3: whispers, “... uh oh.” 

this man has the emotional regulation of a bouncy ball. the second he doesn't see you smiling at him from the couch, he starts spiraling like he's in the middle of a villain origin story. 

“did she get bored of me? is this my joker arc?” 

talks to your plushies like they're your personal council. lines them up and goes, “okay guys, serious meeting. our queen has vanished. thoughts?? theories?? conspiracy??” 

makes a whole art piece with crayons titled “come home, baby, i miss you.” 

facetimes you with his face one inch from the screen like, “WHERE. ARE. YOU.” 

“you said you love me and then you LEFT. you broke the sacred trust. i can never emotionally recover from this.” 

when you walk in with bubble tea: “you were gone for so long i started humming to the walls. they’re my friends now. you can’t replace them.” 

but then he tackles you in a hug and whines, “next time i’m coming with you. i can fit in a shopping cart if i curl up.” 

ness alexis

you are his sunshine. his oxygen. his wi-fi connection. 

so the one day you're not home when he walks in with a bright little “i’m back~!” and there’s no answer? he’s devastated. 

full meltdown. texts you: i’m home!! wait where are you are you okay?? did someone steal you??? i miss you already. it’s been 3 minutes. 

paces around the apartment like a sad little elf, sniffing your perfume from your jacket and sighing like he's in a boyband breakup ballad. 

sits on the floor with your fuzzy socks and says, “i wore these once when you weren’t looking. they made me feel safe.” 

calls kaiser and says, “yo do you think she left me?” kaiser was like “she went to the pharmacy.” ness: “so she’s gone.” 

posts on his close friends story: “miss her. wish she’d come home. i lit a candle for her safety 🕯️😭” 

when you come back: “i was gonna knit us matching scarves while crying to sad kpop. you’re lucky you came back in time.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[leeeedith]

STRAY KIDS reaction when their S/O falls asleep on their shoulder

Bang Chan 🐺

He notices instantly. You rest your head gently, and he freezes like someone hit pause on him. Slowly relaxes, letting out a soft chuckle. Pulls his hoodie over both of you and subtly tilts his head to rest against yours. He melts. Might whisper "you okay?" even though you're asleep. Will not move until you wake up—not even if his arm dies. Worth it.

Lee Know 🐰

Acts like it's no big deal. Keeps scrolling on his phone with his usual poker face. But inside? SCREAMING. His shoulder tenses up for the first five minutes, but then he relaxes into it. Smiles to himself when he sees your sleepy pout. Might sneak a photo. Denies it later. "What photo? You were drooling." (You weren't.)

Changbin 🐷

Blushes so hard. Stiffens up like a brick wall. He's trying to act cool but panics because you're RIGHT THERE. On. His. Shoulder. After a while, he softens. Gently adjusts your head to make you more comfortable and stares at you with hearts in his eyes. Will talk about this moment in his next three raps. Iconic.

Hyunjin 😺

Drama king activated. He gasps when you fall asleep like he's in a K-drama. Quietly murmurs, "So precious..." then IMMEDIATELY pulls out his pone for selfies. Posts one with a caption like, "My angel 😇✨" and filters the life out of it. If anyone wakes you up, he will start a fight.

Han 🐿️

He's frazen. Brain: buffering. Doesn't know what to do with his hands. Just sits there with wide eyes like 😳 the entire time. Ends up slowly leaning into you too and accidentally falls asleep mid-panic. You both wake up confused but warm. Tells the other members it was an ambush.

Felix 🐥

Smiles so brightly he might cry. Wraps an arm around you gently and keeps whispering, "Sleep well, sunshine." Holds your hand if it's nearby. Will play quietly next to you so you're not disturbed. Sends Chan a message like: "they fell asleep on me 😭❤️" "what do I do??"

Seungmin 🐶

Pretends to be annoyed. Rolls his eyes like, "Really? On my shoulder?" But he doesn't move. Not even once. Looks at your sleeping face and his features soften instantly. Hums a tune under his breath to help you stay relaxed. Says something sarcastic when you wake up but gives you a cookie later. So obvious.

I.N 🦊

Flustered chaos. Doesn't even know where to look. Keeps checking that you're breathing like a concerned grandma. Smiles the entire time like it's the best day of his life. Accidentally drops his phone trying to take a picture. When you wake up, he shyly says, "You looked peaceful," and looks away blushing.

[atan-orofarne]

A number of these are faked and modified, with effects applied or other processing done.

1. Screaming Piha

Lipaugus vociferans

This was the first one that gave it away. It just seemed…obviously wrong.

This has been trimmed out of a slowed-down clip. Specifically this one, from the San Diego Zoo, which also features the actual call:

And another example that seems to be legitimate:

And here's a link to eBird, from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. We'll be hearing a lot from them in this post, because they're a great resource for bird information, especially in the US, but also internationally:

https://ebird.org/species/scrpih1

2. Australian Bustard

Not bustand.

Ardeotis australis

This one seems fairly accurate. Maybe some sort of effect applied — or maybe just poor audio quality. This seems to specifically be part of the mating display. (Start ~1:40, if the video doesn't on its own.)

And a CLO link. The last audio in the "top audio" section has a poor quality recording of this call, with the bird quite a distance off:

https://ebird.org/species/ausbus1

3. Common starling

(Sturnus vulgaris — European starling in the US)

Why did they use common names for the rest and not this one? Probably because "common starling" sounds bo-ring, and they want you to watch their doctored-up video.

This one has really obvious reverb applied. And I sure as shit haven't ever heard a starling do that. Though they are sometimes mimics, so it might be copying something. But it's hard to trust with the other effects applied; it's altered at a minimum.

Cornell Lab Or Ornithology is a great place to find out about North American birds (and naturalized nonnative birds like the starling). They have wonderful photo libraries and extensive sound libraries of calls, songs, warning calls, and even juvenile calls. You can hear great examples of the most common sounds starlings make. You should also check out their Merlin app if you want help with bird visual ID and sound ID!

4. Great Potoo or Common Potoo

Nyctibius grandis or Nyctibius griseus

From one end to the other, they've gone from a Latin binomial to not even specifying the full common name. This seems to be a great potoo, based on the patterns, coloration, and eye color (pupils would generally not be all dilated during the day, so we should see the yellow, I think, if it were a common). But I'm no expert on South American birds.

This video seems to be outright faked. And the audio was recorded from a distance, not close up, hence the echoing.

This video clip has been reposted a bunch by different accounts using a first-person descriptor, but this seems to be the original version of this video…and it does NOT make that noise in it:

CLO link for the great potoo (does not make this sound):

https://ebird.org/species/grepot1

And the common potoo. This is actually the call of the common potoo, despite the faked video:

https://ebird.org/species/compot1

5. Superb lyrebird

Menura novaehollandiae

This one doesn't seem to be faked. This fellow is a prolific mimic, so it could make that sound. Or loads of other sounds. (And this is a male, based on those tailfeathers — which are also the source of its common name, because they honestly do resemble the ancient Greek harp-like instrument, the lyre, when displaying.)

QI had some fun with this one a while back:

And here's the CLO link, of course. Tons and tons of different calls and recordings — be sure to scroll down to the "top audio" section, where there are over a dozen more recordings! And some do include sounds kind of like this one. This bird is a lot of fun to listen to:

https://ebird.org/species/suplyr1

6. Shoebill

Balaeniceps rex

Yep. They do that.

Though the echo in that room is really exaggerating things. They don't really sound like a machine gun.

The CLO site has a great recording, as you can hear it vocalizing at the same time as the beak clattering:

https://ebird.org/species/shoebi1

7. Kiwi

(there are five species, and I do not know enough about kiwis to tell you which ones each of these are)

This is a real recording. Though not the only sound a kiwi might make. You can hear some others at the beginning. And they've amped the saturation for some reason.

Another recording of a different call:

And one with a mix of calls:

And more!

CLO links:

Southern Brown Kiwi — Apteryx australis: https://ebird.org/species/sobkiw1

Okarito Brown Kiwi — Apteryx rowi: https://ebird.org/species/okbkiw1

North Island Brown Kiwi — Apteryx mantelli: https://ebird.org/species/nibkiw1

Little Spotted Kiwi — Apteryx owenii: https://ebird.org/species/liskiw1

Great Spotted Kiwi — Apteryx maxima: https://ebird.org/species/grskiw1

Weird and wonderful compilation of strange bird noises.

[glowettee]

✧・゜: self-discipline doesn't mean hating yourself into action :・゜✧:・゜✧

hey lovelies! ✧

i've been thinking about this a lot lately… how did we all collectively decide that being mean to ourselves was somehow the path to getting things done? like, who started this toxic rumor that self-discipline means internal screaming and punishment? because honestly? i spent years believing that the only way to accomplish anything was through this weird self-bullying technique and it was literally the least effective approach ever.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the wake-up call ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

last semester i hit a wall with my essay project. i had been doing that thing where you stare at your laptop, call yourself lazy in your head, promise to work for 8 straight hours to "make up for it," then get overwhelmed and watch netflix instead. but one night at like 2am (why do all realizations happen at 2am??) i wondered what would happen if i just… stopped being mean to myself about it?

what if self-discipline was actually about being the most understanding friend to yourself instead of the worst drill sergeant?

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ what actually works ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

start ridiculously small, i'm talking embarrassingly tiny steps. want to write that paper? commit to just opening the document and typing a single sentence. need to clean your space? just put away three things. the magic is that once you start, continuing feels so much easier.

create environments that make things easier, not harder. i rearranged my desk so everything i need is within reach and visible. stopped trying to work in my bed (even though it's so comfy) because my brain associates it with sleep and tiktok scrolling.

acknowledge the resistance instead of fighting it. when i feel that "i don't wanna" feeling, i literally say to myself "i hear you, and it makes sense you feel that way. what's one tiny piece we could do?" talking to myself like i'm my own bestie changed everything.

use curiosity instead of judgment. instead of "why am i so lazy?" (which never helps), try "i wonder what's making this hard for me right now?" sometimes the answer surprises you. maybe you're actually just hungry or need better lighting.

build in rest BEFORE you crash. i started scheduling actual breaks before i felt desperate for them, and somehow i get more done? it's like my brain knows it's not going to be held hostage forever.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the permission slip approach ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

my favorite technique lately has been what i call "permission slip productivity" where i literally write myself little notes giving permission to:

work imperfectly (first drafts can be messy!)

take breaks without guilt

change my approach if something isn't working

celebrate small progress instead of only the end result

acknowledge when something is genuinely difficult

there's something so powerful about physically writing yourself permission. it sounds silly but it works because it interrupts that mean inner voice that's been programmed into us.

⋆.ೃ࿔:･ the results speak for themselves ･:࿔ೃ.⋆

the wildest part? i actually get MORE done now that i've stopped the self-hate productivity method. turns out your brain works better when it's not being constantly criticized? who knew!

my essay (very big essay) got finished early. my room stays cleaner. i actually enjoy my study sessions now instead of dreading them. and most importantly, i don't feel that heavy cloud of shame following me around everywhere.

self-discipline isn't forcing yourself through misery, it's creating systems that work WITH your natural tendencies, not against them. it's about making things easier, not harder. it's about treating yourself like someone you actually care about.

and maybe the real glow-up isn't just checking things off your to-do list, but doing it without sacrificing your relationship with yourself in the process.

what about you? have you been trying to hate yourself into productivity? might be time for a gentler approach. you deserve that kindness from yourself. (and honestly? it just works better.)

xoxo, mindy 🤍

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 || 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which you and kate didn't mean to soft launch

The morning before game day feels exactly like every other morning in the second year of your WNBA career — slow, sleepy, quiet. Kate’s already up before you, slipping on her hoodie and pulling her hair into a lazy bun as she pads around the kitchen, humming some vaguely familiar country song. You watch her from your spot on the couch, half-asleep under a blanket you never remember unfolding, cradling a mug of coffee she definitely brought you without asking. That’s just how it is. That’s how it’s always been.

Since Iowa. Since sneaking hand-holding on buses and late-night FaceTimes during long road stretches. Since the tears when her name was called on draft night and the breathless laughter when yours followed a few picks later. Since the Valkyries took you both — different teams at first, then finally, together again. Five years now. Two as pros. One married. But no one knows that part. Not really.

The league knows you're close. Your teammates definitely know. Close can be everything and nothing all at once. Best friends. Roommates. Ride-or-dies. Married? That one’s been just yours.

Until today, maybe.

You’re walking into Chase Center like you always do. Grey sweats, Jordans, one AirPod in, badge swinging from the lanyard they gave you your rookie season. Kate’s already gone in ahead — she always stops for every staffer she knows, and she knows all of them. You hung back, scrolling on your phone, texting your brother something dumb about his fantasy football team. Normal. Easy.

You don’t even realize someone’s filming her until you round the corner and hear her voice first — bright, full of that familiar midwestern cheer, just a little too excited for a morning shoot.

“Man…,” she’s saying, face animated. “A little dramatic right now, you know.” Her eyes are wide, her dimples deep.

“Do you have a favorite?”

“Chelley’s my favorite,” she says, head tilting, right hand clotting the strap of her backpack.

“Who do you want next off the island?”

She laughs, not wanting to name any names, left hand sliding out of her pocket to cover her face. 

“I think there’s a specific person who has caused a little bit of drama  in the villa and she might need to go. No names.” And when she laughs, there it is — silver. Not flashy, not big, not center-staged, but unmistakable. Her wedding band.

“Understood.”

“See you guys!” She walks away, jogging up the steps, waving goodbye to the woman like they’re old friends.

You take a breath. Step forward. The same girl turns toward you, phone already lifted. “Hey! You mind if I ask you something quick?”

You shrug. Smile, keep it casual. “Shoot.”

“Do you watch Love Island?”

You laughed, short and dry. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

“I get pulled in every time. It’s, like, a toxic little ritual now.”

You moved your hand to mimic a spinning wheel—an endless cycle—and for just a second, your left hand slipped out of your pocket. The camera caught it. The light it. The dainty silver band, delicate against your skin, practically glowed under the overhead light near the door.

It was barely a second. But it didn’t need to be more than that.

Your team wins the game, able to lock the other team on defense, making their lives harder. 

