#makes you wonder how many times that happened

[kiemiu]

things matt does that makes you question your friendship | ( fem!reader ) fluff + soft hours. unestablished relationship headcanons wc 618 (library) + (request)

best friend!matt who's so attentive to your needs. he's always checking in on you, especially when you're out together. he'll rest his hand on your back before leaning towards your ear to whisper and ask how you're doing. during dinners with friends he'll look over at you and raise his eyebrows in question, waiting for your signal. if you're ever uncomfortable, he has no qualms about gathering all of his things and dragging you away from the chaos. your comfort is always above everything.

best friend!matt who adds love songs to your shared playlist. you both update your joint playlist pretty frequently, sometimes even sending the songs to each other beforehand. matt often will send a song with an attached message like 'this song reminds me of you' or 'i think you'll like this, just added it to our playlist'. you didn't notice it at first but once you started looking at the lyrics of the songs, they always mentioned love, infatuation, unrequited love, and more romantic topics.

best friend!matt who created a nickname for you that only he can use. he gets incredibly upset when someone uses the nickname he gave you, and even more upset if you let them. he made it up and reserved it specifically for you while making it known that you're the only person who has that privilege over him. he'll be giddy if you create your own special nickname for him, and will ignore anyone who addresses him by it if it's not you.

best friend!matt who doesn't correct people when they think you're dating. it's happened plenty of times, the way the two of you cuddle up to each other in public and have animated conversation that only the both of you can hear, anyone with eyes would think the two of you were dating. and whenever someone assumes, before you can interject to deny their claims, matt quickly throws out a 'thank you' with a smile before pulling you away and avoiding your question of why you didn't correct them.

best friend!matt who unknowingly seeks out your approval. after he makes a joke you're the first person he looks at, just waiting to see your smile and hear the familiar sound of your laughter. it always gave him a sense of pride when you paid attention and recognized him, even if it was for something as small as laughing at his crappy jokes.

best friend!matt who takes candid photos of you. it's always when you least expect it, building a lego set in the tranquility of his bedroom and you'll randomly see a flash out of the corner of your eye. at first you used to poke at him about it and beg for him to delete it, but it happens so often now that you can only grow a flustered smile, wondering just why he takes so many pictures of you. not realizing he has a photo album dedicated to just you with a matching wallpaper to prove it.

best friend!matt who can't get you of his head. he's surrounded by you, your face on his homescreen, the last hoodie of his you wore resting on the back of his chair, your hair ties on his nightstand, while one of your favorite childhood tv shows play in the background..he sees you in everything he does and everywhere he goes, and he makes it known. always sending you a small update text when he's thinking about you and sometimes a picture of what exactly reminded him of you. 'watching your show, made me think of u :) ❤️'

best friend!matt who is so utterly obsessed and in love with his best friend.

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 🥡: @emely9274 @ginswife @madifilipowiczslvt @chrisstvrns @conspiracy-ash @sturnina @lovetaylorrussellgrr @nervoussagittarius @sacaydia @chrissturnsss @hearts4werka @chrisprincesss @koilaniazul @chrispleasure

[subtextsays]

I hopped on their newsletter after seeing this vid. They posted this yesterday:

We’ve got a wild story to share, and some lessons to reflect on!

On October 23rd, we noticed things going a bit bananas. Sales were flying in, our social media channels were lighting up with new followers, and website traffic was off the charts. 

We were scratching our heads, wondering what on earth was happening.

Then, a call from our Co-Founder, Kim Beaton, connected the dots.

A lovely individual named Ruth, had shared a video of Kim presenting her famous tinfoil sculpting demonstration on the Weta Workshop stage. Kim does this talk weekly for hundreds of people, showing them how to sculpt with tinfoil, and then add Pal Tiya Premium to make weatherproof outdoor art.

People film Kim all the time because she has this magnetic, connective energy that excites and inspires. But for some reason, Ruth’s video struck a chord with TikTok and its ever-mysterious algorithm. It took off, racking up 5.1 million views, 134.8K saves, and over 4,000 comments (and counting!). We've shared it on our TikTok channel, just go to the reposts tab to view.

Here’s just a taste of the comments:

“Her presence is captivating.”

“Just listening to her feels like a treat.”

“I wanna be her.”

“This woman could teach me anything.”

“She’s my new Bob Ross.”

“I learned so much in such a short time.”

The comments confirmed what we’ve known for years: Kim is an unparalleled teacher with a rare ability to break down complex ideas into something approachable and inspiring.

This is one of the many reasons why Kim & Yvonne are creating the Artful Awareness Academy, a fusion of their combined 50 years of experience. With Sculpting the Sculpture and Sculpting the Sculptor, they’re putting their skills into one transformative place for artists and sculptors worldwide.

For Kim, this viral moment was a boost of joy and validation. Pal Tiya International has always been her proudest achievement and legacy, and seeing so many new people join the waitlist for the online course? It made her smile from ear to ear. 😊

But what did we learn from this? Here are our 5 takeaways:

You can’t control what goes viral. Algorithms are unpredictable, and sometimes, the right moment just happens.

Be ready for the spotlight. We’ve worked tirelessly for over a decade to create not just a product but a methodology. Building a foundation meant we were ready when people discovered us. This included countless hours of hard work, sweat and hot glue gun burns and yes, tears.

Believe in what you’re building. The strength and discipline to keep going comes from truly believing in your work and its potential to create change.

Passion is magnetic. When you’re genuinely passionate about what you do, it shines through and connects with people.

Keep doing the work. As Kim loves to say, quoting a Buddhist proverb:

“Before enlightenment, chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment, chop wood, carry water.”

And that’s exactly what we’ll keep doing: serving, growing, and sharing. We’re here for the long haul, and we’re so grateful to have you on this journey with us.

[readychilledwine]

Like A Boy

Summary - After putting up with Azriel's behavior for far too long, you begin to match his energy

Warnings - unhappy fated mates, toxic relationship, use of negging a partner, reader is slightly abusive but so is Azriel, implied cheating, based on the women in male fields tiktok trend, loose editing

A/N - This trend currently has me in a choke hold. It is so toxic. It definitely would not solve anything in a relationship, and I am blessed not to be in this type of relationship, but it is fun to see women serving these dishes back.

💙Azriel Masterlist💙Master Masterlist💙

Azriel wondered if you knew how smug you looked. In a booth with two males fawning and drooling over you while you casually manipulated them into thinking they had a chance. You had left your hair to fall in loose waves, flirty and framing your face. Make up was applied to highlight your best features: those soft lips and siren spell eyes. You'd even used your body butter that left your skin with a glittering bronze sheen. You hardly glanced his way while you played these two males. You were letting them buy you drinks, letting them compliment you.

It'd been going on about a week since you started this type of behavior. You not home when you said you would be, you'd come home smelling like other males, you’d come home and bathe before greeting him.

Each time he asked, you played it down, telling him you were tired, caught up at work, or he was imagining things. You were so smooth about it, so confident as you told him he was wrong, that Azriel believed you, nodding as you offered him lies and comfort before pulling him into bed with you.

He was seeing first hand now, though. As was his family. Cassian was clearly uncomfortable, Nesta and Feyre whispering to each other, and Rhys just smirking as if he knew what was going down. Azriel knew he wasn't innocent in this. Hell, he wasn't even innocent right now. He had a priestess hanging on his arm, attention he normally loved, but now, it was sitting like a rock.

While he continued to wonder if you knew how smug you looked, you smirked, knowing he was slowly becoming more and more angry based on his grip closing the bond slipping, allowing it to open.

He was angry. He was embarrassed. He was hurt. Hypocritical considering Gwyn was hanging on him as he watched you, teal eyes just begging for a moment of his attention. He smelled like her every day when he came home for lunch and then he smelled like Elain on the nights you beat him home.

You'd brought up his transgressions constantly, asking him to prioritize you and the relationship and mateship you two shared. But you two had gone from intense honeymoon phase love to roommates with benefits after the creation of Elain Archeron and the sudden appearance of Gwyneth Berdara. Anytime you mentioned moving back out, being just friends, he'd beg you to stay and lure you into false comfort until you caved. You felt trapped, but you'd found a way to push back with Rhysand's encouragement.

A messy bitch, that High Lord of yours.

It had happened by accident, Azriel finding you in an odd position with Rhysand after something had knocked over the ladder you were on in the House of Wind's library. The High Lord had caught you, but barely. He'd had one arm around your waist, the other behind your neck, his knee and powerful thigh supporting below your butt. It looked far more romantic than it was, a lover dipping their partner for kiss. Though Azriel knew deep down Rhysand would never step out of his marriage with the lovely Feyre, it did not stop him from starting a fight with you the second you arrived home that night.

And your response, “He's just a friend, Azriel.” Something he'd said to you many times in the past 4 years about Gwyn, about Elain.

You had told Rhysand about Azriel's reaction, the male originally joking about you beginning to flirt with other males to end this situation between you and the spymaster. The High Lord paused when he made that joke, though, looking at you with gleaming eyes.

The plan was born then. You would matching Azriel's energy at every turn and you played him off mastering his own tactics after being the victim of them.

You knew tonight may have pushed it. You looked good, you smelled good, you felt good. You left Rita's without so much as looking his way, putting your jacket over your tight short dress before walking through the still lively streets of Velaris.

You slipped off the high black heels you had worn, stretching and curling your toes before heading into the apartment you and Azriel shared to make yourself tea.

The biggest difference between what you and Azriel had done was that you never fully cheated. You never welcomed another male into your bed the way Azriel had been welcoming multiple females. But he didn't know that. He wouldn't care if he did. The males putting hands on you was enough.

You began the 5 second course down under your breath, leaning against the counter when you hit one and the door flew open before slamming shut.

“What the fuck was that,” he was fuming, hazel eyes almost blazing with his fury. “You didn't even look at us! You didn't come say hello! Do you know how embarrassing it is for your mate to be in the same place as you but act like they don't know you?”

“You said we weren't going out as a couple tonight,” you shrugged casually. “You said you didn't care if I went out and had some fun. I just went out. What's the big deal?” Another of his favorite lines.

Azriel made a stunned face, “The big deal is my family just saw my mate with two males all over her! My family-”

“I genuinely don't know what you are talking about. I had some drinks with some friends and came home. Sorry I didn't see any of you.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“I am. You are acting crazy,” you watched as another of his lines landed. “I think this is a you issue. Are you feeling okay?”

He realized it then, nodding, “You think you're slick, don't you?”

You only sipped the hot tea, shrugging again, “I think you're overreacting and being emotional over nothing.”

“You don't get to play this game with me,” he glared. “We are mates, you don't get to sit here and-”

“Treat you like you treat me? Oh, but I do, and I will until you either stop and we go to a priestess of my choice to work on us, or you get out of my apartment.”

“If I left, you'd have not-”

“I'd have a new male within seconds. You're here by my choice, Azriel. Stop forgetting that. You aren't that pretty, you aren't that bright, and no one will want a mated male long term. Comes with too much baggage. At least, that's what you tell me all the time, isn't it?”

His face fell further as the weight of what was happening hit him, “Baby-”

You hit him with the last of his favorite lines, “No, no, you think on that. I'm tired of fighting with you. Let's just go to bed. Maybe you will wake up less emotional.”

He watched in shock as you walked away, a gentle sway of seduction in your hips as you did. He moved to the living room, sitting down like you had many nights after a fight like this, and his brain switched from picturing you so smug to picturing you so small. Picturing you in the same position you'd just put him into.

Rhysand had warned him that if he didn't stop playing with you, Azriel would make you a monster.

And he couldn't help but wonder if he finally did and if it was too late to change it.

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[kngrose]

imagine a situationship with sevika

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au

AN: i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts ^^

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.

But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.

But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.

He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.

And then there was her.

It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.

You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.

You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.

How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.

You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.

She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”

Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”

But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.

She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.

The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.

You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.

And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.” 

“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.

You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.

The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.

You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.

The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.

And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.

There’s no turning back now.  

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[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[rothpie]

❝FIDELITY❞ |part8

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: slut shaming(?)

previous - next

Could you really call yourself an adult now?

I mean, honestly, is there some magical age that makes you a certified grown-up?

If it’s all about age, then nope—you weren’t an adult. Maybe a “young adult” at best, but even then, the life you were living? Let’s just say it was… a bit different.

When everything started happening so quickly, keeping up felt impossible. And let’s face it, that was normal. If you managed to juggle everything with calm composure, you’d probably qualify as Wonder Woman. Life came with its ups and downs, but throw pregnancy symptoms into the mix, and things got extra tricky.

You liked to share what you wanted with others. Talking about your plans openly was just how you were. It wasn’t about bragging; you just enjoyed sharing your happiness. But every single time—without fail—whatever you talked about? It never happened.

That Venice trip you’d been set on for the summer? Canceled.

The dream university? Rejected. That car you were this close to buying? Nope, didn’t happen.

It was like clockwork. Every time.

And the thing was, you never learned. Not really. You’d repeat the same mistake again and again. Life’s law, right? Someday you’d figure it out… though that day clearly wasn’t anytime soon.

Pregnancy, though, wasn’t exactly something you could go shouting about to everyone. That was off the table. But moving?

If you weren’t pregnant, there’s no way you’d have kept quiet. You’d have made sure the entire island knew. And naturally, that would’ve meant it wouldn’t happen.

This time, though, you zipped it. The only person who knew was JJ—and, well, he didn’t really count. Or, okay, maybe he did. Of course, he was important, but not the kind of person to stand in your way. On the contrary, he had your back. He even offered to help you with the whole moving process.

