#I don’t mind small concepts in my inbox

[driverlando]

took a well deserved break from writing requests for a day and now I have 30 in my inbox lol, I think I’ll be closing the requests now, a day earlier then planned. I hope that’s ok with you all 🫶

[mariasont]

HI i have an idea and its making me really giddy

ok so reader is a translator for the bau and they’re always reading and translating texts or calls or anything like that. and the reader to spencer is basically like penelope to derek. they flirt all the time and all of those lovely things.. and it’s kinda just where they’re flirting on the phone and morgan teases reid about it and reid gets all flustered

IDK IF IT CAN WORK I JUST LOVE FLUSTERED SPENCER :(

anyway i’ll probably be in your inbox a bunch uhhh so call me h or something

-h

Warm Under the Collar - S.R

summary: spencer insists he is not flirting. morgan insists that spencer absolutely is. one of them is lying. pairings: spencer reid x translator!reader warnings: heavy flirting, pre-relationship mutual pining, verbal sparring as foreplay, workplace hr violations, use of angel wc: 0.6k

“Are you thinking about me, Dr. Reid? Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

Spencer exhales, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as if loosening it might alleviate the sudden stranglehold of your words. He wasn’t sure if it was always this constricting or if it was conspiring against him at the mere sound of your voice.

He rolls his eyes, performative, really, because you can’t see him, and it’s easier to feign exasperation than admit the effect you have on him. His mouth, however, twitches in betrayal, flirting with a smile before he crushes it. 

The crime board he was supposed to be focusing on, filled with monochrome photos and reports, was now blurring into meaningless scribbles as his thoughts veer off-course, plummeting headfirst into you.

“I’m always thinking about you.”

The words come easily because they require no effort to be true. Always isn’t hyperbole, it’s a mathematical constant, an irrefutable fact.

He was thinking about you before he even called you, felt the shape of you in his mind like an afterimage burned onto his retinas. 

Thought about what color you were wearing, whether your hair was up or down. He wondered if you’d eaten, if you were drinking enough water, if you’d remembered to bring a jacket to the office because the temperature had dropped unexpectedly. 

“Always? Spencer, if you wanted me that bad, all you had to do was say so.”

He isn’t sure why he hesitates — why his brain takes a detour through all the ways he has said so, if not in words, then in the way his thoughts orbit you like a law of nature. 

“I feel like I did say so. Quite literally. But if you’d like me to be more explicit about it, I’m happy to oblige.”

Another pause. He wonders if you’re smiling.

“Mmm, well, I’m certainly not going to stop you.” You sigh, a little dramatic. “Go ahead, be explicit.”

Spencer physically winces at how hot his face gets. The very concept of explicit sits indecently in the pit of his stomach.

“Tempting.” He exhales, rubs a hand down his face, forcibly redirects. “But I do actually have a job to do. And, lucky for me, it just so happens to require your specific set of skills.” 

He leans against the crime board, half-smirking despite himself, because if nothing else, this is fun — the sharp back-and-forth, the way you press all the right buttons just to see what happens.

“I have a recording that needs translating. Think you can focus for long enough to help me, or do I need to, I don’t know, compliment your intelligence first to get you in a professional mindset?”

“Complimenting my intelligence to get what you want? Interesting. Manipulative, even.”

He groans, tilting his head toward the ceiling, appealing to some higher power for patience. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t say I was going to —”

“Too late, you put the idea in my head, and now I expect it. Preferably in an eloquent, well-structured speech. Bonus points if you make it poetic.”

“Or,” he counters, “you could translate the recording first, and I’ll… circle back to stroking your ego at a later, more convenient time.”

A small pause. The kind that feels intentional, like you’re weighing your options.

“I guess that works,” you say. “Send it over, pretty boy.”

Spencer shakes his head, fingers moving on autopilot as he sends the file, because if he thinks too hard about the way you lilted that last pretty boy, he might die. “Alright, thanks. Be good, angel.”

He hangs up, still grinning like an idiot, still entirely too warm under the collar. He exhales, staring at the phone in his hand like it might have the decency to cool him off, maybe undo the physiological mess you’ve left him in.

“If I have to listen to one more of your phone calls with her, I’m sending y’all an invoice.”

Spencer freezes when he sees Morgan standing behind him.

He clears his throat, ignoring the flush he knew was climbing up his neck. “Flirting is an unsubstantiated claim.”

Morgan just stares at him. Stares. “You don’t even believe that.”

Spencer mutters something about professionalism because he’s nothing if not a walking contradiction.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanned! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[reidrum]

glory of the snow

note: the return of insecure!reader my beloved <3 i had a bunch of requests to bring her back so i hope we like it! this is really just a gentle reminder from spencer that we should be kinder to ourselves. also i wanted to have them actually fuck but it didn't seem right to fit that in here so ,,, part 2 question mark who is to say. anyways my inbox is always open for any thoughts, comments, questions, musings all of it! love y'all mwah

summary: you freak out when spencer walks in on you accidentally, and he just loves you too much to let it go

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, fingering, masturbation (r, just mentions), heavy petting/kissing, comfort, talks of intimacy issues, self-deprecating reader

wc: 3k

“Oh, sweet girl.”

Three words, maybe two and one syllable, that in any other instance would have had you melting into a puddle at the softness it reared. Words that have so easily turned you into a preening cat but are now aimed at you, albeit no judgement from his end, with no room for escape.

Spencer had come home after a long day of paperwork when he first heard it. He would have brushed it off if it didn’t happen again moments later, and louder. Concerned, he walks toward the bedroom, a flush rushing to his face as he comes to recognize what it is. A small crack of the door allowed him the glorious sight of you in the center of the bed, hand between your legs, eyes shut in ecstasy. You’re mesmerizing to him and he really can’t bring himself to look away, and he doesn’t notice himself subconsciously leaning on the door causing a faint creak that alarmed you to his presence. In that moment, however, he’s less worried about scaring you, and more about the overwashing look of shame on your face.

The soft creak of the door pulled you out of your daze, screaming when you saw the figure behind the door. Your eyes are bulging out of their sockets nearly, heartbeat still racing with adrenaline from when you haphazardly threw the blanket over yourself. You were conflicted, but getting caught doing something that is a common and completely normal instance in relationships really shouldn’t make you feel this guilty. Although you do know the guilt was created by a previous version of you where you had told Spencer that you wanted to take the pace of your relationship slowly, and had little to no desire to engage in such activities for the time being. Or so you said.

He cautiously steps closer, careful not to startle you further, “I’m not upset, or anything.”