That night, you drove home in silence together. Her hand on your thigh. Your fingers loosely wrapped around hers. The night sky bled over the Bay Bridge as the stars glistening the skyline, and you rolled the windows down just enough to smell the salt in the air. It felt like the calm before the storm.

You lived in a quiet apartment near the marina. Two bedrooms, open kitchen, soft white walls lined with framed jerseys and photo booth strips from a million years ago. Home.

You were in the kitchen reheating pasta when Kate wandered into the living room, phone in hand. “Babe?”

“Mhm?”

She sat on the couch, brows furrowed. “Did you check TikTok yet?”

You frowned, spooning pesto around the bowl. “No, why?”

“Uh…” She turned the phone toward you. “We’re kind of blowing up.”

You set the spoon down and walked over, wiping your hands on a dish towel. The WNBA’s official TikTok account had posted a video captioned,

“Two bombshells have entered the Arena. Kate Martin & Y/N Y/LN give us all the Love Island USA tea!”

The clip was barely a minute long, clips switching between you and Kate. Her laughing. You denying it. But what the fans noticed wasn’t your answers.

It was the rings.

The comments were already in chaos.

Kate blinked at you, mouth half-open like she was trying to laugh but hadn’t quite committed. “So…”

You leaned over the couch arm and kissed her temple. “So.”

“You think they’ll let us stay mysterious after this?”

You reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “They’ll try. But I think the ring did the talking.”

She looked at you. Really looked. The way she did when you said I do in front of three people on a foggy hike during a vacation, both of you crying like idiots. The way she did after the draft, waiting for your name to be called, heart thundering.

“I don’t mind,” she said finally. “I kind of… like that they know.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

Your phones buzzed again and again that night. Mentions. Edits. Old clips from college resurfacing. Conspiracy-theory TikToks unearthing that one photo of you holding hands in the background of a locker room celebration your senior year.

You let it all happen.

For the first time in five years, you didn’t rush to shut the door behind you.

You sat on the couch together, legs tangled, bowls of pasta growing cold. Kate pulled you close, tucked her face against your shoulder, and sighed softly into your hoodie.

“Wife,” she murmured. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You kissed her hair. “About time.”

[ay0nha]

When the Music’s Over | Dr. Jack Abbot

SUMMARY: Jack’s mouth opened like he might say something else—something honest, something heavy, but the words caught in his throat and never came. Instead, he gave a short, quiet nod, like he was tucking whatever that was into his chest for later.

Creative Event: A Doctor A Day 27, Prompt: "Even though the road to get here was long, at last I am home." (I reworded it to fit a little better sorry x) Color: Green

PAIRING: Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (physician assistant)

WORD COUNT: 7.6K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, tension-filled confessions, veteran affairs (I have OPINIONS on the care of veterans and today's political climate/military industrial complex BUT held back from making this political but fuck the government), group meeting/therapy, allusions to PTSD and what comes with being a combat veteran, prothesis/amuptation conversations, religious jokes-ish, smoking, mainly just all angst to fluff, NOT proofread so be kind, movie magic plot, etc.

A/N: This was so much fun to be a part of! This was really cathartic to write as it hits home some, so I hope you all enjoy. Thank you to @fuckoffbard for listening and helping. Thank you for creating this @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs!

COMMENTS ENCOURAGED! THEY FUEL ME!

The clinic lights always tried to mimic the morning light, but it was always too sterile, too awake. There was no natural gradient to welcome you into a new day. Instead, it was the kind of light that made you feel like you hadn’t slept enough, and never would, even if you had.  

You were the first to arrive. It was hard to lose the habit, but it gave you time to review the backlog of missed calls. The quiet preparation was the only time you had to decompress before the day, but the rusted bell rang, knowing you never truly got reprieve. 

Not many came in this early. Certainly not without appointments. Most regulars were punctual, others late, flustered, avoiding eye contact like the entire hallway and staff were some kind of moral jury. 

Yet, this man was already looking at you. You turned, and there he was. 

You were met with an already long day’s worth of stubble, a jacket zipped halfway, and a UPMC badge dangling low like a relic from a night shift not long ended. His shoulders filled the doorway like he hadn’t quite committed to being inside yet. 

However, you recognized him immediately. Abbot, Jack. Early 50s. Transtibial amputation of rthe ight leg. Two canceled appointments in March. One in April. No follow-up scheduled. 

His chart was one of those you flagged mentally; he was the kind of patient who only walked through the door once a year, just long enough to keep his services active before disappearing for another twelve-month stretch. 

Jack cleared his throat, low. “You take walk-ins?”

You blinked. Technically…no. Not this early. Not without calling ahead. Not when it was a physical rather than an urgent medical concern. Yet, your mouth moved before policy could catch up. 

“Give me a moment to get you checked in.” You nodded, words automatic and practiced.  “First and last name?”

He looked like he might leave right there. But then he exhaled—just enough air to say: Okay. I’ll stay.

“Jack. Abbot. Had an appointment a while back…” He spoke like his confession would make up for wasted time and resources. “...couldn’t make it.”

You hummed, tapping the keyboard, pretending to scroll through the records you already knew by heart. 

“Well,” You stared, standing. “Third time’s a charm.”

Guiding him through the narrow hallway, your shoes hit softly on the tile, linoleum too thin to hide the grout lines from the floor beneath. The overhead lights buzzed in that tired, mechanical way fluorescent bulbs always do after too many years and too few replacements. You moved past mismatched wall sconces and half-peeling placards that still bore the faint imprint of a previous tenant’s brass plates.

This place used to be a law office.

You could see it in the layout; the corner turns that led to nowhere, the heavy wooden doors that didn’t quite fit the newer hinges. Even the break room still had a long strip of polished wood where the receptionist’s counter once stood. Someone had slapped a rack of patient forms on it. A forced transformation.

Rented-out facility. Government-issued furniture. Nothing quite fit. Everything was too small, too sterile, or too hollow. And somehow, that made it perfect for a VA satellite clinic. A place repurposed by necessity. Like most things touched by war.

Jack didn’t make small talk, and you didn’t push. Glancing back, you could see the way he moved, shoulders slightly hunched, but still alert. He walked like someone used to being in charge of emergencies, but bone-tired from them, too. Like the ground might shake, but if it did, he’d know what to do. He just didn’t want to anymore.

Exam Room One. 

You gestured him in, and he stepped through without hesitation. The room was small, cold in the way all clinics are. Pale blue walls, a single high window smudged with old tape residue, and an exam table that creaked when he sat on it, the paper crackling beneath him. 

You picked up the prepared clipboard. 

“Before we get started, any changes in your health since your last visit?”

Jack’s mouth twitched like he might say something sardonic, but it passed. He shook his head.

“Still breathing.” He gave a slight nod. No argument. No complaint. Just a quiet readiness, like someone used to being told what to do in a language he didn’t bother translating anymore.

“Good place to start.”

You ran through the intake questions like you always did, but you kept your tone light, measured. You knew better than to fill silence with something unworthy. Especially not with veterans like Jack; men who’d learned how to hear the things people didn’t say.

You moved slowly, on purpose. You’d learned, over time, that fast hands spooked the ones who carried invisible wounds. As you stepped closer to take his vitals, you noted the small details: the subtle shift of his leg as he adjusted, the way he sat still, like movement required permission now, but his gaze tracked you steadily. Quiet. Present. 

Different than most.

Most avoided eye contact when you got close. Looked at their shoes. Or the ceiling. Or the floor that looked like it had been washed a thousand times but never once looked clean. Jack didn’t. His eyes followed your hands, your shoulders, your breath. Not intrusively. Just like someone trained to read a room for danger. Or maybe reassurance.

You wrapped the cuff around his arm, checking the alignment. The Velcro hissed softly. He didn’t flinch.

“BP’s holding steady. Good.” You murmured more to yourself to note. Then, you glanced up at him with a touch of dry levity, “I’ll let you keep your driver’s license.”

That got a small exhale of amusement.

Encouraged by the break in tension, however slight, you reached for the stethoscope slung around your neck. The room was cool, and the metal already had that unforgiving chill to it. Out of habit, you rubbed your hands together briskly, trying to warm your fingers before touching him. The stethoscope, however, was another story. 

You curled the diaphragm in your palm to try and bring it to room temperature, but you knew from experience it would still be cold against skin. Jack didn’t comment, just pulled the thin cotton of his shirt up without being asked.

You stepped closer, moving to his left side, and placed the warmed back of your hand against his ribs first as a courtesy, a warning. 

“This’ll be cold.” You commented apologetically as you pressed the stethoscope against him. 

Jack gave a small grunt in acknowledgment, but didn’t pull away.

The chill made his skin prick instantly. You saw its trail along the slope of his side, pale against old scars and the faded outline of a long-healed abrasion near his flank. 

“Deep breath in.” You instructed gently. He inhaled. You listened. “Again.” 

The sound of his lungs filled the bell, steady, hollow, the faint pull of old tension sitting low in his chest. You knew what clear lungs were supposed to sound like, and Jack’s weren’t far from it, but there was something shallow in the way he exhaled. Something practiced. Measured, like he was holding back.

“Again.”

He breathed in deeper this time, like he wanted to prove something. You moved the stethoscope slightly, trailing it across the muscle between his ribs.

You were close enough to feel the shift in his posture, how still he went once your hand touched him. Not rigid. Just very aware. Another breath. Another exhale.

“Any shortness?” You asked, moving to his back, your hand brushing the curve of his shoulder blade.

“No.” He breathed out. “Just tired.”

You let out a small hum in acknowledgment, pressing the stethoscope to the space between his spine and scapula. The hush of his breathing filled your ears again.

He inhaled. You listened. Something shallow in the left lobe, but not worrying. Just tension. The kind that never really leaves the body once it learned the shape of impact. You noted the way his shoulders resisted it, like his ribs had forgotten how to fully trust their own expansion.

You placed the stethoscope lightly to the left of his sternum first, where the apex beat lived beneath the ribs and years. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath under your palm as you steadied yourself. The silence narrowed around you.

His heartbeat thudded into your ears: slow, firm, echoing.

“Heart sounds good.” 

Normal S1 and S2 heart sounds. No murmurs, gallops, or rubs auscultated. You knew he knew this. 

You pulled the stethoscope away gently, but your hand lingered, resting for just a second longer over the center of his chest. You didn’t know why you did it. Maybe you just wanted to feel it. Really feel it.

That was the thing about hearts. You could listen all day, but you never really knew what they were holding until they trembled under your palm.

You scanned his chart again, thumb grazing the line that made you pause the first time. Chronic low back pain. No follow-up. Recommend monitoring posture w/ prosthetic use.

Still unresolved. You moved behind him, palm resting lightly between his shoulders.

“Your last visit flagged some lower back strain.” Your tone was neutral, leaving space for more. “Flares up when you’re on your feet too long?”

Jack gave a faint grunt. “Sounds like something they’d put in just to make me come back.”

“Well—” You applied gentle pressure down his spine. “—if that was the plan, it worked.”

He didn’t respond, just sat steady as your fingers pressed lower, feeling through the tension under his shirt. When you neared the curve, you slowed, palpating carefully on either side of the spine. You knew where to look, especially with someone bearing the uneven weight.

“It’s important to check for overcompensation.” You continued quietly. “If the alignment’s off, you’ll feel it in the back long before the leg.”

“I’m fine.” Jack huffed, low. 

You looked up at him. “Do you ever rest the site? Or let it breathe?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes.”

Which meant rarely. You marked that silently.

“The hospital isn’t exactly known for scheduled rest periods.” He spoke, and you could hear the smirk in his voice even if he didn’t turn. “If I sit, it’s to chart. If I stand, it’s to fix something.”

You pressed your thumb a little deeper, just left of his spine, right above the sacrum. He flinched, just a little. The smallest involuntary grunt, like a breath caught the wrong way. You let your hand settle there for a moment. Not scolding. Just noting.

“Right.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt the faint shift in his posture. Not defensive. Not defeated. 

You made the mental note and stepped to the cabinet without a word, retrieving the otoscope. The instrument clicked softly in your hand as you turned on the light. It cast a warm glow between you in the still room, humming faintly as if to fill the space your fingers had just left behind.

“Ears, then eyes.” You spoke gently. 

Jack turned slightly, letting you tip his head the way you needed. Your fingers were light under his chin, at the hinge of his jaw. The otoscope glinted softly as you angled it toward his ear.

But while you worked, Jack watched you. You could feel it, his gaze not just drifting but reading. Like he was still deciding what kind of person you were. Still trying to place you.

“You new here?” Jack finally asked. “You don’t seem like the city type.”

“Bold assumption to make so early in the morning.” You teased, pulling the light back and moving to the other side.

“Just an observation.”

“I was born here, actually…” You answered the question you always got casually. “...left for a long time. Transferred back this year.”

“VA brought you back?” Jack tilted his head slightly. You checked his pupils next, flicking the light across his eyes as they adjusted, one at a time. He didn’t squint or shy away. Just let you look.

“God, no—” You cursed. And then, to cover what threatened to leak out around the edges: “—I just sleep better here. Can’t fall asleep without the noise.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. “Most people say the city keeps them up.”

“I like knowing something’s still moving out there,” You laughed lightly through a huff. “Ambulances, garbage trucks, people yelling outside bars. Need to fall asleep to a world still spinning…”

Jack adjusted his scrub top absentmindedly, the material wrinkled from a long shift and a longer week. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, clinical, unforgiving, same as the ones he worked under most nights. But here, in this quiet exam room with your back against the counter and your arms folded, something about the hum felt less surgical. 

“Silence gets loud, y’know?” He’d said it like a joke, but you could tell it wasn’t one.

You tilted your head, watching him—not with pity, but with that quiet, observational calm some people wore like armor. He recognized it. Carried the same kind of thing into trauma bays.

You nodded, but said nothing. You knew better than to fill the pause.

He gave a faint, humorless huff. “Anyway, that’s why I stopped in. Better here than my apartment, staring at the ceiling with my ears ringing.”

“So this is a drive-by enrollment renewal?” You smiled softly. 

“Don’t act like that’s the worst thing you’ve seen in here.”

“It’s definitely in the top ten.” You replied dryly.  “Right between the guy who thought 'disability claim' meant show-and-tell, and the Marine who cried when I told him to hydrate.”

