#but he has his moments...... um..............

[y3sterdaysproblem]

they said speak now - m.s.

summary: you and matt had been best friends since the moment you were born, rarely doing anything without him by your side. your families have always expected the two of you to end up together, but when matt gets a girlfriend that hates you and desperately attempts to destroy your relationship, you’re forced to confront the truth about your feelings for him. will your bond survive the test, or will the pressure of love, jealousy, and change push you apart?

wc: 2k

series masterlist

Part two

It was awkward. Beyond awkward.

Normally the car rides home were loud and full of life, the space occupied by Chris ranting about this class and that teacher, Nick yelling about whatever pissed him off that day and the occasional comment from you and Matt. Today, though, was different.

Amber was her name. She was tall, fit from cross country and so pretty. Her hair always seemed to fall into place perfectly, even on days when she claimed she had no time to get ready and she looked awful, she was still beautiful. It was no wonder Matt had a crush on her.

She was in Chris’s usual seat behind you, Chris shunned to the very back row of the van, not that he cared much, preoccupied with whatever was on his phone at the moment. The tension felt higher than usual, Matt constantly glancing between you and the girl he could see in his rear view mirror, wondering why every word spoken between you two seemed strained and forced.

Nick caught on, remembering your reaction earlier in the day when you had found out Matt was interested in this girl, seeing how the light faded from your eyes at the thought of losing Matt to another girl. He tried to fill the gaps in conversation with jokes and random comments here and there, but it seemed to do nothing to ease the awkwardness between everybody.

“So, Amber,” you start slowly, turning around in your seat to face her with a small smile. “How did you and Matt meet?” She lifts her head up, pulling her gaze from her lap where she was playing with a tear in her jeans to look at you. “School,” she says plainly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Everyone in the car internally cringes at her response, Matt even visibly curling in on himself at the way she spoke to you, like you were wasting precious time by asking her a question. “Right,” you respond, nodding your head with a tight smile before spinning back in your chair, sparing Matt a glance before staring out the windshield blankly, willing the ground to swallow you whole.

“We just met during lunch one day,” Matt explains after a beat of silence, smiling towards you for a moment. “We had mutual friends that were talking and I just thought she was, um.. pretty.”

You nod your head at his explanation, still staring straight ahead, leaning your elbow on the door and your head in your hand. “Nice, Matt,” you answer, voice monotone and uninterested now.

He sighs softly, knowing something has upset you and it’s going to have to be a conversation for later. Continuing the drive, you and his brothers are confused when he pulls up to their own house, parking along the curb out front. “This is our house,” Chris states obviously, implying Matt had forgotten what he’d said about taking everybody home. “I know. I’m dropping off you and Nick. Our house was the closest.” Matt answers him, meeting his eyes in his mirror.

Your heart drops, realizing you’ll have to be in the car alone with Matt and this girl that clearly already has an issue with you just from existing. “Matt,” you say nervously, turning your head to look at him. “I thought you were dropping her off first. You… you’re not coming over?”

Matt always came over on Mondays, your family used to the routine of preparing an extra meal for the boy that felt like family, sometimes even making enough for all three boys to spend dinner there. “We’re getting ice cream,” Amber chimes from the back seat, not taking her eyes off of her phone as she spoke. Chris and Nick’s eyes meet, silently speaking through their gaze as you continued staring at Matt, noticing the way he refused to meet your eyes. “I’ll be there in time for dinner,” he promises quietly, finally turning his head.

When he saw how you looked, he realized how much deeper this ran. It wasn’t just skipping out on a routine once, it was throwing a wrench in something so habitual, ruining the well oiled machine that was your guys’ relationship. He felt guilty, like he should’ve asked permission before springing this on you the moment it happened.

You stayed silent, not knowing how to respond to him, feeling a sense of betrayal seeping into your veins. “You could come inside with us,” Nick suggests softly, leaning between the two front seats apprehensively. His hand comes forward to rest on your arm, shooting you a soft smile. “Come on, we have ice cream, too. Our mom would love to see you.”

You swallow thickly and shift your gaze to Nick, revealing the thin gloss over your eyes. You nod quickly, forcing a smile on your face as you agree. “Okay,” you choke out, not sparing Matt another glance as you turn to grab your backpack from in front of you and get out of the car, admittedly shutting the door harder than you needed to. As you got closer to their house, you looked behind you to see Amber getting out of the back and into the front seat, your seat, shooting a glare your way, a snobby look that said ‘I have everything you want’.

Chris places a hand on your back to guide you inside, shutting the front door behind the three of you, and that’s when your wall crumbles, fat tears welling up in your eyes and spilling over. “Oh no,” Nick mumbles, grabbing you by your arms and pulling you into his room, leaving Chris behind as he shuts you both in there.

He stands in front of you and watches as your body wracks with tears, your head tilted down towards the floor to hide the redness blooming on your cheeks. “Hey,” Nick says quietly, pulling you into his frame gently. “It’s okay. He’d never fall for a girl like her. He won’t put up with the way she talks to you.”

“Yes he will,” you croak into his chest, your tears soaking through his shirt. “God, I’m so stupid. I’m so fucking stupid. Falling for my best friend like an idiot. I should’ve known he would never look at me like that. Not when there’s girls like her out there, I… What am I supposed to do?”

Nick’s breath catches in his throat at your confession, even though he had an idea, to hear it out loud shattered his own heart, though it wasn’t even half as painful as it was for you. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, hands rubbing over your back gently. “Why don’t you text your mom and tell her you’ll be here for dinner?”

You nod shallowly against him, sniffling loudly. Your situation is reminiscent of the time that you realized you had feelings for Matt, though this time your heart was crumbling into a million tiny pieces, scattered on the floor beneath your feet. You swore you could feel it crunching when you shuffled around, turning to dust under your shoes. This emotion felt far worse, the complete opposite of falling in love. It was one you wouldn’t wish on anybody.

Except Amber.

Fuck Amber.

-

You were quiet at the dinner table, head facing down towards your food as your fork played with the pasta on the plate, appetite long gone. Matt was sat next to you in his normal spot, his eyes flicking over to you seemingly every thirty seconds, desperately vying for your attention.

You refused to look at him, knowing it would set off a new wave of emotions. Chris and Nick felt awkward, too, while their parents had no idea there was even a problem present.

Matt knew you weren’t going to eat, and he couldn’t eat with you mad at him, not when the guilt was eating him alive. “Can I talk to you?” He says suddenly, pushing his chair back and standing up. You want to refuse, tell him that there’s nothing to talk about, but when he reaches down to rest a hand on your shoulder, you can’t help the way your body instantly relaxes at his touch.

You stand silently, still not meeting his gaze as you guys walk to his bedroom, leaving his family confused and surprised in the kitchen. Once you’re in his room and the door is shut, you finally bring your eyes up to his, seeing how concerned and upset he looked. “What’s… what’s going on?” He asks softly, voice pleading. “If this is about her I swear she won’t come between us, I told you.”

“Matt, she’s rude,” you blurt out, crossing your arms over your chest protectively. “And she clearly doesn’t like me. Probably has an issue with you being friends with a girl. You date her and she’s going to drive a wedge between us, I guarantee it.” You fully believed your statement, knowing how girls like her were.

“She won’t, I won’t let her,” Matt says, stepping closer to you. “You mean more to me than any girlfriend.” Wrong. If that was true, he’d be with you. A girlfriend has to be more important than a best friend someday.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head slightly. “You don’t get it. Today is the first time you’ve hung out and you didn’t tell me you weren’t coming over until the last minute. I don’t like her.” You admit to him with a sigh. His eyebrows furrow together, a surge of frustration running through him. “Are you jealous?”

You’re caught off guard, your own face scrunching up in confusion at his accusation. “Excuse me?” You snap back, dropping your hands to your hips now. “Jealous of what exactly?”

“Having to share me,” Matt shrugs. “Me not spending every free moment I have with you.” If you weren’t hurt enough by the whole situation, his words were enough to send your emotions into overdrive. “Matt,” you choke out, feeling your tears start to well up in your eyes once more.

He quickly realizes his mistake and steps forward, his expression softening at the sight of you. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, grabbing your face with both of his hands, tilting your head up to look at him. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m just.. frustrated trying to navigate this and I don’t understand what’s wrong. I thought… I thought you guys would get along and I guess I was wrong and I don’t know what to do.”

You curse yourself for the way you melt into him, into his touch and into his stare. Why couldn’t everything just be like this? Him holding you like you were all that mattered. “How could I get along with someone who has…” everything I want, you want to scream, but the words get stuck in your throat, lost forever. “Such an awful attitude,” you settle. “Matt, I want you to be happy, I just know this isn’t going to end well. I can’t lose you.”

Matt’s thumbs are soft as they caress your cheekbones, wiping the few tears that cascaded over your skin. “You’ll never lose me. I promise.” He pauses and sucks in a deep breath, icy blue eyes boring down into yours. “Are you sure that’s all it is? Her attitude? Or is there… anything else you need to talk about?”

You could’ve sworn you heard a slight edge of hopefulness in his voice as he spoke, like he wanted there to be another reason for your outburst. This is your chance, you say to yourself. He’s waiting for you to confess.

You’re not strong enough to do anything except shake your head slightly in his grip, denying any further reasoning. You can feel your chances slipping through your fingertips, but the thought of losing Matt if he doesn’t return your feelings, it’s just not worth it. You could deal with some unrequited love for some time.

You’d get over him eventually.

a/n: how we feeling abt this series so far

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @darksturnz @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @chrisbratt333 @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @ariestrxsh @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44 @colorthecosmos444

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Coffee and Journals

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: You step out of your comfort zone and meet a guy in a coffee shop who you somehow befriend, and end up in the theaters with him translating a Russian film.

A/N: omg this one is so cuteee, I love it lmk your thots<3

BYR(b4 u Reid): use of y/n, mentions of anxiety, readers never had a bf, inexperienced reader & Spencer, can be season 1 & 2 Spencer | none <- [warnings]

It started with a trip to the coffee shop.

You weren’t supposed to be there, at least, not alone. You didn't go places alone. That was just how… things were. But it was a new year, and you were tired of every year being the same.

No new friends, no love interests, no new experiences.

You knew, deep down, that you couldn't keep living like this. The loneliness was starting to feel like a weight pressing down on you, making everything dull.

So, here you were, Ordering a drink at the register, by yourself. God, was your voice shaking?

“Um, can I get a-a regular iced latte?” You asked, trying not to sound as nervous as you felt. The cashier nodded, you paid, and that was it.

It was such a small thing ordering coffee, and you’ve done it a lot of times just this time you didn’t have the comfort of a friend right beside you. You were all alone.

You felt proud, proud that you left your home, came to the café alone, and now you were going to enjoy it at the shop.

You picked a small table, hands gripping your journal as you sat down, waiting for your order to be called. The café was a little too busy for comfort. Too many eyes, not on you, you knew that, but… it felt like they were.

You took a deep breath, opening your journal.

Do I look weird?

No, no. There were plenty of people doing the same thing. You weren’t standing out.

After a few moments your drink was finally called, you stood up, going to grab it, only to find there was two.

The man beside you just looked at you unsure of which one was his and which one was yours.

“Oh- um, I’m not sure which is which.” He said, glancing between the two drinks. You looked at him, then at the cups, trying to find anything that could differentiate them. Nothing.

“Uh, excuse me, which one is the iced coffee?” You asked the barista. “They both are.” She answered flatly, like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. Your stomach twisted immediately.

Great, now I sound stupid.

“Which one has non-dairy milk?” The guy asked

The barista sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe that one.” She pointed to the cup on the right.

You and the guy exchanged a look.

“Um… I guess I’ll just take this one.” You mumbled, grabbing the drink you had originally reached for. You don’t have any dairy problems, and didn’t care for the kind of milk used so it wasn’t too much of a problem.

You can hear the guy sigh as you walked away.

You sat down, watching him talk to the barista, clearly trying to get his order fixed. You couldn’t blame him for being frustrated.

You refocused on your journal, writing down your thoughts about stepping out of your comfort zone. About how weird it felt. How anxious you still were, and how you hoped this wouldn’t be another failed attempt at trying to change.

“Hi, I’m sorry, but do you mind if I have a seat?”

You looked up.

It was the non-dairy guy.

Your first instinct was to say no. You didn’t want anyone sitting with you. This was already too much social interaction for one day.

Or you could just leave, but if you let yourself retreat, wouldn’t that be losing? Wouldn’t you end up right back where you started, lying in bed tonight, frustrated with yourself for failing at something as simple as existing in a public space ?

“Of course.” You said instead, nodding toward the empty chair.

He gave you a polite smile and sat down. You stole a glance at him. Tall, kind of lanky, brown hair, sharp features, hazel eyes. He didn’t seem much older than you.

You tried to focus on your journal again, but it was hard with someone new in front of you.

“You know, an iced coffee isn’t something I normally get.” He said suddenly

You blinked, looking up.

He was talking to you.

“I usually just get a regular hot coffee.” He continued, like this was a totally normal thing to say to a stranger. “Today I wanted something different. And, well… you saw how that went.”

You let out an awkward little laugh, like the ones you give people when you aren’t sure what to say.

Is he crazy? Why is he talking to me?

“I get it.” You said after a pause. “I don’t usually get coffee on my own, and the one time I do, my coffee gets mixed with yours, and then the barista has a shitty attitude.”

That was relatable, right? That made sense?

Stop overthinking.

He smiled. “I’m Spencer Reid.”

First and last name, who does that?

“I’m y/n.” You said, giving him a small smile in return

you didn't give him your last name, it felt too formal, you guys also didn't shake hands which relieved you because those were always so awkward for you.

Almost all physical touch was awkward with you.

“I'll let you get back to work.” He said, pulling a book out of his bag.

“It’s not really work.” You admitted, which shocked you because you were trying to continue this conversation. “Just journaling.”

He glanced up again, nodding slightly. “Studies show that journaling can improve working memory, reduce stress, and even strengthen the immune system,” he said. “James Pennebaker, a psychologist at the University of Texas, found that expressive writing helps people process traumatic events by organizing thoughts and emotions, which can lead to improved mental health and reduced anxiety.”

You stared at him.

“Yeah… That’s kind of why I’m trying it.” You said, giving a small smile.

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “How do you know all that?” He just shrugged as if it was nothing “I read alot.”

“That’s cool.”

“Really?” He smiled a little. “A lot of my friends think I’m crazy, and that I should be spending more time doing other things.”

You shook your head. Well… okay, you did think he was a little crazy. But only because he could start a conversation so easily. You couldn’t imagine doing that.

“Not crazy, I think it’s fascinating your brain is able to retain all that information.”

The two of you settled into silence after that. You wrote, he read. You noticed he was flying through pages at an insane speed.

Curiosity got the better of you.

“How are you reading so fast?” You blurted out.

He looked up. “I can read 20,000 words a minute.”

Your eyes widened. “Are you lying?”

He laughed. “No. I uh… I have an IQ of 187, so I think that helps a lot with my reading abilities.”

“That’s like a superpower.”

“Some would say it’s the lamest one to have been given.” He joked, you shrugged. “Maybe. But I think it’s cool.”