Things happened so fast, you could hardly believe it.

Your dad came home from his work trip, you visited the mainland, met with a realtor friend of his, checked out potential homes—it was like someone had hit the fast-forward button.

You couldn’t decide on anything. You were even okay with a cute little apartment. The list of occupants was simple: you and your daughter. You didn’t need much more.

Your mom, however, had her opinions. She didn’t want a mansion either, but she was firm about the house having enough rooms. One for you, one for your daughter, and a guest room—because naturally, grandma duties. And a yard, because she wanted to watch her grandchild play outside.

So apartments were out. Houses it was. After seeing what felt like a million empty ones, you were ready to scream.

But finally, you found it. The perfect house. The yard alone sold it. You could already picture the memories you’d make there with your daughter. Maybe a swing or a hammock… some comfy furniture on the porch.

You never imagined you’d get so close to your dream so quickly.

It had the three rooms your mom insisted on, was two stories, and honestly, it was beautiful. You loved it. But the idea of living there alone was terrifying.

Still, the deal was sealed.

It didn’t take long—two weeks, tops. When your mom insisted on hiring an interior designer, you didn’t argue much. Secretly, you liked the idea. And once your belongings were packed, it was all done.

All that was left was you.

There weren’t many people to say goodbye to on the island, which was, honestly, fine. Who were you supposed to bid farewell to? Rafe? His family, who didn’t even know you were pregnant? Your friends, who’d probably broadcast the news to the world? No thanks.

Except for JJ.

You’d have been a total ass not to acknowledge his help. Even if his support wasn’t entirely physical, his presence had been a huge emotional lift.

So saying goodbye wasn’t hard.

Ignoring the support he’d given you would’ve been dumb. When you decided to give him a nice surfboard as a thank-you gift, you didn’t overthink it. You just thought about who JJ was—someone who loved the ocean and surfing. Beyond that? You didn’t know much. So you kept it simple. Spoiler alert: he liked it.

You hesitated, thinking a gift might make things unnecessarily sentimental, but he deserved it. Nobody else in his position would’ve treated you as kindly. Even Kooks barely treated each other well. Expecting a Pogue to go out of their way for you? Yeah, no.

But JJ had.

You weren’t super close, but during one of your conversations, he’d mentioned how much he liked the rare nights when his shift ended early. He worked at a pub. In your head, you’d given him two weeks before he got fired—or kicked out after starting a fight. You were that sure of it.

A week ago, knowing the end of his evening shift, you parked near the pub, sitting on your car hood to wait for him. The plan? Give him the surfboard. Maybe even give him a ride home if he needed one.

Fifteen minutes passed. He hadn’t come out.

You started questioning everything—maybe you’d gotten the wrong day? Or maybe you’d messed up the time?

Waiting around for nothing felt miserable. You should’ve paid better attention when he’d been talking about his schedule.

Not that the gift had been planned or anything. The idea had hit you on a whim. You just wanted to do something before you left. After all, there weren’t many people to say goodbye to. And texting JJ a quick see ya felt way too impersonal.

“What are you doing here?”

You snapped out of your thoughts, your eyes shooting up from your phone. JJ stood a few steps away, mid-turn before he stopped and faced you fully. His eyes scanned the car before landing on you.

Quickly, you shoved your phone into your pocket. “Making sure you didn’t pick another fight.” Sliding off the hood, you smirked.

JJ rolled his eyes, flashing you a sarcastic smile. “Ha-ha. How funny.”

Unlike him, your grin was genuine. Why should he have all the fun pissing people off? It was your turn.

Unlike him, your lips curled into a genuine smile. Was it always going to be him getting under your skin for his own amusement? No, this time, it was your turn.

You heard him say your name, his tone serious. “No, really. What are you doing here?”

Keeping surprises wasn’t exactly your specialty, but you couldn’t resist messing with him a little. After all, this was the first time in days you’d left the house—and only in your baggiest clothes. Might as well enjoy it.

“Just hanging out.”

He frowned, his eyes scanning the area before gesturing around. “Here? Outside the pub?”

The confusion on his face was nearly comical—borderline annoyed, maybe?

You mirrored his glance at the surroundings, raising your eyebrows. It wasn’t much to look at. Just… a place. “What’s wrong with here?”

JJ let out a frustrated sigh, and for a moment, you couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to annoy him. He genuinely looked upset. “Are you serious right now? You—” He stopped himself, clenching his jaw as he stepped closer. Lowering his voice, he added, “You can’t drink. You’re not even supposed to be hanging around.”

So, he thought you’d come here to drink? That’s why he was so worked up?

It was kind of… cute. But poking the bear was way more fun.

You let out a dramatic hum as you crossed your arms. “Not allowed? Says who?” You tried not to laugh at the look he shot you, a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like you’d lost your mind.

“Me. You’re not drinking. Not here, not anywhere. Have you lost it?”

Your lips pulled into a grin, and despite his attempt to scold you, his irritation only made it funnier. Especially since you hadn’t even done what he was accusing you of.

The second JJ caught onto what you were doing, his annoyed expression melted away. As your laughter echoed, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. Hilarious. Now, can you just tell me what you’re actually doing here?”

You clutched your stomach, your laughter dying down into a lingering smile. Sure, he wasn’t amused, but you were, and that’s all that mattered.

“I’ve got something for you.”

JJ’s eyebrows shot up. He straightened, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You stepped away from the car’s front, glancing back to see him still rooted in place. You gave him a quick head nod to follow. With a sigh, he finally moved. “If this is a gun for self-defense, just so you know, I’m not really clear on the rules here,” he joked with a wink.

You snorted, shaking your head. “Please. If I gave you a gun, you’d be arrested in, like, two seconds.”

He laughed, but you could tell he was curious now. Opening the back door, you reached inside. “It’s a thank-you gift. Kind of.”The surprise on his face was priceless. He clearly wasn’t expecting this. Honestly, neither were you until the idea struck.

JJ tilted his head, his expression skeptical. “Thank you? For what? For telling you not to pick fights?”

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t be serious. “No, JJ. For helping me out.”

He smiled, but it was that classic, goofy grin of his. Any trace of his earlier irritation had completely vanished. He didn’t even glance into the car. “Oh, I get it. Like a ‘without JJ, my life would’ve fallen apart’ kind of thank you? Go on, feed my ego. I live for this.”

For a split second, you considered slamming the door and driving off. Instead, you laughed. Sure, there was some truth to what he said, but no way were you letting him win.

Taking a deep breath, you opened the door wider and stepped back. “Nope. It’s just a small gesture. Don’t read too much into it.”

JJ walked over and held the door open, his eyes going wide when he spotted the surfboard wedged into the backseat. His fingers ran over the smooth edges and the blue-and-white design. “You got this for me?” he asked, his voice softer now as he inspected it.

You couldn’t suppress your grin. “Yeah. I mean, I know it’s kind of random, but I figured you could use your own board for a change. For everything you’ve done—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “It meant a lot.”

JJ’s smile was different this time. It wasn’t cocky or teasing. It was genuine. “If I don’t take this, I feel like you’d be really annoying about it,” he muttered, pulling the board from the car.

“Absolutely. You wouldn’t want to hear me talk about how I poured my heart into its design,” you teased.

He froze, eyes narrowing. “Wait—you designed it?”

You smirked, holding his gaze. “No. But it’s nice that you believed it for a second.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head as he leaned the board against the car. For once, he wasn’t mocking or making jokes. Instead, he looked at you with something softer, something you couldn’t quite place. “This is… perfect. You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know. I just wanted to.”

He hesitated, glancing at the board before meeting your eyes again. “I was just trying to help. I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

And that was it, wasn’t it? That’s how it felt. Deep down, you’d even envied the way he was with his friends. He didn’t know you. In fact, he hated your group. But if he treated you like this—who knew how he treated his friends?

You weren’t used to people doing things for you without expecting something in return. Sure, you had a hunch JJ liked money. Not just you—everyone on the island knew that. But still, the way he talked to you, made time for you… it mattered. It broke the prejudice you had against him.

It wasn’t anything grand. He didn’t buy you houses or cars. He didn’t shower you with jewelry. But he talked to you like no one else did. He made you feel—like you were someone. Like someone whose decisions shouldn’t be dictated by anyone else’s words.

And that? That was worth more than jewelry. More than anything money could buy. It was something most people—Rafe included—didn’t have.

From the moment he heard, he didn’t tell anyone. What friend would do that? Ruthie? Sophie? Who?

JJ did.

And he wasn’t even your friend.

That’s why it mattered. He was just being himself, and you needed that.

“It felt like that.” JJ was holding the surfboard, his eyes catching yours. A strange silence fell between you. Neither of you had expected such a gesture—not just surfing, but the support he’d given you.

You hadn’t expected his support; that was his gesture to you. And he hadn’t expected a surfboard from you; that was your gesture to him.

JJ lifted the board to examine it, the usual smirk still on his face. He was clearly trying to ease the tension hanging between you. “So, I have my own board now, huh? I don’t have to give this one back, do I? Because when it comes to stuff like that, you’re pretty stubborn.”

“No, it’s yours,” you said, smiling. You were grateful for his teasing—it cut through the awkwardness. You could’ve stayed silent for hours. “But if I catch you getting into another fight, I’ll beat you with that board.”

JJ laughed, shaking his head. His gaze flicked between the board and you. He was ridiculously excited about the surfboard but trying hard not to show it. “Fair deal. But just so we’re clear, every cool move I pull off with this board? I’m crediting you. ‘Thanks to Princess for this wave,’ that kind of thing. You’re my sponsor now.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny his antics made you laugh. He was fun to be around. You were glad the whole “status” nonsense between you two seemed to be fading. It wasn’t just you—he had his own assumptions about you too. But it felt like you’d both moved past that. “Okay. Sponsorship’s over. Go find your wave.”

JJ carefully propped the board against the wall, his expression softening. “Jokes aside, thanks. I mean it. This means a lot. Just don’t tell anyone I said that—gotta protect my image.” He smiled, dimples showing as he ran a hand through his hair.

You smiled back, nodding quickly. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe.”

As you both grinned, JJ’s eyes flicked from you to the surfboard. Following his gaze, your eyes drifted to his hands, gently tracing the board like it was fragile.

“I’m leaving the island tomorrow.” The words tumbled out, and you saw his hands freeze. His gaze landed on you, but you kept your focus on the board, pretending to admire its design. It really was a beautiful surfboard. “So—I wanted to say thank you.”

His blue eyes pierced through you as if that was even possible. JJ didn’t say anything to make the moment heavier, just nodded. For several seconds, neither of you spoke. Realizing the air had gotten heavier, you shifted your tone to something more casual. “I could drive you home if you want.”

You weren’t the kind of person to offer, but making him carry a surfboard all the way home felt cruel.

JJ opened his mouth to respond, but a car horn blared from down the street. Both of you turned toward the sound. Outside the car, John B and Kiara were leaning against it, with Pope, Cleo, and Sarah visible through the windows. Pope waved at JJ from where he hung halfway out of the window.

When Sarah’s eyes met yours, you instinctively tugged at your shirt. There wasn’t anything visible, but still—you felt uneasy. “Wow,” you said, feigning amusement. “Your entourage is here.”

JJ hesitated, looking momentarily torn. Finally, he sighed, a guilty smile creeping onto his face. His gaze dropped to your hand still fidgeting with your shirt. For a split second, it seemed like he wanted to grab your hand, to stop you.

“Nothing’s showing,” he said, his eyes lingering on your waist. You knew that, but the idea of anyone finding out still terrified you. Especially someone from Rafe’s family. He didn’t want them to know, and neither did you. That’s why you felt the need to be extra cautious around Sarah and Wheezie.

“I know. It’s just—” You stopped, shutting your eyes briefly before opening them again. It was paranoia, but understandable. “Relax. No one knows, I swear.” His hand almost reached out to your arm, but he stopped, remembering his friends were watching from the car.

“Go,” you said, shrugging. You composed yourself. “Looks like you’ve got a ride after all.” You smiled.

JJ paused for a beat, then flashed a crooked smile. He hated the awkwardness lingering between you. “If this board isn’t as good as you said, you’re getting an earful. I’ll call you.” He walked backward, teasing. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

As you walked toward your front door, you noticed his movements slow. He stopped, turned, and looked back at you. It was like he’d remembered something he’d forgotten to do. Placing the surfboard down gently, his eyes briefly darted away from yours.

Then he walked up to you and stopped right in front of you. After a brief, silent pause, you felt his arms wrap around you. Was he… hugging you? Seriously? The gesture caught both of you off guard. You’d never imagined this kind of closeness. But then again, you hadn’t imagined buying him a surfboard either. So, it didn’t feel wrong. If buying him a gift made you feel this close, then it wasn’t strange that he’d feel close enough to hug you.

You returned the gesture, wrapping your arms around him. His grip was firm, and the scent of salt and ocean filled your senses. How did he always smell so much like the sea?

The hug was short, but both of you felt the strangeness of it. Once again—you felt like you’d crossed a line. Broken some unspoken rule.

JJ shrugged as he pulled back. “Yeah, that’s it. See you, uh… whatever.”

You took a deep breath, watching him stand there. You hated goodbyes. You were going to miss this island, and now—

“Yeah… goodbye.” You pushed your hair behind your shoulders, trying to steady your voice. You didn’t understand why you felt like you were losing a friend. Like you were going to… miss him?

Stop. Don’t even think about it.

JJ nodded, picking up the surfboard as he walked toward the car. You watched him for a moment before turning to the front door and stepping into your car. Through the windshield, you caught a glimpse of Kiara muttering something to Sarah. Whatever she was saying, you couldn’t hear.