You’re not upset either, you’re mortified. “I lied to you.”

“You did…but I don’t think you meant to, right?”

There had been a time where you were tangled all up in him, and poor Spencer, his hands were in the wrong place at the wrong time to no fault of his own and entirely yours, and your shutdown was unavoidable. The blood in your veins seized up like crystallizing water turning into ice, paralyzing both the physical and mental before you could realize.

Intimacy for you was a complicated concept. While it wasn’t novel or unwanted, physical intimacy was something you struggled to accept with open arms. Call it a consequence of your self perception, but it was hard to accept the soft touch of love when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. Spencer never minded, although his heart ached to make you see yourself the way he saw you, he was always more than willing to meet you where you were.

It almost pains you with how understanding Spencer was of the whole situation because you knew any other person would be deeply upset. Every other person was upset.

Spencer never was just any other person, you suppose.

“I don’t know how to explain this.” Another lie, you could easily explain the reason.

It’s not that you weren’t ready, it’s that you didn’t feel like you looked ready. The thought of subjecting Spencer to the one dark cornerstone of your being in the early days of being together seemed illogical and burdensome, and so it was more simple to play it off as wanting to take a slow pace.

But, as biology would see it you have needs and your boyfriend just happens to be so detrimentally attractive that the simplest act has been sending you into a hot fit as of late. The culprit this time was an innocent mirror picture of him at the store trying on new trousers. You had no chance.

You had found that your intimacy issues lie within extending it to others, and less with yourself. The solution of you finding release on your own quickly became a habit when you realized there was no fear on your own. There’s no one to let down if you’re alone.

Spencer perches at the foot of the bed, flat hand outstretched on the blanket towards you but keeping a comfortable distance, “You don’t have to explain anything, honey.”

“No I know, but—fuck—I should.” you bury your face, choosing to only speak to him from behind your hands for now, maybe forever.

He takes a moment to take inventory of your physical being—you don’t look in pain. Clearly you didn’t sound in pain. Your face is flushed, and though he’s sitting a little far from you, the heat radiating from your body hits him like a space heater.

“Sweetheart…I’m not upset.” he repeats, in hopes a reminder might provide reassurance.

It doesn’t. “You’re never upset at me, it’s concerning.” you mumble.

“You make it kind of hard to be upset at you, ever really.” Spencer braves and lays a hand on your leg.

You take a deep breath, the cold of his hand grounding you more and more. Spencer senses the calm it’s bringing you and rubs circles into your calf.

“Can you tell me what you’re feeling?” he asks gently.

What are you even feeling? You ponder for a moment—anxious, nervous, bad.

“Embarrassed.”

“Honey, there’s nothing embarrassing about masturbating. In fact, it’s more than healthy to do it to keep cortisol levels low,” he explains, “I just don’t know why you didn’t…want to tell me.”

The guilt swirls in your gut, hearing the twinge of hurt buried beneath the comfort he’s laid out for you. He just wants to help you, but you won’t let him in and that hurts him more.

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s just…I…Look it’s…You’re just so hot—“ you slip out, clamping your hand over your mouth before leaking any more intrusive thoughts.

A faint smirk ghosts his face, “I’m…hot?”

“No—Well, yes. I just…ugh.”

“Okay, okay calm down,” he scoots closer and gently brings the hands covering your eyes to rest in your lap, “You don’t need to be all secretive, you know I’d never judge you.”

“I know,”

“I just thought you wanted to wait.”

“I do.”

“But, not with me? It’s okay if it's not with me.”

“Spence, I do. It’s not that.”

“Am I missing something?”

You gulp, “I just…it’s a personal problem. With me. Not you.”

His brows furrow, “Like what, baby? Do you need to see a doctor?”

“Yeah, if a doctor can fix my shoddy self esteem and make me like myself again.” you chuckle.

He doesn’t laugh. 

The pause he takes seems to be ages long before he speaks again, “Angel, how long have you been feeling like that?”

You’ve been caught red-handed, water filling up the tank faster than you can tread, “It’s nothing, I was just joking.”

“Hey,” he says with a rare firmness, “How. Long?”

You deflate under his hard gaze, “A…while…long enough… for it to feel like a…like a default setting, I guess.” you trail off.

Spencer couldn’t hide the hurt on his face if he tried. Not hurt from your lack of admission, hurt that you had felt like this for so long, dealt with this for so long on your own, and he didn’t even know.

All he ever hoped and wanted was for you to be happy, and if he could be the source of that he would ask for nothing more in life. So to hear about you struggling with this, that you felt like you had to keep it to yourself, was heartbreaking.

Spencer remains in his head a little too long as he’s broken out of it by your small voice, “Are you sure you’re not mad?”

He sighs and moves to sit next to you, making sure he stays above the blanket for your comfort. His back is against the headboard of the bed, and he raises his arm a little, gesturing for you to fill the you shaped crevice. You hesitantly move into the space, hating how you feel every move you’re making is calculated, but all of that goes away the second your head meets his chest and his hand comes up to comb through your hair, the other smoothing your arm down, and all you’re left with is him.

“I promise I’m not mad,” he whispers softly, “Just wish you told me. I would have helped you.” He’s intentional in his wording—would, and not could. Could implies he has a choice, a want to do or not do something. I could have helped you, or I could have not helped you. Would is finite, he is doing it because it is programmed in him that caring for you is a need. I would have helped you because it is the only thing I know to be certifiably true, that you deserve to be cared for.

“It sounds stupid out loud but I was afraid you wouldn’t like me the same if you saw me like…that. It seemed logical for me to remove that option altogether.”

His heart aches painfully, and he wishes he could take everyone who’s made you feel that way to target practice. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I would spend every day of my life proving that to you.” he utters with unequivocal resolve.

You sigh out shakily, “You’re too kind to me.”

“I’m always kind to you. You deserve kindness. You deserve a lot of things actually…” he trails off.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Well, did you um—” he trails. You look at him quizzically, he continues, “Like before I came in did you…finish?”

Oh. “Oh. I…I don’t think I did, actually. It’s okay though, no big deal.”

He stares at you intently, “Do you want to?”

Your eyes widen, “Spence oh, no it’s okay really you don’t have to do that.  

“You’re encouraged to say no if you feel even an ounce of doubt, but I’m offering because I love you and I want to show you that you can feel safe with me, even when you feel otherwise.”

The familiar sting returns to your eyes as the tears pool up. You���re not used to anyone putting this much effort and concern for your comfort, it’s a novel feeling but if Spencer is willing to handle you with as much care as he is, you’re ready to welcome that sentiment in with open arms.