And, honestly?

You were surprised by yourself.

A simple conversation. With a stranger.

A man, even.

ʚɞ

Over the next few months, you found yourself at the coffee shop at least three times a week. And almost every time, Spencer was there too.

At first, it felt like a coincidence, like an unspoken routine you both had fallen into without realizing. But eventually, he started waving you over when he spotted you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he gestured to the empty seat across from him. And, recently, you had started doing the same for him.

You’d sit together, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about what you were reading, new movies, or random events happening around town. It felt… easy.

“How’s journaling been?” Spencer asked as he took a sip of his coffee and looked at you.

You glanced up from your book. “Oh, it’s been really good. It actually helps a lot more than I thought it would.”

He nodded, thoughtful. “Yeah, it helped me a lot too.”

“You journal?”

He shrugged, shifting slightly in his seat. “I used to. Not as much anymore, but when I have the time, I try. I think it’s a good outlet, especially for people who struggle with intrusive thoughts, or high stress levels.”

“You think only people who struggle journal?” You questioned

“Not necessarily.” He said, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, anyone can journal. But research suggests that people who journal regularly are often those who need a way to process their thoughts. It can help regulate emotions by engaging the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain responsible for rational thinking. That’s why it’s often recommended for anxiety, PTSD, and even problem solving.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. “Yeah… I think it’s helped me a lot with my anxiety.”

You weren’t sure why you would say it, you never really talk about what you struggle with but somehow with Spencer it felt safe.

You looked up at him, Spencer’s eyes had softened, his expression shifting from analytical to something gentler. “That’s good.” He said sincerely. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “I think it’s obvious. I mean, I’m constantly fidgeting, can’t make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation with people.” You say as you look down at your hands

He shook his head. “You don’t seem that way with me.” His brows furrowed slightly.

“Well, yeah. Not anymore.” You admitted “When we first met and you asked to have a seat, I wanted so badly to say no, and even get up and leave.”

His mouth parted slightly before he quickly recovered. “Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I had to let you because if I hadn’t, I would’ve felt like I lost that day, and definitely would’ve felt horrible about it. But… thankfully I did.”

For a moment, he just looked at you, processing your words. Then, the corners of his lips lifted into a small genuine smile. “I’m glad, glad that you let me sit with you.”

“I’m glad too.”

It felt strange, strange in a way that made your chest feel light and unfamiliar warmth settle in your stomach. Having someone new to talk to, someone who, despite barely knowing you, felt like they had been in your life forever.

Spencer made things easy. Talking to him didn’t feel like a struggle, like you had to overthink every word before you said it. He listened. He never made you feel awkward or unsure.

Somehow, being around him made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were figuring yourself out.

Both of your coffees were nearly empty now, the melted ice clinking softly against the cup. It meant this little hangout, or whatever you can call it, was coming to an end. And you didn’t want it to.

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against his cup before he cleared his throat.

“Um, Y/n.” He said, voice softer than usual. You looked up at him, giving him a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated for half a second, then pushed his hair behind his ear, a habit you noticed. “There’s this old film playing at the theaters. It’s not far from here. I was wondering if you’d like to go?” He paused, glancing down at his hands before quickly adding “It’s in Russian, though, so if you’d like, I can translate it for you.”

“Russian?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, his lips twitching up slightly. “Yeah. If you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just- I thought it would be nice.” He said as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile. “I’ve never seen a Russian film before, but I do like the theaters. And if you’re offering to translate, I’d love to go.”

Spencer let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing like he had been holding it in without realizing. “Yeah?” His voice was lighter, hopeful.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

His lips parted, like he was about to say something else, but he just nodded quickly instead. “Alright. Um. I can pick you up? If you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

You could see the way he was watching you carefully, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. Not with him.

“No, yeah, I’m fine with that.” You said, a soft warmth settling in your chest.

Spencer’s fingers tapped against the table before he spoke again. “Can I-uh-can I have your number? Just so we can communicate better.”

You smiled, reaching for your phone. “Yeah.”

ʚɞ

Spencer arrived at exactly 8:00 p.m, right on time. When you opened the door, he stood there with his hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels before offering a small, shy smile.

“Hi.” He said softly

“Hi.” You echoed, feeling your pulse quicken.

You both walk towards his car, and to your surprise he opened the door for you. It was a small gesture, but it made something warm settle in your chest.

Was he just being polite, or did it mean something more? You didn’t want to overthink it, didn’t want to confuse kindness for something else.

At the theaters, Spencer insisted on paying for your ticket. When you offered to cover snacks instead, he shook his head. “No, really, it’s fine.” He said, handing over his card before you could argue.

“Okay, well, now we have to go somewhere else after this. My treat.” You said, crossing your arms.

He tilted his head, considering for a moment. “We could get ice cream after?” He suggested.

You smiled. “That sounds nice.”

As the movie started, Spencer leaned in slightly, quietly translating the dialogue for you. At first, it was just a whisper here and there, but soon he got really into it, his voice subtly changing to mimic different characters, his hands gesturing slightly as he explained a scene.

You let out a small laugh.

“What?” He asked, turning to you with a small smile.

You shrugged, grinning. “You’re so good at translating. And getting into character, it’s honestly amazing.”

His expression shifted, something like pride flashing in his eyes before he looked down for a second, almost bashful. “Oh. Thank you.” He said, meeting your gaze again.

You hadn’t realized how close the two of you had leaned in until the moment. His hazel eyes held yours, the sounds of the movie fading into the background. Your breath hitched, and you quickly shifted in your seat, breaking the moment.

Spencer cleared his throat softly before returning to translating, but you could tell he’d noticed it too.

When the movie ended, you tossed the empty popcorn bucket and drinks into the trash bin. “So how’d you like the movie?” Spencer asked as you both walked towards the exit.

“It was really good, I didn’t expect to like it as much as I did.” You truthfully answered.

Spencer smiled, as he opened the door for you to exit the building. “They play foreign films here once a month. I’d be happy to come with you again. We could watch together.”

“I’d love that, it’ll be really fun.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I love films, and translating stuff.”

“I could tell.” You teased, giggling softly.

He glanced at you, something hesitant in his expression. “Still up for that ice cream?”

“Are you?” You asked. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“No-no I want to.” He assured you quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if you still wanted to.”

“I do.”

He nodded, a relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Perfect. I can leave the car parked, and we can walk to one?”

“That sounds good.”

As the two of you walked side by side down the sidewalk, you glanced up at him. “Do you usually go to these movies alone?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. Sometimes my friends join, but most times, it’s just me.”

That made you frown slightly. You didn’t understand how someone like him, someone so interesting, so kind, could go alone so often.

“Well, now you won’t have to.” You said looking up at him. He turned his head to you, a flicker of something soft in his expression. His stomach fluttered at your words.

As you both walked, your hand brushed against his. Instinctively, you pulled it back, quickly intertwining your fingers together in front of you. “Sorry.” You murmured.

Spencer shook his head. “No, it’s fine.”

You nodded, slowly letting your hands fall back to your sides. He noticed the way you kept fidgeting.

“You don’t have to be nervous.” He said.

You blinked. “Hmm?”

He glanced at you, his brows slightly furrowed in thought. “I can tell you’re nervous.”

Your stomach tightened slightly. “How?”

“Little things.” He said simply. “Like biting your lip, looking around a lot, touching the hem of your shirt.” He pointed out each thing, and you hadn’t even realized you were doing them.

“Oh.” You laughed softly, a little embarrassed. “I just- I don’t know. This is the first time I’ve ever gone out with someone who isn’t my friend.”

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching up slightly. “Oh? I thought we were friends.” He teased.

Your eyes widened slightly. “No-no, we are friends! I just meant my other friends.” You rushed to explain.

He chuckled. “I know what you meant. It’s okay.”

Then, he stopped walking.

You took a few more steps before realizing and turned to face him. “What?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on you with something unreadable.

You frowned. “What?” You asked again, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Spencer let out a small laugh, but then his expression grew more serious. “I like hanging out with you.” He admitted. His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful.

“And I don’t want to scare you, but… the little time we’ve spent together, at the café, and now today watching this movie, it’s made me just want to be around you more.”

Your breath caught in your throat. No one has ever said something like that to you before.

Your heart pounded as you swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. “Oh. That’s…nice.”

Spencer’s lips pressed together, and you could tell he was waiting for something more, something deeper. And you wanted to say more, you really did. But fear gripped you.

“Spencer, I-i feel a lot of things right now.” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel nervous, scared, excited, happy- I can really go on. But I’ve never had a male friend before, never been in a relationship, and what am I saying? I could be misinterpreting this whole situation, you meant as a friend right? Like- you don’t mean romantically want to be around me more?” You were rambling, your words spilling out before you could stop them.

Your face was flushed, ears burning.

Spencer took a small step closer.

Your breath hitched.

“I’d like to get to know you better.” He said carefully, his voice steady. “And… see where we go.”

His hand found your elbow, gently squeezing it, his touch was warm and reassuring.

Your lips parted slightly. “Really? With me?”

It felt unreal.

Unreal that anyone could possibly see you in a romantic way, no one ever has.

Spencer nodded “With you.”

You exhaled, your heart racing. “I’ve never, I’ve never been in a situation like this. No ones ever wanted something with me before.”

“Well…I do.” He gave you a small, soft smile.

Your hands trembled slightly as you rubbed your face. Your chest felt tight, and your mind raced with thoughts you couldn’t untangle.

“Spencer, you don’t understand.” You whispered, your voice barely holding steady. “I don’t know how to be with someone. I don’t know what people do when they’re getting to know each other, I don’t- I don’t know.” Your words tumbled out, laced with panic, with doubt.

Spencer took another step closer to you, his expression soft but steady. “You do.” He said gently “We do it all the time. Every time we sit together in the café, every time we talk, every time we share something about ourselves, that’s us getting to know each other.”

You swallowed, looking at him, searching for some kind of reassurance in his face. He seemed so sure of what he was saying, so certain.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing.” You admitted, your voice cracking. “I could mess it up.”

Spencer shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. “Y/n, I’ve never been in a relationship either.” His voice was soft but unwavering. “I don’t have all the answers, I know just as much as you do. But that’s okay. We can figure it out together.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him. He meant it, every word. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his voice.

“All we have to do.” He continued “is keep doing what we’ve been doing. Spending time together, learning more about each other. And when we’re both ready, we’ll navigate whatever comes next. There’s no pressure, no expectations… just us.”

Something inside you shifted, something warm, something terrifying, something new.

You looked into his eyes, trying to believe in what he was saying. In him.

“Okay.” You whispered

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, as if he’d been waiting for that answer.

“Okay.” He echoed, as if sealing the moment between you.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved. The streetlights cast a soft glow around you, the distant hum of the city filling the silence. Then, without thinking, Spencer reached out, not hesitantly, not awkwardly, just gently, and let his fingers brush against yours.

It wasn’t a grand gesture. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just enough. . .

hope you guys enjoyed this one <3

Tag list

@alastorssimp

~ also if you guys want to be tagged in all of my SR fics just lmk and I would love to ~

read all my other works here<3

[starkwlkr]

cars go vroom | f1

grid mom series

Albert Park

“Where’s my girl?”

Y/n didn’t have to pick up her head to know who had arrived in the Porsche hospitality. She was currently giving her daughter, Anais, her bottle. Charlie was seated beside her cleaning up the mess he made with the formula powder.

“Hey mate, how’s fatherhood?” Lando greeted Charlie as he sat across the family of three.

“Aside from the obvious waking up in the middle of the night m, vomit down my back, and Ani being attached to her ma, can’t complain.” Charlie smiled at his little family.

“I would ask you how’s motherhood, but you were a mother before this one came into the world.” Lando stood up and immediately went to look at the babygirl in Y/n’s arms. “Oh look at that, she’s got your face!”

“It’s almost like i birthed her,” Y/n joked then adjusted Anais in her arms after the girl had finished her bottle. This was the first time Lando was meeting Anais. He wanted the couple to have some privacy while hey adjusted to their new life. “Look, baby, this gremlin is Lando.”

Anais cracked a little smile as she raised her arm to play with lando’s necklace. “Don’t worry, Ani, I’ll buy you a matching one soon.” Lando tickled her side.

“Has she met everyone else?” The Mclaren driver asked.

“No, we just got here.”

“We’ll get up woman! Anais has to meet her extended family!”

And that’s how Lando Norris ended up with a baby strapped to his chest.

Charlie and Y/n tagged along since it had been months since she saw her friends and also she wanted to meet the rookies. Obviously she had met them before, but this time, they were officially formula one drivers.

“Look, Ani! That’s my teammate Osc!” Lando pointed at the Australian who had just finished taking a photo with a fan. “Guess who found a baby?” Lando showed off Anais.

“Should you even be trusted with a baby?” Oscar approached them. “Hey, congratulations! How are you feeling?” He brought the Porsche driver into a hug.

“I’m okay, some days it’s good other days I just want to sleep the entire day but now I have a daughter.” Y/n looked over at Lando and saw him putting his sunglasses on her face.

“Any chance we’ll see you on track any time soon?”

Charlie knew Y/n wanted to be back on track as soon as she could. He wasn’t filming at the moment so he was more than happy with staying home with Anais, he told her multiple times. But the season had already started and Juan Manuel was in her seat. It didn’t feel right to her if Porsche threw him out and put her back in.

“Um, we’ll see. I’m not done racing, I still have some time left. Uh . . . I haven’t talked to anyone yet about coming back. Juan is doing a good job.” Y/n had noticed the Drive To Survive team was recording nearby. She absolutely didn’t want her daughter near them so she said her goodbye to Oscar and continued walking to visit her friends.

Lando led them to the Williams garage where Carlos and Rebecca were talking. The couple didn’t notice Lando with a baby until he said Carlos’ name in a baby voice.

“Who’s baby did you steal?” Carlos asked.

“Mine.” Y/n made her presence known which caught the couple by surprise.

“You’re back! Holy shit! Oh! Sorry!” Carlos covered his mouth when the profanity slipped from his lips.

“It’s fine, but look at you! Blue looks good on you.” Y/n gave him a hug then it was Rebecca’s turn to receive one.

“Thanks, I think Anais likes blue too.” Carlos noticed the baby taking a liking to the color as she reached for his jacket.

“Oh no, she’s papaya for life,” Lando commented but then got a playful glare from Y/n. “Okay she’s Porsche for life with an occasional mclaren cameo.”

After saying goodbye to the couple, they were on their way to the Red Bull garage. Ever since the news, Y/n had been dying to congratulate Max face to face. She knew Max would be an amazing father.

“Max!” Y/n yelled over the loud noise in the garage. The Dutchman looked at her and ran over to hug her. “I’m so fucking happy for you. Do you know the gender yet?”

“No, but we’re fine with whatever. The baby’s health is more important,” Max instantly smiled at the thought of his child. “Speaking of, is this your beautiful Anais?” He turned over to Lando and the baby.

“My one and only. And Lando is there too I guess.” Y/n laughed.

“Just for that, Ani is staying in the mclaren with my mum.” Lando pretended to leave but Anais had seen Max’s car and cracked a smile at it. “Yeah, that’s Max’s car. His and mine go vroom vroom. One day we’ll put you in there and you can drive it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” The girl’s mother warned.