When JJ got into the car, he paused, lowering his head for a brief moment before looking outside again.

He mouthed something to the group. Not to you, but to the friends in the car. “Just shut up.”

When he gave you a quick nod, you returned it before starting your car. Watching them drive off, you felt a strange mix of relief and melancholy. You’d thanked JJ, and that was all you wanted. It was done.

Except for the quiet ache of losing a friend.

You’d left only a few clothes back at the house on the island. The furniture and everything else stayed in your room. Your parents insisted the room remain untouched—they wanted you to know there was still a home for you there. They even promised not to change a thing.

The first few months were bound to be hard; you knew that. Living alone was going to take some getting used to. But you hoped it’d all be worth it when you finally held your baby.

Now, you were sitting on the couch in your new place, sipping a green smoothie. You’d have given anything for a coffee, but pregnancy meant sacrifices. A little caffeine might not hurt, but you didn’t want to risk it. The smoothie was healthy, though it tasted awful.

It had only been six days since the move. You’d allowed yourself time to explore the area, taking walks around the quiet streets. Your parents had offered to stay with you for a few days, but you politely declined. You wanted to settle in on your own. Leaning on their warmth and presence only to have it ripped away later would have made the loneliness worse. You couldn’t let that happen.

Morning sickness had eased enough for a few walks, so you’d wandered the calm streets near your house. Quiet, orderly, nothing like Outer Banks. You couldn’t help but compare the two. Everything here was different. The people, the lifestyle—it all felt so structured and tame. But a part of you missed the chaos of the island. The freedom. The absurdity of going to the store in a bikini without anyone batting an eye. That tight-knit community where everyone knew each other’s names.

You’d visited the local park a few times. It was rarely crowded, and you hadn’t met anyone yet. By the time you arrived, most of the adults and kids were just beginning to trickle in.

So, here you were: your own place. Did that make you an adult?

How did adults even make friends? Scratch that—how did anyone past a certain age make friends? As a kid, it was easy. Just ask someone to play with you, and that was it. Middle school? Same thing.

But now? You didn’t know a soul here. What were you supposed to do? Walk up to someone and introduce yourself?

Terrifying thought.

Still, maybe worth trying, right?

-

Socializing wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Your eyes scanned the park’s scenery. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze, and birds chirped in the branches above. A group of kids played in a sandbox, their laughter mingling with the faint sounds of distant traffic.

You clasped your hands over your stomach, exhaling deeply. “Maybe this is good for me,” you thought.

But the whole idea still felt horrifying. Sitting at home would’ve been worse, though. At least you were out, breathing fresh air.

Introducing yourself to someone, though? Out of the question. No anxiety attacks, but your chest tightened just thinking about it. No, you’d just sit and enjoy the park for a bit. That would be enough.

Your gaze dropped to the book in your lap: Healthy Nutrition and Development During Pregnancy. You fiddled with the corner of its cover. Would someone else find this funny? Carrying a guidebook instead of a novel wasn’t something even you would’ve expected a few months ago. But here you were, on the verge of a whole new chapter. Screw what anyone thought—you were preparing for your future.

Suddenly, the bench shifted slightly as someone sat down beside you. The movement snapped you out of your thoughts. You glanced up to find a middle-aged woman with an energetic demeanor. Her dyed-blond hair revealed a hint of gray at the roots, and a steaming coffee cup rested in her hands.

“Ugh, I hope I can finish this before it goes cold,” she muttered to herself before calling out to the playground. “Tati! No running, sweetheart!”

She waved toward the child before turning back to you with a wide smile.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” she chirped.

You gave her a polite smile, nodding. “It is,” you replied, subtly shifting your book closer to your lap. Her eyes flicked to the book in your hands, narrowing slightly as if trying to make out the title. “Is that a… guidebook?” she finally asked.

You tilted your head slightly. “Yes,” you said simply, hoping that’d be enough to end the conversation.

“A pregnancy guide?” she pressed, her curiosity accompanied by a cheerful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How sweet! Helping out a sister or expecting a niece?—Oh, where are my manners? I’m Viola.”

Her question caught you off guard. You hesitated briefly before giving your name. “Uh, no. It’s for me,” you said with a small smile.

Her expression shifted instantly. Her eyes widened, her grin turning stiff and awkward. “For you? Oh…”

You nodded, feeling heat creep up your cheeks. She had seemed friendly at first, but the subtle judgment on her face now was impossible to ignore.

“How far along?” she asked, as if the question was perfectly natural.

“Sixteen weeks,” you mumbled, pretending to smooth the book’s pages. The weight of her gaze made your skin crawl.

“Ah, so young,” she murmured, taking a long sip from her coffee. When she lowered the cup, her eyes lingered on you, as though dissecting every detail. “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Twenty,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral but feeling the words land heavier than you intended. You watched her eyebrows knit together as she took a sharp breath.

“Twenty? You look barely old enough to drive!” she exclaimed, clearly not trying to be subtle. Then, almost conspiratorially, “But… you must be married, right?”

Your hands instinctively moved to rest on your stomach, but you hesitated to respond. The silence must have been answer enough because her eyes flicked from your belly back to your face.

“Oh,” she said knowingly, her smile tightening further. “So… is the father still in the picture?”

What was this, an interrogation?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. Was it the tone of her voice? Or the audacity of her questions? Whatever it was, it stung. “That’s not something I need to discuss with you,” you said firmly, fighting to keep the frustration out of your voice.

Viola shrugged, but her scrutinizing look didn’t waver. “Fair enough. But raising a baby at your age, and without… well, you know. It’s going to be tough. Don’t you think this was a bit… impulsive?”

Her words hit like a cold wind. You tightened your grip on your stomach and tilted your head slightly. “That’s none of your business,” you said, your voice harder now.

Viola didn’t back down. “Yes, maybe you’re right. But people talk, sweetheart. And usually, they judge the ones they think made the wrong decisions…” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, they judge.”

That was all you needed to hear. You tucked your book under your arm like you were putting it in a bag, got up, and said, “I think it’s time for me to leave,” your tone colder than even you expected.

Viola raised a hand as if trying to smooth things over. “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” she said, but the look in her eyes betrayed the opposite. “I’m just saying this for your own good.”

You could shove your “thoughts” up your ass.

Turning on your heel, you walked toward the park’s exit. The sound of her coffee cup being placed on the bench and her murmuring words echoed behind you. A fresh start sounded nice, you thought. But a new beginning wasn’t a guarantee of escaping old judgments.

There was no way you were going out to socialize again anytime soon. You hated that woman. With every fiber of your being. The way she judged you with that smug little brain of hers—it made your blood boil. You had no memory of how you even made it back home.

You made yourself some hot cocoa, hoping it would calm your nerves. Honestly, lying flat in the grass wouldn’t have been enough to shake off the anger at this point.

Even though you tried to distract yourself—knowing full well that stress wasn’t good for the baby—it wasn’t working. The incident replayed in your mind on a loop. You were certain you’d shiver every time you walked past that park again.

Who did she think she was, anyway? How could someone pass judgment on a stranger like that? The sheer audacity—it was baffling.

The sound of your phone notification pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Glancing over, you reached for the phone resting on the couch.

You waited for a reply, but when nothing came, you set the phone down again. At least one of you was having a good day. Even though you felt like you were on the verge of exploding, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

The sudden ring of your phone startled you. You looked over, eyes narrowing slightly in surprise. JJ Maybank was calling you. Right now.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you grabbed the half-full cocoa mug from the table with your other hand. You weren’t going to drink it anymore. You were too annoyed to even think about washing it, but you figured you could at least move it somewhere out of sight. JJ’s voice came through the speaker, and despite everything, a small smile crept onto your face. For all his antics, he was a decent guy.

Heading toward the kitchen, you heard the cheerfulness in his voice as he began, “Used it this morning.” He was talking about the surfboard, excitement practically dripping from his words.

Frowning slightly, you placed the mug on the counter. This morning? Shouldn’t he have been at work? “This morning? Weren’t you supposed to be at work?”

There was a brief pause before JJ let out a muffled laugh. “Got fired,” he said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Honestly, with him, it kind of was. You couldn’t help but laugh a little.

You weren’t surprised—of course, you weren’t. With the phone still pressed to your ear, you wandered over to the window and glanced outside. “Figured,” you said, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

JJ didn’t miss a beat, his tone now teasingly accusatory. “Wait a second. Did you bet on me?”

Smiling, you shook your head even though he couldn’t see it, your attention momentarily caught by a cat wandering down the street. JJ cleared his throat, bringing you back. “No, but I wish I had,” you said.

His response came in the form of a dramatic groan. “That’s the meanest thing I’ve heard all week. You’re better than this.”

You turned around and walked toward the kitchen, your tone a little sharper now. “Get used to it.”

JJ responded immediately, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. “Never,” he shot back. Then, after a brief pause, his tone softened, but he added a teasing edge. “Pregnancy hormones have turned you into a completely different person. And it’s only been six days.”

The way he always knew how to push your buttons—and somehow make you smile instead of snap—was maddening. You found yourself tapping the corner of the table with your fingers, a habit you didn’t even notice until it happened. “I take pride in that,” you said, a playful grin tugging at your lips.

JJ came back stronger, more confident this time. “Hey, do you think it’s the hormones, or is it because you haven’t seen my handsome face for six whole days?” There was that familiar cocky tone, but you could tell he was trying to make you laugh. “I’d bet everything it’s because you haven’t seen my handsome face.”

“Even your surfboard?” you teased, your voice lifting just enough to show you were fully invested in the banter now. You moved toward the living room and dropped onto the couch, your gaze briefly flitting to the TV. But your attention was fully locked on JJ.

“Not a chance,” he replied instantly, almost defensive. “The board’s off-limits. Too precious.”

You chuckled, grabbing the nearby blanket and pulling it over your lap. “Then you’ve lost everything except the surfboard,” you said, shaking your head in mock disapproval. JJ’s laugh echoed through the phone, rich and warm, before he quipped, “You’ve been extra rude lately,” his voice carrying a mix of mock hurt and teasing amusement.

You didn’t just roll your eyes—you sank deeper into the couch, grabbing a pillow to prop yourself up. Of course, he’d called just to mess with you. Was he bored? Had he decided you were the best target for entertainment? “I’ve always been like this,” you replied with a shrug he couldn’t see.

“Nope,” JJ shot back instantly, his tone softer but still certain. A brief silence followed, filled only by the sound of your own breathing, before he spoke again. This time, his voice was a little more sincere. “So… how’s it going? Living alone and all?”

You didn’t hate that he asked. Actually, it felt nice to talk to someone. As an adult—or whatever weird in-between phase you were in—socializing wasn’t exactly easy. It hadn’t been easy on the island either, but at least that had been your choice. This wasn’t.

You took a deep breath, realizing the question was harder to answer than you’d expected. “It sucks,” you admitted finally, the honesty not surprising you in the slightest.

“Why?” JJ’s voice was softer now, laced with just enough concern to feel genuine but not suffocating. It was like he always knew how to navigate these moments without overstepping. And honestly, it was strange—good strange.

You tried to sort through the chaos in your head. “I don’t know,” you said with a faint sigh. “I haven’t really connected with anyone. I don’t know anyone here.”

JJ, ever the problem-solver in his own weird way, jumped in with his trademark ease. “Then make friends with the stray cats,” he said, that classic carefree tone of his bringing a smile to your face despite everything.

“I already have you,” you teased back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I couldn’t possibly betray you.”

His laugh from the other end of the line was contagious. “Not funny.” 

Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, you hesitated before mumbling, “Are you okay? How are you?” Somehow, over the phone, it felt easier to ask—less intimidating than it would’ve been face-to-face.

“I’m amazing,” JJ said, his voice taking on a flat, almost robotic tone that screamed deflection.

“Your ego is exhausting,” you retorted, matching his sarcasm. Why couldn’t he just answer the question for once? Did everything have to be a game? “Seriously. How are you? After… you know, that day.”

JJ exhaled deeply, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost reluctant. “I don’t live with my dad anymore.”

You sat up straighter, grabbing the remote to lower the TV’s volume. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Packed up my stuff and left.”

It wasn’t exactly shocking. In fact, you were relieved he’d done it. Knowing he’d been living with someone who hurt him was unbearable. But still, you couldn’t stop your brow from furrowing. You couldn’t shake the worry. “Are you staying with John B?”

JJ’s silence was unexpected. You listened to the sound of his breathing, the faintest hitch before he finally answered. “Kind of?”

“What does that mean?” Your voice sharpened with concern. Why was he dancing around the answer when he could just tell you?

JJ sighed again, his tone shifting as though he’d stepped further away from the phone. “They don’t know I left yet. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

He hadn’t told his closest friends? Why? They weren’t the type to judge him. You didn’t know them well, but you were sure of that much. It didn’t make sense.

Even as your worry grew, you knew pressing him wasn’t the right move. “So where are you staying?” you asked cautiously.

JJ’s tone hardened. “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” There it was—his three-year-old tantrum mode. Did he really think people didn’t have the right to worry about him? Idiot.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, already feeling your patience wearing thin. “As your friend, I’m allowed to be concerned about your safety, JJ. Just tell me where you’re staying.”

His tone shifted again, this time lighter, more teasing. “Friend, huh? That’s nice. Kook and Pogue forever.”

“Shut it,” you snapped, your irritation clear. All you wanted was to know he was safe. “Just tell me already.”

JJ paused, then let out a soft laugh—the kind you knew was covering up something deeper. Even a toddler could tell. “I stayed with them for a few days. Been figuring it out since.”