“Yeah, yes.” you waver.

He grins and leans down, gingerly pressing his lips to yours. His hand ghosts from your calf to your knee, testing the water before moving more intent. An unwelcome yet familiar onset slowly rises, trying to break through to you, “Wait—“

He retracts his hand immediately, “You okay? We can stop if you need to.”

You shake your head. “No, no I’m fine. I just need a second.” you breath out, trying to self regulate. 

He pulls back his hand but you stop him, “No keep it there, it helps. I just…” You don’t know how to phrase it. You think it’s because you’re not in control. When you’re alone it’s only you at the helm calling the shots. But when it really comes down to it, the lack of control is nothing compared to the lack of predictability that comes with the former. Explaining that out loud was daunting to even think about.

Yet Spencer understands what you need, because he always knows what you need. His hand returns to your knee, giving it a soft squeeze, “You tell me to stop whenever you need to.”

He continues kissing you while smoothing his hand up your leg, making wide and sweeping motions across the plush of your thigh so you can feel where he is and where his hand is going. The gesture is comforting and makes you feel grounded, but your head is in a dreamy haze at how good Spencer’s hands feel on you.

The haze leaves through your lips as Spencer feels you sigh against him, feeling you relax more and more as the seconds go by. His hand reaches your upper thigh, fingers ghosting on the inside. “Is this okay?”

You nod, feeling your nerves idling like a distant wave in the ocean. But Spencer’s presence is a lighthouse shining through the fog and guiding you to his shores while the calm washes over you.

His fingers lightly trace the fabric of your panties, ones that you had slid back up your hips upon his entrance into the room. The motion causes you to jump and he pulls back to gauge your reaction. When he sees no fear in your eyes, more so stunned by your wide eyed gaze, his fingers move with more precision, adding more pressure to your clothed core.

A gentle gasp leaves you as he strokes up and down your slit. You’ve given up on continuing to kiss him, the feeling of his hands being too overwhelming to have both sensations at the same time. You tuck your head into the crook of his neck, your body involuntarily curving towards him as he draws symbols on you with his index. Your breathing gets heavier and faster the longer he goes, and soon small moans begin to escape you.

He drags his finger to the top of your panties and toys with the band, faintly asking, “You still with me, sweet girl?” You preen into the crevice of his neck as he keeps talking, “Want me to keep going?” 

He feels you nodding into him as you breathlessly whisper, “Please.”

His finger dips below the fabric and travels down to your entrance, gathering the slickness and spreading it all over you. “Fuck,” he curses softly, “Look how wet you are, baby.”

You whimper at his words and Spencer ascends to the heavens if there even is one, and if there is it’s the one where you sound like that for him. He circles back up to your clit, paying special attention to the bundle of nerves before sliding back your slit and repeating the whole sequence a few more times.

Your moans are coming out at a steady pace, and he’s been prodding around your entrance for some time now, teasing and edging you closer. “Gonna put a finger in now, okay? Doing so good for me, baby.” he murmurs.

The feeling of his finger entering you is satiating. But it’s not enough, and you need more. “Spence,” you manage to get out, “Can take another one, please.” His eyes shut tight as he revels in your desperation for him, and how cynical he must be to love having you at his mercy this much. He would confess the darkest of sins if you asked him in that tone, and he has no choice but to oblige. He stifles a groan at how easily the second finger slid in, his other hand moving up to play with your hair and cradle your head close to his chest as he works his ministrations.

The familar coil builds in your gut, but at an intensity you’ve never felt before. His fingers move in and out of you urgently, his thumb returning to your clit. He’s a man determined to get you there, and your moans and cries of his name only spur him on further. After a few minutes your moans and cries turn into whines and babbles, and he knows you’re close.

His head leans down to croon in your ear, “Shh, it’s okay. I got you, sweet girl. You can come, ‘m right here.”

It’s enough to push you over the edge and you come harder than you ever have on your own, the waves of your climax overtaking you completely. Spencer continues to pump his fingers through your orgasm, talking you the whole way down. Mutters of praises and kisses flow through your subconscious as the euphoria high takes its peak and you come back down to this realm.

His hand smoothes your hair back as you continue to pant against his chest, words unable to find you.

“You okay?”

You finally catch your breath, “That was—fuck—the most insane orgasm I have ever had.”

Spencer beams at this. For one, his obvious and impressive skills that have stunned you into oblivion. And two, because you look so relaxed. The stark difference of your anxiety filled face from when he first came into the room to the blissed out daze you have right now makes his heart swell five sizes up.

He hugs you closer and whispers, “I’m so proud of you, angel. Thank you for trusting me.”

Sleep is fighting you hard as you laugh airily and tuck yourself under his arm again, “I don’t know why I thought that would be scarier.”

He sighs, his smile faltering but still fond, “Past experiences and self perception complicate the anxiety around sex and intimacy. It’s a natural response based on your lived experiences.”

“Oh.” you mutter, slight deject in your tone.

“But we can work on it, if you want.” he adds, “It’s all up to you with what you’re comfortable with and how you want to do it. If you’ll allow me, I’d love to help you in any way I can, angel.”

You really don’t know how you got so lucky. Someone so kind, and patient, and willing to be with you as you navigate these things you normally would have kept to yourself. You feel grateful to be able to bare a piece of yourself to him, and know that he would receive it with open arms, wrapping it up and handling it with as much care as he can bear.

You cuddle closer, and mumble before your eyes succumb to sleep, “Love you. So much.”

Spencer looks down maybe two seconds later and you’re already out like a light. He chuckles softly to himself and whispers, “I love you more than you’ll ever know, sweet girl. Good night.”

[moonlight-prose]

“please don’t make me say it if you aren’t going to say it back” with a desperately in love with joel reader would hit so much…

weaved around your finger like yarn

a/n: me writing for joel again?? this has sat in my inbox for over a year and i never meant to actually take this long with it. but i finally figured out how to write this concept. and now i am actually obsessed with the small world of softness i created for these two. this is yes jackson joel, but nothing bad happens ever to him because why would it? it's all fine right?

summary: he never made space in his life for love in the aftermath of destruction. the after of his life he once thought would extend past decades of gray hair, smile lines carved in around his mouth now set in frowns and sneers. but snowfall and alcohol blur the lines for both of you when winter comes to jackson.

word count: 1.6k+

pairing: joel miller x reader

warnings: not explicit, love confessions, heavy makeout sessions, alcohol consumption, tipsy joel, sad joel, laughter at the end of the world, hope.