“Boo! No fun!” Lando teased and he took Anais’ little hands and tried to make a thumbs down gesture, but the girl only giggled.

“Such a good big brother.” Y/n shook her head as she and Charlie said their goodbye to Max and walked to the next garage to greet her friends. Lando slowly walked behind them but would get distracted as he pointed out the track to the girl, whispering how he was going to win the race for her.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Cheshire behind the cut; “Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!” (( chrono || non-chrono ))

He takes a moment to lean down and neaten Tawky’s bowtie and sweater for him to make sure he still looks like a proper gentleman, since Lynn squished him kinda hard a couple times in there and there’s the whole lack of opposable thumbs issue making it a little harder for Tawky to fix himself up, and Tawky purrs appreciatively. Normal tigers don’t actually purr, but Tawky isn’t particularly interested in being normal, he always says. And it’s super-cute, so Billy’s not gonna tell him to. Like, he wouldn’t either way, but double-definitely he isn’t gonna. 

“Do you think Lynn’ll want a bedtime story?” Billy wonders. Tawky looks thoughtful. “I know, yeah, we did get a lot of books, maybe that’d be like . . . overwhelming? To pick from, I mean? I guess I could pick out a few he could pick between, but . . . well, maybe just if he has trouble, you think?”

Tawky purrs approvingly. Billy beams at him, then neatens his fur a little more and straightens back up. He knows it’s way harder for Tawky to talk when he’s a stuffed animal, but he’s always a great listener no matter what and really pays attention. 

“Cool, yeah, I think it’s a good idea too,” he says, figuring he’ll pick some out in his head first and then just separate them from the others if Lynn needs some help narrowing things down. “Did you like the salmon? I thought it was so good, oh my god. Um–gods. I never know if I should say ‘god’ or ‘gods’, it’s not like I’m really religious or anything, you know, it’s just that I know some gods, so like–” 

“. . . are you talking to me?” Lynn asks warily from the doorway of his room, and Billy brightens reflexively and looks over to him. Lynn’s wearing a pair of dark blue pajamas with the top unbuttoned and pulled on over his T-shirt like an open jacket, which–hm, maybe Billy should tell him that it’s not really meant to be worn like a jacket? But also that seems warmer anyway and he would definitely want to be as warm and, like, cozy and stuff as he could if he’d gotten raised in a lab run by total assholes who didn’t even tell him stories, so . . . 

Also . . . well, the world is this brand-new big and scary place full of strangers and stuff he doesn’t know, so maybe Lynn feels a little safer with the “S” on, come to think. Billy, like . . . gets that idea, really. 

He definitely gets that idea. 

“Oh, no, sorry, I didn’t mean to, like, interrupt you while you were getting changed or anything,” he apologizes. “I was talking to Tawky. He’s a great listener!” 

Lynn looks at him for a long moment, then flicks his eyes down to Tawky and looks at him for a long moment. 

“. . . right,” Lynn says slowly, just barely raising an eyebrow. “Uh. I . . . bet, yeah.” 

Billy beams at him. He’s just so glad Lynn and Tawky like each other. Or like . . . have a good impression of each other, at least? Like–that’s really great, that they like each other. 

“Definitely!” he agrees cheerfully. “Do you like the pajamas? Like, they’re not scratchy or anything, right?” 

“. . . they’re linen,” Lynn says. 

“. . . um?” Billy says, wrinkling his nose in confusion. Linen? That sounds, like . . . kinda expensive, maybe? Is linen actually expensive or does Solomon just think it is ‘cuz he’s from like a few thousand years ago? ‘Cuz Solomon has opinions about purple dye. And black dye. And, like–cinnamon and stuff like that. “. . . I think Batman maybe has a shopping problem.” 

Lynn looks down at his sleeve and eyes the cuff of it skeptically. 

“The tag said ‘Frette’,” he says. “Is that a brand or something?” 

. . . Billy pulls his new phone out and just . . . googles that, real quick. 

. . . . . . Billy puts his phone back and decides to never google anything ever again. 

“I think Batman definitely has a shopping problem,” he says, still feeling a little lightheaded from the price listings he saw. 

Um. Maybe he wants to sit down for a sec, actually. Or, uh . . . a minute. Or so. 

“Does Batman buy everything?” Lynn asks, looking skeptical again. 

“Well, the Justice League paid for everything, we’ve got like, grants and donations and stuff, but Batman was the one who made me fill out a requisition form and did all the ordering and everything and picked out the apartment,” Billy says with a shrug. “I didn’t really know what to ask for, though. Like–the windows, but not all that much else, really. Oh, and comfy furniture and a big enough kitchen for both of us. And the beanbag chairs ‘cuz those are cool and I thought maybe you’d think they were cool too? Though I didn’t know the apartment was gonna be this big, I just wanted us to be able to eat in there and stuff. Like, um–you know, dinner and all. Meals.” 

“‘Meals’?” Lynn repeats, his eyebrows just barely furrowing, and Billy feels kind of embarrassed to outright say it, but also he doesn’t wanna, like . . . not say it, so . . . 

“Like family meals?” he says. He kinda said it before, but he also kinda just phrased it as “hanging out” at the time, he thinks. Well, they were about five minutes into knowing each other, so yeah, that’d felt less . . . presumptive, he guesses he’d thought? “I just think it’s better to, um, have those. Like, at least when we can and stuff.” 

“. . . oh,” Lynn says. 

“Do you wanna pick out a book for bed?” Billy suggests. Lynn stares blankly at him for, um . . . yeah, Billy’s definitely lost count of how many times Lynn’s stared blankly at him. Well, Lynn just kinda does that, it seems like, so yeah. 

“A book,” Lynn says. 

“I mean, we got so many,” Billy says. “And it’s easier to go to sleep if, um, you wind down a little bit first? And reading’s usually good for that, y’know?” 

“. . . sure,” Lynn says, still staring blankly at him. 

“I mean, you don’t have to,” Billy says sheepishly. His parents did it for him, so . . . “Just I thought maybe it’d help?” 

Lynn stares at him some more. Billy smiles as encouragingly as he can at him. Lynn, um . . . stares some more. 

Yeah, he definitely just does that, Billy thinks. 

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What are some of book Harry’s shining traits as a character that the movies seem to gloss over?

I haven't watched the movies in a while, but I'd go with his cleverness, intuition, and ability to stay cool externaly being the most overlooked. Movie!Harry is still a resilient character, if more passive and in a different flavor than book!Harry, but it's there. In the first 3 movies, there are some moments of Harry's iconic sass as well, though the later movies forgot his sass altogether. But what I think bothers me the most are the first two traits I mentioned: his cleverness and intuition.

I wrote whole posts about Harry's cleverness and intelligence (here & here & here) and his intuition (here). Harry is the one who figures out a lot of things in the books. From the Philosopher's Stone and that Dumbledore was led away by the thief (even if he was wrong about the thief) to figuring out the Horcruxes locations and that Voldemort is after the Elder Wand. He is far from stupid and his intelligence and quick wit are the source of many of his wins in the books.

Again, I haven't watched the movies in a while, but scenes like Hermione hitting Harry with a paper because he's being an idiot in HBP is so far from who Harry and Hermione are in the book — mostly because book!Harry isn't an idiot and book!Hermione knows that!

Book!Harry is calm under pressure and comes up with plans when shit hits the fan. In OotP in the ministry, everyone (including Hermione) looks to Harry for a plan. Because Harry is witty and good at thinking on his feet. Something I don't remember getting from movie!Harry.

Movie!Harry also lacks the cold facade book!Harry has.

In the HBP, movie!Harry struggles to awkwardly manage the Quiddich tryouts. Book!Harry shouts at the girls that shouldn't be there to fucking leave, and he's not awkward about it at all, just annoyed at them. In OotP, movie!Harry spits on himself when Cho waves at him, book!Harry is covered in mimbulus mimbletonia juices and still keeps his chill:

“Oh ... hello, Harry,” said a nervous voice. “Um ... bad time?” Harry wiped the lenses of his glasses with his Trevor-free hand. A very pretty girl with long, shiny black hair was standing in the doorway smiling at him: Cho Chang, the Seeker on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team. “Oh ... hi,” said Harry blankly. “Um ...” said Cho. “Well ... just thought I’d say hello ... ’bye then.” She closed the door again, rather pink in the face, and departed. Harry slumped back in his seat and groaned.

Harry is annoyed at the impression it created, but he isn't showing it to Cho, he doesn't act awkwardly at all. Cho is the one acting awkwardly when meeting Harry, not the other way around. Even when Harry is awkward, it's not the stumbling over himself awkwardness, it's the "I don't know how to comfort Hermione so I'll just throw Ron's blanket on her and not say anything" awkwardness. When he's embarrassed or awkward, he just stays cold and silent and a bit robotic for the most part. At worst he'd go: "Er..." blush a little and look at you blankly, but more often he'd just get annoyed. He isn't going to spit on himself. God, that one gif is the bane of my existence.

Movie!Harry does not have the coolness under pressure or wit and intuition of book!Harry. These are the first that came to mind, but there are a lot of other traits that are different or missing. These are just the traits that would be very obvious to someone looking at Harry from outside (like the movies do). And these are the traits I find missing most often in fanon interpretations of his character.

[dearru]

spotlight | ft. h.iwaizumi

-> pairing: iwaizumi hajime x gn!reader | sfw | cw: cursing, oikawa is here too, not proofread | wc: 948 | mlist 

-> synopsis: iwa has always avoided the spotlight, but your attention feels different.

The spotlight has never been a friend to Iwaizumi. 

Even during his six-year stint as the ace of two powerhouse schools, he’d always felt it was cumbersome to be treated as someone of eminence. He quickly learned that he preferred to be a quiet constant rather than the center of attention. Serving as a pillar of strength for his teammates to lean on, even if it went unnoticed, was better than acting as a “star player.” 

It wasn’t until adulthood that he realized this was probably one of the reasons why he and Oikawa were such good friends. 

Notoriety comes naturally to some people, and unlike himself, Oikawa is one of them. He wore the crown bestowed upon people of extraordinary talent with such grace that he made it easy to live in his shadow. And with the fickle spotlight always on the setter, Iwaizumi could do what he did best– act as a foundation where others could build their victories. 

He spent years ingraining the art being overlooked into his very being. Even now, long after his volleyball career had ended, it still felt like second nature, especially when his friend came to visit. 

So when you– easily one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen– approach the table he and his old teammate sit at for lunch, he doesn’t even entertain the possibility that you’re here for him. 

“Um, hi.” You stutter. 

The soles of your shoes dig into the slatted floors, and he can’t help but find your sheepishness rather endearing. Your voice, soft and hesitant, complements the restaurant’s lovely atmosphere. It leaves him almost breathless. 

You have a universal allure about you that makes Iwaizumi wonder if even Oikawa, with his questionable taste, would have the sense to recognize your beauty. 

“Hey,” Oikawa says, flashing his classic smile at you. Iwaizumi gives you a simple nod in return, watching as a situation he’s been in many times unfolds in front of him. 

He knows precisely how this will play out. 

You’ll ask for Oikawa’s information, and he’ll happily give it to you. The two of you will then exchange a few messages before he eventually charms you into a dinner that Iwaizumi will inevitably hear all about.

Maybe you’ll finally be the one to capture Oikawa’s heart. You’re cute enough to. 

“Could I have your number?” You mumble, jerking your phone towards them. The gesture is much too bashful for someone as stunning as you. With how you look, he thinks having some degree of assuredness would suit you. You could have anyone you want. 

A brief still falls over the moment, and Iwaizumi almost laughs at how masterful Oikawa is at building just enough tension. He can control a room so well. 

Oikawa grins, reaching for your phone like a prize to be had. 

Everything is going exactly as Iwaizumi expected it to. 

Until you frown. 

“Uh– sorry.” You stammer, biting the inside of your cheek before shifting your gaze to Iwaizumi. Your phone moves just out of Oikawa’s grasp and centers itself in front of him instead. 

“I was actually asking for yours.” 

Iwaizumi feels the world shift off its axis. 

It’s not the first time he’s been asked for his number. He does pretty well for himself when Oikawa’s not around, but regardless, he finds himself nearly forgetting how to speak.

His face feels flush from the intensity of Oikawa’s stare. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches his friend’s open-mouthed gape and comically red ears. If he were any less shocked, he’d laugh hysterically at Oikawa’s mortified disposition.

“Yeah, of course you can have it.”

Iwaizumi concludes he must have suffered from a mini-episode of amnesia when he looks down and realizes that, at some point during this exchange, he’s reached for your phone. Still startled by what’s transpired, he traces his fingers against the smooth edge of your case to ground him.

He’s about to type his number in when he realizes he should probably say something else to you. 

“My name’s Iwaizumi. What’s yours?” 

You giggle and introduce yourself. 

Fuck. Even your name is pretty. 

A warm feeling blooms in his chest, and he looks up to see your gleeful expression. Your shoulders are much more relaxed than they were before, and your shoes are no longer digging into the floor. 

You seem relieved. It’s confusing. 

Did you really think he would say no to someone like you?

“It was nice to meet you.” He smiles once he’s entered his information, trying to be as suave as possible while ignoring the rapid beat of his heart. He stretches his arm out to give your phone back, and a jolt of electricity shoots between his fingertips when your hand brushes against his. 

“It was nice to meet you, too.” You echo with a new confidence. “I’ll text you.” 

“I’ll count on it.” 

You spin on your heels and walk away. When you’re out of earshot, he jumps from the sensation of a hand slapping his back. 

“I’ll count on it.” Oikawa repeats mockingly, lips pressed into a thin line of amusement. “I didn’t know you were so smooth, Iwa.” 

He rolls his eyes, but despite himself, he feels heat creep to the back of his neck.

“Shut up, Oikawa.” 

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’d be off my game too if I were you and someone asked for your number over mine.” 

Oikawa’s maniacal laughter sobers Iwaizumi and fills him with enough gall to punch him in the gut. Though, the sounds of his friend’s complaints fade into the background as an unexpected sense of satisfaction courses through his veins. 

Maybe, every once in a while, Iwaizumi wouldn’t mind stealing the spotlight for a moment.

–a/n: i blame @cherrysurf for this iwa brainrot.

[kpop---scenarios]

Friends To Forever

Pairing: Vernon x Reader

Summary: You are Vernon are best friends, or were until you confessed. But life has a funny way of working out.

Warning: Smut [Oral; m. receiving/f. receiving, unprotected sex etc.] 18+ ONLY. MDNI

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: This was hard to write, but I'm TRYING to get back into it after not writing for so long. Please be nice, I was on the struggle bus, lol. Also, this is for @iridescentxstars and I hope you atleast semi enjoy it and it wrecks you A LOT.

“Did you hear that?” You whisper to your date, the sound of footsteps slowly making their way through the kitchen towards the living room. The sound of the familiar voice startles you.

“Y/N! Why won't you answer my calls!?” You hear. You recognize the voice immediately, before he even rounds the corner and into your line of sight You sit up, half moving away from the guest that sat on your couch next to you.