Jack didn’t laugh, not really, but something in his posture eased, like he was letting himself rest against the moment for the first time all day. Maybe all week. His hand brushed over his knee, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm, restless in that way only people wired for emergency ever were.

He watched you write like he wasn’t used to being on the other side of the clipboard. The subject instead of the observer. It wasn’t shameful. It was something quieter than that…displacement, maybe.

“You okay over there?” You asked, teasing just a little.

“Yeah. Just...weird.” He blinked like you’d pulled him out of a thought. 

“What is?”

“Being the one getting charted.” He nodded toward your pen.

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. I get that.”

He raised a brow. “Do you?”

“Honestly?” You thought for a moment, tapping the pen against your thigh.  “I can’t remember the last time I went to the doctor.”

That got a real look out of him. Not disbelief, just confirmation. That quiet, private awareness: Of course. You too.

“It’s hard…” You admitted. “When you’re used to being the one who knows the systems. Knows what they’ll say before they say it. Harder when you can’t picture someone on the other side knowing what to do with you.”

You watched him for another beat, then let your gaze drift to the clock. Not rushed, just reminded. You were still working. 

The rhythm of the clinic moved on, woke up, even when the air between you had stilled. Somewhere down the hall, a printer coughed. A phone rang and went unanswered. Staff clocked in.

You cleared your throat. “Regardless, everything looks good— I’ll send the go-ahead so your enrollment stays active.”

Jack gave a short nod, business-like again. Like a door had been pulled mostly shut, though not all the way.

You stepped away from the counter, your hand brushing the edge of the sink as you crossed the room. He rose at the same time, out of courtesy and instinct. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You held the door open for him.

The hallway outside was waking up,  the liminal space between morning chaos and whatever came next. Jack walked beside you, not hurried, not tense. You both moved like people who’d learned how to conserve energy in sterile places.

You waited until you reached the corner near the exit, the spot where patients usually asked about paperwork or turned around to remember they’d forgotten something.

Instead, you spoke up, “We run a group. Off the books.”

Jack glanced sideways at you.

“Thursday nights—” You went on, like you were reciting a neutral fact. “—across the street, at the church. It’s in the community room. It's unofficial. No sign-in, no rank, no talking if you don’t want to. Just people who prefer the noise.”

Jack said nothing, but you didn’t mistake silence for disinterest. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to figure out the angle. But there wasn’t one.

You didn’t fill in the rest. Didn’t say for people like you. Didn’t have to.

He nodded slowly. Like he didn’t know what to do with the information, but he understood it wasn’t being handed out lightly.

“I know you work nights. It probably doesn’t fit your schedule.” You couldn’t help but encourage, continue. “But in case it ever, you’re always welcome.”

Then, you pushed the front door open, holding it just long enough for him to pass through. The morning was bright out there, harsher than the lighting inside. He squinted against it.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He answered finally, voice quiet but deliberate.

As he stepped out, you said, without ceremony, “You already did the hard part.”

He turned halfway, brow raised. “Which part was that?”

“Walking in.” You made it sound so simple. Maybe it was.  “Letting someone see you before you’re bleeding.”

Jack stood there for a breath longer, the door propped open between you. You were close enough to see the small shift of his jaw, the ghost of tension at the corners of his eyes, like something flickered through him and caught behind his teeth.

He nodded, then he left.

—

The room smelled like burnt coffee and whatever detergent the janitorial staff bought in bulk. One of the folding chairs was broken, so you’d leaned it in the corner, hoping no one would try to use it. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, indifferent. Outside the windows, dusk hovered like it wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave.

You were halfway through introductions when the door opened.

Late. Not by much—seven minutes, maybe—but still, you glanced up instinctively, ready to gently redirect whoever came in. And then you saw him.

Jack Abbot.

He was still in scrubs, jacket thrown over the top, collar slightly wrinkled like he’d wrestled with whether or not to come and only won five minutes ago. His hair was a little longer than the last time you saw him, older somehow, even if it had only been a few weeks.

He hovered in the doorway, one boot inside, the other not. Caught between the hall and the possibility of something uncomfortable.

You felt the shift in the room. The group noticed him how he carried himself. It wasn’t just his build. It was the posture. That straight-backed, high-alert bearing you only ever saw in two kinds of people: soldiers and people trying very hard not to fall apart.

You stood slowly. Smiled like you weren’t surprised to see him, even if a small part of you was.

“Hey.” You were warm.  “Come on in.”

Something in Jack’s shoulders eased, just slightly. You turned to the rest of the group, your voice calm, unforced.

“This is Jack. He’s joining us tonight.” No last name. No backstory. Just the gesture of arrival. That was enough.

A few nods, murmured hellos. One guy said, “Welcome,” like it was a rule. Jack gave a chin-dip in return.

A man, Martin, shared first,  talking about how his daughter stopped calling in March. Two others chimed in with variations of the same wound. The room did what it always did: it stretched itself to hold whatever pain it was given, without fixing it.

Jack didn’t speak. He didn’t fidget either. He sat still, eyes forward, but not glassy. Listening. Taking inventory. And you watched him. Subtly, out of the corner of your eye, like you weren’t waiting for the moment he’d stand and say he didn’t belong here because you could feel it.

He looked like he was scanning every word, every crack in the ceiling tile, trying to make it make sense. His eyes occasionally drifted to the door. His hands stayed in his lap, steady, but his foot tapped once—twice—before stilling again.

He wasn’t unsettled because it was a group. He was unsettled because, for the first time in a long time, no one needed him. No one was coding. No alarms were beeping. No one called Doctor Abbot.

He was just Jack.  And that didn’t feel like enough.

So, he didn’t speak for the first thirty minutes. Instead, Jack sat like he was made of poured concrete: solid, unswayed, unmoved. But the stillness wasn’t ease. It was maintenance. A posture that said: Don’t look too long or you’ll see the cracks.

The others took turns with practiced vulnerability. Another veteran, Lisa, talked about the baby next door who cried at night and how it sometimes made her want to knock on the wall and scream. 

Someone else recited their weekly mantra about how small talk at the gas station kept them tethered to the world. Every voice added weight and oxygen to the room in that strange way group therapy worked: no one fixing, no one solved, but everyone surviving, together.

You didn’t push Jack, but when the lull came, when the air went quiet in that half-second of unclaimed silence, you turned to him. Not a spotlight, not pressure, just an open door.

He shifted, as if preparing to run, though he didn’t. His fingers rubbed the side of his leg, slowly. You saw the muscle clench in his jaw before he spoke. “I traded my shift to make it here.”

It came out simple, but the effort behind the words was unmistakable. He paused after that,  long enough for it to seem like he might leave it there.

Yet, he exhaled, glanced toward the window, and you could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, searching for a safer way to say what he meant. Something polite. Digestible. 

And then he gave up on that,  letting his tone drop into something flatter. Colder. Not harsh—just clinical, like he was delivering bad news to a patient’s family through a closed curtain.

“This isn’t a waste of time.” He started defensively, scared to offend your effort. “But sitting… idle like this for something I can’t even name… feels wrong.”

A few people looked up. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes now. He kept speaking, as if he didn’t let the silence in, he wouldn’t be so measured.

“I don’t talk about things unless they have names. Symptoms. Patterns. Diagnoses. That’s the trade. You name it, we treat it. That’s how I work. That’s how I stay upright. But this…”

Jack trailed off again. Then shrugged, a short, tired motion.

“...this doesn’t bleed the same way.” He finished. 

The words didn’t land like a dramatic revelation. There was no gasp, no cinematic hush—just the steady hum of a room that knew the texture of what he meant.

Jack’s fingers stilled against the side of his leg. He looked down at his hands like he half-expected them to be covered in something—blood, maybe. Or purpose. But they were clean. Still. Useless.

“I spent my whole career knowing what to reach for,” he said. “Chest compressions. Epi. Clamp and cut. Even when it was bad, even when it was too late, at least I could do something.”

He leaned back slightly in the folding chair, the metal legs creaking faintly beneath him. The gesture made his prosthesis shift under his pant leg, and he winced, not in pain, but in awareness.

“But this?” His voice dropped, vulnerable now. “This is like watching a code slow down in real time and realizing you’re not the one running it. You’re just watching the monitor. And the line’s not flat yet, but it’s close.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking, but you could feel it hanging in the air: I traded a shift. I changed my whole night. I said yes to something I barely believe in. And this—this silence, this seat, this half-truth I just spoke—is all I have to show for it.

So, the quiet held. 

Not heavy. Not awkward. Just present. The way it got in that room—when someone finally said something so honest it didn’t need embellishment.

No one jumped in to reassure him. No one offered clichés. That wasn’t what this space was for.

You didn’t speak yet, either. You just sat with it. With him. The same way he’d done for the last thirty minutes. Like the room itself was trained to carry the weight for a while. He stayed, and that was what mattered.

Finally, Martin, the same man who had spoken first, shifted forward in his seat.

“I get it.” He agreed. “Post service, I became a firefighter…After I retired, I couldn’t go to the grocery store without looking for exits, looking for a problem.  Couldn’t sit in my living room without wondering what the hell I was doing just sitting there.”

Jack didn’t nod, but he didn’t flinch either. He just stayed where he was, breathing evenly, like the effort of being in the room was more taxing than a double shift.

Lisa spoke next.

“It took me a year to figure out I wasn’t broken. Just… not useful in the way I was trained to be. No one ever tells you how to exist when there’s no task in front of you.”

Jack swallowed, his throat working hard against nothing. He blinked slowly, then glanced your way, but only for a beat.

The group kept moving, circling. No one tried to fix him. They just laid their pieces down beside his. You waited until the conversation had stretched on, shifted. Until someone made a dry joke about how the snacks were always good, and the weight in the air lightened just enough to carry again.

Only then did you speak—quietly, but clearly to everyone in the room.

“Remember, it’s now always about coming here to feel better.” You didn’t pose the sentiment to be questioned. “You can always come to not feel alone while it’s bad.”

The rest of the session moved on. The others began to speak again, and Jack stayed silent for the rest of it. Not because he didn’t want to be part of it, but because that was his part. The kind of sharing that left your bones hollowed out afterward. Like saying anything else would cheapen the breath it took to get that out.

Even after the session, when the folding chairs had scraped back across the linoleum and the regulars had filtered out with their usual half-smiles and murmured thanks, Jack lingered. Not awkwardly. Just unhurried, like his body hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that the talking was over.

Lisa was the first to approach him. Extended her hand, firm and sure, and told him where she served. Jack didn’t flinch, just nodded and returned the shake.

Someone else, Curtis, Navy, chimed in with a timeline, a base. The names passed like currency. The kind of shared vocabulary that didn’t need to be explained.

You were still inside, tossing coffee cups into the trash, wiping down tabletops that had already been clean.

By the time you stepped out into the night, the group was gone. The lot was nearly empty except for your car and one old truck idling at the far end. 

The sharp chill of early spring hit your neck, and you hunched your shoulders as you reached into your coat pocket. Keys. Lighter. Cigarettes. A ritual, half-forgotten.

You moved toward the concrete steps at the front of the church, letting yourself exhale for the first time all night. You sat, letting the cold seep through your pants.

It was a habit, really—staying much longer than needed. No one around to clock you. No rules left to follow.

You tapped a cigarette out of the pack and slid it between your lips. Lit it with a tired flick of the thumb.

“Now that’s one hell of a sight.”

You startled. Jack’s voice came from the shadows, dry as whiskey left out overnight.

You turned to see him leaning against the stone railing, just out of reach of the yellow glow from the overhead bulb.

Then, you let out a soft huff. “It’s medicinal.”

“Oh yeah?” He nodded toward the cigarette. “What’s that treat?”

“Empathy fatigue.” You deadpanned. “And low-grade moral despair.”

Jack laughed, really laughed. Not loud. Not long. Real.

You glanced at him, surprised to see he was still here. Even more surprised by what his presence was doing to your posture, you weren’t standing straight anymore. You weren’t leading anything. You were just here.

You gestured to the space beside you on the steps.

“Come on then. You’ve already seen me sin. Might as well sit through the confession.”

Jack hesitated, then climbed the two steps and lowered himself beside you. He sat with the same precision you’d seen in the exam room, like even resting was something to be executed properly.

You flicked ash to the concrete. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“Didn’t want to go back yet.” He admitted.

You both looked out across the street, quiet for a moment. He didn’t seem rushed now. He was just untethered. 

“You know, this is the first time in five years I haven’t done a night shift.”

You turned to him. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were still on the street, jaw set like he’d said too much.

“It’s killing me—” Jack added. “—sitting still. Watching the hours pass without something bleeding or burning or breaking.”

You didn’t interrupt. You let the weight of the admission settle.

“You could’ve gone home.” You said eventually.

“I wouldn’t have stayed.” He looked at you then. And you saw it, clear in the way his green-hazel eyes softened; this wasn’t just a delay tactic,  it was survival. “Don’t know what to do with the quiet.”

You offered the cigarette pack, not pushing, just holding it out in case. He didn’t take one, but he didn’t recoil, either.

Jack scratched his head in thought, looking sideways at you. “I don’t mean to unload on you, I know you already—I’m just—

“Don’t worry, I stayed for the same reason.” You cut him off, unwilling to entertain something so wrong. “Company makes it better.” 

You looked at him in the glow of the streetlight, noticing how different he seemed outside the exam room, outside the group. How strange it was, seeing someone become real right in front of you.

His eyes flicked to yours, then, briefly, but steadily. A flicker of something like recognition passed between you.

“You’re different out here, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow, lips quirking around the filter. “Different how?”

“No clipboard. No script.”

You huffed a little, dragged the cigarette again before flicking ash to the side. “You say that like I’ve been reading off cue cards.”

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing. Just—” Jack leaned back slightly on his elbows, letting the stone of the step press cold against his back.  “You’re quieter. Less… contained—wasn’t expecting it.”

“What were you expecting?” You gave him a sidelong glance.

“Not someone who needs to stay behind.”

That, more than anything, made something ache behind your chest. You looked away. Let the ember of your cigarette burn a little too long.

“Well…” You were gentle with the thought. “Not all of us know how to leave.”

