Sophia left her old school to start a new life, to start writing a new page in her book and leave all the mistakes in the past. What happens when the most precious thing she lost because of those same mistakes comes rushing back into her life, but not for the reasons she hoped for.
𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: sophia laforteza x f!reader
𝗙𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: le sserafim (yunjin), aespa (karina), katseye and etc.
we used to love each other
manon bannerman x fem reader
Summary: Manon met the reader a long time ago, and they were in the same friend group since high school. Then manon became a popstar, yet the reader was still there for manon at her lowest until manon completely shut her out and everything faded out to the point manon couldn't be in group hang outs anymore
and the longer burn the sweeter that you smell (you're caramel)
★warnings★ usage of fuck, emotional.. stomping?, Miscommunication, Injuries um. real talk a gun and knife and injury and resisting injury. medical talk. robots taht do medical things. um. yeah. mild kidnapping. anger. lots anger
★synopsis★ spiderman spiderman does whatever spider can spins a web any size catches thieves just like flies. loookk ouuut its spider man. nah this is spidey but like if my little brain added a few other flavors. also all images are off of pintrest.
★genre★ um. idk, acc i do know. angst lol sike also a lot of hurt/self denied comfort
★A/N★ hehehehehehehe mooooore suffffferrrr lol (sorry again)
★word count★
You don’t go home.
You should.
You should crawl down from the rafters, peel the suit off, sit on your shitty mattress, and actually feel something about the fact that six girls you love just watched your entire life crack open.
Instead, you find the nearest hatch, force it open, and climb out into the night.
The air bites at the torn edge of your mask. You web it together in three quick, ugly stitches, red on red, just enough to keep it from flapping.
The burn marks from the earlier fire bloom across the suit’s chest and side, black and brown and melted.
You leave them.
You could patch them later. Make it neat. Make yourself look more like the indestructible thing people want to believe in.
Right now you don’t have the patience.
You shoot a web and swing.
The city swallows you in light and motion. Sirens wail somewhere, too far to matter. A helicopter beats the air overhead. Cars stream below, little beads of light on asphalt.
You swing harder.
You tell yourself it’s just patrol. Routine. That you’re not running from the way Sophia’s voice broke on your name, or the look on Megan’s face when she said you don’t have a chance, or the sound of metal tearing next to your ear as your mask ripped.
You tell yourself you’re Spider-Man.
This is what Spider-Man does.
You don’t notice how your lines are sloppier. How your landings hit a little too heavy. How your spider-sense is a constant low throb of generalized bad feeling instead of the clean, sharp warnings you’re used to.
You’re three hours in when it happens.
You’re in a back alley a few blocks off Times Square, because of course you are, and some guy in a cheap ski mask is trying to pry open the back door of a jewelry store with a crowbar.
“Hey, man,” you say, perched on a fire escape above him. “The door’s not into you. Take the hint.”
He startles, looks up. “What the”
You drop.
Normally this is automatic. Web the weapon, yank it away, web the guy to the nearest dumpster, move on.
Tonight you’re… slow.
You web the crowbar, yank, step in
and you don’t see the second guy until he’s on you.
Your spider-sense flares, but late. Dulled. Distracted.
You twist. Not enough.
The knife catches you in the side, right under the rib cage, a hot, sick slide that steals your breath.
You grunt, hand flying to the wound. His eyes go wide behind his mask.
“What the fuck”
You move on instinct. Your other arm swings up, webs his face, yanks him into the wall hard enough to bounce him off it. He slumps.
You’re blinking spots out of your eyes, trying to catch up to what just happened, when you hear it.
“Fuck this,” someone snarls.
There’s a flash of movement at the mouth of the alley, the glint of metal.
Gun.
Your spider-sense screams.
You launch yourself sideways, but there’s nowhere good to go-dumpster on one side, brick on the other. You twist as you jump, trying to turn the hit into a graze.
It’s not a graze.
The bullet punches into your left shoulder, hot and shocking, spinning you mid-air. You slam into the wall, roll, hit the ground on your back. Spidey who is usually.. Fast enough to catch the glint of a gun to swing in the way to stop a car to do almost anything.
Hit. Hurt. Burnt stabbed and shot.
For a second you just lie there.
The sky wobbles overhead, blurry between the buildings.
Someone’s yelling. The guy with the gun is swearing, backing away.
“No man, I didn’t you’re fine man I didn’t kill New York's fuckin.. Whatever you are. Nah.. Nah i’m out” You hear footsteps pounding away down the street.
You don’t chase them.
You can’t.
You’re busy not passing out.
“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, the word shredded. “Okay. Okay. Come on.”
Your side is on fire. Your shoulder is worse. You can feel the bullet lodged there, a wrong, heavy pressure.
You drag yourself upright with your good arm, using the wall as leverage. Your fingers leave bloody streaks on the brick.
You stand.
You’ve stood with worse.
Not recently.
You web the two unconscious guys to the alley so the cops can find them, because muscle memory is deeper than pain. Your hand shakes so badly you miss the first shot.
You finally get up enough momentum to swing.
The city tilts.
You keep moving.
You have to.
The news story goes up before you make it home.
You don’t see it. Your phone is on airplane mode in your backpack back at your apartment.
They do.
By the time you reach your building, your suit is tacky with blood.
You cling to the outside wall, ignoring your neighbors’ curtained windows, and haul yourself up to your third-floor fire escape. You swing your legs over the railing and drop onto the narrow metal platform like a sack of wet cement.
You sit there for a second, hunched, mask on, back against the brick, sucking air through your teeth.
You could rip the mask off right here.
You don’t.
Someone might see.
You climb in through your bedroom window instead.
Your apartment is small. One room and a half-kitchen and a bathroom the size of a tour bus shower. The only reason you could afford it is the weird jut of the wall that makes normal people say, “Ew, this is unusable.”
You use it.
The mattress is on the floor, tucked into that little alcove, thin and narrow and separate from the bed you pretend is your real one.
This is the one that gets ruined.
This is the one with the little plastic cover.
You shove the window shut, stumble out of your boots, and peel the mask off carefully, hissing when the torn edge sticks to the dried blood on your cheek.
You toss it onto the chair piled with laundry.
You strip the top half of your suit down, fingers clumsy on the burned, stiff fabric, leaving it around your waist. Underneath, your sports bra is soaked through, the navy blue darkening with sweat and blood.
Your side looks… bad.
Knife wound. Clean entry, more or less. God knows what’s going on inside.
Your shoulder looks worse.
The bullet went in just above your collarbone and down a little. There’s no exit wound.
Cool.
You grab the towel from the hook on the back of the bathroom door as you pass, fold it twice, and clamp it between your teeth.
Then you go to the corner.
The charging dock is just a repurposed bookshelf with the shelves knocked out, jammed into the wall opposite your mattress.
On the bottom level, three little shapes sit in their ports, LEDs blinking a calm, slow pulse.
“Up,” you mumble around the towel.
They hear your voice. They always do.
Three pairs of eyes - really just cheap camera lenses - blink awake.