“Oh fuck.” You murmur, seeing your best friend, Vernon walk into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the man next to you.

“Who's this?” Vernon asks. He didn't know you were dating at all and you had been trying to keep it that way.

“Uhh.” You chuckle. “What are you doing here?”

“Well you've been ignoring me. I missed you. I thought we could hangout.” Vernon says, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the man sitting beside you. “You didn't answer my question. Who is this?”

“This is my… friend, Chan.” You say.

“I'm her date.” Chan laughs. “We were actually just going to be heading out soon.”

“Your date? You're going on a date?” Vernon scoffs. “What the hell?” He partially yells. His brows furrowed, anger slowly replacing the calm and happy he was moments ago, you were sure you knew why. You watched as Vernon's eyes darted between you and Chan, noticing the lack of distance between the two of you. Vernon looks down, seeing Chan's hands slowly making its way towards your thigh.

“What are you getting mad about?” You ask. “I'm single, I'm allowed to date.”

“You told me you loved me.” Vernon reminds you, bringing you back to that day, a month ago, where you had confessed to your best friend.

**

“Y/N?” Vernon questions, seeing you standing at his front door in the middle of the night, soaking wet from the rain. “Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry to dump this on you… but I just can't hold it in anymore, Vernon. I love you. I'm in love with you. And it's okay if you can't or don't reciprocate the feeling but I just needed to let you know.” You breathe, rain water dripping down your face and body.

“I -.” He pauses. “I don't really know what to say.” He whispers.

“Just tell me if you love me or not.” You say.

“I do love you, of course I do, you're my best friend.” He smiles. “But…” he trails off.

“But what? Just tell me Vernon, I can handle it.”

“But I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry y/n.” He says. You had been half expecting that answer but you had also hoped that maybe you would have been wrong and he would tell you that he loved you back.

“I see.” You say, forcing a smile. “All good.”

“I hope that we can… still be friends?” He asks.

“Friends.” You sigh. “Why?”

“You're my best friend. I don't want to lose you over some… silly feelings, you know?”

“Silly feelings?” You question. That felt like a stab to the heart. “Um, sure, friends. Yeah. I'll uh, see you later.” You mumble, turning around, heading back out in the rain, hoping it would wash away the ache you felt in your heart.

**

“Yeah, and?” You ask. “You told me you didn't feel the same. So what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you?”

“I don't know.” He sighs. “I just didn't expect you to move on so fast.” He mumbles.

“What do you want from me, Vernon?” You ask. “I don't get it. You tell me that you don't feel the same, so I move on, but now that I'm actively moving on you're upset?” You say, your voice slightly elevating as anger begins to take over.

“Am I supposed to be happy about this?” He asks. “You told me you loved me, y/n. Love! And it hasn't been very long since then, so how can you be dating already? I wasn't aware one could move that fast.”

“Am I going fucking crazy? What the fuck, Vernon. What do you want from me! You don't love me! I'm not going to sit around waiting for the day that maybe you might love me back.” You yell.

“Well you're supposed to!” He yells back.

“Why!? Why can't I be happy?” You yell. “Chan makes me happy.” You say, smiling back towards Chan, who's sitting there looking uncomfortable.

“I wanna make you happy.” He whispers.

“Oh my god, you do make me happy. You're my best friend, of course you do.” You whisper back.

“No!” He sighs, rubbing his hands on his face. “I want to be the one to make you happy.”

“I'm so confused. You groan. You were ready to pull your hair out of your head. What the fuck was he talking about?

“I'm just gonna go.” Chan murmurs. He places a kiss on your cheek before heading for the front door, leaving you alone with Chan.

“I'm sorry, I'll call you later.” You call out.

“Don't call him. Please don't call him.” Vernon tells you. He's looking down, twiddling his fingers.

You sigh, loudly. “You're being weird. And you're not being honest with me. I don't know what I'm supposed to do. You want me to be happy but you don't want me to be happy with someone else. You love me but you're not in love with me… what the fuck do you want?”

I want you. That's what I want.” He tells you, lifting his head to look you in the eyes.

“You have me.”

“I want more.”

“What more can I give of myself?”

“Fuck it.” He sighs. “I love you!” He yells. “I'm in love with you. I've always been in love with you! It's been you and me since day one and there's not a day that's gone by that I haven't been in love with you. Not even in the month that you've been dodging me.”

“Why?” You cry. “Why didn't you tell me that night? Why didn't you just admit your feelings? Why did you tell me you didn't?” You ask.

“I-I don't know.” He whispers. “I didn't want things to change. I was scared to admit it. I'm a fucking coward, I don't know.” He sighs. “But I'm telling you now.”

“You're telling me now that I've moved on? Is that the only reason that you're telling me now, is it because of Chan?” You ask.

“Maybe. I don't know. But I know that I do love you.”

“You can't just come in here a month after I confessed and then confess to me! That's not how this works!” You yell. “I like Chan.”

“But you love me.” He says, inching towards you. “You may like him, but you love me.”

“Loved. I loved you.” You murmur.

“You're telling me you don't love me anymore?” He asks, moving even closer to you. So close that you can feel his breath on your face.

“Mhmm. That's what that means.” You whisper.

“So if I kissed you… right now, it wouldn't mean anything?” He asks, leaning down, his lips only inches away from yours.

“Nothing.” You gasp as he moves closer. Even the smallest of movements, your lips would be latched onto his. You could feel your face heating up, the knot in your stomach growing bigger. You knew that one kiss from him would destroy you, and you'd be even more in love with him than you were in that very moment.

“Nothing?” He whispers, a smirk spreads across his face.

“Not a single thing.” You whisper back, knowing full well that was a bold faced lie. You take a deep breath, before he moves in, placing his lips onto yours. You could feel the fireworks between the two of you as he pulled you in closer, his hand resting on the small of your back as his lips moved along yours. He slowly slips his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss between the two of you.

Vernon's hands move along your body, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Were you really going out with him?” He asks, murmuring against your lips.

“I was. I was trying to get over you.” You breathe.

“I'd rather you get under me.” He smirks, pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it on the living room floor.

“I like the sound of that.” You giggle, as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you towards your bedroom, the one he's spent many nights in, but not like this. He pulls you into the room, smiling as he pushes you on the bed. He unbuttons your jeans, slowly pulling them down your legs. Your pussy throbs as he touches you, his finger trips trailing your body.

“You have no idea how many times I wanted to do this to you.” He whispers, placing kisses up your stomach, working his way to your neck.

You don't reply, you can't. Once again, his lips are pressed against yours, your mouths moving against each other's. It quickly turns passionate and needy as you pull at his clothes. You hated that you were naked and he was still fully clothed.

“Come on.” You murmur, smiling as you try to pull his shirt over his head.

“Come on what?” He chuckles, helping you, discarding his shirt somewhere in your room. He stands up, pulling down his pants, letting his hard cock spring free. Before he could crawl onto the bed, you quickly got off, dropping to your knees in front of him. You wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, smirking as he watches you open your mouth and taking as much of him in your mouth as you could.

“Oh fuck.” He moans, throwing his head back while you twirl your tongue around his tip, slurping and sucking him off. Vernon reaches out, grabbing your head to hold it still. He thrusts his cock into your mouth, pushing it in as far as he can. Tears well in your eyes as you take it, gagging slightly with each thrust.

“Okay, okay.” He breathes, pulling his cock from your mouth. “If I keep going like this, I'm gonna cum.” He chuckles. He helps you back up, laying you down onto the bed. You're laying on your back as he drops to his knees at the edge of the bed, happily spreading your legs for you, before pulling you closer to him. He immediately licks a long strip up your already wet pussy.

“Shit.” You cry out as his fingers dig into your bare thighs, his tongue sloppily moving all around your pussy, sucking, licking and flicking your clit, nibbling on your lips as he absolutely ravishes you. You bring your hands up to your tits, playing with your nipples before letting them roam your body. You move your hands down to his hair grabbing a clump, gripping him tightly as you roll your hips against his tongue.

“Oh fuck, I'm gonna cum.” You cry, you pull yourself closer to him, grinding on his face. Your orgasm pulsates through your body, making you shake beneath him.

“I fucking love hearing you cum.” Vernon murmurs, standing up, licking your juices from his lips.

Vernon moves to the bed, laying down. He smirks at you. “Ride me.” He murmurs, stroking his cock as he watches you climb onto the bed. You straddle him, adjusting yourself to slowly sink down onto his cock but Vernon had another idea. You scream loudly as he thrusts up, plowing himself into you.

“Fuck you feel good baby girl.” He groans, his hands holding you tightly. You gasp as you adjust to his size, you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he waits for you to move. Your hands pressed against his chest as you slowly pulled yourself up before sinking back down, equally as slow.

“Please, princess.” Vernon groans. “I need you to move more.”

“Do you?” You giggle.

“You better move more, before I flip you over and take control.” He murmurs, his hands grabbing your hips, ready to pull you off of him and pin you down to the bed.

“I kinda like the sound of that.” You whisper, again, slowly pulling him out of you and slowly sinking back down.

Vernon doesn't say a word, instead, does exactly what he said he was going too. He pulls you off of his cock, tossing you down onto the bed. He grabs your legs, putting them onto his shoulders as he pushes his cock inside of you.

“My god.” You moan, grabbing his arms, digging your nails into his skin.

Vernon moves his hand between your lips, holding onto one leg, while rubbing your clit as he slams into you over and over, groaning loudly as he watches you. He loved the way you looked as your tits bounced while he fucked you. Your clit throbbed as he rubbed it, you were desperate to cum again, this time on his cock. Your orgasm continued to build with each thrust, until you just couldn't hold onto it any longer. With the next hard thrust, your orgasm takes over your body. You scream out, your back arching at the pleasure you were feeling. Vernon moves his hand from your wet cunt, holding tightly onto your legs, fucking you harder, needing his own release.

“I've waited so long for this.” He moans. “Fuck.”

You tighten your cunt around his cock, making him whimper as his own orgasm builds just as quickly.

“Shit, I'm gonna cum.” He groans, panting as he moves faster, his orgasm hitting him full force. Vernon releases his load, filling you up fully. Both your chests heaving as he pulls out of you, laying down on the bed beside you.

“Wow.” He smiles, chuckling with his eyes closed.

“Wow is right.” You breathe, laughing along with him. “So what now?”

“Now? Hmm.” He murmurs. “How about a date?” He asks. “As my girlfriend?”

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 4: THE MYSTERY THAT IS ARTHUR MORGAN

synopsis: you and arthur head into valentine with uncle, tilly, karen, and mary-beth.

word count: 4.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: (crawling out of grave) hey guys.. i've started playing rdr1 recently so the cowboy spark has been reignited within me LOL

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @its-yummi , @fatherbangboo , @shackspossum , @swedesfics (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

Not much time has passed since that night where you and Arthur had that conversation about the stars. Well, it wasn’t really a conversation, but it was talking, which was an improvement from the glances and stares.

Hosea has regaled you with many a tale with Arthur as the main protagonist, about how he’s not the big scary man he pretends to be. From your perspective, though? The front isn’t a front, but a truth intrinsic to Arthur’s very soul. He’s a man from 1899, through and through – and unfortunately, not all men from 1899 are to be trusted.

But Hosea seems hellbent on making you at least okay with Arthur’s presence. Just a few minutes ago, he pushed a tin cup of coffee into your hands and sent you towards Arthur’s tent. As a challenge? You’re not too sure, but it sure as hell feels like one.

“Excuse me,” you say as you round the corner of the wagon that props up the canopy over his cot. “Arthur?”

He’s sitting on the edge of his cot, writing in his leather-bound journal. He looks up from whatever he’s writing, then puts his pencil in the fold between the pages and closes it, tucking it away in his satchel.

Arthur nods at you, greeting you with a simple utterance of your name. “What is it?”

You carefully hold out the hot tin mug. “Hosea figured you’d want some coffee. I, um… I didn’t know how you’d like it, so I just put in some sugar.”

He stands from his cot and takes the coffee from you. “Thank you.”

You smile and for a moment you panic, thinking you’re showing too many teeth. (Why do you have to overthink everything you do?) “Hopefully it’s not too sweet.”

Arthur takes a sip and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine.”

A nice silence falls over the two of you as you stand somewhat-near him, watching people move about camp. Well, it would be nice if you were alone and didn’t have Arthur beside you, but you have to make the most of everything you can.

Let’s try to initiate a conversation, you think to yourself. What does Arthur care about? Guns? Meat? Uh… beard oil? No, he has, like, grown-out stubble – why would he care about beard oil? What the hell does watercooler talk even look like in 1899?

“It’s nice out,” you say. “Out west, it gets really hot this time of year. The summers are even worse.”

“Are they now?” Arthur says. “What, are you tryin’ to… deter us from encroachin’ on your Mojave?”

“Huh? No, no,” you say. “The Dead Horses and Sorrows would happily have you. Zion Canyon, it’s – it’s big enough for a few more people.”

You look away, embarrassed for some reason. You hate this elaborate song and dance – you say something, Arthur takes it as an insult and/or just insults you outright, and you have to cover for yourself before awkward silence takes hold.

“How’s Marston?” Arthur asks. “I understand that you’ve taken over carin’ for that fool.”

You glance over at him. He’s looking at you, blue-green, piercing eyes just watching you, waiting. The treeline is suddenly very interesting.

“There’ll be scars, for sure,” you say. “And he picks at the scabs. He says he doesn’t do it on purpose, but he can’t keep his hands away from his face for five minutes.”

Surprisingly, that elicits a soft chuckle from Arthur. From the corner of your eye, you can see him shake his head and sigh, a slight smile on his face.

“That sounds about right.” He brings the tin cup to his lips and takes a drink. “That idiot’s always makin’ trouble for himself.”

You listen to the sound of people milling about and the early morning birds singing with Arthur for a few minutes. Hosea was right – exposure therapy may actually be working when it comes to Arthur. He doesn’t really seem so big and so bad now that you’ve seen what he’s like when he’s quiet and contemplative. (He’s still a big motherfucker that you’re sure could wreck your shop if given half the chance, so it’s not like you’re willing to lay your neck on the line just yet.)

You glance to the side when you see someone approaching. It’s Hosea, a smile on his face as he greets you and Arthur.

He stretches his arms out, arching his back a little. “Quite a day.”

“Mhm,” you hum.

“There’s a bunch of the boys already in Valentine – Bill, Charles and Javier,” Hosea continues. “And Swanson found something down at the train station by the lake, apparently. And Strauss came back with that creepy little smile on his face! I’m sure there’s a whole list of unfortunates he’s forced money upon.”

You and Arthur laugh along. You’re glad there’s at least something to laugh about that isn’t you.

“And you?” Arthur asks Hosea.

“I’m gonna read a book,” he says decidedly.

“That sounds nice,” you say. “Can I join?”

“Join me in reading a book?” Hosea laughs. “That sounds unproductive.”

“Well, uh – no, I meant, um…” You let out a nervous chuckle. “Never mind. I’ll find something else to do.”

Hosea shrugs it off. “If you’d like to join, I’d be glad for the company.”