You don’t continue  right away. Just let the silence sit between you, a low hum of nothing but the wind moving along the street, the overhead lamp buzzing faintly like a broken thought. Yet, Jack knew the thought wasn’t through.

“...out here, I don’t have to keep anyone upright” You’d never said it aloud, afraid the guilt it would bring, but it was so relieving to admit.  “...I don’t have to hold my own spine so straight either.”

Jack nodded slowly, gazing forward again. “That sounds nice.”

“It’s not.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, but sometimes honesty read that way. “It’s just true.”

Another car rolled past, headlights stalking across the sidewalk and over Jack’s boots. The beam caught the tired set of his jaw, the way his eyes had sunk slightly into their sockets from too many nights that didn’t end the way they should have. 

Still, Jack looked better in this light. He looked less sharp, less made of stone.

“You ever try to quit?”  He turned his head slightly, demeanor ticking in quiet acknowledgment of your cigarette.

“Ever the doctor.” You gave a dry laugh, slow and low. “Every other week I think about quitting, and then someone tells me they still remember the weight of the body they had to leave behind, and suddenly I’m outside again with a lighter.”

“Guess I should thank you for staying out here long enough for me to loiter.”

“Loiter?” You echoed, glancing sideways. “You’re giving yourself a lot of credit.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

The lull between you had settled into something companionable.  A mutual endurance, like you were both learning how to be still in the same moment.

Jack shifted, like he had something else on the tip of his tongue but wasn’t sure how to give it shape. His gaze dipped to the cigarette now crushed out beside your shoe. Then, to your hands, your sleeves pulled down over your wrists like instinct.

“Gimme your wrist.” He cleared his throat.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

He held out a hand, patient and palm-up. “Your wrist. I’m being serious.”

A smile pulled at your mouth before you could stop it. “Jack, you trying to hold my hand outside a church?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m offering you a free exam. Since you admitted it’s been years.”

You laughed, not quite believing him, even as your heart gave the smallest thud of something unexpected. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” There was a new wave of confidence as he spoke. “A licensed PA, going around telling people to take care of themselves, but too stubborn to schedule a check-up? That stuck with me.”

He flexed his fingers slightly, still holding them out. You let out a long, amused sigh—but gave him your wrist.

Jack took it carefully, cradling it like it was something breakable. His fingers were warm, steady. He glanced at his watch, brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

“You’re stalling.” You teased.

“I’m being thorough—

He kept counting. His mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk, but when he finally looked up, his eyes caught yours and something shifted in the air between you. It was heavy and new.

—If I’m doing your first physical in however many years.” He clicked his teeth. “No way, I’m cutting corners.”

The line landed harder than he meant it to. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second too long. Neither did he. Then, without fanfare, Jack released your wrist, like he was afraid of making it mean more than it already did.

Jack’s eyes skimmed your face, thoughtful, quiet. Not searching for a reaction, just weighing something. Whatever hesitation had held him off earlier was gone now, replaced by a kind of gentle stubbornness that to you felt more him. 

Jack lifted his hand again, slower this time, and brought his fingers to your jaw. He said nothing, just let the touch land carefully, fingertips warm beneath the edge of your cheekbone.

His thumb shifted slightly, pressing beneath the hinge of your jaw, then slid up toward the curve beneath your ear.

You didn’t move, not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. There was nothing performative in the gesture, nothing flirtatious. It wasn’t about romance or pretense or asking for more.

It was just Jack, still trying to be useful.

You tilted your head without thinking, letting him trace the side of your neck. His thumb swept slowly beneath your jawline, feeling for your lymph nodes.

His movements were sure, practiced. Not clinical in the cold sense, but precise. Tactile. Like each step in the exam was tethered to something older than routine.

“You had to do all this in the field?”

Jack nodded, his touch moving to the base of your neck. “Every day. No machines. Just hands and instincts.”

You heard something shift in his voice with a quiet flick of gravity. That subtle weight people carried when they weren’t talking about the past so much as living in it again.

“Vitals were all manual. Pulse checks. Respiratory counts by ear. Skin temp by touch. No monitors, no steady beeping to tell you who was slipping.”

Jack’s thumb passed gently along the tendon at the side of your neck, and for a moment, you forgot what the street sounded like. You were suddenly aware of the shape of your body in space, of the parts of you he could feel ticking beneath his fingers.

“At night we worked in blackout conditions.” He murmured, continuing a ritual he’d never forget. “No headlamps. No lanterns. Just stars, if we were lucky. Used the North Star to orient when GPS failed. Checked pupils by moonlight. You’d learn to tell cyanosis from normal by feel, not sight.”

You swallowed, but didn’t pull away. His hand was still there, anchored lightly against your throat. Not gripping, not holding. Just witnessing.

“And you trusted yourself to get it right?” You asked, not doubting him, but wondering what it had cost.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Jack’s gaze met yours again. And this time, something flickered in it, something bigger than both of you.  “When someone’s slipping under your hands, you either learn the difference or you lose them.”

You swallowed again—and he felt that, too.

Jack moved to your collarbone, pressing lightly, checking along the line where lymph nodes would swell. Your eyes flicked up to him at that, but his gaze was steady on your shoulder, his hand still carefully mapping the shape of your body like it was a page he needed to memorize. 

“You’re tense.” His fingers paused at the base of your neck.

You let out a breath. “Occupational hazard.”

Jack pulled back slightly, eyes finally meeting yours.

“Could say the same.” He said. 

There was a stillness between you then full of something else. A thread tied between memory and presence. Between what he’d once done to save lives, and what he was doing now to feel human again.

You shifted, giving him a small, crooked smile. “This what you pictured for a night off?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on yours, thoughtful, like he was weighing how honest to be.

“Not exactly.” He confessed. His hand dropped from your collarbone then, the air between you still carrying the weight of his touch.  “But it’s the best one I’ve had in a long time.”

“My health that riveting?” 

Then, with a faint smirk, Jack returned to himself.  “You’ve got a hell of a resting heart rate.”

You pealed with laughter. The grin tugging at the corner of Jack’s mouth softened everything in him.

“That’s your fault.”

He shrugged.

You sat back a little, feeling your own body again; your neck still tingling faintly where his fingers had been. He hadn’t lingered to touch you, not really. He’d touched you because that’s how he knew people. That’s how he made sense of the living.

And tonight, for once, he wasn’t too late.

The streetlight above flickered once, then steadied. The night still buzzed faintly with the sound of spring creeping in, but the world, for a moment, had gone small; just the church steps, the two of you, and the unspoken admission that this, whatever it was, had been needed.

And maybe, you thought, that was what healing sometimes looked like. Not talking.  Not explaining.  Just letting someone check for signs of life and finding them.

There was a kind of reverence in that. And you hadn’t expected reverence tonight.

You rubbed your fingers slowly along the fabric of your pants, grounding yourself with the texture. The quiet stretched again, but softer this time. Less like the end of a conversation and more like the lull before the next thing.

Eventually, you straightened, reluctantly peeling yourself away from the cold stone steps. Jack’s movement followed yours like a reflex;he stood, not with purpose, but with you, shadowing your motion, the way people do when they’ve been through long shifts together. When the silence between them means something understood.

Neither of you said Let’s go. But you both started walking.

Down the worn church steps, your shoes thudding softly on old cement. Gravel cracked beneath your weight as you crossed the narrow lot. It had gone almost fully quiet, just the low hum of the power lines, the wind slipping through the trees like a passing thought.

Your car sat waiting beneath a crooked lamp, light flickering as if undecided. Jack’s truck was parked a few spaces down, dust settling on the hood like it always did when someone stopped moving long enough.

You stopped at your door, keys already out but untouched in your hand. You didn’t unlock it. Jack didn’t walk past. He hovered there instead, just close enough to share the moment, just far enough to leave you room if you wanted to step away.

He rocked once on his heels, then cleared his throat. It wasn’t a nervous sound—just a nudge. Something that bridged the quiet without breaking it.

“You think that group’s got space next week?” He asked, his voice shier now, like he didn’t want to spook the stillness you’d both earned.

“We don’t do headcounts.” You smiled.  “Just chairs. If one’s open, it’s yours.”

Jack considered that. Nodded once, brows drawing slightly inward with the thought. Then, a faint smile, tired around the edges, but real in the center.

“Alright.”  He murmured, agreeable. “Might do that.”

You leaned your weight gently against the side of your car, letting yourself rest into the shape of the night for a breath longer.

“You know, Jack—” You started confidently. “—you don’t have to wait for Thursdays to talk to me.”

His brows twitched in the faintest flicker of surprise and confusion. The kind he tried to swallow but couldn’t quite manage, the suspense too enticing. 

“I mean, if something comes up.”  You smiled subtly.  “Or if you need anything. Or just… if it’s late, and things are too quiet again….”

You trailed off and held out your hand, palm open. He blinked once, the weight of your words landing slowly.

 “Your phone. So I can give you my number.” You kept your tone light. Gentle. “I’ll type it in for you. Easier than calling the front desk and pretending it’s about a referral.”

Jack hesitated, just for a second, but reached for it. His phone was warm from his pocket. The screen was still open. You clicked into his contacts, typed in your name, and entered your number without comment. No title, no clinic.

Just you.

Before handing it back, you paused with your thumb hovering over the message field, but you didn’t text yourself. Didn’t give him that easy opening. You locked the screen and gave it back.

“There.” You said, brushing your fingers against his as the phone changed hands. “If you want to reach out, you can. If not… no pressure.”

Jack looked down at the phone in his hand like it might bite back. The contact glowed softly on the screen—your name, simple and unadorned.

“You’re giving me an out.”

“Or an invitation.” You shrugged. “Depends on what you do with it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just thumbed the edge of the screen, eyes distant for a moment. Processing. Weighing.

“You don’t give this to just anybody.” He realized quietly. It wasn’t a question.

You tilted your head. “Neither do you.”

Something flickered across his face and spread through his body. The road to something like this was never clean, and it sure as hell wasn’t straight, but this? This felt like rest. Or more like something unfolding, slow and tentative, in the center of his chest. A warmth he didn’t expect to feel tonight.

Jack’s mouth opened like he might say something else—something honest, something bold, but the words caught in his throat and never came.

Instead, he just held your gaze for a beat too long to be casual. Like he was still cataloging something he hadn’t named yet.

Not attraction exactly—but something adjacent. Something measured. Careful. Like he hadn’t let himself think about hope in a long time, and didn’t want to touch it too directly now in case it vanished.

You didn’t break the moment either.

Eventually, he stepped back, nodding once—not goodbye, just a shift in posture. A soft signal that he’d give you your space.

You watched him walk back to his truck. His gait was slower now, less formal than before. Shoulders slightly hunched, but looser. Like he’d left something behind on those steps and wasn’t sure yet if that was a loss or a relief.

You stood still until he opened his door.

He didn’t look back. But he didn’t rush, either.

And when the engine turned over and the headlights swept across the lot, you didn’t flinch from the brightness. You let it pass through you.

There wasn’t anything to say. Not tonight.

But the air had shifted.

Like something in the dark had turned to face the light again. And maybe next Thursday, you thought, when the chairs were pulled out again and the coffee burned a little on the bottom, maybe there’d be two people left sitting under the sky.

Still not talking. Still not explaining. But quietly, unmistakably—staying.

[tinytarotandtea]

「 ✦ PICK A CARD✦ 」

What's your future S/O's love language?

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33 Directions: Take a moment to breathe, calm down and focus as you choose a picture from above. From left to right is pile 1, 2 and 3. Then Scroll down to your pile! Please remember to only take what resonates with you and leave the rest 🫶

A/N: Hiya my loves! Sorry it's been awhile, been super busy and just not in the right headspace to be doing readings and I didn't want to force them. But, I'm back, and hoping to get back to doing more of these. Also apolgies for the change in style for these reaidngs, just trying out new ways to do these :)

PILE ONE -

Hello my lovelies!! How are y'all? Good I hope! And I hope this lil reading brightens your day a little if not :)

Your future S/O is very much giving off acts of service vibes when it comes to their love language. But in a deeper, more emotional sense. They're there for you through every dark time that passes through you. They're there to carry your burdens, help with your responsibilities, and help you heal.

So whilst they might show their love through little things like making you tea or helping you with the small things, they're also there to help carry those deeper burdens, ease your responsibilities and help with those deep emotional struggles that threaten to drown you. They're there to help you heal, too, maybe from past relationships that snuffed you out. They're there to help you learn those tricky lessons, too.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE TWO -

Hiya, pile two! I hope your day is as bright as you are, and that this reading brightens it even more!

With your future S/O, my loves, I'm getting a mix of acts of service and a hint of quality time and emotional reparenting.

Their acts of service are subtle. Things like checking every morning, learning your routine and what helps you feel safe. They're not big talkers, or big on flashy, but they're reliable. They're there for you when it counts, and when you need them. They love spending time with you, too. Even if it's a quiet, daily activity. Be it helping you with the laundry or talking to you whilst they cook. They're not big on adventurous activities, and probably prefer to stay in for dates, or have sweet little dates like picnics or book shopping, things like that.

I'm also getting that your future S/O is healing from past wounds, childhood stuff or nostalgic wounds. They might be trying to unlearn love languages that they grew up with, or things they never received. This might mean them being extra soft with your inner child because they understand how that pain lingers.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

PILE THREE -

Hello pile three!! Are we doing well today? I hope so. Anyways, let's get into your reading.

So, your future S/O is giving major words of affirmation and emotional presence.

With words of affirmation, I feel like it's a mix of giving and receiving. Something in them wants to know that they're doing well, doing good, that they're safe and wanted. But they give it in return, too, like by giving you such words, it's helping them as much as it's helping you. They'll give the same reassurance in return.

They're very emotionally present, too. They're not going to leave easily, no matter how hard you try to push them away. They're in it even when things get messy between you both. They're there for all the small ups and downs, and even the bigger ones. They want to make things work between you two. A result of fear of abandonment or emotional stagnation, possibly. This might mean gently helping them release the past so they can fully step into being present with you.

Masterlist || GET YOUR PERSONAL READINGS HERE <33

[icrytearsofsadness]

Blind marriage au pretty please!🥺

thank you anon!! I’ve had so many comments and tags asking for more so here we go with part 2!!

part 1 of this

“So… there’s a slight problem.”