You frowned. That wasn’t a solution. “You need to tell them,” you said gently.

He responded with the same stubbornness you’d come to expect, but his tone hinted at a smirk. “This is my problem, princess.” Then, as if to shift the mood, he added, “This is the first time we’ve talked on the phone. Cute, right? Now, tell me about your day.”

Despite the worry gnawing at you, you relaxed just a little. He wouldn’t be joking around like this if things were terrible… right?

You hoped so cause—JJ is your friend.

[shanastoryteller]

Dean’s minding his own business, sipping on a beer and leering at the bartender, when a guy that admittedly has about four inches and a good twenty pounds of muscle on him storms over and shoves him in the arm.

He tenses, getting to his feet and preparing for a fight even as he’s wondering what he did to piss him off. Maybe the bartender’s his girl? Jesus, Dean was just looking, he can’t get mad at just looking when his girl look likes that.

“Dude, what the hell?” the guy demands. “I know you’re pissed at me right now, but just leaving me back there – do you know how many bars it took to find you? You’re a jackass.”

He’s not taking a swing, instead standing with crossed arms – fuck, this guy is huge, he’d really like to avoid a fight here – and scowling at him, his long hair falling into his eyes as he looks down at him. Dean wishes he had any idea what was going on right now. “Look, man, relax.” The guy’s eyes narrow, his shoulders lifting and expanding as he takes in a deep breath, as if he needs any help to look bigger. Before he can say anything, Dean adds, “I think you’ve got me confused with someone else.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Fuck off.” He presses his lips together, somehow appearing smaller in the next moment without actually moving. “Look, I know you’re mad about heaven, you’ve made that pretty fucking clear, but you can’t just walk off and turn off your phone. I figured you were just being an ass, but something could have happened to you. If you’re ignoring me, at least let me know you’re ignoring me.”

The guy doesn’t look like he’s tweaking, or suffering some sort of head injury. His eyes are clear and his voice is steady. But Dean has no idea what he’s talking about. “Dude, you’ve really got me confused with someone else.”

“Dean!” he snaps, which woah, okay, he wasn’t expecting that. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not laughing,” he says. “How do you know my name?”

He stares at him, uncertainty entering his eyes for the first time. “Are you feeling okay? You didn’t come across Zachariah or a witch or something in the past couple hours?”

He doesn’t know who Zachariah is, but the casual mention of witches makes him frown. Is this guy a hunter or something? He figures he’d remember meeting him, but maybe not.

“Everything okay over here?” Dad’s hand lands heavily on his shoulder, and Dean shifts enough to see him giving the guy a hard stare that has sent more than one man running in the other direction.

Dean almost rolls his eyes – he’s thirty one years old, he doesn’t need his dad coming over to save him – but he makes the effort so rarely that Dean can’t help but be warmed by it.

The guy pales, mouth dropping open as he stares at Dad like he’s seen a ghost. “You – Christo.”

Okay, definitely a hunter. Dad raises an eyebrow. “I’m not a demon.”

The guy grabs for Dean, yanking on his hand. Dean jerks back, but he’s already gotten his long fingers around his ring. He pulls it off and Dean is about to break his jaw to get it back, but he tosses it to Dad, who catches it on instinct. Dean doesn’t get it until he does. His ring is silver. He’s checking if Dad is a shifter, which okay, that’s one thing. Dean’s more concerned about how he knows his ring is silver. The guy’s voice cracks when he says, “Dad?”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re a little confused.”

“Dean, what’s going on?” he asks, grabbing onto the sleeve of his jacket. Dean should push him off. “What,” his gaze drops down, and if possible he goes even paler. “Oh. Oh, fuck.”

Dean looks down, sees the guy’s eyes stuck on his amulet. “What?”

“I don’t understand,” he says, biting on his lower lip. “Is this some sort of – but you’re still hunters. Is Mom alive?”

Dean flinches.

“Okay,” Dad says. “That’s enough. You walk this off or whatever, but you do it somewhere else–”

“Dad, it’s me,” he says plaintively. “It’s Sam. Your son.”

Dean doesn’t remember moving, only that the next moment his hands are fisted in the front of this asshole’s shirt, his blood thrumming under his skin. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up.”

He puts his hands on Dean’s wrists, stupid earnest and soft and Dean’s going to kick his ass. “Dean. It’s me. I have to exist in this world, right? The demon was after me, if I wasn’t here then there wouldn’t have ben a fire, Mom wouldn’t have died, you guys wouldn’t be hunters. I have to be around somewhere.”

Dean tries to shove him away, but he won’t let go of his hands. “Shut up! You don’t – don’t talk about my family.”

The worst thing he ever did, his biggest failure. Sometimes the weight of it gets to be so heavy that it feels like it should be cracking his ribs, pressing his heart until it bursts. Sometimes he wishes it would.

He swallows before letting go with one hand and reaching into his pocket to pull something out. It takes Dean a moment to see it’s his amulet, the one he’s worn since he was twelve years old, back when Bobby still talked to them. “My name is Samuel Winchester. I was named after my mother’s father. I was born on May 2, 1983. When I was eight years old, Bobby gave me this amulet. He said it was a protection charm. I was originally planning to give it to Dad for Christmas, but he didn’t show up. Another in a long line of disappointments, right? So I gave it to you instead. Because even when you’re being a jerk, you’ve never let me down.”

Dean’s eyes are burning. He tries to shake off his grip, but he won’t let go. Why is Dad just standing there? “Stop! Stop. I don’t know what game you’re playing–”

“No game,” he says, gentle voice a counterpoint to the grip that’s absolutely going to bruise. “I need you to believe me, Dean, please–”

“My brother died when he was six months old,” he cuts him off. “Samuel Winchester is dead. He’s been dead for twenty six years.”

His fault, his fault, all his fault. If he’d just listened to Dad –

“Not where I’m from,” he says, and it’s crazy, it’s all crazy. “Please. Ask me anything. I’ll prove it. Hell, let’s go to a clinic, we can take a DNA test. I’m Sam. I’m your brother. And I need your help.”

“You mentioned a demon,” Dad says quietly.

The guy, who’s not Sam, who can’t be Sam, tears his eyes away from Dean to look at Dad. “Yeah. Azazel. The yellow eyed demon.”

Dad rubs a hand over his mouth. “I never told anyone about that.”

Dean snaps his head towards Dad. “What? You said you didn’t know what killed Mom! That we were searching for it!”

“We are,” Dad says. “It never resurfaced again. I’ve been looking for the signs.”

The guy frowns. “He started up again when I was twenty two.”

“Not here,” Dad says, looking him up and down, something hungry in his eyes.

Dad believes him. Dad thinks that this is Sammy.

“Let’s discuss this back at the room,” Dad says. “Come on.”

He heads towards the door, sure that he’s going to be followed. The – Sam, maybe Sam, he rolls his eyes, but goes after him. He only stops when his grip on Dean’s wrist jerks him back, because Dean’s not moving, can’t make himself move. He flushes, letting go of Dean finally, but he takes a step closer. His eyebrows pull together in concern, and now that Dean’s looking, he sort of sees it, sees the planes of Dad’s face and his eyes in this stranger with his brother’s name. “Hey, are you okay?”

No.

“Let’s go,” he says, striding forward, shoulders hunched.

Sam falls into step beside him easily, matching his strides like it’s second nature. Dean swallows around the lump in his throat and tries to pretend it means nothing.

[caitified]

Hi can you please try to do Paige x reader wife. Where in they both want to have kids so they do IVF and after a year of trying reader is finally pregnant and Paige is so thrilled. Also, can it please be like first trim, second trim, and last trim until she gives birth? I hope you try this one out please. Thank you so much! And I just want to say how I love your witting!🩷

beginning

paige bueckers x reader

warnings:none, this will be the start of my new paige family series! feel free to drop ideas in my inbox. hope this is ok for you, i can into more detail if you’d like!

the first time you see the positive pregnancy test, you don’t believe it. after months of negative results, doctors’ appointments, and so many nights spent comforting each other when it felt like nothing was working, it doesn’t feel real.

but it is.

you call paige into the bathroom, your hands trembling as you hold the stick. “paige,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

she looks at you, confused for a second, before her eyes fall on the test. when she sees the two pink lines, her face lights up like you’ve never seen before.

“oh my god,” she breathes, taking the test from your hands and staring at it, her lips curving into a shaky smile.

“it’s happening,” you whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks.

paige pulls you into a tight hug, burying her face in your neck. “we’re having a baby,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

the first trimester is a mix of excitement and nerves. paige is constantly hovering, making sure you’re eating enough, resting enough, and not lifting anything heavier than a pillow.

“babe, i can carry the groceries,” you laugh one afternoon as she insists on hauling every single bag into the house.

“not a chance,” she replies, grinning. “our baby’s in there, and i’m not taking any risks.”

she spends hours reading parenting books, bookmarking baby names on her phone, and talking to your growing belly even when it’s too early for the baby to hear.

“hi, little one,” she whispers one night, her hand resting gently on your stomach as you lie in bed. “it’s me, your mama. i can’t wait to meet you.”

you can’t help but fall more in love with her every day.

by the second trimester, your bump has started to show, and paige is obsessed.

“look at you,” she says one morning, her hands gently cupping your belly as you get dressed. “you’re glowing.”

“i’m sweating,” you reply, rolling your eyes, but her grin is contagious.

she goes with you to every doctor’s appointment, holding your hand during the ultrasounds and tearing up when you hear the baby’s heartbeat for the first time.

“that’s our baby,” she whispers, her voice full of wonder.

she also becomes extremely protective. when a random person at the grocery store tries to touch your belly, paige steps in with a polite but firm, “please don’t.”

“you’re like a guard dog,” you tease later, and she shrugs, unapologetic.

“i’m just taking care of my girls,” she says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

the third trimester is harder. your back aches, your feet are swollen, and you’re more exhausted than ever. but paige is there for you through it all, rubbing your feet at night, running out to get your weird cravings, and reminding you how beautiful you are even when you don’t feel like it.

“you’re amazing,” she says one night as she helps you settle into bed, her hand resting on your belly. “i don’t know how you’re doing this.”

“because i have you,” you reply, your heart swelling as she leans down to kiss you softly.

she’s the one who sets up the nursery, carefully assembling the crib and decorating the walls with soft colors and tiny basketball decals.

“our kid’s going to be a baller,” she says proudly, and you laugh, knowing she’s probably right.

when the contractions finally start, paige is a mix of nerves and excitement. she holds your hand the entire time, whispering words of encouragement and brushing your hair out of your face.

“you’re doing so good, baby,” she murmurs, her voice steady even though you can see the tears in her eyes. “i’m so proud of you.”

and when your baby is finally born—a tiny, perfect girl—paige is the first to hold her, her hands trembling as she cradles your daughter against her chest.

“she’s perfect,” paige whispers, tears streaming down her face as she looks at you. “thank you. thank you for her.”

you smile, exhausted but so full of love, watching as paige presses a gentle kiss to your daughter’s forehead.

“we did it,” you say softly, and paige nods, her eyes never leaving your baby.

“yeah,” she whispers, her voice full of awe. “we did.”

[kaiser1ns]

The after-party was getting dull, and you were exhausted, longing for the comfort of home, the warmth of your bed, and the fluffiest blankets you owned. The soft mattress, the mountain of plushies—some gifted by Itoshi Sae, others by Michael Kaiser—called to you. Sae watched the scene from afar, swirling a champagne glass as he observed you and Kaiser sitting on the cold balcony stairs, sharing a piece of cake. The striker leaned closer, taking small bites as you offered, enjoying your company. The midfielder sighed and eventually joined, sitting beside you, which put you in the middle of them both.

A chilly breeze swept through, and you shivered slightly. Your dress, beautiful but strapless, wasn’t much protection against the cool air, though It was gorgeous, something you’d want to wear every day, but sadly, it was from a fashion house and would have to be returned. Suddenly, warmth settled around your shoulders. Kaiser had wrapped his jacket around you, flashing a soft smile before smirking at Sae. You didn’t notice Sae’s reaction, distracted by the night sky above. So many stars—a constellation not unlike the football stars in the team you worked for, Re Al. The best team in the world, a rare privilege you held, to be close to legendary players like Modric, Kroos, Ronaldo, and Zidane.

And now, the team’s rising stars—the Japanese and German prodigies, both members of the New Generation World XI, each easily affected by the other’s smallest provocation.

"Quick on the field, slow to treat a lady, aren’t you, Sae?” Kaiser teased, raising an eyebrow, and running a tattooed hand through his hair. The midfielder shot him a glare, moments from tossing his drink to wipe the smug grin off his teammate's face, but you interrupted, resting your head on Sae’s shoulder.

“Do you ever wonder… what life would have been like,” you murmured. The two paused their banter, curious. Snuggled in Kaiser’s jacket, you went on, “…if we’d never joined Re Al, or the world of football at all?”

Sae and Kaiser exchanged glances, taken aback. It wasn’t like you to ask questions like this, and you rarely drank that much. But when they looked back at you, your eyes were closed—not asleep, just calm, relaxing for once without making Sae jealous or flirting with Kaiser. For now, you stayed neutral. You knew you loved them both, but the question was—who?

A question for another time, you thought. Reopening your eyes to watch your breath form a small cloud in the cool night air. “Usually, both of you have something to say… so?”

Sae answered first, setting his glass down and absently twirling a strand of your hair around his finger. “I probably would have had a normal life. A happy one. Maybe my personality wouldn’t have turned out quite like this.” You hummed softly, glancing over at Kaiser, who looked uncharacteristically sad, and … upset. Had your question touched a nerve?