With that, he turns and leaves. You don’t really feel inclined to follow him. You don’t really feel inclined to do camp chores, either, but you know Miss Grimshaw well enough to not skimp out on what you’ve been assigned.

“I’ve gotta go chop firewood.” You point over at the stump that became the designated chopping block. “I can take your cup, if you’re done.”

Arthur knocks back the rest of his coffee like a shot, then hands the still-warm tin mug to you. His fingers – big, calloused – brush yours as you take it, and he offers a soft “Thank you.” A small shock runs up your arm as his skin touches yours.

Did he just shock me from static electricity? You ask yourself. Probably. Or maybe the tin did something… I don’t know.

You drop the mug in the wash basin as you pass by and make your way to the chopping stump. You dig in the inner pockets of your jacket and pull out your gloves, tugging them on before you grab the axe handle.

The axe dislodges from the wood easily, and you set up a log to split. You bring the axe over your head (ignoring the ache and whine in your side) and swing it down on the log, letting gravity do most of the work.

By the time you’re done, your shoulders and upper arms are aching, not to mention the literal hole in your side that’s still healing. But the chore is done, and there’s split firewood in a pile next to the stump. You’re spared from Miss Grimshaw’s scrutiny for a couple hours more.

You swing the axe down into the stump and leave it there. With a deep breath, you step back and tug your gloves off, tucking them into your inner jacket pocket again.

“Ain’t a surprise you got soft hands,” a voice says behind you, the tone dripping with sleaze.

You turn, stiffening up and locking eyes with Micah. His hands are resting on the belt that’s hanging off his hips and he’s sizing you up like you’re prey. It makes your stomach turn even though you know he wouldn’t try anything near camp. (Or would he? You hope not.)

“Can you get off my ass?” You ask. “I just don’t want blisters.”

“Oh I apologize, I apologize.” Micah holds his hands up, sauntering closer. You stand your ground even though you’d like nothing more than to pick up the axe again so you’re not completely defenseless.

He rounds the stump, looking down at the pile of firewood. “They’re split uneven.”

You roll your eyes and look to the side, away from Micah. That thought from earlier – whether he would try anything this close to camp or not – still has your stomach in a knot, like a spring wound tight.

He’s not worth it. You would much rather spend your time worrying about things that matter, like how fast and loose people play with their guns and how likely you are to get cholera.

And, as if on cue, someone shouts your voice, giving you an excuse to leave. You look to the source – it’s Karen, waving you over to the wagons. You leave Micah by the firewood pile without a goodbye.

Tilly and Mary-Beth are waiting by the wagon along with Karen, almost circling Arthur like wildcats. Arthur, on the other hand, is smoking, looking relatively unbothered, given the women. Uncle is near the front of the wagon, checking the horses’ equipment.

“Hey,” you say. “You called for me?”

“We’re tryin’ to get Arthur to take us into town,” Mary-Beth says. “Ain’t you tired of seein’ the same treeline, the same people?”

“Uh, sure, but…” You shrug. “I don’t really care.”

“We can get you some new clothes.” Karen picks at the shoulder of your jacket. “You ain’t exactly… fashion-forward.”

Right, because a trenchcoat with a low-cut blouse is so much better, you think to yourself. Woah! That was really mean. I need to put more effort into avoiding Micah – he’s infecting me. Not that I wanted to hang around him in the first place…

“I guess,” you say. “But I don’t have any money.”

“Valentine ain’t exactly a city teeming with riches,” Tilly points out. “We can get you some clothes cheap enough.”

You give a half-shrug, glancing at the women. “If my clothes are really that bad…”

“‘Sides, Karen’s ‘bout ready to murder Grimshaw,” Mary-Beth says.

“Well, can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Arthur asks.

“Can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Karen parrots, exasperated. “What’s happened to you, Arthur? You’re worried about house chores? C’mon, let’s go!”

Arthur looks to the side, then takes the cigarette from his mouth and gestures at the four of you. “Fair enough, you got me. C’mon, then.”

The women whoop and cheer as they climb up onto the wagon. You end up settled across from Tilly, smiling despite the pool of nerves still bubbling in your stomach. Maybe their excitement has infected you? (You’d much prefer to be infected with her excitement rather than Micah’s rudeness.)

“I can’t believe we’re gonna see civilization,” Tilly says. “It feels like weeks since we did.”

“Yeah, Valentine,” Uncle grunts as he climbs up into the front seat. “The very embodiment of civilization! You folks are gonna love it.”

“Okay then.” Arthur hauls himself up into the front seat and takes the reins from Uncle. “Let’s go.”

Uncle directs Arthur out of the camp and onto the road toward Valentine. The ride is bumpy and, even though you do enjoy bitching and moaning about them, you’d much prefer a car right now.

Mary-Beth calls you to attention by saying your name. “I’m curious – what’s the Frontier like?”

“What’re you curious about?” You ask.

“You got any family out there?” Tilly asks, then leans a little closer to you, dropping her voice a bit. “Any sisters Arthur’s age?”

“I can hear y’all,” Arthur calls from the front of the wagon, sending the women into a fit of laughter.

You smile and laugh, leaning back in your seat. “I’ve got a sister, yeah. But she’s too young for Arthur.”

“What’s her name?” Karen asks.

“Serendestiny,” you say. “Our parents were, um… creative?”

The women are sent into another fit of laughter and giggles, echoing “Serendestiny?” and various confused phrases of disbelief. Laughter bubbles up in your throat before you can help it.

“She hates her name, she hates it,” you assure them. “She just goes by Sere.”

“I’d hope so!” Karen laughs. “I wouldn’t know how to live my life with a name like Serendestiny.”

“I don’t know, it’s kinda pretty,” Mary-Beth says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Is it a combination between serendipity and destiny?”

“I think so,” you say. “I never put that much thought into it.”

A shout from up ahead makes you snap your head towards the front of the wagon. A coach is careening on and off the road. One of the horses kicks and breaks free, bucking and going wild.

“Is one of you gonna get that feller’s horse?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, I got lumbago, it’s very serious,” Uncle says.

Arthur groans and pulls the wagon to a stop, then hops off. “Alright, I’ll see what’s goin’ on…”

You watch as he speaks to the driver, then starts walking over to the horse that broke free. It rears and tosses its head, clearly distressed. But Arthur pays that no mind, instead approaching it with his hands outstretched. You can barely hear him talking softly to the horse.

He’s soft. For once, you see Arthur being soft. He’s gentle as he strokes the horse’s neck, patting it and shushing it. He’s not irritated or annoyed that he has to go out of his way to help someone. Or maybe he just has a soft spot for horses? Who knows. Arthur is slowly turning more and more into a complete mystery.

He moves patiently and slowly as he leads the horse back to the coach driver. The horse doesn’t kick or toss its head – just walks at the pace Arthur set. You’re sure you’d be more impressed if you knew more about horses.

“You’re a gentleman, sir,” the coach driver says. “A true gentleman!”

Arthur mumbles something and climbs back up in the front seat of the wagon. He snaps the reins, and the horses start moving again.

“You’re turning into a regular old fairy godmother there, Arthur,” Uncle says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks.

“It means you’ve got a heart,” Mary-Beth says.

Karen nods along. “A small one, perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one.”

“And you haven’t, you repulsive old lizard,” Mary-Beth chimes.

Uncle turns and leans over the back of the wagon seat. “Lizards have hearts!”

“Well, Arthur,” Tilly says. “I’m proud of you.”

“To be honest, if you lot hadn’t been here…” Arthur rubs the back of his neck and leans his head back. “I prolly would’a robbed him.”

That elicits a laugh from everyone, and you laugh along even though you don’t really find it funny. You mirror them just to fit in.

“Well, you didn’t!” Mary-Beth says.

Arthur guides the wagon over the train tracks and passes a freight station, officially passing into Valentine. You’re immediately hit by the smell of shit and exhale sharply, your nose wrinkling up on instinct.

“Whew!” Tilly waves her hand in front of her face. “Smell those sheep.”

Karen laughs under her breath. “Or is that Uncle?”

“If Micah were here,” you say, “I’d wager it being him.”

The women and Uncle roar with laughter, and you’re pretty sure you can hear Arthur give a chuckle. You smile and laugh along – genuinely, this time. Micah makes for a good target when he isn’t around to hear it.

“Ain’t that the truth.” Mary-Beth looks around at the houses and buildings. “This looks like a decent little town.”

“Other people,” Tilly agrees. “Finally.”

“Look at all that snow on the mountains.” Karen points to the peaks that cut up into the sky. “Sure don’t wanna be back up there.”

“You think we should’ve asked Molly to come with us?” Tilly asks.

“Oh, no,” Karen immediately says. “Miss O’Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us… or to do any real work. She’s a society lady now.”

You look over at Tilly and sort of feel bad for Molly. You haven’t been able to talk to her much in these past two weeks, but she does seem kind of… disconnected from the rest of the gang. Like she gets her dose of everyone else through Dutch. Maybe you should check on her when you get back.

You half-listen as the women talk about finding work and discuss how gullible and desperate the men in this town must be when their only option besides whores is the ewes. Arthur says something about keeping a low profile.

“Will you remember that, though, Arthur?” Karen teases.

Arthur grumbles. “Probably not.”

The wagon pulls to a stop beside the stables. Men are milling about, guiding horses and carrying saddles.

You hop down off the wagon first and fight back the urge to cringe when you feel your boots sink a quarter of an inch into mud. Instead, you turn and hold out a hand, helping the women down one by one. You figure that they don’t really need it, but it’s still the polite thing to do.

“Here we are, just like I said,” Uncle says as he hops off the front wagon seat. “The cultural center of civilization – man at his finest.”

Karen jabs her thumb over her shoulder. “We’ll start at the saloon, see what we find.”

“Okay,” Arthur says. “Just stay outta trouble and don’t get yourselves noticed.”

“Right, I need to get somethin’ from the stores,” Uncle says. He starts walking, and Arthur falls in step with him, so you just follow.

“We’ll see you at the general store when you’re done,” Arthur calls after the women.

You look around as you follow Arthur and Uncle, not really listening in on their conversation. (You find yourself doing that a lot these days – keeping your head on a swivel like you’re a kid again, zoned out and only focusing on your surroundings.) There’s a hotel, a gunsmith, a law office, a bank… If you didn’t know you were actually-maybe-possibly in the actual year 1899, you’d give props to whoever cultivated a town frozen in time like this.

“This’s the place now.” Uncle slows in front of the general store and opens the door. “C’mon.”

You file into the store after Arthur. The walls are lined with shelves and cabinets stocked with goods, along with a table in the middle with even more items for sale.

“Here.” Arthur hands you a ten dollar bill. “Get yourself somethin’ new. You been livin’ in those clothes for a while now.”

“Oh.” You take the money from him. “Yeah, I… I guess I have. Thanks.”

You peruse the limited stock of clothing while Arthur and Uncle talk some more. You keep a careful eye on the price and pray that sales taxes aren’t a thing yet. And if they are, you pray that they’re included on the price tag.

Eventually, you decide on a nondescript, grey button-up, along with an extra pair of jeans. It makes you feel bad that you’re spending extra money, but you add on a belt because the jeans honestly seem a little too big.

The clerk hands you your change – $2.35. You tuck it in your jacket pocket.

“Do you have a changing room?” You ask. “I wanna get out of these clothes.”

The clerk shrugs. “You can use the stockroom, I guess.”

You thank him and head into the stockroom behind the till. It’s not much bigger than a janitor’s closet. Still, you do the best you can to change without knocking anything over.

When you’re done, you shrug your jacket back on and feel something poke you in the side. You reach to feel it, and… it’s your wallet. You completely forgot about your wallet.

You open it, and sure enough, it still has everything you kept in it. Credit card, debit card, health insurance, COVID vaccination card… money. There’s a ten and a five jammed behind your credit card, and a few coins. Enough to pay Arthur back.

You fold your clothes and tuck them under your arm, then exit the stockroom. You thank the clerk again, then turn to Uncle.

“I’m gonna put these back on the wagon,” you say.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” he says. “Just wait for us outside.”

You nod and exit the store. The walk to the wagon is short. You hop up on the back and tuck your clothes in a small chest underneath the seat.

When you return to the general store, Arthur and Uncle are outside, sitting on a bench next to the front door. You take a seat next to Arthur – not that you have much of a choice regarding that.

Uncle leans his elbow on his knee and looks over at you, holding out a bottle. “You want some whiskey?”

“No, I’m good.” You wave it away.

“Well, I’ll drink to your health for you.” Uncle takes a hearty drink from the bottle.

You exhale sharply in a lazy laugh. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“What a generous man you are,” Arthur chimes.

“It’s a funny world,” Uncle says. “This time in my career, I pictured myself being married to an heiress.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” You pull the ten dollar bill from your pocket and nudge Arthur’s arm. “I found this in the stockroom.”

There’s a pause. You nudge him again, harder. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through his leather jacket. “I… I don’t like feeling indebted. Just take it.”

Arthur takes the money and tucks it into his satchel. “You know you didn’t have to do that, right?”

“It’s nothing.” You set your hand in your lap, away from his. “Just call us even.”

“Even we are, then,” he says.

You hum and lean against the back of the bench. The men talk while you people-watch. It’s barely noon, but some men are already stumbling around, tipsy, if not drunk entirely.

You’re not sure how long you’re sat there with Uncle and Arthur, but Mary-Beth quickly snaps you out of your stupor. She’s walking fast, and the smile on her face tells you how excited she is. She prattles on about sneaking into a rich house and hearing about a train passing through soon.

“O…kay,” Arthur says.

Mary-Beth rolls her eyes, exasperated at his apparent thick-headedness. “A train laden with baggage, passing through a bit of deserted country at night, as to get to the docks in time for the tides, in someplace called Scarlett Meadows.”

Uncle raises a hand. “Yeah, I know it… It’s right out near New Hanover. It’s real quiet out there.”

“Sounds good,” Arthur says. “Where’s Tilly and Karen?”

“I think at the hotel,” Mary-Beth says. “They were pickin’ up some drunken fellers that they was gonna rob.”

A cold shock runs down your spine and your eyes snap up to Mary-Beth. She looks unconcerned, but the only thought in your mind is the possibilities of them being dead or nearing death. Bloody noses, whimpering, pleading for their lives.

Arthur feels the same, you can guess. His tone is stern and his voice is clipped as he spits out a “Why?”

“Seemed easy.” She checks over her shoulder at the hotel. “They have been gone for quite a while…”

You quickly get to your feet. “We’re getting them.”

You scan the other side of the street and see the skirt of a yellow dress disappearing around a corner, down an alley. It’s Tilly – you’re sure of it.

“Give me your gun.” You look at Uncle. He’s just looking back at you, bottle of whiskey still in hand. You leer closer, your lip curling. “Your gun, Uncle. Now.”

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a revolver. You snatch the gun by the barrel and ready it in your dominant hand.

You step down from the porch of the general store and almost storm across the street. You can hear Tilly’s voice, panicked and shouting. Nobody else seems to be paying her any attention.

“You can go kiss a damn snake for all I care,” you can hear her yell. “Get off me!”

You round the corner to see a man holding Tilly up against the wall of a building, grabbing at her. You stride up the stairs and shout: “Hey!”