The first is about the size of a shoebox and vaguely crab-shaped, with a little articulated arm on one side ending in a curved needle. Someone (you) has stuck a label-maker tag across its front: STITCHER.
The second is squatter, heavier, like a battery pack with tank treads. A thin telescoping tube with a claw at the end sits folded on its back. Its label reads DIGGER.
The third, perched above them, is smaller and cylindrical, with two hoses coiled neatly around its body and a little suction cup mouth. Its label says SPRITZ.
You built them over a summer when you were trying very hard not to think about how much a real doctor’s bill costs.
They’re not smart.
They’re not connected to anything.
They know one thing.
“Fix Spidey,” you say, because you made that the key phrase and sometimes you hate yourself for it.
Three sets of LEDs flash from sleepy blue to bright green.
Bee-deep, says Stitcher.
Beep-beep! says Digger.
Spritz does a little ascending beep sequence that sounds almost like “yippee.”
You do not, under any circumstance, tear up at your own stupid robots cheering for you.
You grab the steel bar from under the mattress. It’s a length of rebar you picked up from a construction site, cut shorter. It fits perfectly in your hands.
You lay down on the narrow mattress, the plastic cover crinkling under you, and tuck the bar under your palms.
“Okay,” you say through the towel. Your voice shakes. “Bullet first.”
Digger whirs forward, treads squeaking. Its little arm stretches up, claws flexing experimentally.
“Shoulder,” you mutter, tapping just below the wound.
It emits a thoughtful beep, then a lower one that means “processing.”
A tiny needle deploys from its side and jabs you just under the skin.
You yelp around the towel.
“Warn me next time,” you groan.
Bee-eeep, it says, unapologetic. The local anesthetic will help. In theory.
Spritz trundles up beside it, hoses uncoiling. One ends in a little sprayer, the other in a suction tip.
Stitcher hangs back, needle arm tucked in, waiting its turn like a very intense little medic.
You close your eyes.
You breathe.
Digger’s arm extends, tip hovering over the bullet wound.
“Okay,” you say again. “Okay. Go.”
Digger beeps acknowledgement, then cuts.
You scream into the towel.
You don’t want to.
You’re Spider-Man. You’re supposed to be tough. You’ve been stabbed before. Shot at. Thrown into walls. You’ve handled it.
It’s different when you’re lying still and letting something root around inside you.
Spritz sucks away the blood as fast as Digger exposes it, a wet slurping sound that would be funny if it weren’t your blood.
Stitcher beeps softly to itself in the corner, practicing little looping motions with its needle in the air like a bored cat flexing its claws.
You focus on the bar in your hands.
You squeeze.
Steel groans.
You barely notice.
There’s a knock at your door.
You don't hear it over your own muffled yell.
Digger’s arm digs deeper.
You taste cotton and iron.
Spritz burbles encouragement.
The knock comes again.
Louder.
You hear it this time, faint around the edges of the pain.
You can’t answer.
You’re half-dressed, bleeding, with a robot up your shoulder.
If it’s your landlord, he’ll go away. Hopefully.
If it’s a neighbor, they’ll assume you’re watching a war movie at inappropriate volume.
You clamp your jaw tighter around the towel and ride the next wave.
The third knock doesn’t come.
The door opens instead.
You forgot to lock it.
Of course you did.
“Hey- hey tiny??” Sophia’s voice, sharp and panicked, cuts across the room.
You jerk your head toward the doorway, eyes wide.
They fill it.
All six of them.
Not in stage clothes. Not in fancy pajamas. In whatever they yanked on in a hurry.
Sophia’s in a too-big denim jacket over a hoodie, hair yanked into a messy knot. Megan’s wearing sweatpants that drag on the floor and slides, a takeout bag in one hand, a big plastic bin with a red cross on it in the other. Lara’s in leggings and a T-shirt with a peeling logo, jaw clenched. Daniela’s got an armful of blankets and what looks like half a pharmacy. Manon’s carrying a grocery bag clinking with water bottles. Yoonchae has her keys still in her fist, knuckles white.
They stop dead.
You freeze, towel in your mouth, Digger’s arm buried in your shoulder up to the knuckle, Spritz happily slurping, Stitcher waiting patiently like a tiny serial killer.
For a heartbeat, nobody moves.
Then they all move at once.
“Oh my God,” Megan breathes, the takeout bag slipping from her fingers, containers thudding dully on the floor.
“What the fuck” Lara says, voice cracking.
“Holy shit,” Daniela whispers.
Manon’s face goes sheet-white.
Yoonchae doesn’t say anything. Her eyes go straight to your side, to the blood pooled under your ribs, to the way your fingers are crushing the steel bar into a new shape.
Sophia takes one step forward, then another, like she’s crossing a minefield.
“Hey,” she says. “Baby. What are you doing?”
You spit the towel out, gasping.
“Homework,” you rasp. Your voice is wrecked. “What does it look like?”
It’s a bad joke.
You make it anyway.
Digger beeps, offended at being interrupted, and wriggles its arm deeper.
You bite back another scream, teeth clacking together.
“Stop,” Megan blurts, rushing forward and reaching for the robot.
You jerk your good arm up, palm out. “Don’t touch them,” you snap.
She freezes.
“They’re… in the middle,” you pant. “If you knock them off track they’ll… leave half of it in there.”
“What?” Lara says weakly.
“Bullet,” you clarify. Your tongue feels thick. “They’re… taking the bullet out. Then they’ll stitch. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” Sophia says, voice rising. “You were shot. You were stabbed. You should be in a hospital, not” She gestures helplessly at the robots. “Not letting your Roombas do surgery on you on the floor.”
“They’re not Roombas,” you say, a little stupidly. “Roombas can’t do sutures.”
Stitcher does a proud little beep, needle twitching.
“It talks,” Manon whispers. She sounds hysterical around the edges. “The murder crab talks.”
Beep, Stitcher replies, mildly offended.
Spritz cheerfully sucks up blood and spits a jet of saline into the wound, washing it out. It mists Daniela’s bare ankle.
She flinches but doesn’t move away. Her eyes are glued to your shoulder.
The smell of antiseptic and copper fills the room.
Yoonchae moves first.
She steps carefully around Digger and Spritz, drops to a crouch by your head, and looks you dead in the eye.
“How bad?” she asks, voice low and steady.
You swallow.
“Shoulder’s… lodged,” you say. “Side’s… shallow. I think. Missed organs. Might’ve nicked something. I’ll know when I stand up.”
“That is not reassuring,” she says.
“You’re not supposed to be reassured,” you say. “You’re supposed to go home.”
Megan makes a strangled sound. “We’re not leaving you like this,” she says. “We literally watched a video of you bleeding on the news. And then we figured out you live ten minutes away. Sorry, we’re clingy.”
“You’re…” you start, then the pain spikes.
Digger makes a triumphant beep.
Its little claw emerges from your shoulder, slick and red, pinching a mangled bullet.
You watch it swing the thing around and drop it delicately into the metal bowl you set aside for that purpose.
Clink.
Your stomach lurches.
Megan slaps a hand over her mouth.
Daniela sways.
Manon looks like she might actually, genuinely pass out.