“Do you want to share, Misha?” you asked. He quickly regained his composure, losing his blue tie as he too looked up at the sky

“Probably a criminal, or something,” he shrugged it off quickly, yet the pain lingered behind his eyes. After Kaiser’s answer, a soft silence settled over the three of you. You could sense that this wasn’t the time to dig further; if he wanted to share more, he would. Instead, you shifted, resting your head on Kaiser’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close.

“There’s no salvation in the past,” he murmured, his voice low. “So don’t think about it. Focus on what’s happening now.” But his words drifted past you as sleep tugged at your eyelids. Kaiser noticed, chuckling softly at how peaceful you looked as you began to doze off.

Carefully, he nudged you up, steadying you on your feet. Sae, still sitting, glanced up at the way you seemed exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep right here on the spot as he too thought the same, that you were so cute.

“Might be the last time we have such a peaceful moment like this,” Kaiser said quietly. “Let’s bring her home.”

The two of them helped you down the stairs, keeping you steady. They’d make sure you got home safe and sound and hoped for no paparazzi photos first thing in the morning. Both of them here, looking out for you, felt like a gift from the universe itself—having them not only in your life but in your heart.

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[emmyrosee]

His foot taps anxiously against the floor of the flower shop, eyes glazing over the beautiful bouquets and vibrant colors that splash under the fluorescent lights that crackle above his head. The smell of so many flowers is getting into his head, powdery and sweet, but the nausea brewing inside of him is not budging.

He messed up. He knows that.

He also knows he relies on the bet that you’ll accept flowers every time he messes up, which while seldom, happens more than he still would like.

You deserve the utmost love and respect. And he can’t stand that sometimes, he feels like he can’t give it to you and has to hope flowers will be enough for your trust again, like a bandaid on a scraped knee.

After this, he’ll run to the bakery for a pastry, wrapped in a little box, waiting for you to enjoy it-

What is he thinking, countless gifts won’t make up for it, for all he’s done. You’ll never forgive him, each bouquet and each slice of cake when he messes up surely is only driving you away, and he cards a hand through his blonde hair as he has a small, teeny freak out in front of the display.

He looks to the old man next to him who easily picks out a bouquet of assorted flowers with a predominantly purple color story. The old man sniffs them, and smiles, before sighing happily. He turns to Atsumu with small nod, “think she’ll like ‘em?”

Atsumu tenses up before offering the old man a small chuckle, “sure is one of the prettiest bouquets in here,” he encourages, and the man hums as he looks around the boquete for any imperfections in the petals. “She’ll be lucky to have them from ya, yessir.”

The man smiles, “no, son; I’m lucky to have her.” He sighs dreamily, “there isn’t enough bouquets in the world to show her how much she means to me.”

Atsumu freezes. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, a lump forms into his throat at the man’s words. He tries to swallow it thickly, keep his emotions at bay before he wails to this strange man about all the ways he’s hurt you over the years and how always, he’s never been able to fully forgive himself despite you assuring that you do.

This argument would be no different.

Atsumu nods his head in understanding, “I think you might be in the same boat as me,” he says, wondering if this man too, is making up for a mistake he made. If this man is trying to repent, and the first way to do it is to bring her flowers, a symbol of a love he’s determined to keep blooming, keep alive, keep beautiful.

But maybe, just maybe, he’s not relying on the fact that flowers are an apology, perhaps they’re being purchased just because, just to make you smile.

Perhaps Atsumu should start doing that for you. Just something nice.

Something to look forward to.

The man chuckles once more; it’s raspy, like perchance he’s one to indulge in a cigarette when the craving arises, but it’s comforting, and for the first time in hours, Atsumu feels a little more at ease.

“At least we’re in the boat, my friend,” the man says. Atsumu swallows thickly once more, but he flashes the man a comforted smile.

“You’re right. We sure are, sir.”

The man bows at the blonde, “you take care of yourself,” he says simply, before coolly turning to make his way to the registers. Atsumu looks back at the boquetes and grabs one that reminds him of you; bright and pristine, like bubbles on a warm day, a warm blanket at night. Like the movie you can repeat by heart by now, but he’ll still watch with you like it’s the first time.

He smiles, sniffles and blinks the sting in his waterline, thrilled to be in the boat with you.

[whoreforsexymen]

Vander 🫗 | SMUT Headcanons

Pairings: Vander x Reader, Dom!Vander x Reader

Rating: NSFW!! 18+, MDNI ! You WILL be blocked.

Pronouns: She/Her + Female Anatomy Descriptions

Word Count: 898

Tags: DaddyDom!Vander, Spit play, Finger Sucking, Fingering, Crawling, Thigh Riding, Rough Sex, Dacryphilia, Size Difference, Etc.

Notes: Just some spicy Headcanons for our big, old, husky, bearded barman 🤍 as well as some for a darker version of our big teddy bear dad 🤍

- Vander is completely enchanted by your lips. Every chance he gets, especially when he cradles your face in his hands, he can’t resist the urge to brush his thumb over them, savoring their softness. It’s also no wonder how primal it makes him feel considering how your own natural instinct is to suck the skin of his thumb gently. Every. Single. Time.

- He can’t help but prod at them until you let him breach the surface. You’re always so hungry for a taste of him, no matter if it’s his cock or his fingers. Always so insatiable, and deeply unsatisfied until moments like these when you’re greedily swirling your tongue around his finger.

- He never wastes time in hooking his thumb into your mouth, toying with making you and your tongue slave to find it. The slickness of your saliva and the sounds that follow are nothing short of immaculate, a perfect blend of neediness and yearning that leave him desperately smitten.

- The way you whimper, and the way your thighs grind together to ease the tension and aching in your clit drives him to the brink—the sounds unraveling him, each one igniting the flames of his own aches.

- He wants nothing more than to switch his fingers out for his cock— but unfortunately, he wouldn’t be able to hear you as well. His fingers are slim enough to let the noise pass over them, but his cock would be a different story.

- Vander is a gentle lover by nature, but— like any part of nature, he has his more unpredictable moments. His ‘natural disasters’ or sorts. Though—you wouldn’t necessarily call them ‘disasters’.

- Just as easily as it is for him to spend hours tenderly ramming his cock into you, during more ferocious, needy moments, he’ll waste no time in fucking you senseless. Despite it mainly happening every blue moon, he knew when you needed it like this, and he knew that you’d be willing to take it on the days he needed it like this.

- You both have happily accepted that he’s a man with a wild side to be nurtured every now and then. And you’re so good at nurturing it for him. When laying in bed, he’s started fucking you from behind, quickly losing his patience for tenderness. He’s sat upright against the headboard, and pulled you on top of him, all without ever disconnecting from you for even a moment.

- With your back pressed to his chest, he cups under your knees, almost folding you in half from the way he gripped and pulled them back- as he started slamming his hips at a merciless pace. The angle had you practically foaming at the mouth, considering—with his given strength—he uses minimal effort to bounce you up and down to meet the way he was snapping his hips up into you. The way your ass bounced on his legs is a sight that constantly makes his dick twitch when he thinks back to it.

- The screams you could never bother to try stifling almost kept him up at night sometimes. Too many times have the recollections made him overfill a pint or two behind the bar counter, earning questioning glances from bar patrons. He can’t always help the way his mind wanders when he has you to ravish every night.

- Vander often says things like:

“C’mon Angel— Look at me while you suck my cock dry. I wanna see those pretty little eyes of yours.”

“That’s it— Attagirl. Atta-fuckin’-girl.”

Dom!Vander HC’s

- Will make you kneel on the ground, mouth wide open, pussy dripping, and leave you like that. He’d tell you that you weren’t allowed to swallow your spit. He’d then pull up a chair and sit in front of you, despicably far, and just watch you. He’d wait until your shirt became transparent from how much drool had fallen on it. Then—only then, would he speak.

- “Crawl…” he commands.

- You obey. You crawl to him, almost desperately quick, until you stop at his boots. He’d be tempted to make you grind on them, but he prefers his thighs for that.

- You crawl onto him, straddling one of his massive thighs.

- Just a few minutes into him making you grind yourself down on it, his blue jeans are just as soaked as your shirt.

- “Attagirl.” He’d coo as he’d start guiding your hips for you with his hands. It’s your fault if you think he’s going to let you cum anytime soon, though.

- When he halts all movement once you’re practically falling off the edge of your orgasm, he’d tut at you when you keep trying to desperately find the friction again.

- “Don’t you fight me.” He’d snap as you greedily tried to chase your orgasm, thrashing your hips around against his grip.

- He’d pull your hair and make you look at him, his other hand holding your jaw with contempt.

- Denial was his virtue. He won’t let you cum until you’re crying and begging for mercy.

- “Cry for me, Angel.” He’d command, needing to see the tears in your eyes while you begged for release.

- When you’d get too embarrassed to do so, he’d grip your face tighter.

- “Let. Me. Hear. You.” So you do. You let it out.

- And then—only then, will he slip his thick fingers in you.

- “Excellent. Such a good girl. Now. Get yourself off on daddy’s fingers, yeah?” He’d purr.

[zepskies]

And I'm SO happy you're back, my lovely Wayne!! Of course, you decide to spoil me with this review the minute you dip back into this hellsite. 😘

(yesss, and don't think I didn't see that chapter you dropped of Polaris! When I get back from my vacay I will be diving into that. I need to know what happens next with our favorite cowboy sheriff 🤠)

I'm very glad and grateful you made the time to start ESC! I had so much fun figuring out Russell Shaw and the Tracker cast -- especially with all them Deanisms. 😏

Diving into the rest of your awesome comments below!! 💕

First of, Professor Goldstein is a piece of work... 😒 I wouldn't blame her for spitting into his coffee every time he calls her sweetheart. But Russell, I see you. She's gonna be so annoyed with him 😂

Oh he's a piece of something, all right. 🙄 She could def pull a Rachel on his ass. And Russell...lmao, you already saw where he's heading with this. 😂

Ooooh, another professor character paired with some rugged Mountain Man 😏 I'm addicted to those couples. She's all business up front, and he's all party in the back (seat of his Chevelle) 🤪

LOLL the way it didn't even occur to me when I was writing this (at first) that I was writing another professor paired with a law enforcement (sort of, in Russell's case), man of action type, like in Take Me Home with Beau Arlen. 😝 I came at it with the thought of, "what if she was Dory's best friend, and they worked together at the university?" I must have a thing for writing nerds who get the rugged, sexy Mountain Man. Not at all fulfilling a personal fantasy.

UGH. The nerve!!!!! Massage therapist????? How about I step on your back with my high heels, bro... And then to go on about his trip and parasailing... Guess it's true. Ignorant people are happier 😂

Fuck YES, I'd be high-stepping up and down his spine fr. 🤣 Ignorance is bliss, I guess? 🤷🏽‍♀️

Or why are campuses so big in general? My university actually had several faculties strewn throughout the city. Sometimes it took an hour and several subway rides to get to your next lecture 😅

Oooh my God, now THAT's crazy! A whole subway ride(s)?? I've worked/gone to school on some big campuses, but that takes the cake. I guess you get your daily workout one way or another lol!

Please tell me Russell's in the room when she said that 😄🤞

Big YEP lmfaoo, and he likes her already because of it. 😂

Ooooh, right! I wonder how much she knows about the Shaws. Not something that comes casually up in the cafetaria I imagine 😅

No it would not, lmfao! But that is something that will be explored (how much she knows) in the chapters to come, for sure!

Love this whole exchange. You're making my dreams come true, babe 😘

Ahaha I had to do the little callback to sriracha fries (and figure out how tf to spell sriracha, first of all. 😂)

I keep thinking he probably has that look now because he was in the army for so long. Young Russell was pretty much young Dean Winchester in a uniform (hello there, soldier 😏)

Ooh that's SUCH a good point (and yumm). It's making me hope that we get a flashback of Russell in his military days someday in Tracker.

Well... It's a toss-up, I'd say 😆

Oh, very much a toss up/personal preference there lmao. I've loved Justin Hartley since his Smallville days as Green Arrow. 😆 But in this case, I felt like Russell would try to claim top billing there loll.

In. His. Car 🚩🚩🚩😂 If any strange man said that to you... 🚩🤣

Honestly, it's amazing how many red flags you ignore when someone's charming and handsome. 🤣🤣🤣

Well, at least, Colter has an Airstream 😅🤷‍♀️

Ha!! True, it's beating out Russell's crusty motel of the week by far, I'd say.

He is a professional flirt. Kind eyes...

Oh don't worry, we're getting to that callback. 😏

Dear God, he does not stop, does he? 😆 (On the show, I loved his persistence with Reenie too, even though it was mainly just to annoy Colter. But you captured him beautifully here with this sort of charm 🥰) PS: schmutz, schlep... I love the sprinkles of Yiddish in this 🤓

In fact, he does not! lmfao That was what I loved about it too -- like maybe half of him is serious, and the other half just wants to needle Colter. 🤣

Aw I'm glad you caught that! lol I'm not Jewish, but for some reason it just felt right for these characters. 💜

STOP IT! And he upgraded too!!! 🤣

He absolutely did!! And this time, it actually worked! 🤣🤣

I AM SO EXCITED FOR THIS! Gah, this was fabulous! I'm hooked! 😍👏 Are they gonna stay casual? Something about her brooding and reluctance tells me it's not usually her style? Which means, will he eventually settle? Get out of the dangerous hitman-nomad life?