You point the revolver at the man, tilting your shoulders and looking down the barrel like you were taught. The iron sights find his chest.

“Who the hell d’you think you are?” You spit. “Get your hands off her!”

“Who are you?” The man drawls, still holding Tilly against the wall.

“You think that matters?” You grit your teeth, your lip curling into a snarl.

The man moves away from Tilly, letting his arm fall and freeing her. “You really think you’re so high and mighty?”

You pull the hammer back with your thumb. “I think that you need to run while you still can.”

The man takes a step back, glancing at Tilly. He points at her like it’s meant to be threatening. “You’re making a big mistake, Tilly Jackson.”

“Just get lost,” she says.

He turns and walks away. You keep your gun trained on his back until he turns the corner. When he disappears, you exhale heavily and close your eyes. Your hands are starting to shake. Your whole body is starting to shake.

“Take the gun.” You hold the revolver out to Tilly, holding it by the barrel. “Tilly, please take the gun.”

She takes the gun and decocks the hammer. You take a few steps back until your back meets the wall of the store, then slide down until you’re squatting. You breathe out a sigh, rubbing your hands over your face. You’re still shaking, and the adrenaline drop is making you feel like shit.

“Thank you.” Tilly puts a hand on your shoulder. “Are you feelin’ okay?”

“No,” you say. You bring your hands away from your face and look over at her. “Are you okay? He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“I’m fine,” she says. A soft smile crosses her face. “Y’know, for such a bundle of nerves, you sure handle yourself well when it comes to unpleasant men.”

You breathe out a laugh. “Don’t mention it.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back until it hits the wall and rest there for a moment. You feel like absolute shit. You’re lightheaded, you’re exhausted, and you can feel sweat dampening your new shirt.

You rub a hand over your chest and hit your sternum to wake yourself up. You stand up and take the revolver from Tilly, tucking it in your belt.

“The others are waiting.” You jerk your head to the side.

Tilly follows you towards the wagon. You glance over at the hotel, where Karen is following Arthur down the steps. The corner of her mouth is bloody, but apart from that, she looks relatively untouched.

“You okay?” Tilly asks.

“Sure, he only punched me.” Karen flexes and massages her jaw. “Arthur punched him a lot harder.”

“Hey.” Mary-Beth looks over your shoulder. “Who’s that guy over there looking at us?”

You check over your shoulder and, sure enough, there’s a man atop a horse, staring at your little group.

“Weren’t you in Blackwater a few weeks back?” He calls to Arthur.

“Me?” Arthur says. “No, sir. Ain’t from there.”

“Oh, you were,” the man says. “I definitely saw you! With a bunch of fellers.”

“Me? No. Impossible,” Arthur says. He starts walking towards the man. “Listen, buddy. Come here for a minute.”

“I saw you…”

“C’mere.”

The man spurs his horse and takes off. Arthur looks back and points at Uncle.

“Go get all ‘em home.” He approaches a random nearby horse and puts his boot in the stirrup. “I’m gonna go have a word with our friend.”

“Be careful, Arthur,” Tilly says as he mounts up.

Arthur takes off with an exclamation of “Just a word!”

There’s a moment where you and the others just stare after him as he rides, his figure rapidly retreating as he chases the man from Blackwater. Then, you look away and move towards the wagon.

“Let’s go,” Tilly says. “I think I’ve had about enough of Valentine for today.”

You take her hand and help her up into the back of the wagon. “I couldn’t agree more.”

[pars-ley]

Hello lovely! I just saw your prompt game and immediately knew what I wanted! Can I please get 1 and 25 with Yoongi?

Title: Your heart or mine?

Pairing: Yoongi x female reader

Summary: An unexpected visit from your roommate's friend leaves you with much more than you bargained for.

Genre(s): friends to lovers / idiots to lovers / smut / fluff / angst

Rating: 18+ Mature (NSFW) MINORS DNI

Warnings: oral (m.recieving) / unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) / swallowed oral cum shot / slightly dry humping / explicit language

Word count: 1.9k

Banner: Me

Beta: @anyamaris and @yoongihan

Author's notes: hope you enjoy Sky!

“Oh, Yoongi,” you state startled, unable to mask your surprise of seeing your roommate's best friend at your door this late in the evening and without an invitation. “Namjoon’s not here at the moment. Did you guys have plans? You want me to call him and tell him off?” You smirk.

He grins that gummy smile you’ve come to love so much, the one that has butterflies flying rampant in your stomach.

“Er, no it's ok,” his eyes flit from yours to the ground, as he stands awkwardly with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, “I, um, I'm actually here to see you.”

The butterflies swarm wildly now, making you swallow them firmly down before you open your mouth to talk. Suddenly, you feel very self-conscious about being in your tiny shorts and baggy hoodie, with your hair scraped up messily.

“Me?” you ask, feeling your cheeks flush.

He nods, before adding, “I hope you don't mind?”

This snaps you out of your surprise.

“No, of course not, I'm so sorry, would you like to come in?” You push the door open further for him and hesitantly, he steps in, hovering in the living area like he hasn't been here a thousand times before.

“Did you want a drink or something?” you ask, heading into the kitchen to get yourself a glass of water, desperate to wet your, suddenly, very dry throat.

“No, I'm good thanks,” he calls back.

As you hide for a moment, your heart hammers wildly as you gulp your drink down, hands shaking with nerves. The possibilities of why he's here bounce around inside your chaotic mind. Taking a deep breath and convincing yourself not to be a coward, you return to him, watching as he nervously wrings his hands and slowly paces across the space.

“So,” you start, standing just as awkwardly in your own apartment, and capturing his attention once more, “what can I do for you?”

You don't miss the blush that spreads across his cheeks, the subtle pink shade making your heart beat even faster.

“Well, I um, I've been thinking,” he swallows hard, and your eyes are drawn to the movement of his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with us, and I just wanted to clear something up-”

“Wait–” you cut him off, picturing the last time he was over - you sharing their pizza, sitting next to Yoongi on the sofa and watching them play game - disappointment floods through you at the realisation of what he's about to say, “I get it, you don't like me hanging around you guys all the time. It's fine, I won't crowd you all, and I'll make myself scarce from now on.”

You attempt to hide your dejected tone but are unsure if your acting skills are concealing the sorrow you feel numbing your insides.

“No!” he replies, clearly alarmed. His eyes popping as he strides over, closing the distance between you. “That's not it at all. I like that you spend time with us.” He admits before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Ok…” you hesitate, mind racing once again, “so what, then?”

He takes a deep breath. “I, I wanted to ask…”

He takes a tentative step towards you, now so close you can feel the heat from his body and you swallow involuntarily, the loud sound filling the thick silence. When you meet his eyes, there's an intensity that takes your breath away.

“I've been sensing something…” he starts, eyes travelling down to your mouth as you lick your lips nervously. “...something between us…” he continues.

Your heart stammers wildly at his words, unable to form a coherent thought with his proximity.

“...and I need you to tell me if it's just all in my head. If it is, I'll leave you alone and never mention this again.” He watches you, picking his nails anxiously as he waits for a reaction. The words die in your throat when you open your mouth to speak, as you pinch your bottom lip and roll it between your fingers, while your mind races for a response.

He reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “So…is it?”

Swallowing again, you manage to whisper out, “Is it, what?”

He smiles sweetly at you, “Is it just in my head?”

This is the moment you've waited for. Your chance to confess and no longer house your feelings secretly inside. But as you stand here, so close you can now feel his breath on your face, there are no words that sound right. Nothing that is good enough. So instead, you simply shake your head.

His eyes light up, that gummy smile forming again. “Really?”

This is your moment, but words aren't enough, you need to show him what he means to you.

Grabbing the collar of his jacket you gently pull him down to you, as you lift yourself on tiptoes to press your lips against his.

There's a moment of surprise, more at yourself for having the courage to do what you've thought about for months. Relishing the softness of his kiss, there was a tenderness in his urgency that mesmerised you. A silent understanding of feelings you couldn't yet put into words.

Before long the urgency grows, as his arms wind eagerly around your waist and lift you off the floor completely. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around him, with a fire in your belly burning so bright all of you is throbbing with a searing heat. His mouth moves against yours hungrily and you respond with hands fisting into his hair as he staggers quickly across the living room. Kicking the door to your bedroom shut as he enters, hands kneading your bare buttocks that are now poking out of your shorts.

Yoongi strides over to the bed, sitting as soon as his thighs touch the edge of the mattress, a frantic mess of hands removing his jacket as he pulls off your hoodie, while you straddle him.

“Wait, wait,” he gasps, pulling away slightly. “I need to clarify something.”

Your body tenses, anxiety plaguing you at the thought of the next words out of his mouth.

He takes a deep breath and hooks a finger under your chin, forcing your eyes back up to him. “I don't want this to be just sex.” He hesitates, watching your reaction carefully, “I am yours wholeheartedly, and I want you to be mine.”

Your heart swells rapidly in your chest, so large it feels ready to explode. The words you've dreamt of are finally being said and this time, you find yourself too.

“Take me, I've been yours for a long time.”

His eyes burn into yours so fiercely it sets your mind, body and soul alight under his doting gaze.

Your mouths connect again, a wild clash of tongues and teeth, as you press your body against his. Grinding your hips down on him, his erection rubs against the perfect spot, and makes you moan against his mouth.

His lips begin to explore your neck, creating a trail of wet kisses that light a fire in their wake.

“I need you inside me, Yoongi,” you whine. “Please.”

You can’t bear to be teased, or to wait to feel him; you've waited long enough.

Taking action, you slide yourself backwards slightly, your hands shaking with excitement as you fumble at his jeans, yanking open the button and reaching into his boxers to set his thick, solid cock free. You pull your shorts aside, and slide yourself down on him, as he pushes his face against your chest, your breasts muffling his groan. As he stretches you open, the feeling, painful yet delicious, only makes you more eager but he holds your hips firmly keeping you in place on his lap, fingers almost bruising the skin.

“I won't last long,” he pants. “I've waited so long for you.”

Placing a gentle kiss against his lips, you begin to rock yourself back and forth. “That's ok, baby, neither will I.”

With every swirl of your hips, he hits the perfect spot inside you, stealing the breath from your lungs as you grow closer to your release.

“Fuck,” he moans, the sound arousing you beyond belief, “you feel so good around me.”

His hands go under your bra, groping your breasts softly and rolling your nipples between his fingers, the sensation causing a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

You’re so focused on him; on every lust-filled gaze of his that lands on your face and the way his eyes stay focused on your sex as you move; every sensual noise he makes in pleasure, knowing you're the one causing it. And every part of your skin that his hands or lips touch sends electricity rippling through you.

His hands grip at your backside and make their way down to your entrance, fingers touching your slick where he's sliding in and out of you.

“You're so wet for me.” He gasps, bringing a finger up and sucking the arousal off.

Your hips move faster as you chase your end, and you realise how much this quiet man whom you adore enjoys talking dirty.

“Keep going, baby,” he says, as his mouth explores your neck, sending goosebumps cascading down your body.

“You're riding me so good, fuck!” He throws his head back, veins bulging at his neck as it's clear he's struggling to hold on. That sight alone has you coming undone, spasming wildly around him.

“Yes, that's it.” His head snaps forward as he watches you writhe in ecstasy above him. “Come around this dick.”

As your greedy cunt squeezes him with each wave of pleasure, he stares in awe and when they subside, you return back to earth and can focus on him once again. The strained look on his face and the way he's biting his bottom lip shows he's eager to let go.

“You need to come, baby?” you ask, and he nods frantically.

You slide yourself off and watch the disappointment contort his features. His eyebrows knit together, full of sorrow, but his pained expression soon disappears when you drop to the floor on your knees and take him in your mouth instead.

“Oh, fuck.” he cries out, thrusting up inside you, matching the rhythm of your bobbing head. He grabs a fistful of your bed sheets with one hand and the other gently holds the back of your head. “That's it, take all of me, like such a good girl.” he whispers between pants.“I'm-I…don't stop, fuck, I'm gonna come.”

He releases into your mouth, the salty, sweet taste takes over your senses, as rope after rope of the warm, thick liquid goes straight down your throat. When he's empty, you pull yourself off with a pop, making his legs twitch, the sight amusing you, as he throws himself back on your bed. His arms flared out either side of him and breathing hard. You climb up next to him, and watch the movement of his chest as it rises and falls. He looks over at you, grinning, cheeks tinted red.

“Don't tell me you've gone shy on me now?” you say, giggling as you stroke the hair from his face.

He sits up on his elbows, leaning up to gently clasp your chin in his hand as he stares at you. His eyes are full of adoration and awe and it reawakens the butterflies in your stomach, sending them swarming into chaos inside you. He presses his lips to yours, no longer desperate or needy but full of a promise to you.

“I want to show you what you mean to me…” he says, “...all night.”

[noorpersona]

Hiii!!!! I cant tell you how much I absolutely love your writings! I was wondering if you could do a part two for managerial duties for Inarizaki!! Maybe where the manager has serious bruising and the team finds out... and theyre genuinely worried! Id be cute if Atsumu would apologize too!! But you dont have to! Hehe, thank you for making my day! I appreciate your writings so much!

YES I LOVE THAT IDEA! And you've made my day with your kind words <33 thank you so much for reading!! Here we go :D --

You had expected some bruising.

What you hadn't expected was for your forearms to turn into a full-blown patchwork of dark purple and deep red, an angry mess of tender skin that ached every time you so much as brushed against something. It had started subtly enough—just a faint soreness the day after the bet. But by the time midweek rolled around, it was impossible to ignore. Even writing with a pen sent sharp pangs up your arms, and carrying the team’s water bottles felt like lifting bricks.

Which is why, in a moment of sheer desperation, you’d dug through your old volleyball gear and fished out your compression sleeves. They weren’t a fix, but they helped stabilize your arms and dull the constant ache, allowing you to function without wincing every time you existed. The compression kept the swelling down, made the bruises feel less noticeable, and at least provided a thin barrier between your damaged skin and the outside world.

You hadn’t really thought much of them beyond that.

Until you pulled off your jacket in the middle of practice and heard the gym fall silent.

The first thing you noticed was that every single pair of eyes had locked onto your arms. It took you a second to realize why—black compression sleeves, pulled taut over your forearms, standing out starkly against your skin.

"Uh…" you started, blinking as the weight of their attention settled on you.

"What’s with the sleeves?" Aran asked first, brows furrowed. "Didn’t know you wore those."

Your brain short-circuited. "Oh. Um. They’re just… comfortable."

"Comfortable?" Osamu repeated skeptically. "Since when do ya need sleeves to be comfortable?"

Suna, who had been lazily leaning against the wall, suddenly pushed off from his spot and started toward you. "They look kinda tight." Without hesitation, he reached out, fingers brushing over the fabric. "Lemme see."

Atsumu, who had been drinking from his water bottle, glanced over and smirked. "Damn, manager, if ya wanted to show off yer arms, ya could’ve just—"

Before he could finish, Osamu smacked the back of his head hard enough to make him stumble. "Read the damn room, ‘Tsumu."

"Ow! What the hell?!" Atsumu grumbled, rubbing the spot Osamu had hit.