Sophia grabs the doorframe so hard her knuckles blanch.
Yoonchae doesn’t flinch. Her hand finds your wrist, careful around the tendon, fingers cool and grounding.
“Hey,” she says. “You’re okay. That part’s done.”
You realize distantly that you’re crushing the steel bar.
It’s not even a bar anymore. It’s bent in the middle, U-shaped, the ends twisted.
You loosen your grip, trembling.
Digger beeps, self-satisfied, and backs away. Spritz rushes in, spraying more saline, suctioning it back up.
Stitcher rolls forward with the focused energy of someone who’s been waiting their whole life for this.
“Side,” you tell it through gritted teeth. “Smaller stitches on the shoulder. I have to… move it.”
Bee-deep, Stitcher acknowledges.
“Hospital,” Sophia says again, desperation punching through the shock. “Baby, please. We can get you there in five minutes. We’ll cover you. We’ll-”
“Can’t,” you say.
“Why not?” Lara demands, practically vibrating with leftover adrenaline and horror. “In case you forgot, you got shot. Twice.”
“Once,” you correct. “Stabbed once. Shot once. Basic math.”
“Why do you always do this,” she says helplessly. “Why do you joke?”
“Because if I don’t, I’ll cry,” you say. “And crying jiggles the bullet holes.”
It’s not funny.
Megan laughs anyway, a short, broken sound.
“Seriously,” Sophia pushes, stepping into the room now, careful of the scattered wires and parts. “We can say you’re a dancer of ours. Or a cousin. Pay cash. You need an X-ray. You need-”
“I need not to be on a list,” you say, more sharply than you mean to. “Hospitals report gunshot wounds. Cops show up. Someone connects ‘girl with weird strength and weird bloodwork’ to ‘Spider-Man.’ Suddenly I’m not helping people, I’m in a lab.”
They all go quiet.
Stitcher starts in on your shoulder, tiny needle piercing, pulling, piercing, pulling, neat little loops. It beeps rhythmically, almost humming to itself.
Spritz moves to your side wound, irrigating it in a gentle, relentless cycle.
You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches.
“Is this…” Daniela starts, voice very small. “Is this… what you always do?”
You stare at the cracked ceiling.
“Sometimes I get away with just… bandages,” you say. “Sometimes it’s worse.” You swallow. “Stitcher and Digger remember my… insides, I guess. They get better every time.”
“That is the most horrifying thing I’ve ever heard,” Manon whispers.
“Thank you,” you mutter. “I’m very proud.”
“You- Why-,” Megan says, and there’s none of the lazy drawl now. Just your name, raw. “Why didn’t you… tell us?”
You almost laugh.
You blink before pulling the towel from your teeth,
“When, exactly, in between fetching your coffees and being reminded I don’t have a chance. Should I–”
a groan falls from your lips to the towel you shove against them to muffle it.
“Should I just have gone oh, I’m in love with you, I’m the superhero you flirt with and your tech- hmm fuck. Your technician, the one you make run around for games? Hmm? Get your water faster”
You laugh bitterly.
“Actually I’m your nothing, I work for the c- company Holy fuck. Company not you? Would you prefer-” You gasp between words “would you prefer that? Was the sharing of my business not up to the so, utterly, important popstars liking? I’m sorry. Fire m- oh my god - fire me I guess - f- Fuck” You groan out spitting anger and pained groans as fast as you can.
You suck in a shaky breath instead of continuing.
Stitcher hits a particularly sensitive spot. Your vision whites out for a second. Your hands spasm on the towel
The girls look like they want to puke. Whether it's the words or the visual you don’t know.
Yoonchae squeezes your wrist. “Breathe,” she orders. “In. Out.”
You obey despite the anger.
It helps.
A little.
Sophia edges closer, stopping on the other side of your mattress. There’s barely room. Her knee bumps a pile of suit fabric. The top half of your suit, burned and torn, stares up from the floor like an accusation.
She looks at it. At you. At the wall of photos over your workbench-grainy skyline shots, blurry night silhouettes, a few printouts of katseye tour posters you definitely did not steal from the hallway at work.
Her face folds.
“We said…” she starts, then stops, throat working. “We said some really awful things.”
You close your eyes willing away your anger
“You said some true things,” you say. “You’re my bosses. I’m your tech. I don’t… have a chance. It’s fine. Besides, games are mmmh. Are fun no?”
“It’s not,” Lara blurts. “It’s really, really not fun - or fine - or.”
Stitcher beeps at her, offended at the volume.
“You need to be still,” Sophia says as she holds your shoulders down Spritz suctioning more delicately.
“You named your suction robot Spritz,” Manon says faintly. “Of course you did.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, because your eyes are burning and you’d rather they focus on the stupid robot names than the tears.
“Baby,” Megan says again.
You don’t look at her.
If you do, you might crack open right there on the floor and spill everything.
So you stare at Stitcher instead, at the tiny precise motions of its needle, at the even little line it’s leaving along your skin, a crooked scar for future you to trace when you’re bored.
“The only reason we’re nice to you is because you’re good at your job,” you repeat quietly, because the words are stuck in your teeth. “Remember?”
Megan makes a noise like she’s been punched.
“We didn’t…” she tries. “I didn’t mean”
“Yeah,” you say. “You did.”
Nobody argues.
The only sounds in the room are robot beeps, the soft suck-and-spray of Spritz, and your own ragged breathing.
Yoonchae’s thumb traces a slow line over your pulse point. It’s the only thing keeping you tethered.
“We’re here now,” Daniela says after a minute, voice small but fierce. “Okay? Whether you want us to be or not. We’re here. We’re staying until those things”-she gestures vaguely at the robots-“are done trying to turn you into a quilt.”
Stitcher beeps indignantly.
“Sorry,” she adds automatically. “Thank you for your service.”
Stitcher goes back to sewing.
“You don’t… have to,” you say, which is the closest you can get to please don’t go. “I’m used to… this.”
“That’s the problem,” Yoonchae says.
No one knows what to do with that.
They shift around the edges of the room, shoulders bumping. The apartment is too small for six popstars and one bleeding superhero and three dedicated little robots, but they make it work.
Megan sinks down against the wall opposite your mattress, pulling her knees up, still clutching the first-aid kit like a life preserver.
Lara drops onto the floor near your feet, arms braced on her legs, staring at the bent bar in your hands like it’s a crime scene.
Daniela sits on the edge of the other, “normal” bed, blankets forgotten in her lap, jaw tight.
Manon hovers near the kitchen counter, fingers gripping the edge hard enough to go white.
Sophia slides down until she’s kneeling by your side, careful not to jostle Spritz, eyes never leaving your face.
“I brought you soup,” Megan says eventually, voice thin. “And, like, Gatorade. And bandages. And that spray stuff that stings, but the bottle was cute.”
“No hospitals,” you mumble. “But soup is… good.”
“Soup we can do,” she says. Her eyes are shiny.
The robots work.
You hurt.
They watch.
There’s no apology big enough to fit in the room.
No speech they can make now that undoes the words they threw at you under bright lights, before they knew your blood looks the same as anyone else’s when it hits the floor.