Ooh my goodness, I'm so glad to hear that, friend! You're right. I don't think I full on state it, but "casual" is typically not her style. Also, Russell is Dory's brother, so she doesn't want there to be any weirdness or awkwardness between them if something happened or fell out between the reader and Russell.

She already knows his relationship with Dory is kind of fragile, in that they're still in that "reconnecting" phase. You'll see more of that dynamic and her thoughts in Part 2, but the rest of your questions will most definitely be explored throughout this little series. 😏

And then there's the stories about their respective families. We already know some about Russell's. How is she gonna react if she learns everything? And there's something odd about her private life as well. Can't wait to dive into that bombshell 😂

There's a lot to unpack there, right? There's a great deal that she already knows through Dory, and some things that are going to be revealed along the way...

Zep, my sweet genius Alex, you've outdone yourself once again. Bravo!!! 👏👏👏

You make me blush!! Thank you so much. 😭🥰 If you like this chapter, then I think you're going to enjoy the rest of the series. I hope it's as fun for you to read as it was for me to write!! 💕💕

A Line and a Half

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: When Dory’s eldest brother comes to visit her at Wyoming University, you don’t know quite what to make of Russell Shaw. But he knows exactly what he wants to make of you.

AN: Okay, here’s my first toe-dip into the world of Tracker with Russell Shaw! 1x12 gave me too many ideas not to explore this intriguing character. This is set before episode 12, but I have a little series I want to sketch out that will continue after this one-shot, so think of this as a “Part 1,” if you will. 😉

Word Count: 3.2K

Tags/Warnings: A kind of “meet cute,” attempts at flirting, and hints of setup for more to come…

You watched, silently simmering, as Dr. Goldstein added yet another packet of internship applications from his graduate students onto your desk.

Applicants that he, as the History Department Chairman, was supposed to review himself. Instead, he’d been adding these hours quite literally onto your desk. 

“If you could review these for me as well, sweetheart. Thank you,” he said. “Get ‘em back to me by Thursday, okay?”

As a Professor of History with two doctorates in your name, you once again grated internally at sweetheart, but you tried to keep that cringe off your face as well.

Goldstein barely even met your eyes when he dropped off his burden, and then aimed to leave your office.

“Uh, Paul,” you called out, raising a finger. You stood from your desk as quickly as you could in your pencil skirt, but the man was already out the door. You followed him out, your heels clacking on the tile floor. 

Damn it. Knew I should’ve gone with pants, you said, continuing to hasten after your boss.

“Paul! Just a second,” you said. That finally managed to turn the man’s head off of his phone. He glanced at you while checking his watch.

“About the internship applications…and your midterm exam essays for that matter. Don’t you think—” you started to say, but the man spoke over you.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to run. Meeting my massage therapist at noon,” he said, and rolled a seemingly stiff shoulder under his tailored blazer. “Something’s just not right here after my trip to Cali last weekend. I don’t know what I did, pulled muscle or something. But hey, they do say parasailing is a sport.”

You quirked a brow. “Do they?”

You weren’t sure that being strapped into a parachute for a nice air glide over the Pacific counted as a sport.

Goldstein shrugged at your question and he kept walking down the hall. Though he turned back to toss you a pointed finger.

“Need those by Thursday. Thanks, you’re the best,” he said.

You watched him go, as proverbial steam began to escape through your ears. Slowly you pivoted on your heels, and you went back to your office. You grimaced at the large stack of applications. You were pretty sure he padded them with an extra section of midterm exams.

Tapping your nails on your desk, you grabbed your phone next to your desktop and checked the time. 11:30 a.m.

Screw it. I’m going to lunch, you thought.

Dory had to be out of her Intro Physics class by now, which meant she’d be in her office, ready for you to drop in on her a little early. You took up your purse and almost made it out the door…but at the last moment, your anal brain made you turn back to grab a shoulder bag and the pile of applications. Maybe you could knock out a few during lunch.

Friggin’ doormat, as your brother would say. Laughing at you, probably.

You rolled your eyes and headed back out the door with your haul of papers, purse, work bag, and keys, locking your office behind you.

Why, oh why did the Sciences building have to be on the other side of campus?

It was damn near a mile walk from your Humanities building over to Dory’s office on the second floor. Your hands were laden with packets that couldn’t be contained by your heavy work bag, your purse was slipping off your shoulder, and these heels were killing your feet.

It was a miracle you and Dory had ever met on this campus. On your first day of teaching, you’d of course been hopelessly lost. Somehow you ended up at the tail-end of one of her classes in one of the science auditoriums.

She’d been gracious enough to help you, and even walked you all the way to the Humanities building so you could find your World History class before the students decided to just get up and leave. (And after fifteen minutes, they very well would.)

That day, she became your first real friend at Wyoming University. In the three years since, she’d become your best friend.

And now, her door was mercifully open halfway. You pushed it open and stumbled just a little from the transition of tile to carpet inside her office. Your papers nearly flew from your hands, so you struggled to right yourself and contain them all back into the semblance of neatness.

“Hey, girl. You better be ready for lunch because Jesus fucking Christ. Goldstein’s up my ass again and all I’ve had today is a crusty donut from the teacher’s lounge, which I’m pretty sure was stale,” you said, with your brows furrowed in frustration.

When you finally looked up from your struggles, you realized that Dory wasn’t alone. She smiled at you in amusement, sitting at her desk beside a man who made you pause. Your eyes widened.

He was leaning casually with an elbow propped up on her desk, dressed in jeans and a worn, pale green jacket—a good match for his eyes. He looked a little rugged for Dory’s tastes, but you couldn’t fault her, with the cut of that bearded jaw, and the smile raising the corners of his lips.

“Hey,” Dory laughed. “I see you’re having a good day.”

You bit your lip in embarrassment, probably smudging your lipstick.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve knocked first,” you said, though you could see she seemed to be having an actual good day. Office picnic? Or maybe the handsome stranger was getting ready to take her out.

Dory just waved you in. She stood and set a hand on her companion’s shoulder, and he got up along with her.

“It’s okay. This is my brother, Russell,” she said, and she introduced you in kind.

“Well, hi there,” he said. He subtly took you in with his eyes as he held out his hand. Already you felt your face heating up with more than just embarrassment.

You were a bit shocked as well, to say the least. Dory had told you some…interesting things about her family, including the fact that she had two older brothers. You wondered which one this was, the middle child, or the eldest.

“Hi! Sorry. Again. Nice to meet you,” you said. You tried to hold your hand out to reach his, but a few papers began to spill out. You clutched at them on reflex, but Russell drew in quickly to help you.

“Got yourself a load there,” he said. You agreed with an awkward laugh and a shrug of your shoulders.

“My boss’s idea of extra credit,” you said wryly.

“You can set it down on that chair over there,” Dory said, pointing to one against the back wall, next to a tall filing cabinet.

You and Russell meandered over and managed to set down the stack without casualty. You were able to pull up the straps of your bag and your purse from falling off your shoulder and give him a grateful look.

“Thanks,” you said.

“No problem,” he said, giving you an easy smile back. “I actually crashed in unannounced, so if you two wanna to head to lunch, you go right ahead.”

“Uh, no. I haven’t seen you in months! You should come with us,” Dory said. She grabbed her purse to join you and Russell by the door.

You raised your hands in placation. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude, especially if it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. You guys should catch up.”

Dory shook her head and grabbed your hand.

“Uh, uh. I want to hear the latest on Paul’s bullshit, and why you’re carrying half your office across campus. Let’s go,” she said, and gestured at your work bag. “Leave that here. You’re gonna eat and talk to me. No working involved.”

You laughed, but you agreed to her cajoling. With another glance at her brother, and those green eyes that seemed to be dancing, you joined them for lunch.

The three of you ended up at a diner that you and Dory frequented at least once a week. The food was good, the service was quick, and it was close to campus. Wins all around. Russell seemed to be enjoying himself, as he hummed in delight after the very first bite of his Philly cheesesteak.

“Sriracha on fries, huh?” you remarked, gesturing at the man’s plate. Your brow was quirked, but he shot you a smile.

“I said avert your eyes,” he teased. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, sweetheart.”

Ugh. Another sweethearting man. You narrowed your own eyes at him a bit. He caught the look and raised a hand in defense (the one that wasn’t holding his cheesesteak).

“Uh oh. What’d I do?” he asked.

“You gave her some PTSD,” Dory said with a laugh. “Dr. Goldstein likes to sugar coat his demands with sexism.”

Russell noted your souring look with apology. You’d just finished recounting your morning for your friend, and recapping years of “sugar-coated demands” for Russell.

“Why don’t you just tell him to cram it up his…uh…” he paused. Seeing his little sister’s look of amusement, he amended. “Or you know, stuff it.”

A smile twitched at your lips. “Oh, believe me, I’d love to tell him to stuff it. But he’s technically my boss, and the department chair. Even though I’ve basically been doing his job for two years now.”

“Well, that sucks,” Russell said. “And I feel for ya. I’ve had my share of shitty bosses in my time.”

You sighed and accepted his commiseration with a nod.

It wasn’t fair, but Goldstein planned to retire early in a few years. Must be nice.

When he did, it would make you the most likely candidate to replace him as department chair. The way you saw it, this was giving you plenty of practice before you (hopefully) inherited the position.

Anyway, you shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about it anymore. You were more curious about one Russell Shaw. You now knew he was an army vet, and he carried himself like one. Calm, controlled, even though his smiles came easy. His tousled hair and beard, while well-trimmed and neat, still gave him a roguish quality.

“So let me guess. You’re…the eldest?” you asked. You blotted at your mouth with a napkin, having finished your chicken panini.

Russell treated you to another one of those smiles, though this one held a hint of more.

“Guilty. Though I’m the handsome one,” he said with a wink.

You found yourself smiling behind your napkin.

“I’m sure,” you replied.

Dory rolled her eyes. “Don’t mind him. Apparently my brother’s an incorrigible flirt.”

He chuckled and sipped at his beer, but then he grimaced.

“Ech. Friggin’ weak,” he said. “I brew better than this outta the trunk of my car.”

 You raised a brow at that. “You make your own beer?”

“Damn straight,” he said. His gaze turned a hint more playful. “Next time I’ll bring you some. You can tell me what you think.”

You shared a telling look with Dory.

“Next time, huh?” you asked.

“Sure,” he inclined his head. “I pop into town from time to time. Gotta check in and pester my little sister, the physics professor.” 

He laid a hand on Dory’s shoulder, squeezing warmly. You could see the pride in his eyes, and it warmed you as well.

She turned to him with a smile, reaching up to cover his hand with hers.

“You don’t pester me. I’d love it if I got to see you more often,” she said.

“Ah, I know, I’m sorry,” he said, releasing her. “My job’s got me all over the place. But I’ll be here for a week or so on this gig.”

That intrigued you. “What do you do for work?”

“Ah, well, you could say I'm a contractor. Private security mainly,” said Russell. His shoulders shifted as he became a little more guarded, you noticed. “My company connects me with the client for as long as the job lasts. Could be a few months, sometimes a few days, depending.”

“Oh, wow. Do you live here in Wyoming?” you asked. He paused, but tilted his head a little, back and forth as he considered your question.

“I kinda bounce around,” he said. “Just go from one job to the next. Sounds a bit unorthodox, I know, but it’s a living.”

“Interesting,” you nodded, but inside, you thought that sounded like a hard way to live.

Unstable…and lonely. 

“You know, it’s amazing how much you and Colter have in common,” Dory said. She folded her hands on the table and met her brother with a pointed look.

He huffed in response, though he glanced at you, then back at his sister. As if he was saying, You really want to do this now?

Dory had told you before that Colter was a “rewardist,” or some kind of bounty hunter. The nature of his work kept him busy, and seemingly too busy for his sister. But you also sensed there was an edgier history here.

For the first time, you felt like you were intruding in a moment between brother and sister that went beyond words.

After a moment, Russell shook his head.

“Look, I tried with him, all right? He won’t talk to me,” he said. He went back to eating, polishing off his fries. He offered you one that was half-smothered in sriracha.

“Come on. Live on the edge with me,” he teased.

You eyed the sauce-covered fry in distaste, but after glancing up at his more playful smile, you accepted his offer. You chewed in contemplation, and found that the tangy hint of kick wasn’t so bad. 

“Eh? Eeeh? Delicious, am I right?” he said, his hands going wide.

You rolled your eyes, but you nodded in agreement.

“It’s all right,” you replied.

“Yes!” Russell’s hands swept up higher, like he was celebrating a touchdown. "See, I told ya."

You couldn’t help but laugh. Dory shook her head fondly and gave him a clean napkin for the bit of schmutz she spotted at the corner of his mouth.

“Here, wipe your sriracha face.”

“You really don’t have to,” you said, as Russell helped you gather your stack of papers and slung your work bag over his shoulder.

“No, no. I’m a bonafide gentleman. Ain’t that right, D?” he asked his sister. She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes again, but she did give you a knowing smile.

“Oh, his intentions are pure,” she said.

 And by that, you both understood her meaning. His intentions couldn’t be any clearer than a mallet over the head, but you kind of found it endearing.

This man really carried your stuff from the Sciences building across the entire campus to your office. All the while, he asked you about how you and Dory met, the kinds of things you two did together, and if you thought she was happy working here.

You had a feeling he was trying to learn more about his sister’s life. On one hand, it was rather sweet. On the other, it made you realize that there was distance in this family, both literal and figurative. You were glad to hear that Russell, at least, was trying to bridge that gap with his sister. Dory deserved to have more of that in her life.

As you explained to Russell while you led him down the hall to your office, your friendship with her had just…clicked. From the very beginning.