The moment Suna applied even the slightest pressure, a sharp, searing pain shot through your arm, and you yelped, whipping your hand to your chest as if you’d been burned. "Shit!" you hissed through clenched teeth, eyes squeezing shut as the sting radiated up your arm.

The reaction was instant.

"What the hell was that?" Osamu frowned, his teasing dropping immediately.

"What’s goin’ on?" Ginjima asked, concern lacing his voice.

Atsumu, still rubbing his head, now had his attention completely on you. "What'd you scream like that for?"

"I-It’s nothing," you stammered, holding your arm protectively. "Just—Suna caught me off guard."

"Bullshit," Suna drawled, eyes narrowing. "Take ‘em off."

"No! I mean, really, it’s not a big deal—"

"Take. Them. Off." Kita’s voice cut through the chatter, calm but final.

You hesitated. His gaze didn’t waver. And you knew, knew, there was no getting out of this. With a resigned sigh, you slowly rolled down the sleeve, flinching slightly as the pressure eased off your skin.

A collective gasp rippled through the team.

"Dude…" Osamu muttered, voice even quieter than usual.

Even Suna, usually unfazed by everything, looked taken aback. "Holy shit."

Ginjima let out a low whistle. "That’s gotta hurt."

The bruises looked worse under the gym lights, the deep purples and reds blending into a mess of tender skin, mottled and swollen in some places. It was bad. You could feel how bad it looked, just from their expressions alone.

Atsumu visibly paled. "That…" He swallowed thickly. "That’s from me?"

Kita exhaled slowly, his posture rigid. "You should have said something earlier."

"It’s fine," you tried. "I asked for it. I knew what I was doing."

"That’s not the point," he said, voice eerily even. "You let it get this bad and didn’t bother telling anyone? How exactly is that taking care of yourself?"

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because, honestly? He had a point.

"Go home," he ordered, folding his arms. "You’re done for the day. And don’t come back until that heals up."

"What? No, I’m fine—"

"No, you’re not." Aran frowned. "That looks painful as hell."

"I can still help—"

Kita said your name like a father would, the tone alone made it clear there would be no arguing. "Go. Home."

You huffed, crossing your arms—then immediately regretted it when pain flared up again. Scowling, you turned on your heel, grabbing your things and storming toward the clubroom.

The moment you stepped inside and shut the door, you let out a long breath, flopping against the lockers. Your arms throbbed. Maybe they were right. Maybe you should take it easy.

You had just started gathering your things when the door cracked open.

"Oi."

You turned, only to find Atsumu standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes flickering between you and the floor. He looked… unsettled. Which, for him, was weird.

"Uh. Hey?"

His mouth opened, then closed. He shifted his weight. Fidgeted.

You squinted. "Are you… okay?"

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "I—uh. Shit. Look, I didn’t—ya know—mean to…" He gestured vaguely at your arms, as if that explained everything. "I wasn’t tryna actually hurt ya."

You blinked. "Atsumu. I asked for this."

"Yeah, but—" He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Ya look like ya got run over."

You let out a short laugh. "Well, your serves do feel like getting hit by a truck."

Atsumu winced. "Shit."

For a moment, he was quiet. Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he muttered, "I’m sorry."

It was quiet. Stiff. A little clumsy.

But genuine.

You raised an eyebrow. "Wow. Never thought I’d hear you apologize."

He scowled. "Don’t make it weird."

You smiled, shaking your head. "It’s fine. Really. I’ll be okay."

Atsumu eyed you, lips pressing into a thin line. "Yeah. Just… don’t be dumb about it next time."

Then, after a brief pause, he exhaled sharply. "You know you could've just told me you played."

You snorted. "Yeah, right. Where’s the fun in that?"

Atsumu groaned. "Yer impossible."

You grinned. "And yet, you all keep me around."

With an exasperated sigh, he turned on his heel, muttering something about stubborn idiots as he left.

You exhaled, shaking your head fondly.

They were all idiots. Loud, nosy, exasperating idiots. But maybe, just maybe, they were your idiots. --

The next morning, you woke up feeling slightly better, though the soreness in your arms still lingered like a dull throb. The bruises were darkening, but at least the swelling had gone down. You figured that maybe—maybe—you could get away with showing up at morning practice. If you just sat on the sidelines, surely Kita wouldn’t make a big deal out of it… right?

You stretched, rolling your shoulders, before heading to the door to grab your shoes. But the moment you opened it, you froze.

Sitting right outside was a neatly arranged little basket. Ice packs, your favorite snacks, a tube of aloe vera gel—and a folded note resting on top.

Your stomach twisted as you picked it up, already knowing exactly who it was from. Unfolding the paper, your eyes skimmed over Kita’s neat handwriting.

Rest. I meant it.

Take care of yourself first. We’ll be fine until you’re back.

P.S. Don’t make me come over there.

You sighed, rubbing a hand down your face before looking back down at the basket. It was thoughtful. It was so Kita. You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head before stepping back inside and closing the door behind you.

Guess morning practice would have to wait.

[steviewashere]

Doesn't Change Anything

Rating: Teen and Up CW: None, I don't think. Sex is lightly hinted at, but ended up not happening, whoops. Tags: Post-Canon, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Trans Eddie Munson, Transmasculine Eddie Munson, Coming Out, Kissing, Just So Much Kissing, Body Worship, Dialogue Heavy, Eddie Has Slight Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington is a Good Boyfriend, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Trusts Steve Harrington, Sappy Ending

💕—————💕 “Before we do anything, I need to tell you something about me, okay?”

He doesn’t want to open his eyes. Stare down the confusion and the contempt surely crawling over Steve’s face; slimy legs and a writhing body, annoyed that he won’t open like a flower. If his clothes come off, though, and they’re exposed to something both of them don’t know what to do about, including everything down there—not that Steve would have much trouble, he just wouldn’t understand.

Not that Eddie begs to be understood.

It would be nice, if even for a moment, to be brought in as a fresh idea and contextualized into the fabric of everything. That he could open his legs further for the grazing touches, be embraced without question.

Mismatched body parts and scars in places most people don’t earn; simply him, as puzzling as it may be. It being him.

His hands are knotted together, dangling between his knees, hiding. It’s always been like hiding, hoping to never be caught by the seeker. Yet when he’d glance in the mirror, all this time the seeker’s been him, wide Bambi eyes and his mom’s hips. Now, tonight, he’s stepping from behind the trunk of a tree, barefoot into the dew-wet grass, letting his sunlight—his Steve—see him fully.

Steve doesn’t touch him now. Doesn’t do that thing where he grazes his fingertips along the back of Eddie’s hand. Or force himself closer, glued from shoulder to heel. He takes a slow breath, sure. Murmurs, “Whatever you need to tell me, I’ll listen.”

Simple.

Eddie nods once, merely a dip of his chin and then back up. His eyes peeled to the mirror hanging on his closet door. Full length, spotty with sprits of glass cleaner he didn’t fully wipe, mismatched stickers and polaroids along the edges. A frame of memories. And he is within the center of it. Always at the center, even unwillingly.

Half of Steve’s body is in the reflection. His soft face and his splaying left hand, spread across his hairy thigh. Still dressed in boxers he borrowed from the dresser. Hair dripping on his shoulders, fresh from the shower and sticky with body wash. He smells like Eddie’s soap, some musky thing he bought in a moment of overcompensation and need.

Gotta smell like the rest of them.

“There are…”—he steels himself with a deep, strangling breath. It catches like a knotted net in the center of his chest; he’s a fish struggling in it; free me, free me, free—“…are some people who are…they don’t go with what they’re born with,” Eddie tries. “I mean, like, they’re not associating themself with what they were told they were. Y’know, the whole girl-boy thing.”

Something flickers over Steve’s face. His eyebrows furrow for a millisecond before resettling. 

Okay, so maybe he’s not doing a good job at this.

Doesn’t help there’s a stone ready to sink in his gut. A stone the size of the world.

“I…um…I was born a girl? Whole pink blanket thing and you-know-what between my legs,” he rushes out, words searing like the skin relieved from a quickly peeled bandaid. Can’t help himself, Eddie closes his eyes again. Doesn’t want to know Steve’s stance quite yet. Rather relish in the body heat and freshly washed skin and his boxers still cupping his boy, probably stretching them out enough they won’t be his anymore. “And now I’m, well, I’m a guy. I’ve…I’ve been a guy, Steve. For however long I could remember. Always preferred the tomboy look, y’know, wearing Wayne’s t-shirts when he wasn’t looking.” Restless, Eddie shakes his legs. He could make a quick exit. Go Roadrunner style out the patio door, skitter down the road until he can’t make out the Bimmer with his blurry eyes. He remains, though.

Because Steve does.

He continues, “I’ve been going by Eddie for forever. Picked it all myself. My clothes, the name, how I looked. When I looked.” His eyes open again, darting down to the floor. To his bare feet scrunched in the carpet. It’s funny, he thinks, his feet were the least uncomfortable thing about him; he had his mom’s giant shoes to thank for that. “I’m on prescription hormone injections, to give me that testosterone like you have. Had surgery on my chest, went out of state for it. Wayne held my hand the whole way. I just…

“I just don’t want you to be shocked by what you find. That’s…that’s why I’m telling you. Because I want to have sex with you, Stevie, I do. And I know you know how to please, but…I don’t know.” Eddie’s hair whips around his face as he shakes his head, clearing his mind as if he could erase the awkwardness from the center of his tongue, his spinal cord. “You deserve to know considering who you are to me, sweetheart. And, as much as it sucks to say, you’re allowed to feel how you feel about it. I get it. I don’t expect you to…to understand or respect me or…or love me. I’ll totally understand if you”—

“Are you still you?”

Eddie jerks at the sound of Steve’s voice. Warm and soft. He swivels his head, finally looking over, directly on. There’s a tiny mask of confusion. Otherwise, though, there’s a gentle smile and droopy eyes and a sort of proud adoration still aimed at him. The only thing that’s really ever aimed at him when it comes to Steve.

“Wh-what?” he manages to choke out.

Steve’s eyes dart between his. The expression he’s wearing doesn’t falter. If anything, it only grows stronger. More poignant. Realer. “I mean…I appreciate you telling me. That takes a lot of courage, I can get that. What I want to know, though, is if you’re still Eddie? My Eddie? The person I fell in love with?”

“You…you love me?”

Slowly and tentatively, Steve’s hand leaves his thigh, instead reaching for Eddie’s hand. When neither of them pull away, their fingers end up mingling together. Warm there, too. “Of course I do,” Steve whispers, “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.”

Blinking, Eddie sits stunned. “Oh,” he breathes. “Wow…oh, wow.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” Steve timidly, mildly says, “but I figured it’s important that you know.” He squeezes at Eddie’s fingers. Tight and sure. “Answer my question, though. Are you still you? The nerdy, lovable, perfectly-imperfect person I fell in love with?”

He swallows. “Y-yeah,” Eddie responds shakily, “I’m still me. Just, y’know, I’m a guy.”

“You’ve always been a guy to me,” Steve says, “I’ve only ever known you as a guy.”

“But I have a vagina, Steve. I’m not exactly a conventional”—

“That doesn’t matter to me. I mean, it does if you want it to matter for me. But…I mean, I may have always expected you’d have a dick. It’s whatever, though. Doesn’t stop me from thinking you’re hot or that I want to hold your hand or eventually, y’know, possibly get married to you. And…y’know, our relationship isn’t exactly conventional either, right? At least around here—here, in Hawkins.

“You’re Eddie, my boyfriend, and I love you. And we’re totally gay and into each other. That’s all that matters to me. We can get you a strap-on or something. One of those really realistic ones and you can do me in the ass. That’s”—

Aside himself, purely built on disbelief, Eddie finds himself full-body laughing. Deep and hard from his stomach. Weeping from the corners of his eyes, shaking with it. When he catches his breath, clutching his stomach, he turns to Steve again. “You’re ridiculous, you know that? Always a shocker, always in a good way. I don’t know how you do it.”

“Mm…I think it’s my charm,” Steve says around a full smile.

Eddie snorts. Sighs. “Wow…so I sat in fear for absolutely no reason. Shit.”

“No, you had a reasonable fear, I think. That’s a hard thing to tell somebody, I imagine. It was sorta scary as-is to tell you and Robin that I’m bisexual, even if I knew you two wouldn’t judge me. Think it’s just always gonna be there, the fear. But now you don’t have to be scared of me, baby.” Steve squeezes his hand again. “At least, I hope I’m somebody you don’t have to be scared of?”

Instead of words, Eddie leans forward. Enough to rub the tips of their noses together. He stops, drawing himself away momentarily, looking over soft line of Steve’s face. The gentle brush of facial hair freshly coming in. Raised moles, some dark in color, others light like sun-birthed freckles. His eyes are gazing out, purposefully and passionately. It dawns on him, then, why the color is called hazel; there’s a forest of hazel trees growing wayward and strong within his boy, growing big in the sun. He smells of musk, of ocean brine and sun-warmed sand. Soft as the bed they sit on.

Finally, he tastes him.

Parting his lips to lick him over, to squish, to move. Steve is plush and minty and crisp, yet warm. His teeth are straight where Eddie traces him. He hums, he sings. The tip of his nose buries into Eddie’s cheek, just under his eye, pushing deeper as if he could will them to get closer; as if he could bend the laws of physics, atoms and chemistry, to allow them divine perfection—to combine, to become one. Steve’s hands come to rest over Eddie’s chest, their fingers still tangled together, fingertips pressing for the shape of a heart, for the proof of life—the same life he gave back, restarting the very heart he finds.

To think his heart stopped for this man.

To think his heart resuscitated, beating and breathing for this same man.

To think his life is this now: simple.

With a minute, wet pop, Steve gently pulls back. When Eddie can flutter his eyes open, he’s already being gazed at. Half-lidded and fondly.

“Can I go further?” Steve murmurs against Eddie’s open, the words kisses.

Eddie nods. “Y-yeah,” he whispers, “not below the waist…not yet.”

In turn, Steve is nodding back. “‘Course,”—he punctuates with a peck—“of course, Eds. You…you have the power right now, I promise”—

“I trust you.” Eddie unfurls his hands from Steve’s, fingertips pressing lightly into the back of his hands until dropping them away fully. He reaches down for the hem of his t-shirt—a soft, blank thing from Wayne’s closet—and leaves his boxers alone. Slowly, he peels it away from himself, their stares remain locked on each other. Steve doesn’t drop his eyes, doesn’t even twitch for a look, but his hands do go back to his lap. Fingers dipping into his own palms, pressing against the residual warmth Eddie’s left there. Finally, when the shirt hits the carpet, he sets his hands palm-side down over his thighs. “I trust you,” he repeats, softer. He guides Steve’s left hand back to his chest, to his heart. “Take me to bed?”

With a hand still on him, Eddie leans down into his bed, scooting himself up the mattress with Steve kneeing after him.

Steve eyes are big and attentive, focused solely on Eddie’s eyes still. His mouth is closed, lips curled into a soft grin. Cheeks pushed lightly, flushed pink in the dim lighting. He takes his right hand to Eddie’s left, holding them tight, guiding them up the mattress to rest just below pillows. Gently, Steve is sitting on Eddie’s lower stomach, legs folded under himself, curling down to kiss once more.