He can't remember laughing until his stomach hurt. The ache that spilled into his chest, warming his insides with a sun like quality that left him shivering. He can't recall the feel of his cheeks pulled so wide the sensation became a phantom pain seconds after. He knows it happened. He can distinctly recall the jokes, the joy. But the laughter lingers like a ghost at the back of his mind—translucent and gray and distorted enough to feel false.

Alcohol simmers in his stomach with a rueful intent. A malignant aftermath that would hit him in a few hours after two months of attempted sobriety. Ellie insisted, he accepted. Easy enough to say. Difficult to follow through with.

He had his days where whiskey sounded better than the flavor of bacon Tommy would bring him in the early mornings. But the dismay in your eyes helped him hold off, regain his awareness of a world not yet shattered. For once in quite a long time...he finally lived. For you, for Ellie, for Sarah.

He lived to see his hair grow longer and the grays appear more frequently. To drink coffee in the mornings on a porch you were already settled on. To help you fix small things here and there in your cabin next door. He lived for your smile, the light in your eyes. The curve of your lips as they pulled up into bolstering peals of laughter—the furrow in your brow as you frowned from endless frustrations on long hard days.

Joel Miller lived to love you.

He existed to dig his heels in and wait shit out—it's what he was good at, what he knew how to do. But for you he relented quicker than ice on a hot asphalt driveway back home in Texas. His mind became sand that slipped through your giving hands—heart a fluttering mess that sang a tune he could never get right on the guitar stashed in his living room.

Days bloomed into weeks which grew into months. Eventually a year passed and what used to be difficult and awkward to be around people again, felt like breathing the fresh winter air. The jackets he managed to find hung on hooks by the door, a pair of heavy boots beside the small table Tommy crafted him.

The mornings were nice. When hot water hit ground coffee and the aroma plagued his kitchen for hours at a time. The evenings called you towards him—simple cooking skills shared in the confines of a home he pined for you to reside in.

Life was a sliver of peace he never imagined he'd get again. But the hole in his heart never faded, the pain still rang out sharp enough to have him clamping down on the inside of his cheek. And your smile made his stomach ache with a longing deep enough to scar.

Tommy told him to buck up and do something. Ellie called him a fucking idiot.

You...gave no indication you felt the same way. So silent and reserved he would remain.

Your feet slid on icy, fingers gripping tightly to his jacket with a yelp in a quick attempt to save yourself from slamming to the ground. Joel snickered loud and brash and a wash of embarrassment burned under frozen cheeks. Dragging you up, his arm looped tightly around your waist—hand pressed harsh and insistent to the small of your back. You swallowed the butterflies at the sight of his face flushed red—eyes shining from the effect of too much whiskey.

"We were bad tonight," you muttered, breath forming a cloud between your faces.

He grinned—skin buzzing at the close proximity of your form. "Only a little bit."

"You're not supposed to drink Joel."

Leaning in he traded his smile like a secret; you tucked it into your chest with a sharp breath. "I won't tell if you don't, darlin'."

"Joel..."

"C'mon. No one's gettin' in trouble here."

A blade pierced your heart brutally—spilling crimson along pale white snow. Even as Joel remained entirely unaware of how you clung to him. How your body called his name—your mind plagued with thoughts of his being, with images of his smile, with the sound of his raspy voice. He'd never know the way you cherished each moment with him. The mornings tucked away from an unruly world—the nights shared between friends who might one day be more.

Your teeth scraped along the cracked skin of your bottom lip, eyes cast up to the curl of his lips. The words sprang forth faster than you could drag them back. Your chest of secrets unlocked and bared to the man who drowned you in his small flecks of joy. Later you'd blame the alcohol. When the headache ravaged your head and an ache lingered between your thighs.

Later you'd comb over every small glance and breathy word.

"I like spending time with you Joel," you breathed, fingers toying with the front of his leather coat. "I like...um..."

The breath caught in his throat, gaze desperate to catch yours. "Yeah sugar?"

"It's a hard thing to say." Another cloud of your whiskey tinged breath filled the air.

"You can tell me anythin'. You know that right?" Even as hope flared bright and scorching through the width of his chest. "I'll listen."

Hesitation spilled into the night, your voice a soft whisper he barely caught. "Please don't make me say it if you aren't going to say it back."

Oh didn't you know?

Did you not see how his gaze dug beneath the layers of flesh and bone, of tendons and veins that clung to your form? Did you not understand he would take a bullet for you? That he'd bear the wound of a warrior's death to keep you alive? How could you not know that his love stuck to his tongue with a saccharine bitterness he swallowed down like the drugs he once took to numb his mind?

You healed pieces of his soul you never broke. A marred and fucked puzzle that was meant to find a home six feet underground. By his own hand no less. He was destined to die—born to suffer—yet you swathed him wool with the promise of a peaceful life.

A future etched by the hands of love.

"Say it," he pleaded, frozen hand cupping your cheek.

"It's more than just that." The breath you took shot adrenaline down his spine. "I like our mornings. I like our dinners and conversation. And even when you come into town with me. But I...I love..."

The glossy nature of your eyes created by unshed tears that pooled at your waterline dug the knife deep enough to meld it within his heart. You didn't know. You couldn't have. His silence, his hesitation, swallowed every emotion he might have told you—every secret uttered in the shadows of night that told only half his story.

He told you about Sarah. About their life together, about her smile. That in itself felt like a proclamation of love—a key to the heart he thought stopped beating long ago.

"I knew it would freak you out," you muttered, pulling away from his hold.

Only for him to panic. His hand gripped the back of your jacket, pushing you towards him hard enough for your feet to slip again. But your gasp was swallowed by the cold press of his mouth to yours. Lips chapped by the winter air slid against your parted mouth as you froze against his chest. Your hands hung listlessly at your sides. He kissed you tenderly, attempting to wake you from the spell of shock, but to no avail did it bring you back.

"'M sorry." His words were muffled against your chin, forehead pressed to yours and eyes squeezed shut. "I shouldn't have–"

The press of your fingers into his cheeks jolted him back—eyes wide as you dragged him back with a stifled moan. Your mouth found his tongue hot and wet along his bottom lip in a pleading motion he complied to instantly. Stepping forward he fell into you with a deep groan. One that echoed and vibrated right down to your stomach—one you savored with a lick along his back teeth.

Hands cupped your ass with an insistent need to mold you closer, fingers digging into the plush flesh he longed to bite and taste. You tasted like whiskey. You smelled like him. It made him dizzy with want, anxious to lead you back to his porch—to seat you on his kitchen counter in the mornings while the coffee went cold.