“Dory, you know. She’s more than kind,” you said. “She’s a real one. I can rely on her, even when I can’t rely on my own family.”

Russell hummed at that. “That sounds like a story.”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing away for a moment. You smiled and met his gaze once more. “Maybe one for another time.”

“So you’re on board with a ‘next time.’ Good to know,” Russell remarked. Your smile deepened.

It was good timing when you two finally reached your office. You unlocked it and let him inside, so he could set down your bag, and the god-forsaken stack of internship applications back onto your desk. You’d probably be stuck here working late on those.

“Well, thank you so much. You really didn’t have to schlep for me,” you said.

When you turned, Russell was a bit close. Not uncomfortably so, but enough to make a trill of something zip up your spine. You smelled more intensely his cologne, woodsy and warm. Looking up at him, you once again found his smile.

“It’s no problem,” he said, but his eyes met yours for a moment, as if he lost his train of thought.

“What?” you asked, a bit nervous.

“Anybody ever tell you, you got soulful eyes?” he asked.

It took your brain a second or two to compute, but when his words registered, you had to laugh. You held it behind your hand, while the other went to steady yourself on your desk.

 “Well, that’s a line if I’ve ever heard one,” you said, shading your “soulful” eyes with a hand.

You didn’t know it, but Russell’s face warmed in slight embarrassment. He recovered though, taking in your pretty laugh, and the shade of your hair, let loose around your shoulders, and yes, your eyes, when you let him see them again.

If he hadn’t known before, now he was convinced.

He wanted to see more of you before he left town.

“Hey, now that was 100% genuine,” Russell said, but his grin spoke volumes. When your mirth died down, he scratched the back of his head.

“Okay, cards on the table. Would you be interested in grabbing a drink with me sometime?” he asked.

You took in a breath at that. You actually did consider his offer, because homebrew and sriracha fries be damned, there was something more to him. It was lying in wait, behind those eyes that were drawing you in.

However, this was also a man whose job basically made him a nomad. It didn’t exactly scream relationship material.

Which only left the alternative: something…casual.

You just didn’t know if that alternative was such a good idea. Not with your best friend’s brother.

“Just a drink. No frills, no more grilling you about my sister,” Russell said, breaking you from your deliberation. He gestured a hand between the two of you. “Just this. You and me.”

Eventually, you sighed. Your lips raised into a more genuine smile.

“Sometime, huh?” you asked.

He smiled back. “Tonight?”

You hesitated, but despite your better judgment, you nodded before you could change your mind. You still weren’t sure what to make of this guy, but you were willing to find out.

“Sure,” you said. “Howley’s at eight?”

“Well, all right,” Russell said.

He surprised you by sweeping up your hand into his. You looked up at him, curious, but not wary. Anticipation tingled down your spine.

He pressed his lips to the back of your hand. Soft shock made your eyes widen as you blushed, feeling the subtle graze of his beard against your skin.

Who is this guy, Cary Grant? you thought.

But when he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe. Again, you caught sight of his cheeky grin.   

“See you tonight,” he said.

AN: He is beauty he is grace, he is Mr. Sriracha Face. 😆

Let me know if you guys liked this! 💜 It's my first time writing a character based solely on one episode, but next up is a series that will continue this one-shot. It's called Every Second Counts.

Next Time in Part 1:

“Are you absolutely sure?” you asked, with your hands on your hips. 

You wanted no miscommunication here, no read-between-the-lines mishaps, no subtext or nuance to bite you in the ass later. So here you stood in the middle of your best friend’s office, still on the Wyoming University campus after your last class.

Dory had to laugh at you. She pushed away from her desk and threw her hands up.

“Yes, for the love of God, you can grab a drink with my brother,” she said.

▶️ Keep Reading: Part 1

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

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@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

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@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

[vander-affectionate]

THE WONDER YEARS

single dad vander x kindergarten teacher reader (feat. the kids)

the first weeks of school are hard on everyone; teachers and single dads especially...

It's raining today.

A dewy, spring rain comes down to paint the world in it's base earth tones. Permeating outside and through cracks of every window in erroding Cerimon is the smell of petrichor and in one particular room - jasmine. While the rain can be hauntingly beauiful in the way light manages to cast itself from the blinking streetlights outside of Cerimon Elementary, it's presence in an already damp city makes things all the more gloomy for you.

It's the second week of school and one of the smallest girls in class has been grouped into a fight. Deaglan, or Deckard as the boy goes by, a second grade boy has been showing his colors early in the school year by picking on those older and younger than him at recess.

One of those students being Powder. Her actual name on the roster is inked out in a black line and in white letters in Times New Roman is Powder. She's one of the smallest in your class that hasn't quite settled in yet and one of the brightest.

She sits in a bean bag chair in the far corner of the room drawing in a composition notebook and occasionally looking up at the window. You've found that she's not actually looking outside when she's doing that, but instead observing you. She's a little behind in the cirriculum, but she's easily proving herself to be a hidden gem in her classes.

A different student, a boy even smaller than Powder glares all the time. Recycled through two teachers in the first week of school and you're the last straw if he "acts out". Beyond what other teachers say, he surveys book spines and never picks one up. He doesn't like speaking in class, but he never misbehaves outside of someone else picking on him.

Ekko. Always leaving an imprint in your memory, he's true to his name. A dark-skinned boy with brighter hair than Powder's. Ekko was the brunt of Deckard's terrorizing today and retaliated to the second grader's antics by tackling him to the concrete.

Powder happened to be nearby when this occured and began throwing rocks at the two until she was close enough to fully throwing herself at Deckard. It might be why Ekko hasn't stopped staring at her from his usual nook in among the beanbags near the Reading Tree, but you're not sure.

The sigh that leaves you when your eyes drift back to the window is heavy. It's only the second week of school and it's raining.

A knock pulls you from your desk and outside the rectangle window of the door is two boys. Unkept as most wild Cerimon kids are after school, but these two have scrapes and dirt patches on their clothes from jumping into the fray with Powder and Ekko earlier.

Your brows furrow in concern because the scrapes are still dark with dirt and they haven't been picked up from school yet. Most kids are picked up by their parents from school while others walk home.

"What are you two doing here? School ended almost an hour ago." Despite your concern, their open faces harden into glares. The sudden change has you wary and you tighten your grip on the door when you hear;

"Powder is here."

You raise your brows and lean on the doorway. They don't address her as 'snotface' or 'screw up' or the other questionable expletives they know. It's not the best sign, but you're not sure what to make of it.

"Powder is going home soon." You say, still blocking the doorway. You don't bother asking them how they know her because you don't want to hear another we're friends today. Too many kids come by trying to pick on your students. "Only my students are allowed in my room."

The skinnier boy sucks his teeth, more displeased than the other, and folds his arms. "Just let us in the shitty room."

"Not with that attitude." you sass.

He kicks the door and the toe of one of your flats gets caught underneath the door. You hiss underneath your breathand catch the door handle to keep it from working up the rest of your toe. You vaguely catch sight of the same boy wincing stiffly before they both go running down the hallway.

You don't yell after them. Just shut the door and avoid putting pressure on your toe as you walk over to the desk.

Instead you sit down and pull a first aid kit from underneath your desk. You don't get to kick off the flat when you hear a quiet voice.

"Did that hurt real bad?"

You jump a little from the voice's proximity. In one of the first rows, to your surprise, Ekko is crouched under a desk and he's squinting. Not glaring. The sight of him not glaring at you melts your heart despite the still sour look on his face.

You offer a bit of a smile and shake your head. "It doesn't hurt real bad. Thank you, Ekko."

He turns his head quickly and crawls underneath desks and chairs back to his book nook. You shake your head at his insistence to crawl underneath desks and chairs back to his corner instead of walking through a clear aisle.

You can feel Powder watching you, but you don't look. It's better to let her observe you than wear off her curosity. You doubt she has a shortage of it, but better to be safe than sorry and have her never want to learn in class.

A light knock on the door beckons you. You haul yourself up and test the capabilities of your toe when you walk (limp) over and open the door.

Standing before you is a girl with pink hair. You're confident that you've never seen her in your life, but she's glaring like she's seen you before. She can't be older than a third grader and her hair is an bold pink. Uneven in places like Powder and she's unkempt and scraped up like she's been in a fight herself.

"Powder's my sister." Is all she says and you notice a few feet away are the boys you saw earlier, sitting in the hallway and already looking this way.

Before you can get a word out there's a tug on the door and Powder is trying to squirm her way through. The pink haired girl softens immediately and grabs the hand almost as small as hers and you step aside to open the door wider to allow the two to hug.

"Vi." Powder sighs and wraps her arms around the girl. She hugs her tightly and buries her fingers in the uniform shirt of the older girl.

Four kids in your hallway and it's almost an hour after all classes have been dismissed. You beckon them all into the classroom, the four huddle by the table where Powder is. You get their names after they come in and find they're all siblings.

Powder, Violet, Mylo, and Claggor. Ekko leaves the sanctuary of his corner, bringing his beanbag into the corner a few feet by your desk when Mylo breaches Ekko's space by peering over a bookshelf to look at him. Ekko faces the wall and and keeps his book close.

Mylo scoffs, smirking. "Weirdo."

"Don't call him weird." You say sharply and all the kids look at you. Softer you say, "this is a safe place for everyone and we don't swear or bully here."

Mylo becomes tight-lipped and squints at you, kicking the desk Powder is drawing on before plopping down in a bean bag.

"Don't tell him what to do." Violet snaps and you hold her fierce gaze.

"If you don't want to listen to the rules, I can send you to the front office until your parents get here. Powder is comfortable with you here, but if you're all going to be a problem, you can all go to the Principal's office."

They all tense.

You don't like bringing up the Principal's office. It's a cheap trick to get students to listen, but your patience is wearing thin because you're here longer than you thought you'd be today. And it's raining.

Powder tugs Vi's arm and you watch them visibly settle down.

You get up and the kids in the room all watch you with rapt attention as you go to the bulky metal cabinets by the door. They creak in protest when you try to open them, but a swift tug opens them. You pull out a handful of fruit snacks and your other hand holds up a mini water bottle.

"I have snacks for the kids who let me give them band-aids."

All of them, even a hesitant Vi lets you clean and apply a puppy print band-aids to her scrapes and scratches. By the time, they're settled and patched up you're being visited, again. The metal door closer creaks loudly from being opened so harshly and your breath catches when a silhouette fills the door frame.

A terribly wet boot squelches when it stains the letter 'A' on the alphabet carpet and your face screws up at the sight. Quickly, you move in front of the door as a shoulder comes to light and a shaggy head of black hair follows, dripping wet with rain and the large man who completely barricades the door with his body. You reach for one of the books set on the desk nearest to you and the man scoffs. You would too if you were him. He's twice your size and the children's book in your hand will do little to keep him from wreaking havoc.

And still you brace yourself.

"Are you going to beat me with Juniper Johnson book?"

"Junie B. Jones," you correct.

You'd kick yourself for your choice of words, but you're shaking too heavily to be thinking about anything else but the kids behind you.

Violet yells loudly and unintelligibly, running toward this man and you're only able to catch three of the four kids in your classroom by putting your body between them and the large man. Violet manage to get through you by rolling between your legs and vaulting herself at his waist, but she animated flops against his front like a cartoon charactor on a brick wall.

He kneels and brings an arm around her, "Hey, Vi." he practically purrs with a smile, kissing her head and the normally very hardened eight year old animatedly smiles up at him and tells him about the fight Powder got into.

His nails are painted a baby blue in correspondence to the small girl who's smiling from behind your legs.

Their dad.

This is-

"Care to let my kids go?" the stranger glares over his daughter's shoulders and you recoil back.

[lexxiie]

Hey!!! I LOVE YOUR FICS AAAA

I was thinking of something funny and cute for jjk where the reader is hit by someone with a curse that turns people into their child selves for a little while, how would the guys act?

When A Curse Turns You Into A Child

This is like... The cutest idea ever????

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Featuring: Gojo, Geto, Nanami.

Gojo Satoru

He was actually a bit worried when the curse first hit you, especially since you didn't even remember him... However, now? He's not worried at all, he's actually quite amused.

"Pleaaaaseee" you almost cried to the tall, mean man in front of you. "No. No ice cream for you." He responded with a huge smile on his face, which only made you burst out crying. "Whyyyyy?" You asked him with a face now covered in tears. He actually didn't mean to take it this far, but he was having so much fun with this. You will definitely be mortified when the effects of the curse vanish, and the thought makes him scaringly happy.

"Fine, Fine. But just one, you have to learn that no means no." You didn't seem to care at all about the last part of his sentence since your tears went away immediately, being replaced by a huge smile that almost made his heart melt. He picked you up and headed to the ice cream shop. He never knew you were so spoiled when you were a kid, you never told him. All he could think about was how hard it must have been for your parents to have such a whiny child. But in the depths of his mind, he also wondered if it would be like this if he ever had a child with you, and the idea didn't bother him one bit. It would be... Nice, wouldn't it?

He got you your ice cream and took you back home. You played Mario kart for a little while, he won the first rounds, but you cried every single time, so he was now letting you win. Once the final round was over, he pretended to be sad to see if you felt a little bad, but no. You jumped and laughed and yelled at him that he was a huge looser. What an annoying little monster you were.

Nanami Kento

He is the most stressed he's ever been in his whole life, what is he supposed to do? He knows nothing about children. To be honest, he wishes your parents lived closer so that he could just leave you there and come back once the curse is over.