But they’re there.
They see you.
All of you.
Spider-Man burned and bleeding, You in a sports bra on a plastic-covered mattress, three idiot robots beeping like a tiny trauma team, steel twisted in your hands.
Eventually, Stitcher beeps a satisfied little trill-done-and backs away, needle retracting.
Spritz does a final rinse, then rolls back too, suction hose slurping the last of the pink-tinged saline.
Digger, already docked at the charging shelf, lets out a sleepy beep and powers down.
You sag against the mattress, muscles trembling with aftershock.
Yoonchae lets go of your wrist only long enough to gently pry the mangled bar from your fingers. She sets it aside, out of sight.
Sophia reaches for the towel, now half-hanging off the mattress, and helps you spit it out. Your jaw screams as you unclench.
You can feel blood on your tongue.
“Hi,” she says softly.
“What,” you say.
There’s a pause.
“You’re an idiot,” she whispers.
“Get out of my apartment”
“It’s barely an apartment,” she says.
You don’t disagree.
You don’t forgive, either.
Not yet.
You lie there, stitched and shaky, listening to the sound of their breathing in your too-small apartment, trying to reconcile the way they looked at Spider-Man on the roof with the way they looked at the tech you behind the soundboard, and with the way they’re looking at you now.
Like something precious.
Like something they hurt.
There’s no neat answer.
No sudden easing of the knot.
Just the ache.
Just Spritz doing a little victory beep from its dock, like a kid proud of a scribbly drawing, and six girls sitting in the wreckage of the pedestal they built for your mask, staring at the person under it.
You’re not sure what hurts more:
The bullet.
The stab wound.
Or the fact that for the first time, they can’t pretend those two lives are separate-and neither can you.
You close your eyes.
You keep breathing.
They stay.
--------
You don’t remember falling asleep.
One second you’re staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to Stitcher dock itself with a smug little beep and six girls breathing unevenly around your busted mattress.
The next, the ceiling is… wrong.
Higher. White. Smooth.
There’s something soft under you that is not plastic over cheap foam. The air smells like lavender and very expensive laundry detergent instead of dust and solder.
You blink.
Your eyelids feel glued together.
When you finally get them open, you see:
A ceiling fan. A recessed light. Crown molding.
This is not your apartment.
You jerk upright on instinct.
Bad idea.
Pain flares down your side and across your shoulder, white-hot. Your vision tunnels. You sway.
Warm hands hit your shoulders.
“Easy,” someone says.
You panic.
Your body moves before your brain.
Web.
It shoots from your wrist with a familiar, painful tug, sticky and sudden. It hits something solid with a wet thwap and you yank, hard.
There’s a yelp.
Daniela goes flying.
She’d been leaning over you with a washcloth in her hand, wiping dried blood off your ribs. Now she’s yanked sideways like a cartoon character one wrist webbed firmly to the wall.
“Ow-fuck,” she splutters.
You stare at the line of web connecting your wrist to hers, chest heaving.
“Hey!” Sophia’s voice, sharp with alarm.
You twist.
They’re all there.
Of course they are.
Sophia at the side of the bed, hair loose around her shoulders, wearing an oversized T-shirt and sweat shorts. Megan perched on the arm of a chair, eyes huge. Lara standing stiffly near the window, arms crossed. Manon at the foot of the bed, one hand pressed to her mouth. Yoonchae in the corner, leaning against the wall, gaze glued to you.
Behind them, the room stretches out in a blur of tasteful neutral decor and soft light. Floor-to-ceiling windows show a slice of city sky. The couch over there probably costs more than your last three paychecks.
Sophia’s penthouse.
You are in Sophia’s penthouse.
You look down.
You’re in fresh sweatpants and the same sports bra. Your torso is wrapped in clean bandages, tight but not constricting. Someone’s cleaned the soot off your face. Your shoulder throbs under the gauze.
On the nightstand: the robots’ charging dock, set up neatly. Stitcher, Digger, and Spritz are all plugged in, LEDs pulsing. Someone brought them.
Someone took you.
Rips of panic shake through you.
“You moved me,” you rasp. Your throat feels scraped raw. “You-how long-”
“Not long,” Sophia says quickly, hands up like she’s approaching a feral animal. “You passed out. You were freezing and your lips went blue and your apartment’s heater is a war crime and you had, like, half a granola bar in the cupboard.”
“We grabbed your robots and your suit and your… stuff,” Megan says. “Yoonchae texted our manager that we had a ‘situation’ and we just-this was closer. And warmer. And has food. And… we panicked.”
Daniela is still half-webbed to the wall, breathing hard. She lifts her free hand slowly, fingers splayed.
“Truce?” she says weakly. “Please? I was just wiping blood off. I swear I wasn’t doing anything weird.”
You can feel her warmth where her side presses against your legs. It’s… too much.
You flick your wrist so another web goes and pulls it off.
She gasps and scrambles back, nearly tripping over the duvet. “Okay,” she says, hands up. “Cool. Thank you.”
Your heart hammers.
“Take me home,” you say.
Your voice is quiet.
Too quiet.
They all hear it anyway.
“Baby…” Sophia starts.
“Now,” you say.
You try to swing your legs off the bed.
The floor lurches.
Splotches of black and static fill your vision. Your body suddenly weighs twice as much. You get one foot down before your knee buckles.
Hands catch you from all sides.
“Whoa, whoa-” Lara grabs your upper arm.
“Sit,” Yoonchae orders, sliding in behind you, bracing your back with her shoulder.
“Don’t you dare pass out again,” Megan says, half plea, half threat.
Sophia grunts, wrestling your legs back up onto the mattress. “You’re not going anywhere,” she says.
You hate how easily they move you.
You hate how heavy your limbs feel. How fuzzy your head is. How the edges of the world keep going soft.
Normally, by now, your healing would have kicked in hard. Super-charged, hyped up, knitting things back together behind the scenes.
It’s… not.
There’s a warmth in your chest, a faint hum in your bones. It’s working. Just… slow.
Too slow.
Your body is out of gas. No calories. No sleep. No reserves.
You’re stuck in normal speed with wounds that expected fast-forward.
It’s infuriating.
“Hey,” Sophia says again, softer. “You need to rest. Please.”
“You moved me without asking,” you say.
Your voice cracks on the last word.
Megan flinches.
“You were unconscious,” Lara says, defensive. “You weren’t exactly in a ‘hey, can I get your consent in triplicate’ mood.”
”That’s not an excuse,” you bite out. “You can’t just-fix this by-by picking me up and dropping me in your-your stupid penthouse like a broken amp.”
“You are not an amp,” Daniela says, horrified.
“Are you sure?” you shoot back. “Because you treat me like gear. Useful when I’m working, a problem when I’m broken.”
“Hey,” Yoonchae murmurs behind you, but there’s no heat in it. Just hurt.
“You need warmth,” Sophia says, fingers white-knuckled around the edge of the duvet. “And food. And actual rest, not your disaster rat nest mattress on the floor.”
“It’s not a rat nest,” you mutter. “It’s… efficient.”