Steve lay on his side in bed, all curled up, holding his phone. Watching as a still-exhausted Billy addressed the camera. Billy looked… annoyed, amused? Something, with a bit of spark in his eyes that wasn’t there before.

On screen, Billy turned his laptop around to face the camera. Showing off the Google form in its basic purple hue, clicking over to the results tab, which had –

“Two hundred people,” Billy deadpanned. “Two. Hundred of the two million people who saw that dumb thing. Two hundred of you apparently live in my area — or are willing to move here, which is insane.”

Billy was doing that thing where he waved his hands around while he talked. It was endearing. Steve giggled a little, watching him.

“ – check all the other boxes as well,” Billy was saying. “I just, what the fuck, guys. The majority of you all are college students in the area. Uh, that makes me a little nervous to be honest, just because… my apartment is closest to my school, and either you’d have an obnoxious commute to get anywhere else or I’d have to move, which… is not happening.”

Steve watched as he tousled his hair with one hand. Pretty golden curls tumbling down around his face.

“Anyway, I’ve been… going through everything and I realized I forgot to ask you for your Instagram handle if you applied. Which means I can’t just DM people I think would be a good fit.” Billy gave the camera a stare and a slow head shake, eyes slightly widened, like he couldn’t even believe himself. “So if you’re watching this and I read your name right now, send me a message. Hopefully this reaches you. I mean, it would be weird to apply to marry me and then not follow my… but whatever.”

Oh shit, so this was it. Billy was listing the final round of applicants. He was rambling a little about his reasoning — the whole proximity thing, age gaps, people already in college and the conflicts. Steve was only half paying attention to any of that, mostly just enjoying watching Billy’s pretty face.

“ – be great, but. Okay, next… Steve Harrington.”

Steve immediately bluescreened so hard he didn’t catch anything else Billy said.

He frantically scrambled to scroll back.

“Steve Harrington. I know you’re not in LA but you said you’d been wanting to move, so there we go. DM me, you know the spiel at this point.”

And then he went on to talk about someone else, and then he was giving a little closer, and Steve just couldn’t be bothered to watch the rest. He was already clicking over to Billy’s profile for the weirdest DM slide he’d ever sent in his life.

Stevie.Harrington << so I know this is forward, but… wanna get married?

Billy wasn’t sure what to expect when he read out the names. How many people would see it, how many would actually DM him. Retention and all that. It felt like each round of this whole hellish game-show he’d created for himself just got smaller and smaller. But maybe it would be fine.

Hours after the video is out, he had three messages.

One from Hannah, a girl from LA, who sent a very polite “hey, you read my name, just reaching out” sort of message. Simple, easy to deal with, thank god.

Another girl named Brooke sent a message starting with a winky face. Cute. “Still got it,” Billy muttered to himself, unable to keep the smile from his face. Even desperate and exhausted, apparently.

And lastly — “so I know this is forward, but… wanna get married?”

Which dragged an honest snort of a laugh from Billy’s throat.

Not many guys had applied, and even fewer had made the cut, so Billy hadn’t really been expecting any of them to text. And he remembered Steve’s application, a little. He clicked on Steve’s profile for the fun of it.

Well.

Alright, Steve Harrington was definitely getting a message back.

Steve was on facetime with Robin when it happened.

billyhargrove >> hey pretty boy

billyhargrove >> moving a little fast, don’t you think?

The squealing sort of sound Steve made was mortifying. Girly, even.

“Woah, what happened?” Robin asked, her eyes wide. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve managed, quickly switching over to Instagram. “Remember that stupid thing I did with that hot guy and the form and – ”

“Steve, tell me you didn’t actually fill it out,” Robin groaned. “I thought that was a joke, I didn’t realize you were actually that stupid!”

“Your mistake.” Steve rolled over onto his front, his phone propped against his pillow, feet in the air. “Robs you don’t get it, he’s so hot, and I made it to the final round – ”

“This is like, the worst season of The Bachelor I’ve ever seen,” Robin said. “Little Stevie fawning because the guy everyone’s competing for gave him a rose. Aww.”

“Shut up, I have to think of a good response.”

“Oh, yeah, get your lady-killing pants on. Because your success rate is soooo high these days.”

“I can’t believe my best friend hates me,” Steve dead-panned back. “My best friend in the whole world wants me to suffer and die alone. Wow.”

“I hope this guy likes drama queens.”

Stevie.Harrington << isn’t your deadline in like a month? thought you’d like a guy who doesn’t drag his feet

“You know what we need? A zoom call,” Robin said suddenly. “You get all quiet when you’re typing and it sucks. I wanna see. Share your screen or something.”

“I am not zoom calling you so you can virtually peep over my shoulder.”

“Wow. You hate me so much. My best friend won’t even – ”

“Robin I love you so much,” Steve said seriously. “I will not start a zoom call for you.”

billyhargrove >> thoughts on a summer wedding?

billyhargrove >> I’m thinking early August, beachside, small crowd, you know, nice and intimate

Stevie.Harrington << wow. is this your way of saying you can’t afford a venue? or food for guests? not even gonna romance me?

billyhargrove >> can you afford it?

Stevie.Harrington << …no

billyhargrove >> beach wedding it is

“This guy’s an asshole,” Steve declared. “He’s already decided when and where we’re getting married. No input from me.”

“You’re not getting married,” Robin said.

“I dunno, maybe I am.”

“Steven I swear to god.”

“I’m serious!” Steve blurted, looking at her face on the screen. “I’ve outgrown this town, Robin. No one my age is here anymore, and at some point being friends with high schoolers gets weird, man. And I’ve always wanted to go to California. And… I don’t know. It’ll be a fresh start, you know? With someone there to help me find my place.”

Robin sighed. Put her chin in her hand. “You know you could have come with me to New York.”

“No, I couldn’t,” Steve insisted. “I couldn’t. I’d hold you back. You’d be too busy worrying about me to have all the fun you’re having. Making new friends and everything. You know I’m right.”

Robin chewed her lip. “But running away to California as seems like a bad backup plan, Steve.”

“I’m not running away, Robs,” Steve promised. “I’ve thought about this a lot. Not the marriage thing, but… moving. I’ve been thinking about it since before you left.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled a little. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. And it’s an adventure, you know?”

She still looked skeptical, but eventually she nodded. “Yeah. Just don’t forget to call me once you’re married to this random hot guy.”

He snorted. “Never, Rob-Bob.”

“Alright, dingus.” She grinned at him. “Talk to you tomorrow. Good luck sexting.”

“What? I’m not — ” but she had already hung up. “…okay.”

Steve flopped onto his side with a huff. Robin was the worst. She was the best, but like, she was the worst. Anyway.

Stevie.Harrington << I’ve never actually been to the beach

billyhargrove >> What.

billyhargrove >> god I guess that makes sense, you did say you were from Indiana

billyhargrove >> I think I’d die

billyhargrove >> like instantly on the spot combust without the ocean

Steve snickered to himself, curling up a little in bed. And Robin said he was a drama queen.

Stevie.Harrington << guess you’ll just have to show me what I’ve been missing out on ;)

billyhargrove >> oh you have no idea, pretty boy

Stevie.Harrington << so… I gotta ask. how many other people are you texting right now? what’s my competition look like?

billyhargrove >> like for the marriage thing?

billyhargrove >> honestly you’re the only one I’ve had a proper conversation with yet

Stevie.Harrington << damn. should I fly out to LA?

Steve held his breath, heart racing. This was crazy. This was fucking crazy. He was not going to get married to this guy.

billyhargrove >> you wanna?

billyhargrove >> I mean you got this far, but

billyhargrove >> for real?

Stevie.Harrington << what, got cold feet?

billyhargrove >> fuck no

billyhargrove >> just I figured I’d be marrying whoever the fuck agreed to this you know?

billyhargrove >> so it’s crazy that you’re like, sexy and funny and shit and you wanna go through with this

Stevie.Harrington << how about I fly out to LA, we go on a date or two to make sure we won’t be miserable, and then have a really shitty beach wedding

billyhargrove >> shit, pretty boy

billyhargrove >> thought you’d never ask

[currently-dating-everything]

could i get some romantic headcanons with mac please? tysm ><

A/N: I accidentally reached Love status with Mac but I just see them as a friend please advise

Character: Mac

Relationship: Romantic

Somehow equally cool and lame, they're so fun to flirt with. It's a 50/50 chance whether they'll get flustered by what you say or fire back with something even sappier/more suggestive. You've gotta stay alert with this one.

They're such a big flatterer, too. Always talking you up for one thing or another (your skills, your appearance, your personality), you'll never doubt how cool they think you are.

Gaming dates! Movie dates! For obvious reasons, they are an extremely skilled gamer and will mostly likely wipe the board with you, but they're very cute when they get competitive, and whether you lose or win it just makes them love you more.

They're also a huge movie buff. Their favorites are older horror/sci-fi movies, but they're also super easy to influence, so they're likely to enjoy anything that you do. They're big on special effects, soundtracks, animation, and lighting/camera art, so don't be surprised if they start pointing out those little details of whatever you put on that you didn't even know about.

They love physical affection, especially receiving it. Holding hands, playing with their hair, kisses, hugs, cradling their face- anything you can think of, they're all over it.

They're such a sucker for your hands in general. They always get distracted watching them, especially if you tend to fidget. Tapping your fingers on the nearest surface, messing with your nails, cracking your knuckles- they eat it up in a perfectly normal way.

You will get so many messages from them every day, sorry not sorry. Most of the time it isn't even text, just links and videos that they think you'll enjoy, or that they found hilarious and had to send to you immediately.

They leave you a lot of voice memos as well. Most are only a few seconds long, little reminders or updates throughout the day, just to let you know they're thinking of you.

Mac cares a lot about your online health, so they're always looking out for your screen time and doom scrolling and gently encouraging you to take breaks to rest your eyes and brain. They're really good at helping you find other things to do if you're trying to spend less time on your electronics, and they know a lot of good stretches for your eyes, neck, and shoulders to help with any bad posture or aches you might be struggling with. They know the struggle of computer-inducted back and eye strain all too well.

They love having quiet moments with you. Both of you relaxing side-by-side, doing your own things, occasionally checking in and sharing info with each other. Mac's such a "gaming while my partner does their own hobby across the room" type of person. It's one of their favorite ways to spend time with you.

[woradat]

Hall of Record

SUMMARY – You both don't like Sentinel, that's probably why you two get along (pre-time)

PAIRING – tfo starscream x reader

NOTE – I accidentally deleted the inbox. sorry for that🙏🥲 also can't remember which Starscream you asked for. So I made a sequel instead. sorry again

The vestibule of the Crystal Spire was designed to inspire reverence.

Everything about it—arched ceilings like interlocking wings, polished alloy tiles reflecting the soft glow of Prime-glyphs, air tuned to vibrate faintly with a solemn harmonic hum—screamed “wait quietly and feel insignificant”

You had complied, at first

You sat where aides were meant to sit: not in the center, but near it, just enough to suggest presence without audacity. Your datapad hovered silently beside, its auto-scroll halfway through the fifteenth version of a speech that would never be delivered on time. You’d re-checked it thrice, corrected a typo Alpha Trion had typed on purpose (“to keep you alert” he claimed) and were now idly calculating how many cycles of their life had been sacrificed to ceremonial delays

That’s when the voice dropped in like an elegant knife “He summoned me with the word urgently. That was… three minor tectonic shifts ago”

You looked up

Starscream stood just inside the threshold, arms crossed lightly, wings angled just-so in what could only be called bored martial readiness. His armor gleamed in polished red-silver and trim—not gaudy, but formal. The kind of clean that said “I was born to be looked at and I know it”

“You’re here for Sentinel too?” you asked, feigning surprise

“Unless Vector Prime has suddenly developed a taste for melodrama, yes”

Starscream approached with the gait of someone who had been trained for battlefield grace but had repurposed it into something far more dangerous: elegance laced with sarcasm “He told me it was urgent. That word has no meaning anymore. I think Sentinel just uses it when he wants you to feel guilty for blinking”

You just gestured to the empty space beside them “Join the abandoned”

Starscream sat down—well, not sat, more like lowered himself with performance-grade disdain. He settled his wings carefully, like a peacock folding his pride beneath himself

“Highguard, and now glorified bench ornament” he murmured “A glorious descent”

“If it helps, I’m fairly certain this bench has heard more strategic insight than most command chambers”

Starscream smirked, optics narrowing “A bench never interrupts. A bench doesn’t say ‘let’s circle back’. A bench doesn’t think it’s entitled to a monument for every half-decision”

“Are you referring to Sentinel?”

“I’m referring to every one who’s ever used a twenty-minute story to say no” He tilted his head a little “But yes. Mostly Sentinel”

You relaxed a little more. This wasn’t the first time you’d shared a delay with him, and each time, the Starscream you found was different from what the records suggested. Less self-important, more dry. Less soldier, more survivor with a gift for critique “You’d think for someone who talks so much, he’d eventually run out of things to say”

“He doesn't run out” Starscream sighed “he loops. Like a badly-coded audio file. By the time you realize he’s repeating himself, he’s already declared victory”

You leaned in just slightly “You ever considered breaking protocol and just... walking out?” Starscream gave you a look—mock-horrified “And be vaporized by the weight of Prime disapproval? No thank you. I may be brave, but I’m not suicidal”

They both snorted at that. Quietly. Like two students laughing behind sacred scrolls during a lecture they’d heard ten times before “You’re not what I expected from a Highguard”

Starscream arched a perfect brow “And you speak like a Prime’s scribe but don’t flinch at sarcasm. We all wear masks, darling”

“Mine just has a file index attached”

“And mine’s classified”

There was another silence, but this time, it wasn’t the bored kind. It was the kind that settled between people who got it—whatever it was—and didn’t have to explain themselves further. Somewhere in the distance, a door creaked open and immediately closed again. Probably a decoy

Starscream sighed theatrically “Well, at least if the planet collapses while we’re waiting, we’ll die seated”

“There are worse ways to go”

“Like under one of Sentinel’s monologues”

You almost chuckled at that remark, almost “Remind me to archive this moment. We might need it for morale”

“Make sure you file it under Delayed Diplomacy and the Art of Not Screaming”

The meeting chamber echoed like a canyon full of bureaucracy and ego—Sentinel’s voice bouncing off the walls with the smug inevitability of an avalanche explaining its purpose to a valley. Measured. Smooth. Loud in all the wrong places. He was on his third rhetorical flourish now—something about reconstruction being like the alignment of celestial gears. You stopped listening two metaphors ago, when Sentinel had compared civic trust to photosynthesis

You sat by the main table, stylus in hand, screen glowing in your palm. But the datapad hadn’t captured a single useful point for at least half hours. Instead, it displayed a single, looping phrase written with mechanical calm

Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream

It was less a note and more a spiritual chant. A written attempt at not flinging the stylus across the chamber and shouting “Define ‘unity’ without using the word ‘unity’!”