"Fuck I wanna take ya home sugar," he grunted, biting at your lower lip with a grin.

Your breathless reply made the hair stand on the back of his neck. "You can."

"No." He shook his head, stealing another kiss with a gritty moan. "Not tonight. 'M gonna do this proper."

"Proper," you smiled, tugging on the longer curls you refused to let him cut. "You're such an old man Miller."

The large breadth of his hand cupped your chin, pushing the cheeks he lightly bit into together. "Won't be sayin' that tomorrow when I ain't got all this fuckin' alcohol in me."

"Yeah?" The droop of your eyelids—the darkened iris now filled with lust—set his teeth on edge. His body hummed with a new buzz he craved since meeting you. "Prove it."

"Oh I will." He grinned sharply, licking his teeth like a wolf waiting to pounce. "Don't you worry 'bout that."

A glimmer in your eyes caught his attention, the grip on your face loosening. "You know I love you right darlin'?"

You smiled—big and bright—and Joel felt another piece of his soul set back into place. "I love you too Joel."

[robbysreaders]

Sorry I don’t make the rules, we need more ex x baby daddy!Jack!

Especially their wedding, breeding kink Jack, more babies, the whole thing.

Hehe pls & thanks

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader word count: 3.6k notes: part 4 of ex!reader and babydaddy!jack way hornier than the rest of writing but tbh like .5 chili peppers haha and thank you for this req in my inbox!!!! i love these two and i'm working my way through some ideas that have been shared with me but i just started a new job so they will probably be over the next few weeks!

Something unlocks after you get engaged.

It’s not dramatic, not fireworks. Just this quiet, grounded certainty that settles between you. This is it. This is real. There’s a ring on your finger, a boy in the other room who looks like both of you, and Jack—Jack, who once felt like an impossible choice, now feels like home.

And you continue to see a side of him you’re not entirely used to.

He's still Jack—still grumbles about budget cuts and leaves coffee mugs in strange places—but he’s also… attentive. Almost absurdly so. Sweet in a way that feels like he’s been saving it all up. And maybe a little unhinged in the best, horniest way. He touches you constantly. Always finds a way to press a kiss to your temple, your shoulder, your stomach. Like he still can’t believe he gets to.

“I locked you down,” he mutters one morning, arms snug around your waist as you brush your teeth. “You, Beau, and a damn ring. The trifecta.”

“You make it sound like a hostage situation,” you laugh, spitting into the sink.

Jack grins against your neck. “Maybe I should squirrel you away to the courthouse before you change your mind.”

“Oh, we were dangerously close to that, don’t kid yourself,” you say, rinsing. “But I wanted the view.”

And the view was worth it.

Lake Como in late May. A small villa perched on a hillside, all warm stone and blooming vines. The ceremony was intimate—friends, family, a very small and slightly chaotic PTMC contingent somehow made the trip. Robby cried, and Dana pretended not to. Your sister wrangled Beau through the flower-petal aisle like she’d been training for it her whole life.

You danced under string lights. Said “I do” to a man who still sometimes forgets to fold towels correctly but looks at you like you hung the stars.

And somehow—shockingly—you agreed to let your sister take Beau back with her, so you and Jack could have a true honeymoon.

Just you. Just him.

The first night, you’re on the balcony in a linen robe and nothing else, wine glass in hand, the lake glowing below you.

Jack comes up behind you—barefoot, shirtless, lazy smile on his face—and wraps his arms around your waist like he can’t help himself.

“I love this,” you murmur. “I love you. I want to stay here forever.”

“I know,” he says, kissing that spot just beneath your ear. Then, after a beat, “But… is it just me, or does it feel like missing a limb without Beau? …no pun intended.”

You laugh and spin in his arms, wrapping your hands around his neck. “God, I love you. This is why I married you. You’re in my brain.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, brushing your hair back. “Maybe we wouldn’t miss him so much if you were already carrying another little Abbot with you.”

You raise a brow. “Wow. Wasting no time, huh?”

“I’ve been waiting six years Mrs. Abbot. You can’t be surprised.”

“Careful,” you say, teasing, “you sound like you get off to me being barefoot and pregnant.”

Jack hums, low and amused. “I mean… if the shoe fits.”

You groan, half-exasperated, half turned on. “God, you’re such a menace.”

“An insatiable menace,” he says, sliding his hands beneath your robe. “Who happens to be very good at making you come. Efficient, even. Fill you so good we’d get twins. Two for one.”

“Okay, Doctor Abbot,” you laugh, swatting at his chest. “Did you hit your head or is this just post-wedding delirium?”

He grumbles into your neck.

You swat his chest. “You know, for a doctor, you know nothing about conception.”

“I know the basics,” he says, hand smoothing over your hip, “and that I’m pretty damn good at it.”

“God, you are so full of yourself. Should’ve never married a jock.”

He smirks. “Did someone say cock?” His hips roll against yours, slow and deliberate, pressing a point.

You groan, laughing into his mouth as he kisses you. “You’re ridiculous. And I thought you’d go for the “and you’ll be so full of me’ route”

“What can I say, I’m maturing,” he mumbles, deepening the kiss, his hands roaming now. “You’re lucky you married me. Any other man would’ve passed out from post-wedding exhaustion.”

“Instead I got the energizer bunny in scrubs.”

He scoops you up with ease—one arm under your thighs, the other around your back—and carries you inside like it’s your first night all over again. He drops you onto the bed gently, then follows, kissing a path down your stomach.

“Jack,” you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.

“I’m just doing a thorough exam,” he says into your skin. “You’ve under my care, it would be negligent not to check on you after such a major life event like getting married.”

“You’re annoying,” you say, breath hitching.

“You love it.”

You do.

You love all of it. The warmth, the ease, the hunger in him that never faded, just changed shape over time. You let him take his time—relearn your body like it’s the first time all over again. You lose yourself in him, in the soft press of lips to skin, the whispered confessions that slip out only when his guard is down.

Laughing, gasping, kissing like it’s the only language you know. After, you lay tangled together, sweat-damp and boneless.

He traces circles on your back, eyes half-lidded. “Seriously. Twins.”

“You’re out of your mind.”

“I’m just saying, it’s efficient.”

“Beau is six and I’m still tired.”

Jack chuckles. “Fine. No pressure. Just practice. Lots of practice.”

You roll over, facing him. “You happy?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “More than I knew I could be.”

The room is quiet. Outside, the lake glimmers in moonlight.

“I was scared, you know,” you whisper.