“It’s a torture device,” Manon says. Her voice is thin but there’s a shaky smile trying to happen. “My back started crying just looking at it.”
“You weren’t supposed to look at it,” you say.
Your eyes burn.
You hate that you’re even having this conversation. You hate that you’re here at all. That you’re on their bed-Sophia’s bed? You don’t even know-and not in your corner of crappy safety.
It’s so warm.
The duvet is thick and soft. There’s a heating pad somewhere near your feet, radiating gentle heat. Your fingers aren’t numb for the first time in… you don’t know how long.
Your body is drinking it in like water.
Your brain hates it.
“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’ll heal.”
“Not if you keep trying to sprint on an empty tank,” Lara says. “You literally collapsed.”
“You’re not fine,” Megan adds. “You’re, like, actively not fine. There was a whole news segment about it.”
You blink.
“What?”
She winces. “Um. Yeah. There was a livestream. Someone caught you in the alley after the stabbing. The lower third literally said ‘Exhausted Spider-Man Stumbles After Late-Night Brawl.’ The suit burns were not flattering.”
“You looked like shit,” Lara says helpfully.
“Thanks,” you say dully.
“That’s why we came,” Daniela says. “Well. That, and the whole ‘we just watched you get shot and then disappear into the ceiling’ thing.”
They’re all looking at you like you’re going to evaporate.
You hate it.
“You’re… mad,” Sophia says slowly. “Obviously. At us. You should be. We were-I was-”
“Horrible,” Megan supplies.
“A dick,” Lara says.
“Careless,” Manon adds.
“Selfish,” Daniela says quietly.
“Cowards,” Yoonchae says.
Sophia flinches but nods. “Yeah,” she says. “All of that.”
You lick your lips. Your mouth is dry.
“You’re guilty,” you say.
“Yes,” Sophia says without hesitation.
“And you think that’s enough,” you push. “To fix it. Ten minutes of ‘we’re sorry’ and some soup and suddenly I’m… what? Back to orbiting? Back to fetching? But now you get to feel noble because you took care of poor little 'Tiny' when she got herself shot.”
“That's not-” Megan starts.
“Don’t,” you snap. “Don’t do the thing where you make it sound like some grand, generous favor. You’re not doing this because you care about me. You’re doing it because you realized the cool superhero you were trying to impress was the same dumb tech you used as a party trick.”
The words hang in the air, heavy and ugly.
Megan goes very still.
“We weren’t trying to-” she begins.
“Yes, you were,” you say. “You got to brag to Spider-Man about how you had this little tech puppy who did tricks when you called. You thought it was funny. You thought it made you look… what? Powerful? Cute? Interesting? ‘Look at us, we’re so beloved and adored that even our tech is head over heels.’”
Lara winces like you slapped her.
“We were being assholes,” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” you say. “You were.”
Manon sinks onto the foot of the bed, hands twisted in the duvet. “We didn’t know it was you,” she says. “That doesn’t make it better. I just… We kept those worlds separate on purpose. We never… we never would have talked like that if we’d known-”
“If you’d known you were telling me to my face?” you say, one eyebrow jerking up. “Cool. Great moral compass. Don’t be cruel in front of the victim; save it for behind their back.”
“Dude,” Yoonchae murmurs.
She’s not telling you to stop. Just… there.
You exhale, breath shuddering.
Your side aches. Your shoulder throbs in time with your pulse.
“Look,” you say. “I get it. You’re famous. You’re… stars. People orbit you for fun. You didn’t ask me to have a crush. You didn’t ask me to… care. You were under pressure. You were tired. You said cruel shit. That happens. But you don’t get to pretend that bringing me here and putting me in a fancy bed and feeding me soup makes it… okay.”
“We’re not pretending that,” Sophia says. “At least I’m not. There is no universe where some broth and a Band-Aid erases the fact that we weaponized your feelings for our convenience.”
“We also can’t undo it,” Daniela says softly. “If we could, we would.”
“You can do one thing,” you say.
They all look up.
“Let me go.”
The room tightens.
“No,” Sophia says immediately.
“I will literally walk home,” you say. “I don’t need you to Uber me, I don’t need you to-whatever this is. I’ll be fine. I’ve been fine.”
“You are objectively not fine,” Manon says, gesturing at your bandages.
“This isn’t about what you want anymore,” Lara says. “It’s about what you need.”
“Wow,” you say. “Love that. Love being downgraded from a person to a project.”
“We’re not-” Megan starts.
“No, seriously,” you say, heat rising under your skin. “Do you hear yourselves? ‘It’s not about what you want, it’s what you need.’ That’s what you say to toddlers and addicts and people you don’t trust to know their own limits. You’ve decided I’m too… what? Stupid? Infatuated? Self-destructive? To know what’s good for me, so you get to override me.”
They don’t argue.
They just… look guilty.
“Yeah,” you say. “Thought so.”
“You care about us,” Dani says.
It’s quiet. Not a weapon. A statement.
You flinch anyway.
“No,” you say instantly.
She gives you a look.
You grit your teeth.
“Caring about you is how I got here,” you say. “I ran myself into the ground for you. I skipped meals for you. I let you laugh about me because I thought… I don’t know. That it meant I was close. That I was… in on it. That being your joke meant I was on the inside of something.”
“You are on the inside of something,” Megan says, wrecked. “You’re inside my goddamn heart, okay, I just-”
“Stop,” you say. “You don’t get to say that now.”
She shuts her mouth.
Silence presses in.
Stitcher lets out a tiny sympathetic beep from its dock.
You take a breath. Then another. Each one hurts.
“I am so sorry,” Sophia says, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t say that enough. It doesn’t fix it. I know that. But I am. Sorry. Not because you’re Spider-Man. Not because you got hurt. Because we took advantage of your kindness and we knew it, and we laughed about it, and then we tried to act like you were crazy for noticing.”
You stare at your hands.
Your fingers are trembling again, less from blood loss now and more from adrenaline.
You want to believe her.
Some stupid, soft part of you already does.
The rest… is tired.
“A ten-minute conversation and a compliment isn’t going to fix me this time,” you say.
Sophia closes her eyes like that physically hurts.
“Okay,” she says. “Then we’ll take longer.”
“Great,” you say. “Can you take longer from my apartment?”
“No,” she says.
You actually laugh at that. A short, incredulous bark.
“Of course,” you say. “How silly of me to think I get to make choices about my own body in this scenario.”
“Dude,” Yoonchae says. “If you walk out that door right now, you’ll make it maybe two blocks before your stitches tear and you eat pavement. You know that. We know that. We can’t watch you do that. We won’t.”
“You can’t stop me,” you say.
You try to stand again.
It’s stubborn and stupid and unfair to your own nervous system, but you do it anyway. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, push up, ignore the way your head spins.
For half a glorious second, you’re upright.
Then the floor tilts.
Your knees buckle.
Sophia lunges. So does Megan. So does Lara. You end up half-caught, half-crumpled, arms hooked under your armpits, bandages pulling painfully.
“Put me down,” you grit out.
“Gladly,” Lara says through gritted teeth, hauling you back onto the mattress with Megan’s help. “Stop making us do CrossFit with your corpse.”