Across the room, Starscream leaned against a pillar like a statue carved from disdain and premium alloys. His wings were tilted back in a posture of supreme detachment—carefully calculated to look effortless. But you caught it—the minute twitch in his left optic, the tell-tale tic of someone questioning their life decisions in real time.

Their optics met. Brief. Dry. Miserable in perfect unison

Incoming message: Starscream

"You’re taking notes?"

You just adjusted the angle of your pad just slightly, revealing the message repeating like an ancient curse. Starscream made a choking sound—somewhere between a laugh and a gasp—then immediately disguised it as a dignified throat-clear. Reader would’ve applauded the acting if they had any energy left to give. Sentinel, oblivious as a comet on rails, kept speaking. Something about foundational reintegration protocols "gliding into place like constellations charted by destiny"

Starscream took that as his cue to sidle closer, each step elegant and illicit, like someone slipping poison into a chalice during a religious sermon

“You must be the most patient being on this entire planet” he murmured, voice pitched like a scandalous secret

You didn’t bother looking up. Just raised a optics ridge “I work with Alpha Trion. I’ve sat through lectures that started before sunrise and ended after philosophy itself gave up.”

Starscream exhaled softly—half impressed, half horrified

“So this is all just… muscle memory to you?”

“Spiritual trauma response, more like”

“Still. You’ve lasted longer than I have, and I’m technically immortal” Their shared look was one of withering solidarity—two burnt-out orbitals circling the same dying star

“He respects you, you know” Starscream said next, optics flicking toward Sentinel with a wry glint “Told me once you temper the tone of his judgment”

You snorted softly, a sound so bitter it could etch metal “Is that what it’s called now? I always thought I was the only thing standing between him and total rhetorical combustion”

“Exactly. You’re like a stabilizer coil for his ego” He paused, mouth curling in amusement that didn’t quite reach his optics “Or maybe a very refined lightning rod”

“Funny. I always assumed you were the lightning rod” You offered a smile thin enough to slice circuitry

Starscream bristled—visibly, wings snapping upward like the feathers of an offended falcon

“Please. I’m the storm. I don’t attract catastrophe—I deliver it in curated bursts”

“Modest, too”

“That’s one vice I never cultivated”

At that moment, Sentinel turned—gesturing toward them mid-sentence with the theatrical flair of someone who absolutely believed his audience was riveted. Neither of them had a clue what he’d just said — Immediately, both straightened, faces settling into masks of attentive professionalism. You looked almost interested. Starscream looked like someone doing an excellent impression of sobriety

Sentinel, of course, continued uninterrupted

Starscream leaned in again, voice softer now, more amused than conspiratorial “You know.. I’ve seen lesser mechs melt down after two kliks with him. Anyone who can sit through this entire speech without leaking coolant should have a statue”

You didn’t miss a beat

“I’ll settle for a nap. Possibly a mild coma”

“Pff. If the Primes don’t canonize you, I will”

“Do I get a halo or just a plaque that reads ‘Martyr of Moderation’?”

“Why not both? Gilded wings, stained glass, a shrine funded by public weeping”

They exchanged another look—this one laced with amusement rather than despair. And maybe—just faintly—a flicker of actual camaraderie. Mutual suffering had welded stranger bonds before

After that brief exchange, it could almost be said that you and he had become… close. Or at least, closer. The reason was painfully simple: the two of you shared a very particular kind of empathy—one with a single, specific name: Sentinel. Yes. You both are tried with that mech. He smiled too much, talked too much, and always managed to make both seem like a virtue

At first, your conversations with Starscream were short—sharp, pointed remarks passed like notes in a forbidden class. They were, inevitably, all about Sentinel. But, somehow, over time, the topic shifted. The insults came less frequently, replaced now and then by dry observations, or comments that weren’t quite complaints. Conversations that… weren’t entirely about gossip. One could even call it development. Or the faint shimmer of something resembling friendship

Starscream, for his part, became a frequent visitor to the Hall of Records—always with a reason. At first, they were plausible. He was there to borrow old tactical archives, he said. For research. For study. And then he’d linger. Just long enough for a few sharp words about Sentinel, and then he’d be gone. Only to return again. Always with a reason

The Hall of Records was always quiet

Not the eerie kind of quiet, nor the brittle hush of tension. Just stillness—the kind that knew its own weight. Ancient. Intentional. Like even the walls were thinking

Starscream didn’t belong there. Not really. This was a space of scholars and scribes, of archivists who measured truth in primary sources and argued over the placement of glyphs. He was a blade. A warrior of the air. Trained to slice through warzones, not scrolls. And yet—he had found himself here again. Not summoned. Not ordered

He wasn’t assigned to anything near this sector. But his wings carried him anyway, with the same sort of ease as when he used to patrol the skies—only now it was polished corridors and soft-glowing archives beneath his step

He told himself it was because the area was peaceful. That the air was better here—cooler, calmer. But he knew better

He always knew better

You was where you always were at a low console near the central atrium, surrounded by softly hovering text-columns and half-folded hologlyphs, digit dancing across script like you were conducting a symphony only you could hear

Starscream paused at the archway, lingering just outside the threshold like a visitor to a shrine. You hadn’t noticed him yet. Not unusual. You got like this—hyperfocused. It was part of what made you tolerable in meetings. Even when surrounded by the most pompous minds on Cybertron, you somehow managed to cut through noise and find the thread of meaning

Starscream didn’t speak. Not immediately. Instead, he watches from a distance—just a moment longer than necessary

The slight furrow between your optics. The absent way you tucked your digit beneath a datapad when lost in thought. The way your mouth moved when you reread something you didn’t quite agree with.The way you tilt your head slightly when concentrating — He’d seen soldiers review combat logs with less intensity

And then, without looking up “You’re here again” A beat. Still no eye contact. Just the calm click of glyphs shifting beneath their hands

“What is it this time? Lost on your way to an ego-polishing ceremony?”

“Charming as ever”

“I try”

The moment he passed the entry arch, the energy field swept over him, verifying his clearance. It always took a fraction longer for him. He was Highguard—technically not bound to this sector, not required to be here unless summoned

“You always look like you’re communing with ghosts in here” You didn’t flinch. Just tapped to pause the scroll, finally glancing his way “If I am, they’re better listeners than most living bots I know”

He gave a low hum—half amused, half... something he couldn’t name

“That includes me?”

“If you want it to”

The seeker stepped in further, arms behind his back like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. His wings twitched once—barely noticeable. In another mech, it would mean nothing. But for him, it was a crack in the composure. He leaned against a nearby terminal—deliberately not the one you was using, because leaning too close would be obvious. So he pretended to be interested in a wall display about 13th Prime and the history of arm-mounted documentation scrolls. For six whole seconds

“How long have you worked? with Alpha Trion?” he asked suddenly

You blinked. That wasn't one of his usual jabs “Long enough to memorize how he deflects questions with parables”

“Impressive. I usually skip to the part where I nod and pretend to understand”

“And how long” he added, more lightly “have you been the only one in the building who doesn’t flinch when I show up?”

“Probably since you stopped scaring the archivists on purpose” Starscream gave you a sideways look—something between amusement and a challenge, circling a console like a cat pretending not to want attention “So I was terrifying”

“You were theatrical”

“Same thing”

You turned back to the screen, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of your mouth. A giveaway. He saw it. Cataloged it. Filed it somewhere between unexpected warmth and probable danger

None of you say anything else

He stood there. Reading. Occasionally making a dry remark, occasionally not making one when he could’ve—choosing, instead, to let the silence sit between them like something living. Breathing. And he realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this—this silence—felt nothing like the ones he’d trained to survive. It didn’t weigh him down. It didn’t ask him to prove anything. It just… allowed. He glanced at you again, which weren’t even looking at him

Good, he thought, and wasn’t sure why

Because if they had been—You might’ve seen the flicker of something soft at the edge of his mask. And that wasn’t a war he was ready to name just yet

Eventually, when he learned there was a logbook keeping track of all visitors to the archives, you swore you could smell smoke. Something burning. Something that was almost certainly not part of Starscream’s internal cooling systems working overtime to keep his core temperature down. "How often does Sentinel come here? " He wouldn’t ask. He definitely wouldn’t ask that. It would sound… unprofessional. Too personal.

And yet he noticed the tiny cleaning little drone tucked into the corner of the room. He remembered that it never used to be there before. That had to mean something

Starscream shouldn’t care. He didn’t care. He had no reason to You was capable. Professional. Untouchable, even. And Sentinel? He was just—Sentinel. Predictable. Loud. Ambitious to a fault. The kind of mech who saw people as pieces

“He doesn’t deserve to be near them” Starscream muttered under his breath. Then stopped. Why had he said that? He leaned against a cold pillar outside the Hall, arms folded tight. Watching the faint glow through the archive’s frosted walls It wasn’t just about Sentinel. Not really Lately. It was about how your voice changed ever so slightly when Sentinel was around. How you laughed less. Smiled thinner. Became… smaller somehow — less yourself? And maybe that was what bothered him most — That Sentinel took up so much space, even when he didn’t deserve it. That you let him

“It’s not jealousy” Starscream muttered. As if saying it would make it true “Just concern” Sure. Concern that tightened his chestplates every time he walked in too late. Concern that made him linger in doorways, listening for voices he didn’t want to hear. Concern that had no place in a soldier’s heart, least of all his He exhaled. Vents shivering just slightly

“They deserve better” “They deserve my company” And that was the moment Starscream realized—he might be in trouble

There was something different about the way Starscream entered the Hall of Records that day

He didn’t glide like he usually did—that controlled, weightless drift he favored when he wanted to seem above everything, including gravity. No elegant sweep of wings, no dramatic pause to let the ceiling lighting glint off his plating. No, this time he strode in—sharp-footed, deliberate, like he was walking into a courtroom to deliver closing arguments and maybe strangle the opposing counsel

You noticed it immediately. How could you not? He moved like a stormcloud pretending to be a weather report

“He was here again, wasn’t he?”

The question came without preamble—dry, low, too casual to be innocent

He didn’t bother with pleasantries. Starscream rarely did when his mood soured. And today, his tone carried the brittle edge of someone carefully taping over a cracked vase while denying it ever broke

You didn’t even ask who “he” was, didn’t need to

“For a moment” you replied calmly, not looking up “Dropped off a datapad. Nothing unusual”

“Oh, nothing unusual” Starscream echoed, as if savoring the taste of a word he fully intended to spit out. He came to stand beside you, one servo bracing on the edge of the console—just close enough to loom slightly, just far enough that he could pretend not to be hovering. His claws tapped against the surface. Not idly. In rhythm. Like punctuation for unsaid thoughts

“He stays longer every time” he added, eyes narrowing “Must be due to those exceptionally urgent files only you can decipher”

You said nothing at first, simply continuing to sort scrolls with the calm, methodical care of someone pretending you hadn’t been waiting for this exact conversation all morning

“He’s asking about the structural histories of the lower tiers” you said evenly “It’s academic. Not personal”

“Mmhmm. Of course. I’m sure he leans that close to everyone while consulting architectural records. It’s probably his… scholarly posture” Starscream’s wings flicked sharply behind him—betraying what his voice tried to conceal. He hated how transparent he was around them. His body gave away everything. Always had. You glanced sideways at him—just a flick of the optics

“You seem annoyed”

“Annoyed?” he repeated, too quickly “No, no. Don’t be ridiculous”

He gave a breathy little laugh, dry as static. The kind that didn’t reach his optics “Why would I be? I thrive on being replaced as the regular nuisance in your life”

“If that title matters so much, you should’ve shown up more often”

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to schedule my dramatic entrances” he snapped, mouth curling “Next time I’ll file a formal request to interrupt your charming little cross-referencing rendezvous”

There it was. The flare of sarcasm like a flare from a jet’s engine—meant to distract, to blind. But you just blinked

“…You’re jealous”

“I’m not jealous” Starscream shot back—instantly, defensively, too fast to be believable even by his own standards.

There was a pause. A long one.

The air between them tightened—not tense, exactly, but warped, like something delicate was bending under the weight of something unspoken. Then, more quietly, more bitterly

“I’m rightfully suspicious”

“Suspicious of what, exactly?”

“Of how quickly he’s managing to dominate your attention with nothing but pomp and an overdesigned chestplate” Starscream crossed his arms, optics flicking toward the exit before snapping back, like he was already planning his next retreat. But he didn’t leave. Not yet.

You smothered a laugh, then failed to hide the smile “He does have very shiny plate” offered innocently.

Starscream scoffed. Loudly “Mm. Yes. Very polished. Very overcompensated. Probably waxed his plating with the tears of lesser intellects”

“Do you monologue like this every time someone uses the hallway?”

“I just thought this was our filing system” he muttered. His voice dropped a note there—not sarcastic, not angry. Just… quieter. Not quite sulking. Not quite joking. Something else. Something uncertain “It still is”

“Then maybe I’ll leave a few bootprints next time” he said “Stake my claim. Mark the territory. Make it clear who was here first”

You tilted your head, amused now “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yes” he said proudly “But I do it with flair”

“Want a plaque?”

“No”

“Just… maybe a heads-up, next time you plan on loaning out your attention”

His tone was light. But his optics weren’t.