Jack glances down at you. “When?”

“All of it. Letting you back in. Saying yes. I kept thinking, what if we just mess it up again?”

He brushes a hand along your jaw. “We probably will. Sometimes. But I’m not going anywhere. And I won’t let you carry the weight alone.”

Your eyes sting. “That’s what scared me before. Feeling like I was alone in it.”

“I know,” he says softly. “I felt it too. But I didn’t know how to fix it then. I was still trying to outrun things.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m tired of running.”

You press a kiss to his chest. “So no running. No hiding.”

“No hiding,” he repeats.

There’s a long silence, filled only by the soft hum of the night and your breathing slowing in sync.

Then Jack says, so quietly you almost miss it: “I want a big life with you.”

You look up. “You already have one.”

He smiles. “I know. But I want more of it. All the messy, beautiful pieces. Soccer games and parent-teacher conferences. Slow Sundays. Another baby. or two. or ten. Just—more.”

Your throat tightens. “God, you’re such a sap now.”

“Shut up,” he mutters, pulling you in closer.

You grin into his skin. “Don’t worry. I’m into it.”

And he’s into you—clearly—because within minutes, he’s proving again just how committed he is to “practice.”

That night, you fall asleep in his arms, lulled by the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the quiet certainty that this time, you didn’t choose wrong.

His arm is slung heavy around your waist, one leg wedged between yours. His hand is resting possessively on your hip, thumb tucked just under the curve of your stomach like it belongs there. You don’t move. You just lay there, soaking in the stillness.

The lake outside is calm. There’s birdsong, a faint breeze, and nothing else.

You sigh into the silence.

“Mmm,” Jack mumbles, tightening his grip. “Alive?”

“Barely.”

“You wore me out,” he says, voice hoarse and self-satisfied.

“You begged for it.”

“I did,” he agrees. Then, after a beat: “I’d do it again.”

You smile, pressing your nose to his chest. “We’ve officially entered the honeymoon stage.”

“We skipped it the first time. I’m cashing in.”

You shift slightly, pressing your cold toes to his shin. He flinches.

“Jesus.”

“Sorry,” you murmur. “Poor circulation. Still your wife though.”

“Unfortunately.”

You laugh, then kiss his shoulder. “What time is it?”

“No idea. But I think I’ve achieved full body paralysis.”

“Same.”

There’s a long, quiet pause. Then Jack says, “We should go swimming.”

You blink. “Right now?”

“Yeah. Why not? Lake’s right there. We’re in Italy. No Beau to referee. Might be our last chance before life crashes back in.”

“Very romantic. Also, I don’t even know where I packed my swimsuit.”

“Who said anything about swimsuits?”

You arch a brow. “You want to skinny-dip? In the daytime?”

He shrugs, rolling onto his back. “I’m just saying, we’re legally married. What are they gonna do, arrest us for being in love?”

“Jack.”

“Live a little, Mrs. Abbot.”

You stare at him. “You’re serious.”

“I’m proposing an impulsive memory. Don’t make me swim alone like some pervert.”

You groan dramatically, grabbing a sheet as you roll out of bed. “Fine. But if I get arrested in a foreign country for public indecency, you better bail me out.”

He grins. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

You wrap yourself in the linen sheet toga-style and pad barefoot out onto the balcony. The stairs down to the private dock are warm beneath your feet, sun already high and bright.

Jack follows behind, also barely dressed, with two towels slung over his shoulder and that cocky post-wedding glow.

The water is cool but not cold. Crisp. Clean. You wade in first, shrieking at the initial shock until Jack yanks you forward and pulls you under with him.

When you surface, sputtering, hair slicked back and gasping from laughter, he’s looking at you like he can’t believe this is his life.

“You’re unreal,” he says, reverent.

You splash water in his face. “I married you, didn’t I?”

“Best scam I’ve ever pulled.”

You drift closer, legs brushing. His hand cups the back of your neck. You kiss, slow and deep and lazy, and when he pulls back, you can see the smile in his eyes.

The lake stretches out behind him. A postcard come to life.

You stay in the lake until your fingers are pruned and your stomach’s growling. Breakfast is pastries you picked up from a little corner bakery, still flakey and warm. Jack makes espresso in the tiny kitchen, whistling off-key. It’s stupidly domestic. And perfect.

You sit on the floor of the villa, legs tangled, plates on your laps. He steals a bite of your sfogliatella without asking.

“Do you think we should call Beau today?” you ask, chewing.

Jack nods, swallowing his own bite. “Yeah. Just to check in. Not now though. He’ll be with your sister at the zoo or the pool or learning how to disassemble small electronics, depending on her mood.”

You laugh. “She does run a very strange babysitting operation.”

“She’s a miracle worker. Honestly, I’m still shocked she agreed to take him.”

“She told me every married couple deserves three uninterrupted days after the ‘I do.’ Then handed me a jumbo box of condoms and said not to come home pregnant unless it was intentional.”

Jack chokes on his coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

You shrug, smug. “Just saying—her words, not mine.”

He leans back against the couch, eyeing you. “And is it?”

You glance at him.

“Intentional.”

The air shifts.

You don’t answer right away. Just push your plate aside and crawl into his lap. He adjusts instantly, arms wrapping around you, palms dragging up your thighs.

“I think… I’m not not open to it,” you say slowly. “Before, it felt impossible. Everything felt so fragile. But now? I look at you and Beau, and it’s like—yeah. I want more of this. More of us.”

He swallows, throat bobbing. “You’re sure?”

You smile. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever been sure about.”

His mouth finds yours, urgent now, full of promise. You kiss like it’s a decision, a vow, a whole damn future.

And when he finally pulls back, he’s flushed and breathless.

“I love you so much it’s physically uncomfortable.”

You laugh against his jaw. “Sucks to be you, I guess.”

He grins. “Yeah. Tragic.”

That afternoon, you nap in the sun. The villa has a hammock strung between two cypress trees and Jack insists on sharing it, even though he’s too long and your legs keep tangling and one of you always ends up with an elbow in the ribs.

“I hope Beau’s having a good day,” you murmur, eyes closed, head on his chest.

Jack’s hand is tracing idle circles on your bare arm. “I’m sure he is. You think he’ll remember the wedding?”

“Some pieces,” you say. “The dancing. The cake. Robby giving him ten euros to yell ‘just kiss already!’ before we even got to the vows.”

“God,” he sigh. “What a circus.”

You hum in agreement.

Then, “Do you think we’re doing okay? With him? With this?”