You’re panting by the time they settle you back against the pillows. Sweat slicks your hairline. The room is a watercolor blur.
“You’re not leaving,” Sophia says. “I don’t care how mad you are. I don’t care how much you hate us. You can hate us here, where the floors are clean and the heater works and the fridge has more than condiments.”
“You can’t keep me,” you say.
“Watch us,” Megan mutters.
“You don’t have-you can’t-” you stammer, outrage fighting with dizziness.
“Consent is important,” Daniela says quietly. “We know that. We’ve been on the other side of people ignoring it. We’re not trying to… make a habit of doing that to you. But there’s a difference between… violating your autonomy because it’s easier for us, and… not letting you tear yourself apart in front of us because you think you deserve it.”
Your throat closes.
“I never said-” you start.
“You don’t have to,” she says. “We see it.”
You drop your gaze.
There’s a faint, tacky patch on your right wrist where your suit usually sits, the skin slightly reddened from where they’d peeled webbing off when they were cleaning you up.
Dani follows your look.
Her jaw sets.
“Fine,” she says. “You know what? Fine. You still aren’t leaving.”
She reaches for the bedside table.
You hadn’t noticed until now that your webbing had wadded up there
It was coiled in a little glass dish like weird candy. They must have cut it off your skin and tossed it there without thinking about it. The ones you just slung off Daniela had landed half in it.
Web dissolves over time. The stuff you throw around the city usually goes powdery in an hour. In denser clumps, it takes longer.
This bit is still tacky.
Dani picks it up.
“Don’t,” you say, warning prickle running down your spine.
She hesitates-just for a second.
Then she moves.
She grabs your weaker arm-the one on the side of the stab wound, the one that’s shaking more-and winds the web strip around your wrist and the brass bedpost in one swift, practiced motion.
It sticks instantly.
You jerk.
It holds.
“Are you seriously-” you start, incredulous.
“Yes,” she says, eyes blazing with something fierce and frightened. “I am. You’re way stronger than all of us put together when you’re at full power, and you still almost face-planted just now. If tying you to the bed for a night is what it takes to keep you from killing yourself trying to prove how fine you are, then I will happily be the villain in your diary.”
“That’s not how this works,” you say, tugging. The webbing flexes, but your arm doesn’t come free. You’re too weak. You hate it. “You can’t just-”
“We can,” Lara says, stepping up beside Dani. Her face is pale, but her eyes are flint. “And we will. You don’t get to scare the hell out of us and then stomp out like a martyr because we hurt your feelings.”
“We did hurt your feelings,” Megan rushes to add. “We gutted them. We set them on fire. We are the worst. But we’re not letting you bleed out on top of that because you don’t think you deserve to be taken care of.”
“I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say, breath hitching. “I’ve been doing it myself for years.”
“You’ve been… surviving,” Sophia says. “Barely.”
“That still counts,” you throw back.
“It doesn’t have to be the only way,” she says.
You yank at the web.
It doesn’t budge.
Your skin pinches. Your shoulder flares. Your side twinges.
You stop.
You’re breathing hard, tears hot at the corners of your eyes.
You hate them.
You don’t.
You wish you did.
It would be easier if this were simple. If they were pure villains and you were pure victim.
Instead, you’re tied to a bed with your own webbing by people who hurt you and are terrified for you, wrapped in warmth your body is greedily soaking up no matter how much your pride burns.
“Well,” you say eventually, voice rough. “Congratulations.”
They all watch you.
“You caught Spider-Man.”
Nobody laughs.
The tension sits there, thick as webbing.
No one reaches for you.
No one leaves.
You stare at the ceiling, jaw clenched, wrist bound, in a bed that isn’t yours, in a life that’s suddenly, violently bigger and messier than you wanted it to be.
You don’t forgive them.
They don’t ask you to.
Not yet.
They just stay, in the too-bright, too-soft room, watching the rise and fall of your chest like it’s the only thing holding their world together, while your body quietly, stubbornly knits itself back together at human speed for once.
how r is feeling fr
lolol i queued this right after the last part soooooo im having fun :):):):)
ᝰ﹏STILL STANDING AT THE EXIT ‹/3 a sophia laforteza socmed au .ᐟ
ᯓᡣ𐭩 ; sophia laforteza x spidey! gn reader.
⌗ IN WHICH , you see each other everywhere. but only one of you knows it.
⤷ .ᐟ OR : you and sophia still orbit around each other's worlds years after your last conversation. only one of you is aware of just how much. what happens when the distance starts to slowly crumble after sophia's assigned a pr boyfriend?
note. this is a prequel series to this sophia x spidey!r fic of mine! (ᵔᵕᵔ)
tags/info ::: angst to fluff, crack fic, reader is referred to using they/them along with gender neutral terms, all katseye texts are from sophia's pov, spidey suit will be inconsistent as i'm just gonna use whatever photo fits best, so let's just say yn has a wide suit variety ++ the same thing goes for timeline,, i.e. i'm not following a certain spidey movie's events or anything like that :P
warnings ::: likely mentions of typical canon spidey violence (fighting, cuts, bruises, blood, etc), yn occasionally follows sophia around as spidey (only as much as peter does in tasm2) so light stalking talk, brief alcohol usage, suggestive talk/moments for yn & rui (there's gonna be brief rui x reader at times), swearing, corny usernames & jokes - [serious trigger warnings will be added onto their respective chapters]
disclaimer... everything written is simply a work of fiction, and should not be taken as accurate representation for any of the idols included.
status... active, but updates may be slow as i am mostly focused on another smau of mine currently !
NOW PLAYING.. still standing at the exit !
CAST. the katz. the spider-web.
00. PROLOGUE -– fully written !
01. GOOD MORNING NEW YORK!
02. a spider sighting!!!!
03. nobody move.
04. ..i'm finding it
05. kingston
06. soft-launch
07. daniela in a hat
08. not-so soft-launch
- taglist is open!! don't be afraid to ask for a tag<3 :]
pairings: Daniela avanzini x spider-woman!reader
warnings: kys/kms jokes, suggestive jokes, language, mentions of suicide, drinking, a lot of stuff
summary: the reader being a superhero, being spiderman but a woman has made her get hate a lot. Daniela, who is completely oblivious to the fact that her lab partner was fighting for their life as she would just work on her projects. The reader has had a long time crush on daniela, but seeing her with a different guy just made them lose interest in almost everything. The reader felt like a failure in everything, nothing worked out for her no matter how much she tried
a/n: so idk when this is posted but all i know is that i finished megans smau😭😭 soo i hope yall like this one js like how you liked megans. Inspired by let down by radio head
profiles-> spidey-haters, ktz , others
smauchapters written chapters
chapter 1-> lab partners
chapter 2-> oh god
chapter 3-> jonah haters
chapter 4-> library
chapter 5-> shits crazy out here
chapter 6-> more you know
chapter 7-> sydney beans
chapter 8-> what the fuck did i just do
chapter9-> no show
chapter 10-> oh shit!