You saw it then—the smallest flicker of something unguarded. Not possessive, exactly. Not romantic, not fully. But something adjacent to it. The kind of ache you don’t name out loud because if you say it, it’ll make it real. And Starscream didn’t want it to be real. Not yet

He straightened with practiced elegance, spun on a heel—and began his exit like a prince dismissed from a court he hadn’t asked to join in the first place. But— He glanced back. Just once. Just long enough to see if you was watching. You were and Starscream? He despised how warm that made him feel. How visible. How stupidly, stupidly seen

And still—

He didn’t look away

[glxssy-the-first]

1x1x1x1⚔️x depressed!reader hurt/comfort

Requested by Anon, reader goes by They/them. 1x is genderfluid and goes by all pronouns.

TW: Themes of depression, bedrotting, and su1c1d3

May be OOC

[Name] laid on their bed, staring at the ceiling like they've done so many times before. They felt worthless. like they were just another person on this world that nobody really knew about or would care about.

Sometimes they didn't want to even move from their bed. Just wanted to stay in their room all day. Other times- they felt like they shouldn't be here to begin with. Maybe they should help themselves leave this realm if nobody was gonna help them.

They turned over onto their stomach, lifting up their phone and going onto their phone. Scrolling through it. Just seemed like the same thing again and again. Life seemed boring nowadays.

Knock knock knock

Someone was at the door.

"What?" [Name] responded to the interruption, maybe a bit brashly.

"Open the door" It was 1x. "They told me to come check on you."

You huffed. Of course it had to be the embodiment of literal hatred knocking at the door to see if you were doing fine. Of course it had to be.

𝄞✦⟢𓂃⋆｡‧˚ʚ⚔️ɞ˚‧｡⋆𓂃⟢✦𝄞

They stood outside, waiting and listening as you got up and saw the door handle turn. Next thing she knew, you stood before them. Hair all messy and looking tired and burnt out.

"You've been in there for a while." He crossed his arms as they looked down at you. You weren't extremely short, you were just up to her shoulders. "Why haven't you come out? At least to eat or something?"

You sagged your shoulders, looking off to the side. You forgot to take care of yourself, didn't you? "I-It's just...nevermind, its nothing. I'm just resting" You turned back to return to your spot on your bed but 1x caught your shoulder.

"Someone doesn't 'just rest' for almost an entire day." They spat, forcefully dragging you out of your room and sitting you down. "Also, you look like a mess. Tell me what's going on."

You opened you mouth to protest, but was cut off by another demand to tell you why you were spending you're time inside your room and not coming out.

You caved. "I feel worthless. Happy?" She narrowed his eyes, knowing that wasn't everything.

"Okay, okay. I'm just...I don't feel like doing anything anymore. Life feels boring." You admitted. You would think the embodiment of hatred would just brush your feelings off, but instead, they picked you up

"Heard enough, you're gonna get something to eat." He left no room for defiance and carried you to a small table, forcefully sitting you down once more. After a few minutes, they set down a PP&J for you to eat. Not exactly a meal, but at least it's something.

Surprisingly, you started to eat it without much complaint. It felt like a blessing to your stomach, which you just now realize was BEGGING for something to eat.

"...Thanks" You mumbled.

She nodded, giving you a pat on the head. "Listen, whether you like it or not, you need to take care of yourself. Even if life seems bland, you need this for yourself. At least try to be fine. Take care." They said before walking off

...

Maybe life wasn't that bad when you have people by your side.

[sturniololuvz]

🍼teendad!chris

It had been almost three weeks since Kacey saw those two pink lines. Since then, everything had shifted. Quietly. Internally. But undeniably.

Chris had been gentler, always checking in on her, brushing her hair out of her face, holding her hand longer than usual when they’d lay in bed with the TV playing low. Kacey hadn’t told anyone. Neither had Chris. Not yet. They wanted to be sure. And today… they would be.

It was the first time they’d had a morning alone in a while. Daisy was already at Marylou and Jimmy’s—Chris had dropped her off an hour earlier with a backpack full of snacks and her pink bunny in her arms. Marylou was thrilled, like always, to have her granddaughter for the day. She said something like, “You two go have time together—you need it,” but neither of them had said exactly why they needed it.

Kacey sat in the passenger seat of Chris’s car on the way to the doctor’s office, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of her hoodie.

“I’m kinda scared,” she said quietly, looking out the window.

Chris reached over and gently took her hand. “Me too. But we’ll be okay.”

She nodded, and for a few minutes, the car was quiet except for the low hum of the engine and the soft thump of her heart in her chest.

The doctor confirmed it. Six weeks along.

Kacey stared at the little flicker on the ultrasound screen, her breath catching in her throat. Chris had squeezed her hand, holding it to his lips without a word.

They sat in the car afterward in the parking lot for a long time, letting it sink in. No more maybes. No more what-ifs. It was real.

Chris turned to her and said, “Let’s go get Daisy and tell them.”

She didn’t speak—just nodded slowly, blinking away a tear.

⸻

Marylou answered the door with Daisy already clinging to her leg, sticky from whatever snack she’d just eaten.

“Hi mama!” Daisy grinned. “Look! I got two different socks on!”

Chris laughed softly. “I see that, bug.”

They stepped inside, and Marylou gave them both a quick once-over, something maternal and unspoken in her gaze.

“You guys okay?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. We, uh… we actually need to talk to everyone. Is Dad home?”

Jimmy was in the kitchen pouring coffee. Matt and Nick were both there too—Matt sitting on the floor playing with Daisy’s tiny Barbies, Nick scrolling on his phone and half-listening to the chaos.

“Family meeting?” Nick asked, raising a brow.

“Kind of,” Kacey said, biting her lip as Chris held onto her hand.

Once everyone was in the living room, Daisy now climbing into Matt’s lap with a Capri Sun in one hand, Chris stood behind the couch with Kacey.

He glanced at her. She gave the tiniest nod.

“We’re… we’re having another baby.”

It went quiet. Like, dead quiet.

Marylou’s eyes went wide, then soft, then glassy with tears. Jimmy just blinked, adjusting his glasses like maybe he heard wrong.

“You mean—now?” Matt asked slowly, like the math wasn’t mathing in his head.

Kacey swallowed, barely whispering, “I’m six weeks.”

Marylou let out the softest gasp and immediately walked over to hug her, wrapping her up in the warmest, fiercest embrace.

“Oh, sweetheart… you two—you’re going to be okay.”

Chris held her hand tighter.

Daisy blinked, looking up from Matt’s lap. “Another baby? Where?”

“In Mommy’s tummy,” Chris said, kneeling down to look at her.

Her eyes got HUGE. “Like… you just put it in there?!”

Matt choked on his drink.

“Okay, we are not doing this part today,” Nick muttered, turning red.

Kacey covered her mouth with a laugh.

Jimmy stood and walked over, giving Chris a quiet nod. “You stepping up again?”

Chris met his eyes. “Yeah. I already am.”

Jimmy pulled him into a quick, proud hug—no words, just understanding.

Later, Daisy sat curled on the couch between Matt and Kacey, holding her stuffed bunny and saying, “When the baby comes out, can I name it Sprinkle?”

Everyone burst out laughing.

Kacey laughed so hard she cried.

And Chris—he just stood there watching them all, heart so full he didn’t know what to do with it.

He already had a family.

Now it was growing again.

And somehow, against all odds, it felt right.

⸻

taglist : @sturniolo-szn2 @fadedstvrn @tezzzzzzzz @stayingstromboli @ivysturnss @sturniolofreakk @ihateemetoo @sturniolo-tease @sturniololuv3r @sturnsclam @nxvasturns @csturniolo43 @mattspillowprincess @sturniolo-fann @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @bernardmatthews @bugs-tags @emely9274 @arianna1342 @stevielovesmatt @riggysworld @ph3ebssturniolo @whore4chris @amelia4chris @pizzapocketpocketpizza @strxn-2 @xxxxxxlovesstuff @whump-loverz @sarahsturnn @urloveanaa @k-pevensie28 @chrissturniolobendmeovernow @chriss-slutt @lenus1aa @kitty-meow-meow44 @sturnslux3 @blahbel668 @kingofeverythingmb @kenah-sturniolo @sturniolobananas1

[kewwchee]

Insecurity

E.W x reader, hurt/comfort, jealousy, fluff

Ellie, just out of curiosity, went through your following list one day. She found something that ignited jealousy and... a feeling of unworthiness inside of her.

Divider by @/cursed-carmine

It all started with her innocently checking your profile. Sometimes, she liked to look at your posts and old photos, admiring you while she missed your presence, like the obsessed girlfriend that she is.

Not that she didn't have a whole album in her gallery dedicated to photos of you that you'd be too embarrassed to show anyone; ranging from funny angles to photos of your half-naked sleeping form, and if you ever caught the latter in her phone she'd just say you looked so cute she couldn't resist.

While she was mindlessly scrolling through your "perfectly curated and aesthetically pleasing" profile (it's what you always told her you tried to achieve, yet she'd argue that you're very anesthetically pleasing even in sweatpants and a messy bun), she checked your following list, skimming over it without even reading all the usernames properly.

Ellie has never intended to come off as the controlling and jealous type. She didn't want to scare you off like that. Besides, your relationship was healthy, so she'd easily shut down the mere idea of doubting the trust built between you.

However, something caught her eye. A typical mirror selfie profile picture, with someone standing in the middle and flexing their muscles. After getting a better look, it she realized it's a woman in the photo.

That's when her mind began racing with so many possibilities. You two hadn't ever explicitly discussed what counted as cheating online because it never really rose as an issue.

She tapped the icon with her thumb, bracing herself for what was to come. Most of the creator's videos consisted of her flexing her muscles in nothing but a sports bra and sweatpants that had her boxers peeking out. There were also a few thirst traps here and there. Why the hell would you follow such an account that regularly posts content like that?

Her mind couldn't rest for the rest of the day. She had a plethora of questions she wanted to ask you. But she also needed to ask herself questions. Was she... jealous? Maybe hurt? Or... insecure? She turned the focus back onto you to avoid dwelling on whichever vulnerable emotion had her triggered at the moment.

The next few days, something definitely changed. You were sure of it. The thing is, Ellie didn't want to express her feelings to you yet, so you didn't have a real reason to confront her. Yet you couldn't shake away the feeling that lingered.

The signs grew more obvious as the days passed. Less affectionate touches, checking her body every single time she walked in front of a mirror, just staring with an expression you couldn't quite understand. Almost like a look of... dissatisfaction. She had a tendency to distance herself when she felt down.

To you, all of this came unannounced, which made it harder to pinpoint what she was feeling. Truth be told, she was feeling inadequate and afraid of losing you. Though, the lack of communication on both your ends wasn't helping at all. Because when there's no clear explanations from either of you, your minds get clouded with doubts.

Your last straw was when she clearly avoided most of your physical affection, very much unlike her usual clingy self, and you could swear you started hearing sniffling coming from the bathroom some nights.

What the hell is she doing to herself, and why the hell is she acting so different? That night, you were finally going to get your answers. Subsequently, she'll be doing the same.

"Baby..." Your voice barely above a whisper, though you knew that she still hasn't slept. You waited for her to shift around and face you, but that didn't happen. You'll be patient with her, though.

"Ellie, I need you to tell me what's wrong." As you spoke, your hand came up to her jaw to grab it, soft but firm enough to turn her head.

"Nothing. Just go to sleep."

You didn't like how she was avoiding you. She was barely making eye contact, her eyes glued to the ceiling instead.

Normally, you wouldn't push her, but you had to find out what made her change.

"Talk to me, please. I know something's bothering you, and you've been distant lately..."

She took a deep breath in, her eyes hesitantly meeting yours.

"I don't want you to stay with me out of pity. I'm sure you have options..."

You didn't know how to react. You cocked an eyebrow at her strange response. It was so unexpected and unlike her.

"Ellie, what's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sure your type is someone who looks... better than me. Maybe taller, stronger..." her eyes began to tear up, which worried you even more.

"Babe, where the hell is all of this coming from?"

Your expression of worry evoked more emotions out of her. It quickly turned into a skeptical one, urging her to explain herself.

"I... I noticed you were following this girl and... I don't know it just... made me feel insecure, I guess."

She finally admitted it. The room fell silent. She began to regret her awkward response, though it did lift a heavy weight off of her chest nonetheless.

Instead of further interrogating her, you let go of her face to grab your phone. You unlocked it and gave it to her.

"Show me." A simple command in a gentle tone. She quickly pulled up your following list and pointed to the profile.

"Ohh, her."

Now she was curious to know your explanation.

"I barely know her, a friend of a friend. One of mine made us exchange socials on a night out. In fact," you quickly moved your finger on the screen, "I've had her posts muted because I'm not interested."

Her expression quickly changed. Relief, finally. But... this left her feeling stupid. She was insecure and doubtful of your trust. She felt like a fool through and through. Which is why unlike what you'd expected, she began sobbing.

"What... Baby, what's wrong? I promise you that's the truth," you urgently spoke while pulling her head to your chest. Even if you didn't understand her reactions, you still wanted to comfort your girlfriend and let her take her time.

"N-no, it's not that i dont believe you..." she quietly spoke between muffled sobs. She anxiously raised her head, and the glossy-eyed look she gave you broke your heart. It hurt seeing the person you cared about the most feeling sad.

So many scenarios played out in her mind, and she felt a wave of guilt wash over her.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry for overreacting. I just feel so stupid for not trusting you and making this a big deal. I don't know what's wrong with me." She buried her face in the crook of your neck, trying to hide her shame as she cried. You almost cried, too.

"Ellie... darling, look at me, please. " You waited for her to gather courage to do so, then you continued,

"You don't need to apologize for anything. Nothing's wrong with you, please don't talk like that about yourself. I only want you to be sure from now on that you're the only woman I see and love, okay?"

The way you tenderly reassured her and began stroking her hair brought her comfort. She was glad to know that you weren't repelled by her emotional reactions.

She wiped her tears as you continued to brush your fingers through her hair, and then she lay beside you again, this time getting spooned by you.

"You're so beautiful, Ellie. Everything about you is breathtaking. It's not just the way you look, I could name a hundred more things that make you so interesting and special. You're my beautiful and special girl. I mean it."

At that moment, she was on cloud nine. You always managed to make her life better and help her deal with any wounds that would resurface from her past.