It’s heavier this time, sappier. Steve breathes hard and deep, nose plunging for purchase, lips slick and dancing in a choreography he’s already practiced, but Eddie doesn’t find himself jealous—kissing back; no, the realization this is all for him now presses against him like Steve’s hand against his chest, careful and tentative, but sure. So sure. He can’t keep the smile off his face, lips pressed to his front teeth, mint prancing over his tongue.

The hand on his chest moves, sliding slowly upward. Tickling against his neck, gliding smooth over his jaw, cupping the back of his head, fingers buried into his wild hair. Steve’s fingernails are dull against his scalp, circling—he lowers himself down, back curled further, knees moving down the mattress until he’s practically laying over Eddie instead. He pulls back again.

Gazing at Eddie.

He places his free hand on Steve’s left side, relishing how it expands deep with each breath, his fingers slotting between ribs. Melding as if he’s always belonged.

“You’re still you,” Steve decides. “I just know you better now.”

Eddie’s breath shutters, gearing to cry even through the smile bright on his face. He wraps his hand further up on Steve’s back, pulling him in closer against his chest. Bare skin to chest hair. “Thank you,” he wobbly whispers, “I knew I could trust you. Even if I was scared.”

Steve pecks him on the lips, then again on his cheek, his jaw over the scar he earned in March. They trail further, the line of his neck, at the still developing Adam’s apple in his throat.

Instinctively, Eddie lets his hand fall back to the mattress, head buried deeper into his pillow, baring more of himself for Steve to reach.

And reach he does.

Over his shoulders, his collarbone, the sparse hair between his pecs, on his heart.

But then he stops, hovering. Left hand warm on Eddie’s bicep. Right hand still wrapped tight around his left. Then, he traces a finger along the surgical scars under Eddie’s pecs, light and careful—curious, too. His face is open still. Inviting and adoring.

“From when I had my breasts removed,” Eddie breathes, “makes me feel more like a man.” Steve looks up to him, eyebrows raised, lips puckered in a silent question. He chuckles, it’s wet and airy, but humored all the same. “You can kiss me there, too, you dork.”

Again, Steve does. Tender and slow, covering every square inch of scarring he can reach. Until he pops back up, eyes shiny with some emotion Eddie can’t quite place. “I noticed them,” Steve murmurs, “back when I had to…to give you CPR. Then, I think I was confused by them, but I didn’t really care because, y’know, I was trying to save you.” He sniffles, presses his lips over Eddie’s heart, like he’s remembering. His voice is quiet again when he speaks. “They saved you, too,” he says, even though it sounds like a question.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Eddie asks softly, tracing his fingers along Steve’s ribs. They shutter under his touch.

“You always seem so confident,” he states. “Because you don’t really have to hide, I guess. Or at least, y’know, not much anyway. You can just be you…even if you were you before, you can be a better—I’m not making much sense.” Steve shakes his head, lips smearing over Eddie’s chest. He huffs a sigh. “I just mean that the surgery obviously helped you. Made you happier.”

Eddie breathes a small chuckle. “Y-yeah, I guess they did.”

Steve rests his head against Eddie’s chest. Cheek pillowed where he had been kissing. “I’m glad I still have you,” he whispers, “that I get to love you now. Just as you are.”

“Me too, baby. I love you.”

His hand is squeezed hard, Steve’s fingers curling and tensing, palm sweaty against his own. He nuzzles against Eddie, placing his ear deeper. “Eds?”

“Hm?”

“Thank you for letting me see this part of you.”

Eddie’s hand drifts over Steve’s arm, the back of his shoulder, to his head. He cradles him. “Thank you for loving me anyway.”

💕—————💕

[thelamentknight]

Roman Larimar

Died at 7. Somehow managed to age to 19 (mentally, physically, and emotionally)

Male

German

Ghost

Pansexual

Aquarius

Says he’s from Meissen, Germany

Resides in Ramshackle

His Favorite Food is…Anything, really

His Least Favorite Food is Apples

Dislikes Dogs

Hobbies include Collecting nice things, learning flower language, staring at animals, roaming around places, raising flowers and berries, and collecting BJD dolls

Talent: Baking

He’s a ghost, so he has no UM

Roman is very protective of his sister Carmen, willing to fight and haunt anyone who severely hurts her. He’s wary of others, and it’s a bit hard to gain his trust. It’s hard to tell he’s cautious of others due to his friendly and caring nature. But once you earn his trust, he becomes extremely loyal to you. Despite his past, he’s actually extroverted and likes to socialize. He’s a curious fellow, and is fascinated with the world that is Wonderland. 

(Ab*se and Violent M*rder warning)

Roman is Carmen’s younger twin brother. Like Carmen, he was put to work as a servant by Ingrid, their Mother, and was also violently ab*sed by her. Due to Ingrid’s hate of men, she was much more v*olent to Roman.

Roman was not as good at the chores as Carmen was, and he got sick frequently. Finding him completely useless, Ingrid decided to k!ll him. So she fed Roman to dogs she purposely starved, and they ate him alive. Carmen was forced to watch it, and guards were holding her down as she was kicking and screaming.

From his d*ath, Roman ended up becoming a ghost. And somehow, he still aged normally despite being a ghost. So at first, Roman tried to haunt Ingrid, Diana, and Annabelle for ab*sing Carmen. But their anger from his haunting would be taken out on Carmen, so he had to stop. But once they dumped Carmen on the streets when the two (Carmen and Roman) were 16? Roman haunted those three every day until they were ass*ssinated. After that, he stuck by Carmen’s side (even though she was completely unaware).

When the black carriage came and picked up Carmen, Roman immediately went inside the carriage too, sending him to Wonderland. While Carmen appeared in the coffins, Roman ended up in Ramshackle.

Fun Facts:

+ Climbs the walls and ceilings like he’s a spider

+ He has a phobia of dogs 

+ Usually floats

+ Like Carmen, Roman is named after someone Ingrid k!lled while she was pregnant. While Carmen was named after a Latina Opera Singer, Roman was named after an Italian Apothecary

+ He’s a bit taller than Carmen

+ At first, he was stuck in Ramshackle. But by the end of Book 4, Roman gained the ability to float around wherever he pleased.

+ He has hair in front of his face so he doesn’t scare others with his appearance

+ Roman has been wearing the Ceremony uniform since he was transported to Wonderland (don’t worry, he does wash it)

+ Sometimes he’ll just stand at a random spot…menacingly (it’s a ghost thing)

+ Really likes Strawberry Shortcake

+ Wants to join Malleus’ Gargoyle Club

+ While he has no UM, Roman does seem to have magic

+ Sometimes he’ll just stare at someone…for a good while

+ While Roman was in Ramshackle since he was transported to Wonderland, he doesn’t show himself physically until Episode 3, where Jade and Floyd come in to kick Carmen out of Ramshackle. He hadn’t shown himself before then because he didn’t want to scare Carmen (due to his appearance). But in that moment, he appeared and tried to kick the Tweels out, to no avail. Carmen was forced out of Ramshackle before she learned who the ghost was. When she gets it back, Roman tells her who she is, and the two having a touching, tearful reunion.

Voice Claim

[sillied-too-hardxp]

[banner in progress]

--~~--~~--✧⁠\⁠(◕⁠ヮ⁠◕)⁠ﾉ⁠✧🔥👒🎩✧⁠\⁠(◕⁠ヮ⁠◕)⁠ﾉ⁠✧--~~--~~--

based on a dream from like yesterday lol

you are [Name] D. Monkey!

.

well...

[Name] Draco Wayne...... but whatever!!

you're finally getting adopted!

you didn't really like the house you're currently living in. they're either "too busy" or something to hangout with you! none of them aren't that interesting anyways...

you're sooo unbelievably bored being here. no one wants to interact with you... but Garp promised that when he adopted you, you'll never be alone again!! and that makes you very excited!!!

he told you that he adopted another kid named Ace! he has a cool ass name!! you couldn't wait to meet him.

.

.

.

tho... the butler here doesn't seem that excited. Al... something? you don't remember...

you guessed that's fair tho. you're the only "normal" kid(as he said) here. he always answered any and all questions you've asked! he's always been so nice to you... you'll definitely miss him when you get adopted!

maybe you could write a "thank you for hanging out with me!" letter? yeah! that'll be a good idea!! good job [Name]!!!

.

you begin writing the letter,

TANK U AL FOR HANGIN OUT WIT ME :D I WIL MISS YOU VERY MUCH!! - [NAME] :)

your best writing yet! (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

now...

.

.

.

when do you give this to him?? before? during? you don't know...

maybe you could ask Garp! but... wait he isn't here yet...

sooo you guess you can give the letter right now!

.

you run as fast as your little legs can to Al, with your backpack full of your things(which wasn't much anyways) to find him.

you running down the hallways, you accidentally bumped into d- di? you don't remember his name...

"woah there! um, what's got you running kiddo?" he looked surprised to see you, but whatever. you're never going to see him again anyways!

"soorry but i need to find Al!" you stood up and picked up your letter, and ran... again.

"Al?" unfortunately you didn't hear his unintentional heartbreak from hearing a nickname.

.

.

.

you found Al in the living room with... GARP! you screamed in delight when you saw him!!!

you bulldozed into his waiting arms, after hearing you scream. you're soo excited!!!! he's here!!! he kept him promise!!!

he hugged you tightly and spins you around, you both laugh.

after he stopped spinning and putting you down on your feet, dizzy. you remember your mission! you almost forgot in the moment.

you turned towards the butler(and his look of distain towards Garp) and with the letter in hand, reached out to him.

"HERE! FOR YOU!!"

"Oh? Really?" he took it from your hand softly, and looked at the contents of it.

"it's a thank you letter! you're the only one who hung out with me here!"

he kneeled down and hugged you. this confused you as he doesn't he seem the type to be affectionate.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more for you young master..." his tone seemed sad... but he didn't need to do anything? so, why is he apologizing??

"but you didn't do anything??"

he leaned back and pets your hair, "That's the problem... I didn't do anything..." his smile is sad. "To keep you here and happy. But I hope your new home provides you everything you deserve." as he stands up, he gives you something.

.

.

.

a 🍖 Pin!

you hug him one last time.

"thank you... for being here for me..."

you let go and walked away with Garp.

"BYE AL!!" as you screamed your last farewell, waving. you see him waving back from the manor's doorways. closing the further you go away.

.

.

.

.

it hurts to see you go. . .

but. . .

despite that ... you deserve to go to a loving home.

he knows Garp is a bit barbaric in his affection, but he knows you're in good hands...

.

.

.

he served with him after all.

[sonic-takeover]

it looks like both sonic and shadow r gonna be pretty by the end of this if shadow has a thing to say about it

And I do have something to say about it. *He's wrapped in a towel, his quills slick with leave-ins and oils. The bathroom is humid with steam from his shower and he has Sonic standing next to him against his will*

I really don't care about this stuff as much as you might thi-

Too bad. You're gonna have to do this if you wanna live. I showed you how to wash your quills properly. Now pay attention. *He starts doing his skincare, explaining every step. Sonic follows along as best he can. He's clumsy but doing his best*

*Sonic stares in the mirror as he rubs in his serums, amazed at his reflection. He looks just like Shadow, only with his usual green eyes where Shadow's red ones would be. His hands still as he admires his face in the mirror. Shadow swats his shoulder*

Hey. No staring. If you don't moisturize soon, your skin will start pilling.

Huh? Sorry, you're just pretty.

....... Idiot. *Shadow scoops some moisturizer into his hand and starts rubbing it into Sonic's face, way harder than normal*

Haha! Hey! What the hell?? *He tries to get away, but Shadow holds him still, squishing his face*

You don't get to stare at me that way. Got it?

Hehe~ you got to shower, but I don't get to look?

*his eyes widen, offended* I. Washed. Your. Hair. That's it! Ridiculous. *He lets go and studies him for a moment, then reaches out to rub in a piece of moisture he missed* hm. Okay. Now use a facial mist and you're done for skincare. *He picks up a bottle and mists himself with it, closing his eyes*

...um... Shads?

Hm.

I don't know how to put the red on my eyes.

.... Gaia help me..

[mostlyinthemorning]

Around Schitt's Creek in 80 Days 5.09

5.09 The MVP

David agrees to sub in for the annual baseball game, and Moira runs a rehearsal that pushes Stevie over the edge.

IMDB Rating: 8.2

Best line: We just need a body. // Then go to the morgue.

Celebrity name drops: The Pussycat Dolls and Nicole Scherzinger

Alexis's scary adventures: “Yeah, um, I was one of the original Pussycat Dolls, but it only lasted two weeks because apparently I’m ‘too pretty.’ But you just need to chill. If this is anything like my first afternoon with the Pussycat Dolls, it’ll be a couple hours of Kegels and then an afternoon of cheeky Bellinis.”

Behind the scenes:

Props (sort of):

David's clothes: United Arrows

Moira's wig (the layered look):

Video:

Bonus content: Behind the Episode - The MVP

Fic rec: Definitely A Thing by iola17

Over the next half an hour, Patrick learns three things:

Somewhere in this world there may be embarrassing photographic evidence of David Rose reluctantly participating in Little League.

David is skilled at many, many things to do with his hands but catching a baseball is not one of them.

Ronnie needs to lose this game or Patrick will never hear the end of it.

David Rose puts on a baseball uniform and shows he's not one to be underestimated. Patrick has Feelings about it.

See you tomorrow!

[sunnyxjarrus]

Issues #17, #18, and #19 are crazy am I right…..

…..um anyway additional highlights

starting with #17 because chronology

I really enjoyed this interaction

and this one will probably make a separate post on it(I’m also probably a liar who will just info dump and ramble to my bestie[or grandmother]who has no clue what I’m saying but that’s okay) and another one I saved from #18

We’re vibing it’s giving we’re in the between of reality and about to have little flash back moment also the color and art is pretty cool

speaking of flashbacks I really love the colors in these ones and she’s actually so cool

Get a hold of this diva ummm he should grow up to be a pediatric surgeon or something like that I feel like it would be good for him

boy grow up or I fear I will lose it this is not a look for you

Eek looks at him being literally perfect (yes I am aware that no character is capable of being perfect but he is literally a child and doing his best so…)

And I believe that sums up #17

Onto #18 which i just read today

They have a name for it

My boy being perfect again and this queen just rocking with a teen vigilante because someone should keep him in sight

Bros getting on my nerves but big brother has got Damian’s back

Screeching rn

Reality check for Bruce

Girlie fr just said all that into comms

#19

Bruce is so paranoid 😭😭😭 and Damian is such a sweetheart I swear protect this boy

I was thinking he was actually trying to do normal family bonding but nooooo he is stalking his kids conversations

But he’s so precious and look at Lucy she’s so cute

my boy cannot catch a break

all the panels I saved while reading the Batman and Robin (2023) run

I saved this one to get a better look at the collage around Damian

Again for a better look and also because my heart is actually breaking from it

Damian goes zoom

Damian is sassy

Nika and Batman

Damian doing things

Damian and dr Bashar and Emma bc he is struggling

Damian having an argument with Bruce