"I want my mommyyyy" you cried to the stranger in front of you. "I know, I know, she'll be back soon, you don't have to cry." He said as he wiped your tears with a handkerchief. "Let's do something fun while we wait for her." He tried to cheer you up, even as a child, he hated to see you cry. "Like what?" You asked, still sobbing. "Do you like cookies?"

Kento looked at the kitchen and sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen such a mess, but at least you were happy. "Are they ready yet?" You asked, jumping excitedly. "They are." The man said with a subtle smile. He pulled the cookies out of the oven and warned you about the heat.

Once they were cold enough, you both sat down and had a couple, you with a glass of milk, and Kento with a cup of coffee. They had way too many chocolate chips for his liking, but you were the happiest child he'd ever seen while eating them. You rambled to him about how much you hated broccoli and how you wished you could eat cookies everyday, and he realized he wouldn't mind doing this for more than a couple of hours, he might be a family man, after all.

Geto Suguru

Well, weren't you the cutest little thing to ever exist? He was amazed by this, it is definitely the best thing that has happened to him in a while. He was already thinking of how he would tease you when it all ended.

But now, he was way more focused on not pushing the swing too hard. You were having so much fun, but he was so scared you would hit the ground. Yet, you seemed to have no worries or fear, making your biggest effort to move the swing faster. "How about we go to the slide?" Geto asked, tired of preventing the swing from throwing you to the other side of the playground. "But I like it here!" You yelled, visibly annoyed that he stopped pushing you. Geto looked around to try to find something else. "Wouldn't you like to go to the roundabout?"

He didn't often regret things in his life, but he sure was regretting ever suggesting this. He thought you would get tired soon, but no. He had been holding his vomit for about 5 minutes now, but it was already too late, he gave up and turned around to let it all out on the ground. The mothers and kids gave him disgusted looks, but you bursted out laughing, which made him laugh too. It hadn't been such a bad day, after all.

[mkmas]

Jude Jazza - A story about a ruthless and arrogant man and an unfulfilled promise (JP ECB)

as usual I don’t own the story or characters, they belong to cybird. some things might’ve translated not as smoothly but i tried to get close to the original tone + eng isn’t my first language so forgive any mistakes ;-; also beware of some spoilers about his backstory

I wonder when it happened.

When my sister was still alive, she and I had a high fever.

(I was in so much pain l felt like I was dying.)

(I remember her asking me to distract her from the agony of the high fever.)

Jude: “What do you want to do when you’re rich?”

It was a playful way to forget, even for a moment, the pain of the day.

Jude’s younger sister: “Anything?”

Jude: “Sure.”

The pained look on my sister's face breaks into a little smile of joy.

Jude’s younger sister: “If that's the case, let's see… I want to go to the moon!”

My sister's eyes, which are the same amethyst color as mine, look towards the highest point in the sky. There, like a jewel dropped into the deep sea, there was a round moon floating in the jet black.

(...... Ha, the moon.)

Jude: "Idiot, even if I had that kind of money I can’t do that.”

(I've never heard of humans going to the moon.)

Jude’s younger sister: “But the Queen’s got the whole world on her palm, right?”

Jude’s younger sister: "If we can go around the world, can't we go to the moon?"

How much money does the Queen have? As I was thinking about whether it was really possible to go to the moon with that kind of money...

Jude’s younger sister: "Hey, brother, promise me. When you become rich, take me to the moon."

A human being going to the moon is a dream too ridiculous to be true. But my sister, who might die tomorrow, needed hope at this moment.

Jude: "I got it. I'll use money, magic, anything to get you there.”

Jude’s younger sister: “Brother, it's lame to think you can use magic.”

Jude: “Keep quiet.”

Jude’s younger sister: "I'm going to go to the moon. I have to get well soon."

Jude: “That's right. We have to get you better."

Only when I was with my sister, I felt something like the outline of happiness. Every time her small hand grasped mine, a warm feeling spread across my chest. But before the feeling of happiness could develop, I always felt sorry for her. Just when I was thinking that one day I would make my sister happy. She was bought with money, and then she died after.

And then I - I swore revenge.

By the time I started my trading company upon graduating from public school, I had the noblemen who killed my sister completely by the scruff of the neck.

Even though they were already busy dealing with taxes, it piled up even more with debt.

-- After their mansion and land were all seized, I went to meet the people who bought my sister.

Jude: “Thank you very much for your time.”

Nobleman: "W-what are you? W-Wa...!"

I grabbed the hair of the most pompous looking nobleman sitting in the chair as hard as I can.

Jude: “You guys are the ones who buy poor children and make them do bad things."

Jude: “There's no point in trying to make excuses. Everything can be backed up."

The nobleman’s eyes widen as I flung the report that contains numerous misdeeds I’ve already investigated.

I dragged him down and stamped on his head as hard as I can with my shoe.

Jude: "Confess. A few years ago, you bought a kid with asthma from a longshoreman."

Nobleman: “Well that’s… Uh.”

Jude: “Confess…!”

No matter how much I hurt them, the noblemen didn't speak.

Then I realized.

They really don’t remember.

When I threatened the servant, he trembled and spilled everything.

Servant: “I buried so many people in the garden that I can't remember who's who…”

When I headed for the garden of the beautiful mansion, I found that only one corner had been dug up in an unnatural manner.

Jude: “…….”

-- So so many. I sit in front of one of the piles and gently touched it with my fingertips.

Jude: “Brother is here... Answer me.”

I didn’t hear anything.

I didn’t even know if she was here.

All I know is that it was already too late.

So then I introduced the nobles to my father and brother, who were still working at the port, sipping muddy water.

(Isn't it great to do hard physical labor with the person you sold your daughter to?)

I had my subordinates watch over as they were weakened by the humiliation of the harsh labor.

I did nothing, I just watched.

Soon after, the nobles, my father, and my brother were all dead.

I killed them all.

-……De.

-……Jude.

Ellis: “Jude.”

(Ellis….?)

(……Ah, I fell asleep.)

It seems that because I didn't get enough sleep, I passed out while sitting.

(--- Even if it's)

Ellis: “What kind of dream was it?”

Jude: “Hah?”

Ellis: “You sounded like you had a nightmare.”**

Jude: “It was a shitty dream.”

Ellis: “I see. Jude is unhappy even in his dreams.”

Jude: “Shut up dumbass.”

Ellis smiles and looks somewhere else.

When I followed Ellis' line of sight, I saw a full moon floating there.

Ellis: "I guess Jude won't be happy until he gets to that moon."

(I know the truth. Even if I went to that moon, I wouldn't be happy.)

My sister whom I promised to is dead.

I can't take her to the moon.

The crazy dream I have is a promise that will never come true.

Ellis: "Hey, Jude. Can you breathe on the moon?"

Jude: “Ah?”

Ellis: "I'm just worried if Jude dies there before I can kill him."

Jude: “You really are fucking crazy. It can’t be helped.”

Still, I only have this promise.

That's why—.

(Someday I'll go to the moon.)

**Just in case this small detail matters (not really but) he was making sounds like people usually having nightmares do. i bet he gets these nightmares often;-;**

*If anything got deleted and i didn’t notice it’s probably tumblr being weird on my ipad bc of storage ahajaj)

TN: OK wow after reading his backstories… my crack theory about jude and the moon some time ago turned out to be at least 70% right? also jude has always been pretty snarky/sarcastic haha even to his younger sister (a little) i have a loooot of thoughts on his backstory but ill dump it after finishing his route. it really is dark and horrible how the rich people bought children and just…. did all that…. i support jude torturing crazy nobles 🙂‍↕️

[bluedalahorse]

I feel like there’s some meaningful stuff here about Sara and August’s relationship, so I wanted to reblog and lift those up here! Sara has traditionally been unfairly slammed by the fandom, even though her actions were meaningfully different from August’s in season 2. And a lot of times saraugust is held up as this ontologically evil foil to wilmon, even though both pairings juxtapose the capacity to be sweet and loving with some pretty intense teenage flaws.

Personally, while I understand why they happen, I’ve always been a little wary of discussions of “is Sara a bad person/is August a bad person.” I understand why this framing works for some fans, but it doesn’t work for me. Mostly because a while back, Omar was talking in an interview, and he talked about Lisa’s writing philosophy being that there aren’t good and bad people in her stories, there are people in her stories who are capable of good and bad actions. Now, authorial intent can only go so far, I get that. But I do think this is a theme that underpins the series. I think they did a great job of showing Sara’s complexity and growth over the season. I do think there were some fumbles to August’s writing in season 3 that led a portion of the audience to believe he never changed, ever, over the course of the series. I think the show would have benefitted from him and Simon having a chance to do restorative work outside of their relationships with Wille. At the same time, I don’t think season 3 was without growth for August. @sflow-er’s post on the Fleabag parallel does a great job of breaking down August’s arc. I’m not saying any of this negates the harm August does—far from it—but I do think the show is inviting us to envision a better future for August where he grows and changes, especially in our fanworks.

And that’s what I want to talk about in this reblog: fanworks. It’s been a long time since people were acknowledging the saraugust nuance in season 2, and ultimately how fascinating the pairing is, but there’s still only 96 fics tagged Sara/August on AO3 and only a few are actually about them.

I think, what I’m sad about most when it comes to Young Royals fandom, is that there is no fanworks community around Sara and August the way there is for wilmon, at least on tumblr. There are individual people who are interested in their dynamic, and some of them create fanworks from time to time, and some of us reach out to one another and have meaningful and wonderful one-on-one conversations in our inboxes. But there’s very few reblog chains about them where people are just expressing fun headcanons, there’s very little circulating fanart, there’s some gifsets and edits but they don’t circulate as frequently, no fandom events or challenges themed around them, no following and cheering on of Malte and Frida’s careers, (to my knowledge) no epic multichapter saraugust fics we discuss together and swoon over and make starry eyes over.

To be clear: I don’t think I’d ever expect saragust to have the same size of following wilmon does. There are many factors that make wilmon more popular, first and foremost being that August does real legitimate harm and is annoying and kind of sucks. Like, hey! I get it! Not everyone is going to like him, and that’s perfectly okay. And then there’s the fact that not everyone who’s drawn to an m/m show is going to feel excited to ship a f/m pairing. As @crownedwille points out, fandoms sure can do some stuff when female characters are involved. Of course saraugust will get smaller numbers.

But as someone who’s been tracking the saraugust breadcrumbs in fandom for a while, and has been following their tag on AO3, what I’m noticing is not exactly a natural absence of interest in the pairing. It’s more like I see a lot of people who have an interest in the characters and the dynamics, but something about the way YR fandom interacts socially reinforces the notion that you keep your saraugust feelings to yourself. Or, for a while if you were expressing those feelings, you were encouraged to express them in ways that are full of apologies and disclaimers. When you’re spending all your time doing that, it becomes a lot harder to create fanworks. Like, even in the tags of this post, I see a lot of people saying they liked them or found them interesting or cute or they’re hooked in by the drama or whatever else! Clearly the enjoyers exist and are out there. I think the discourse (and the harassment of actors/writers/creative team on social media) has died down a lot since the finale and there’s more space to like the characters, but I also think that some of the patterns of fandom interaction that sprung up post-S2 have had a continued impact on how people express themselves.

And yes, it’s important to be mindful of the morally dubious sides of this pairing, but we can do that while creating space for people to openly enjoy it through fic and headcanons and edits and such the way that many people in the fandom openly enjoy wilmon, even if it’s a smaller group of us. (Heck, some people enjoy saraugust because of the moral dubiousness and that is part of a Valid Fandom Tradition of enjoying morally dubious pairings.)

As someone who’s currently feeling a little burned out on wilmon by itself and doesn’t really have a desire to read works centered on them, but who’s still in love with the broader YR world and its characters, especially my two favorite characters—I am desperate for a little bit less saraugust discourse and a little bit more joyous fannishness about them. I’m not entirely sure how to make that happen. I’ve been writing fic, blogging about the characters, creating ask games, posting pictures of the plushies, and also doing some other stuff behind the scenes. But I often don’t post or reblog as much as I could for fear of discourse returning, and I feel disconnected from fandom most of the time, even though I have some strong individual ties to individual people. (I also feel like I may have burned some bridges at times when I was upset.) It’s a bit of a sisyphean conundrum, isn’t it? I wish I could wave a magic wand and make more fanworks and community happen around this pairing in particular, but also around other pairings and characters on the show for the fans who want those other pairings and characters. I just wish there was a little more variety in the characters and pairings talked about.

Anyway, I don’t have any answers and it’s time for me to acquire groceries for the week, so. Blue out.

There's so much discourse around Sara and August. Whether they were good together or not. Whether they loved each other or not.

What we tend to overlook is the fact that they talked to each other. Enough that they knew each other.

He wanted someone to talk to and he thought about her. So he went to find her and he knew to find her in the stables. Then he immediately proved to her that he was someone "safe" by petting her horse. She misunderstood his invitation that evening but he didn't make her feel bad about it. We know she talked to him about the Felice Horse Selling Thing™️ because when she comes to say that Felice was officially selling the horse, he just said "I thought you already knew that" because she had already told him.

Sara talked to August. The same why August talked to Sara. He opened up about the drugs and why he used them. He opened up about being Wilhelm's back up. He opened up about his guilt and about feeling like a horrible person.

She talked to him about her horse and about Felice. Two things that she considers the most important in her life. She also opens up to him about wanting to fit in. Wanting to "be like him" meaning that she wanted to be like the Hillerska crowd.

They talked to each other.

So like, yes, they did horrible things. They are bad people. But they aren’t incapable of caring. And they aren't entirely self centered. That's what makes their individual betrayals even more heartbreaking. Because we know they're capable of caring and they made the choices they did anyway.