[airbiscuitz]

Back to You

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

Summary: After five years apart, you reunite with your childhood best friend JJ Maybank, now working at a country club. He invites you to dinner, but cancels last minute, clearly in pain. Worried, you find him at the clubhouse steps, clutching his side. You rush him to the hospital where he’s diagnosed with appendicitis. Despite his protests about the cost, you insist on paying and stay by his side throughout his week-long recovery—helping him clean up, bringing food, even sneaking into his house to grab clothes and essentials. Through laughter, late-night talks, and quiet care, the bond you once had begins to grow into something deeper and more meaningful.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: None!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟

You and JJ Maybank had been inseparable since your early teens—twelve, maybe thirteen—a time filled with barefoot races through the Cut, sand fights by the shore, and breath-holding competitions in the crashing waves. The neighborhood saw the two of you as a matched set, like peanut butter and jelly, always together, always laughing. But then, like all bittersweet endings, your family had to move abroad. It happened fast. No big goodbyes. Just pinky promises whispered through tears and reassurances that one day, somehow, you’d come back.

And five years later, you finally did.

OBX hadn’t changed much. The same salty air, the same rowdy surf, and the same warmth in the breeze. But JJ? You hadn’t seen him. A month into your return, and not a glimpse. It made you wonder if maybe he had moved on—grown out of the boy who once made friendship bracelets out of seaweed just to make you laugh.

But fate, in all its quiet trickery, brought you to the country club—some formal family dinner you didn’t care much about. You were in the middle of scrolling through your phone when you saw him.

JJ Maybank.

Tray in hand, name tag pinned crookedly to his shirt, his golden hair a bit longer now, and eyes—still ocean blue, still bright. He hadn’t seen you yet, and your heart thudded hard, remembering every moment from childhood. You called his name.

He looked up. And smiled.

Dinner plans came not long after. In demand of wishing to spend the whole night with him to talk about life that played inside your mind like a broken record that only he could fix if he knew the context of it. You were itching to catch up with JJ.

You were practically glowing as you got ready, curling your hair with a care you hadn’t felt in a while. Your heart danced, hoping this night would be something new, maybe something like starting again. You wore your favorite top, added lip balm three times, and kept checking your phone. The clock ticked closer to 7 p.m.

Then JJ called.

"Hey... uh, I can’t make it."

His voice cracked slightly before sucking a deep inhale of air.

"What? JJ, why? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I’m fine. I just—something came up. I’m still at the clubhouse. I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? Just head home safe. Text me when you get in."

But something was off. His words were calm, but not his voice. It wavered, breathy, like he was in pain.

"Are you hurt?"

"No. Just tired, that’s all. I gotta go. Promise me you'll go home." He brushed it off with a breathy chuckle.

You hung up, but you weren’t buying it. You changed out of your dinner outfit, threw on a hoodie, and bolted out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, you found him sitting on the steps outside the clubhouse, curled in on himself, one hand clutching his side. Sweat clung to his forehead, and he looked paler than you’d ever seen. His hair was a mess, the blonde strands of his were all over the place from the times he ran his hand through them frustratingly.

"JJ!"

He looked up, guilt flashing in his eyes. "You didn’t go home."

"Obviously," you shot back, kneeling beside him. "JJ, what happened?" you continued, hands resting on his knees.

"It’s nothing. Maybe food poisoning or something. Don’t make a big deal out of it."

"You can’t even stand up straight! We’re going to the hospital."

"No, no. I can’t afford that. It’ll pass. Just give me a bit." JJ clarified, finally looking straight to your eyes as if he was proving a point. It's true though. He's a Pogue... And the hospital bills will haunt him alive.

"JJ, either you get in my car or I’m calling an ambulance. Your pick."

He groaned in protest but relented. You helped him into your car, his hand still pressed tightly to his side the whole ride. Every bump in the road made him wince.

At the hospital, after scans and too many worried glances exchanged with the nurse, the diagnosis came in: appendicitis. The doctor explained calmly that he’d need surgery and a hospital stay.

JJ stared at the ground. "How much is this going to cost?"

You gently reached for his hand. "Don’t worry about it. I got it."

"No, you don’t."

"JJ," you said firmly, heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes, "I do. And you would’ve done the same if the roles were reversed." You rolled your eyes, knowing the risks he will take if something bad happens to you. He could be robbing a bank, stealing shit or going back to the "G-Game" that he mentioned to you a while ago on what's been going on with his life currently.

He was quiet for a long time before he finally nodded.

That night, after the surgery, you sat beside him. He was groggy but kept trying to make jokes through half-lidded eyes.

"You should go home. It’s late," he mumbled.

You almost did. Almost. But as you looked at him, all bandaged up and barely able to move, you knew you couldn’t.

So, you stayed.

You helped him freshen up with a damp towel, carefully dabbing his forehead, arms, and neck. He made a face when the cold towel hit his skin.

"Damn, that’s freezing. Trying to kill me?"

"I’ll warm it up next time, drama queen." You slapped the wet towel on his arm.

Later, you slipped out to get food for both of you. You found soup and toast, something mild and easy. He tried scolding you.

"You haven’t eaten either, have you? Don’t just take care of me."

You rolled your eyes but sat down beside him, and the two of you shared the small tray.

By day three, you realized he had no change of clothes.

"Where do you live now?"

He hesitated before naming the rundown duplex near the marina.

You asked for his keys and promised not to burn his house down. He muttered something about you being too nosy. You found his place with ease. It was messy in a strangely organized way—clothes everywhere but all clean, notebooks scattered but with sticky notes. A beautiful disaster.

You reached his room, took a duffel bag, and stuffed in shirts, joggers, and a hoodie or two. Then, you found that drawer.

Boxers. Lots of them.

You flushed like a tomato. "Why is this embarrassing? I’m an adult," you whispered, shielding your eyes dramatically. You blindly grabbed a handful and shoved them in the bag like they were lava.

You laughed at yourself the whole drive to the store. Essentials: toothpaste, toothbrush, wet wipes, tissues, shampoo—everything.

When you returned to the hospital, he smirked. After noticing that you were looking around the room but him, clearly still flustered.

"You went through my underwear drawer. Didn’t you?"

"I didn’t look, okay? I just grabbed."

"Still feels like a violation."

"Want me to go get more?"

"Please, no." You both laughed. JJ's gaze never leaving your body as you moved around the room. Strange it feels like. You made this cold hospital room feel like home from your jacket hanging on an empty chair, two cups of water on the small table beside him, your hand bag close to his bed and your snacks littered around the room. It was warm.

That night, while he drifted off to sleep, you stayed in the chair beside him, your hand lightly resting on his.

He whispered, eyes half-closed, "You didn’t have to do all this."

"Yeah, I did."

"Why?" He continued, adam's apple moving.

You looked at him for a moment, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead. "Because I promised I’d come back. And because you would’ve done the same for me."

He didn’t reply. Just squeezed your hand gently.

The rest of the hospital stay was a slow blur of healing. You read to him from the books you found lying around his place, watched dumb TV shows on your phone together, and laughed at the nurses who kept catching you dozing off in your chair.

On the seventh day, when he was cleared to leave, he looked at you with that same boyish smile you remembered from when you were thirteen.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

"Anytime, JJ. Even if I have to brave your boxers again."

He chuckled, pulled you into a hug, his arms warm and familiar.

It wasn’t a big confession. No kiss. No grand romantic moment.

But it was something real.

The start of something more.

The continuation of something never really lost. And you two were willing to build it up one by one even if it takes another 5 years to the fire.

And that night, as you drove him home, the windows down and wind tangled in your hair, he looked at you like you were the only person who ever stayed.

Because you were.

And he was yours.

Always had been.

[hypenhrt]

sunoo hc’s/drabbles

pt.1

warnings: sunoo x fem reader, smut, dom!sunoo, literally most positions and scenarios i could think of, noncon & con, somnophilia, slight bdsm, marking, degrading, praising etc. mentions of drinking

+ not proofread

a/n ( longggg head-cannon list in honor of sunoo day!! hope you enjoy this as its my first post ^^)

DOM:

meandom!sunoo lined himself up into you, his hand is quick to grip onto your throat as he starts to slowly stretch you out, his slight moan combined with the overwhelming pleasure makes you gasp for air, "fuck—" he lets out in a small whimper, for a few moments, it almost seems like sunoo is about to sub out on top of you before his hips betray him.

he thrusts sharply into you, nearly making you squeal in response, your head starts to spin as his hand pushes down on your throat, him not being aware his hips start to gather a sharp rhythm, you swear that you’re about to pass out. he looks up at you after he maintains his pace, he releases your neck as his hand slaps against your face, snapping you out of your trance, as you both lock eyes he smirks, making your pussy grip around him. “shit- you look so fucking dumb for me right now.” sunoo lets out in a cocky tone. he lifts up your chin and stares into your eyes while fastening his pace, he swears hes about to go insane.

(this is from a fic i scrapped lol)

pleasuredom!sunoo definitely sneaks into your room, sneaking onto your laptop to check if you’ve been watching porn, not to embarrass you, but to learn more about you. if he finds anything he brings it up during sex. “i know you’d like this.” he whispers with a smug smirk on his face, “send the links to me next time so i don’t have to fight looking for them.”

“id give you anything you want darling, you know that right?”

perv!sunoo watching you across the room, skirt dangerously short, meanwhile sunoo is drooling at the mouth watching your thighs, planning on the ways to ruin you in his mind. not one minute of the day he isn’t secretly watching you with a throbbing boner imagining you ruined under his touch, sneaking a finger against your thigh when you aren’t looking.

sadist/meandom!sunoo mocking you about how worked up you are, “you really are one impatient slut aren’t you?” he says as he removed his fingers from your throbbing core, holding down your hips as you rut them up chasing your orgasm that was suddenly taken away from you, giggling at how you squirm underneath him. “stay still baby, you take what i give you alright?”

his pace is torturous. hand gripping on your throat. begging for him to let you cum, whenever he feels that familiar clench around his dick he stops. pushes deeper. slower. edging you until your crying underneath him, but isn’t that what he wanted in the first place?

meandom!sunoo pushing your head into the pillows as he rams into you from behind, the grip he has on your ass makes you swear that you

perv!sunoo calling you in the middle of the night, you aren’t aware of it at first but on the other side his breathing gets heavier, unconsciously humping against his bed desperate for friction, until what you thought was an innocent conversation with him is cut off, “baby… can you come over and help me? please? you know how worked up you make me hm? your sweet cunt needs to be punished.”

pleasuredom!sunoo tying you up to the bed, toying with the new vibrator you casually placed in front of him as he was innocently scrolling through his phone, asking him to try something new. sunoo enters two fingers into you before pressing the vibrator onto your clit, your initial reaction had his vision going blurry. “fuck… you’re doing so well for me” … “i cant wait to be inside of you.”

dom!sunoo notices how you unconciously move closer to him as u lay asleep next to him, moving your ass against his raging boner makes him lose it. as your breathing steadies down he lifts your silky nightgown up, his fingers softly move your panties to the side as he teases at your entrance, finally pushing in his mouth is agape with a moan on the tip of his tongue. sunoo glances up at you breaking the trance he put himself in, with no reaction from you he pushes in deeper, his heart stops as you groan half asleep and try to turn your body to his side, not before his hands still your hips from moving. your mind hasn’t processed anything as you’re stuck in a dreamlike state, your hands rub your eyes but sunoo thrusts up into you, filling you up and sending a shock through your body as you realize what’s happening. “i didn’t mean to wake you up sweetheart…” he continues his slow pace while your brain is trying to process the undeniable pleasure.

dom!sunoo texting you in the middle of the day with an image attached with a new lingerie set he bought you.

sn: you’d look gorgeous in this, wanna try it out tonight? *view attachment”

drunk!sunoo its messy, so messy you love it. he’s stuck under a trance looking down at your body he can’t decide where to land his kisses, leaving marks all around your chest and face as he thrusts into you like he’s fully lost control, his hips roll against yours as he leans in to suck on your tits, his tongue circles wet patterns around them while sucking on them like he was born for it. his breath is warm and intoxicating against your skin as you feel yourself and sunoo grow closer to the edge.

needy!sunoo his hands sit upon your thighs as he sits next to you, subtly shifting them closer and closer to your throbbing core until he leans in for a kiss catching you completely off guard, those few seconds were enough for him to move his lower body closer to you, unconsciously humping against your thigh as he presses you down onto the couch.

“i need to be in you so bad..” he mumbles as he sinks deep into you, lifting one of your legs onto his shoulder as he watches you tremble underneath him. his pace is uneven, chasing his own release faster than you thought, he’s practically a mess above you, now letting out small groans and whimpers in-between his thrusts, spreading your legs to bury himself deeper. “sunoo—“ you whimper out. “sto- fuck… stop.. slow down.” his gaze travels to your eyes as he hums under his breath. “can you hold on a little longer?” he slips out with moans in-between. “im so close baby.” sunoos fingers move to circle around your clit, flinching as he feels you clench around him. his hips stutter as he buries himself into you, pumping every last bit of his release into you as he drags out your orgasm.

softdom!sunoo passionately kisses you as he continues to thrust deeply into you, swallowing every last bit of your moans. he pulls away while slowing down his pace making sure he’s not hurting you but as you clench around him he groans, he manages to let his thoughts out, “you want me to go faster?” you frantically nod as you grab the collar of his shirt to pull him into a kiss again.

meandom!sunoo forcing you to ride his face, his arms are wrapped around your thighs, grounding you. the way his nose accidentally rubs against your clit makes you unconsciously grind harder against him, his nails dig into the soft skin of your thighs in response, his tongue moves at a torturous pace against your folds attempting to test your patience once again, he simply slows down the pace as he feels you getting more desperate now leaving you crying, begging for release.

vampire!sunoo’s fangs sink deep into your skin as he fills you up, his pace slows down as he realizes you’re laying unconscious, now dragging his fingers along the subtle markings he left throughout your body with a glint of guilt in-between the pleasure. he lays next to you while still being inside of you, waiting for the moment you wake up to continue marking you as his.

switchmeandom!sunoo is still dom even if you’re on top riding him. one minute he’s whimpering, losing himself under until his hands desperately grip onto your ass stilling you into place, its silent. you slow down your pace on him until sunoo thrusts deeply into you, now smirking as you look down at him, your hands move to press onto his chest as he sits up wrapping his arms around your waist continuing his harsh pace, your head throws back as he sucks harshly on your neck.