Jack shifts beneath you. “Honestly? I think we’re doing great. Not perfect. But real. He’s kind. Confident. Feels safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod slowly. “I used to worry so much about what we were showing him, you know? The split. The mess.”

“He saw love,” Jack says simply. “Even when it was hard. Especially then.”

You press your face to his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him—sun, sweat, skin.

“I’m glad we waited to do this right,” you whisper. “I don’t think I could’ve survived a version of us where we never figured it out.”

Jack’s voice is thick. “Me either.”

That night, you dress up.

No real reason. Just a silky dress you’ve been saving, heels a little higher than you usually wear. Jack puts on real pants—well, linen slacks—and a button-down that’s already half undone by the time he finishes wrestling with the cuffs.

He sees you and stops short.

“Jesus.”

“Too much?”

“Not enough.”

Dinner is just a short walk into the village—twinkly lights and hand-pulled pasta and a carafe of wine that disappears too quickly. You talk about everything and nothing. The neighbors at home. Future holidays. How much more you can fit in your suitcase without paying extra baggage fees.

“You’re going to check my carry-on and judge me, aren’t you?” you accuse.

“Only because you brought six pairs of shoes and wore the same ones every day.”

“They’re options, Jack.”

He leans over the table, resting his chin on his hand. “God, I love you.”

You stop. Just for a second. Let it wash over you.

“I love you too.”

Later, you walk back slow. His hand finds yours. Your shoulders brush.

Back at the villa, Jack peels the dress off you like he’s unwrapping a gift. Kisses every inch of bare skin he uncovers. You let him take his time.

You make love slow. No rush. No hunger. Just reverence. It feels different this time—heavier, softer, but still electric.

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the weight of Jack’s body against yours, the slow press of his kisses, the steady rhythm of your breath returning to normal in the quiet afterglow.

What wakes you is the light. It spills through the shutters, golden and soft, casting lazy stripes across the sheets.

Jack’s already awake, propped up on one elbow, watching you like you’re some kind of sunrise. His hair’s a mess, lips kiss-bitten, and he has the nerve to look smug about it.

“Morning, Mrs. Abbot,” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“God,” you groan, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re going to say that all the time, aren’t you?”

“Yup,” he grins. “Until it’s on your driver’s license.”

You roll onto your back, stretch slowly. His eyes follow the movement like he’s hungry again.

“You’re staring,” you say.

“You’re glowing.”

“I’m sweating.”

“Still counts.”

You nudge him with your foot. He catches it, presses a kiss to your ankle, and suddenly you feel a whole lot warmer.

“You hungry?” he asks.

“Starving.”

“I’ll make breakfast.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You brought me to Italy just to feed me scrambled eggs?”

Jack swings his legs off the bed and stands—naked, unabashed. “I’m a man of many talents. But fine. Pancakes?”

“In Italy?”

He shrugs. “International pancakes.”

You laugh as he heads toward the kitchen, grabbing a pair of boxers on the way. He whistles while he moves, some Sinatra song you vaguely recognize, and your heart tugs in your chest like it still can’t quite believe this is real. 

You pull on one of his shirts and pad barefoot after him. The villa is quiet, the lake just barely visible through the open patio doors, glittering in the morning sun.

Jack’s already got flour out. There’s a pan warming on the stove. You wrap your arms around him from behind, rest your cheek between his shoulder blades.

“Don’t burn them.”

“You wound me.”

“I’ve seen you try to flip a pancake. You get too cocky.”

“That’s because you heckle me,” he says, flipping the first one with unnecessary flair. “Watch and learn, Mrs. Abbot.”

You roll your eyes but sit at the table, watching him with something dangerously close to adoration. There’s something ridiculous about how seriously he takes this—like he’s proving something. Like if he makes these pancakes just right, he’ll have earned it all over again.

He sets a plate in front of you with a flourish. “Bon appétit.”

You take a bite, eyes widening. “Okay. Okay, maybe you have improved.”

Jack smirks, sitting across from you, fork already in hand. “I’ve been practicing.”

“For this moment?”

“For this life.”

The words hit you low and deep, like a drum. You look at him—really look—and see it there: the steadiness. The certainty. He’s still Jack, but he’s… more. Softer around the edges. Not smaller, just less armored.

You reach for his hand across the table.

“I still can’t believe we’re here.”

“Me neither.”

“I don’t think I let myself imagine it,” you admit. “Not after everything.”

Jack’s expression sobers. He sets his fork down. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod.

“That night. The one when you said you needed space. I thought… I thought that was it. I thought I’d ruined my life beyond fixing.”

You squeeze his fingers.

“I let it happen,” he continues quietly. “I was so afraid of screwing it up that I stood back and watched it fall apart. It’s like—if I didn’t fight for it, I couldn’t be blamed for losing it.”

Your throat tightens. “Jack…”

He shakes his head. “But I realized it wasn’t fair. To you. Or to Beau. Or to myself, honestly. But I didn’t know how to be better then. I didn’t even know what better looked like.”

“You do now,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he says. “Because of you.”

There’s a silence that stretches, heavy but full. Then you stand, walk around the table, and sink into his lap. He holds you like he’s anchoring himself.

“You did all the hard work, I just pushed you to do it. We’re allowed to be happy now,” you murmur into his neck.

Jack’s arms tighten. “Yeah. I don’t think I ever thanked you”

“I can think of a few ways to start showing your gratefulness”

The rest of the day unfolds like a dream.

You spend the afternoon wandering through the nearby village—stone streets, small shops, gelato for lunch. Jack insists on carrying your bag. You make fun of his touristy camera strap, and he makes fun of your obsession with ceramic bowls.

You take a million photos together, and he looks so happy—so open—that you save one immediately as your phone background.

When you get back, you read on the balcony while he naps on the couch, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes like a romance novel hero. You don’t even wake him when he starts to snore.

By evening, you’re tangled again in bed, warm skin against warm skin, and Jack is tracing his name on your thigh with his fingertip.

“You know what I was thinking?” he says, voice low.

“Mm?”

“That I want to take you everywhere. That we should do a honeymoon part two, with Beau. Paris. Or Morocco. Or Tokyo. Somewhere Beau can try weird candy and yell at me in public without getting in trouble.”

You laugh. “He already does that.”

“True. But we could do it under the guise of cultural education.”

You turn to face him. “You really want to travel?”

“I want to do anything that keeps us feeling like this,” he says. “Like we’re not just surviving.”

You study him. The honesty. The hope.

“Then let’s make it a plan,” you say. “Once a year. Somewhere new.”