chapter 11-> okay act normal
chapter 12-> game
chapter 13-> BUCKETS
chapter 14-> rooftop
chapter 15-> LOCKED AND LOADED
chapter 16-> jealous dani
chapter 17-> meeting the fam
chapter 18-> yuri fest
chapter 19-> loser
chapter 20-> fuck my chungus life
chapter 21-> delivered
chapter 22-> unwanted distance
chapter 23-> give up
chapter 24-> 8 letters
chapter 25-> sedate me
chapter 26 -> sick to my stomach
chapter 27-> boyfriend show offs
chapter 28-> ass communication
chapter 29-> pregaming
chapter 30-> party in the hollywood hills
chapter 31-> WRONG ACCOUNT
chapter 32-> forced to be back
chapter 33-> swing by
chapter 34-> two different love songs
chapter 35-> friend beef+ jealousy
chapter 36-> pros and cons
chapter 37-> what had to be done
chapter 38-> people died
chapter 39-> not yet
chapter 40-> venom
chapter 41-> let down
chapter 42-> sleeping with the lights on (epilogue)
when new york city’s widely-known spider-woman's life becomes unknowingly entwined with a member of the rising global girl group katseye, she learns that juggling superhero duties, university, and a sudden crush may or may not just be the downfall of her. but hey, at least she's helping people, right?
notes .ᐟ this smau was made for fun and entertainment. it is not an actual portrayal of the people mentioned in this smau, nor are the photos used to portray y/n. also let's just say that some kpop groups are currently living in nyc. IGNORE THE TIMESTAMPS. divider creds: @/adornedwithlight.
PROFILES!
nightmare blunt rotation brainrotted fine shyts brainrotted fine shyts 2.5
01. YOUR FRIENDLY NEIGHBOURHOOD SPIDER-WOMAN!
02. TOO LIT!
03. CAKE!
04. SWEET MOTHER OF CHRIST!
05. WEDGIES IN A SPANDEX!
06. MAMA A MINION GIRL BEHIND YOU!
07. FREAKY N PROUD!
08. WUH LUH WUH?
09. LOST IN TRANSLATION!
10. STALKER!
11. IT'S A DATE!
12. SICK N TIRED!
13. BOOTS R QUAKING!
14. SO ANXIOUS!
15. AND THE CROWD IS CONFUSED?
16. CANDIDS!
17. NEW YEAR, NEW ME!
18. NEW YEAR, NEW FRUSTRATIONS!
19. FEMALE DJS DO IT BEST!
20. JENNIFER!
21. LAST STRAW!
22. BLOCKED!
23. THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED!
24. SO COOKED!
25. WHAT DOES IT #MEAN?
26. HEIROGILGER AHH TEXT!
27. QUEEN NEVER CRY!
28. THE TYPE OF GREED THEY TALK ABOUT IN THE BIBLE!
29. EYES ON ME!
30. FINALLY!
31. ONE HELL OF A DATE!
32. HALLELUJAH!
33. TOO GAY TO FUNCTION!
34. EMBARRASSING!
35. BLOCKED PT. 2!
36. THREE WEEKS!
37. SPIDER-WOMAN!
38. APOLOGY GIFT!
39. SALUTATIONS BEAUTIFUL!
40. IDGAF WAR!
41. APOLOGY GIFT PT. 2!
42. BLOCKED PT. 3!
43. SO HELP ME GOD!
44. OH SHIT!
45. LIFE OR DEATH!
46. STUPIDITY!
47. LIZARD THING LIVESTREAM!
48. MOVIE DATE!
49. WOMAN ON A MISSION!
50. SUSPICIONS!
51. GO HOME!
52. THE END!
bonus! incorrect quotes n text messages.
™ CINNAMANZ 2024
— please do not repost, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way without permission. thank you! xx
WHY HER, NOT ME? ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻ || S. LAFORTEZA & M. BANNERMAN
when shiloh unexpectedly quit the up-and-coming rock band katseye after they exploded on the scene with a critically acclaimed first album that was followed by a highly successful world tour, it left both fans and critics shocked as to why she would leave at the height of the band's success and popularity. unbeknownst to all, shiloh's contract wasn't renewed after being voted out and replaced by daniela's best friend, manon bannerman, by her band members. for the past two years shiloh has been dark on her public socials until she out of nowhere drops a teaser of her new single along with rumors of her releasing a solo album soon —right around the same time her former band will be dropping their third album. things are going to get interesting, especially when she has to start being around her ex, sophia, and the girl she left her for and was replaced in the band with, manon. fun, huh?
TAGS : smau + some written chapters, one fell first and two fell harder, woman losing woman, then woman gaining two women, poly, exes to lovers, angst, fluff, crack, kys jokes, suggestive themes, girl rock band!au, strong language, depression, suicidal ideations (shiloh aint doing so hot), yoonchae has done nothing wrong —the rest, however. will tag as i go.
THE CAST : katseye, regan aliyah, ryujin from itzy, giselle from aespa, halle bailey, felix from skz, & lizeth selene, kyleigh curran, simone ashley. will add others as it goes.
PAIRINGS : sophia laforteza x fem!oc/reader, sophia laforteza x manon bannerman, sophia laforteza x fem!oc/reader x manon bannerman
STATUS : ONGOING
A/N : the fc for oc/reader is chase infiniti. so —remember when i said i was going to work on interview with a vampire? well i lied because this and other stories got stuck in my head. but none of this is an actual portrayal of the people in this smau, this is for entertainment. also please pay no mind to the timestamps because i will forget to do them correctly.
PLAYLISTS : shiloh's debut album | katseye's first album (with shiloh) | katseye's second album (with manon) | katseye's third album |
EXTRA CONTENT : | katseye members google search | pitchfork reviews | extra content | shiloh's youtube page | katseye tiktok page | more
PROFILES : depressed fine shyt & her protectors | 5 live crew and a yoonchae | other
CHAPTERS :
01. #HOPECORE
02. THE CONSEQUENCES OF BEING NOSY
BONUS CONTENT: KATSEYE HISTORY, DREAM ACADEMY: ROCK SETLIST
03. THAT'S WHAT YA GET???
04. PLAUSIBLE DENIABILITY (HALF WRITTEN)
05. WHEN SOPHIA HAD THE UTMOST FAITH IN MEGAN
06. WHOLE HOUSE IN TROUBLE
BONUS: AND NOW TEXTS A WORD FROM MEGAN
07. HERE'S HOPING SHILOH CAN'T READ
08. SOPHIA VOICE: EVERYTHING IS FINE!!!! part one, part two (HALF WRITTEN)
09. SHILOH VOLUNTEERS TO GO TO A PARTY (SHE WAS THREATENED)
10. 'CAUSE WE ( NOT SHILOH) LIKE TO PARTY
BONUS CONTENT: KATSEYE GOOGLE/INSTAGRAM, KATSEYE FIRST ALBUM TRACKS & PERSONNEL, KATSEYE SECOND ALBUM TRACKS & PERSONNEL
11. PARTY LIKE A ROCKSTAR? part one, part two (FULLY WRITTEN)
12.IM GOING TO START A RUMOR
13. DANI'S ON THE WAR PATH
14. MEET AND GREET??
15. WHEN SHILOH GOT MANIPUDIPPED INTO GOING TO THE AQUARIUM
16 THE SAGE & SHILOH SHOW EPISODE TITLED: THE SLEEPOVER (WRITTEN CHAPTER)
BONUS: THAT FIRST DETENTION (OR WHEN MEGAN GOT THEM ALL IN TROUBLE) (WRITTEN CHAPTER)
17. ....WADDAYA MEAN
18. LARA AND SAGE SAGE AND LARA
19. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN HERE ON THIS DAY??
20. THE AFTERMATH AKA SHILOH RUNNING TF AWAY FROM SOCIAL MEDIA
21 .RYUJIN HAS DONE A WHAT
22. ...SAGE HAS A GIRLFRIEND??? (WRITTEN CHAPTER)
23. SHILOH'S ABOUT TO CUSS EVERYONE OUT IN CREOLE AGAIN
24.DELETE THIS AND YOURSELF
25. THAT'S NOT HOW WORDS WORK
BONUS: MEET THE BOUDREAUXS, DO I LOOK LIKE HIM? (fully written)
26. THE MEETING. (half written)
27. SHILOH'S OFFICIALLY BACK BITCHES!!!
BONUS: THE DAY THE MUSIC DIED FOR SHILOH (fully written)
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more coming soon!
Visit all the stars that create this constellation
Fan Favorites: 🤍 Author Favorites: 💜
AARON 'HOTCH' HOTCHNER
Unspoken, Unheard 🤍💜
In the midst of a high-stakes case, you face the terrifying task of being bait for a dangerous unsub. As the mission spirals out of control, the unacknowledged bond between you and Hotch is tested, forcing him to confront the risks of letting his heart lead in a world where vulnerability could mean losing everything.
Unraveled, Unveiled
After finally breaking through Aaron Hotchner’s walls, a quiet, undeniable tension begins to build between you— one that can no longer be ignored. What starts as an evening of uncertainty and vulnerability gradually unravels the emotional barriers between you both, leading to a deeper connection neither of you expected.
DEREK MORGAN
SPENCER REID
EMILY PRENTISS
Quiet Withdrawals 🤍💜
As Emily Prentiss begins to withdraw under the weight of a dangerous secret, her partner at the BAU struggles to understand the silence growing between them.
Quiet Betrayal 💜
As the team closes in on Doyle, Emily disappears— leaving behind more questions than answers. In the wreckage of her absence, you're left to grapple with the truth she never said, and the quiet betrayal of being shut out.
Quiet Descent
As the team touches down in Boston, the search for Emily intensifies— and so does the emotional toll. With time running out and nothing to hold onto but hope, you have to keep it together long enough to bring Emily home.
Quiet Ruin
The hunt for Emily leads you to a brutal discovery, forcing you to question everything you thought you knew about her — and everything you feel for her. But when the search ends in a warehouse soaked in blood, your confession comes moments too late. Now all that’s left is the quiet fall that follows when hope finally breaks.
SYNOPSIS: yikes! commenting that was a total mistake, but you're in too deep to let it go now... right?
through fan wars on various apps and shady insta posts, katseye's manon bannerman and rising artist y/n l/n find themselves feet deep in twitter beef, pushing as many buttons as they can without loosing their labels.
#: angst, fluff, eventual smut, 18+ jokes and content, heavy language, kys/kms jokes, fan wars, online hate, smau, enemies to lovers, y/n is a hothead, lotsss of drama in the beginning/middle.
AUTHORS NOTE: came back from the dead to publish this series - manon is NOT on hiatus in this story
staying friends is safe (doesn't mean you should) [SMAU]
pairings: sophia laforteza x f!reader
warnings: yearning, everyone needs a hug, a lot of shipping, eventual smut, fluff.
sophia's got a new boyfriend, you'll always be stuck being the best friend. but sophia's yearner eyes are really hard to hide, and the feelings never fade.
updates everyday at 8 p.m ist!
taglist: closed
°❀⋆ i wish i hated you
°❀⋆ i don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch
°❀⋆ toxic till the end
°❀⋆ you give me just enough attention (to keep my hopes too high)
With the release of you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love, I wanted to start a new series following her discography over the years.
What does this mean? It means you get a good mix of angsty fics with a new mix of romance fics. It’s an exploration of heartbreak and romance via Olivia Rodrigo x KATSEYE.
Here’s the lineup…
* i will not be writing for yoonchae! *
SOUR
brutal (sophia laforteza)
traitor (lara raj)
drivers license (daniela avanzini)
1 step forward, 3 steps back (megan skiendiel)
deja vu (manon bannerman)
good 4 u (sophia laforteza)
enough for you (lara raj)
happier (daniela avanzini)
jealousy, jealousy (megan skiendiel)
favorite crime (manon bannerman)
hope ur okay (sophia laforteza)
GUTS
all-american bitch (lara raj)
bad idea right? (daniela avanzini)
vampire (megan skiendiel)
lacy (manon bannerman)
ballad of a homeschool girl (sophia laforteza)
making my bed (lara raj)
logical (daniela avanzini)
get him back! (megan skiendiel)
love is embarrassing (manon bannerman)
the grudge (sophia laforteza)
pretty isn't pretty (lara raj)
teenage dream (daniela avanzini)
BONUS! spilled... backward track.
obsessed (manon bannerman)
girl i've always been (megan skiendiel)
scared of guitar (daniela avanzini)
stranger (lara raj)
so american (sophia laforteza)
you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love
drop dead (megan skiendiel)
stupid song (manon bannerman)
honeybee (sophia laforteza)
maggots for brain (lara raj)
you + me = <3 (daniela avanzini)
my way (megan skiendiel)
purple (manon bannerman)
the cure (sophia laforteza)
begged (lara raj)
what's wrong with me? (daniela avanzini)
less (megan skiendiel)
expectations (manon bannerman)
cigarette smoke (sophia laforteza)
when you first met megan and yoonchae, your katseye biases, at a fansign in seoul, they both seemed to be deeply intrigued by you— and being the flustered fangirl you were, you decided to fuel the intrigue. little did you know, you’d end up causing a riot between the once peaceful girlgroup.
katseye. music lovers.
CHAPTERS.
chapter one. ✶ that one cute girl at the fansign.
chapter two. ✶ hands off, yoonchae.
chapter three. ✶ take my number.
chapter four. ✶ there’s already rumors?!
chapter five. ✶ i recognize that bun anywhere.
chapter six. ✶ your first kiss?
chapter seven. ✶ i can do better than her.
chapter eight. ✶ put those paws up, yoonchae!
chapter nine. ✶ fighting on camera?
chapter ten. ✶ love is in the air.
an— more chapters to be added. twt profiles will be up soon. this series has a lot of writing. taglist open; @meiyokstarr @bitchesbrokenpromises @lararajjs @yourdecayedfaith @azu21things @ctrlamira @insomniacdanni @pitchperfectislife @aoeiurgnmddk @that1fangurl @undersscores @x-d4cvalentine-x @meganlvr @laraseyekon @pikachuu115 @indigo491 (16/60.)
2087
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
amandla