Jack’s smile softens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Deal. Annual Abbot Adventures.”

“Trademark pending.”

“You, me, a six-year-old with a suitcase full of Legos. What could go wrong?”

You laugh, leaning in to kiss him. “Everything.”

“Exactly,” he grins. “Perfect family vacation.”

Later, after you’ve both showered, after he’s poured you a glass of wine and rubbed your feet and claimed it was “medically necessary to assess swelling from travel,” you’re curled together in bed with the windows open to the night air.

Jack’s arm is around you, fingers resting on your stomach again. Always that same spot. Like he’s waiting. Or willing.

You place your hand over his.

“You really want another?” you ask, voice soft.

“I want whatever you want,” he says.

You don’t respond right away, “You’d be a great girl dad.”

He snorts. “God help me if she’s anything like you.”

“Smart, stubborn, charming?”

“Dangerous,” he says. “too smart, perfect.”

You smile. “You’re already soft. You’d fold the second she looked at you.”

“Don’t tell Beau.”

You laugh, and the sound is easy. Real. Everything feels easy tonight.

And it hits you again—like it’s the first time.

You’re married. To him.

[lucy-literates]

Hello! Sorry to bother you

I just saw that your requests are open and I would like to ask you to (maybe and if you can) write about an idea I had.

I was thinking about Arthur Leclerc with a Plus size!reader. Maybe she's insecure about being so different from his exes, starting on things like her body and ending on the fact she doesn't speak his language yet. Maybe she gets too shy about telling him about her feelings and starts to distance herself and stop being as touchy as she usually is (maybe to fit what we believe to be the "European coldness") and he notices that something's wrong.

If you're okay with that, maybe we could get some smut, please?

Sorry for the bad English and for the terribly long ask 🤡

Not Like Them

A/N: Hello! Please, never apologise for asking, requesting, or any language barrier. This was perfect, and I understood your English; it is terrific. The longer the ask, the easier it is for me to write something you will like! I 've never heard of European Coldness (I'm Australian, fun fact), so I had to give it a google and I thought it was a really funny concept. Thank you so much for the ask, I hope I get to hear from you again! Enjoy and, as always, my inbox is open :)

It started small.

You didn’t even realize you were doing it — the way you’d pull your shirt down a little more when his hands wandered too low. Or how you started sitting at the far end of the couch instead of curling into his side like you used to. You kissed him less often. Smiled more quietly. Touched him like you were afraid of overstaying your welcome.

At first, you told yourself it was nothing. You were just tired. Just preoccupied. But the truth settled somewhere in your chest like a stone:

You didn’t feel like you belonged beside him.

Arthur was effortless. Golden. Lithe and lean with those soft eyes and stupidly sharp cheekbones. His exes looked like models — tall, slim, that natural sort of “French-girl cool” that didn’t seem to require effort. They wore crop tops and didn’t apologize for taking up space. They ordered wine without blushing, threw their heads back when they laughed, and could lean in close to his ear to whisper something in rapid French and make it sound like poetry.

You were not that girl.

And lately, it was hard not to notice.

The way fans commented on your photos — even the polite ones, the backhanded compliments. The way they said things like “Arthur seems sweet, love that he’s giving average girls a chance” or “she seems kind.” Kind. Like you were some rescued stray dog, grateful just to be fed.

You didn’t say anything, not at first. What were you supposed to do — tell Arthur that his touch didn’t feel safe anymore because your own mind had turned against your body?

So you smiled. Dressed more modestly. Pulled away when he reached for your hips. Laughed off the moments when he asked if something was wrong.

And that was the worst part — he noticed.

He noticed every time.

One night, it all broke.

You were at his Monaco apartment, legs curled under you on the couch. Arthur had just gotten back from a long sim session, hair still damp from a shower. He came to sit beside you, smelling like soap and warmth, eyes sleepy and soft.

He leaned in to kiss you, a lazy peck on your jaw — but you shifted, subtly, just enough that it landed on your cheek.

He paused.

“…Mon cœur?”

You smiled, small. “Hmm?”

“I kissed your cheek.”

“I know,” you said lightly. “It’s okay.”

He didn’t answer. Just sat there for a moment, studying your profile.

“You don’t let me touch you anymore.”

Your breath hitched.

“I do,” you said too quickly. “I’m just— I don’t know. Tired. That’s all.”

He turned toward you fully now, brows furrowed, voice softer. “No. That’s not it.”

You looked down at your hands. The silence stretched, fragile and loud.

Arthur’s voice broke it. “Is it me?”

You shook your head, suddenly overwhelmed. “No. God, no, Arthur, it’s not you.”

He reached out and touched your wrist, just lightly — like he was afraid you might flinch. “Then what is it?”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. The words rushed out, breathless and raw. “I just… I don’t look like the girls you’ve dated. I don’t fit here. Not with you, not in this place, not in these photos. I’m not sleek and French and perfect. I don’t even speak your language.”

Arthur’s expression crumpled, like someone had cracked something inside his chest.

“Mon ange…”

“I’m not saying it because I want you to fix it,” you said quickly. “I just— I’ve been feeling it, and it’s been building, and I don’t know how to be the version of me that fits next to you. So I’ve been pulling back. Because if I become quieter, smaller, maybe I’ll ruin things less.”

He was quiet for a beat.

And then his voice came low, hoarse with emotion.

“You think I want you to be smaller?”

You opened your mouth, but he kept going.

“You think I want less of you?” His hand moved to cup your face, thumb brushing just under your eye. “I fell in love with all of you. The loud laughs. The thighs that knock into mine under the table. The hips I can hold when you’re on top of me. The soft, real parts of you. The strong, wild parts.”

“Arthur—”

“I don’t care what you weigh. Or what you wear. Or what language you speak. You are my home.”

You blinked hard.

“I know it’s hard,” he said gently. “I know how loud those voices get in your head. But let me be louder. Please.”

His forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you. Every inch. Every word. Every silence.”

You exhaled a shaky breath. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, grounding yourself. And then — finally — you kissed him. Really kissed him.

And he kissed you back like it had been days. Weeks. Like he’d been starving for it.

By the time he carried you to the bedroom, his hands never left your skin. Not once did he rush you. He pulled your shirt off gently, eyes trailing over your stomach, your chest, like he was memorizing every dip and curve.

“Regarde comme tu es belle…” he murmured, voice thick.

You flushed. “I don’t know what that means.”

He kissed your shoulder. “It means you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He didn’t strip you fast. He undressed you like unwrapping a gift — slow, reverent, pressing kisses to every spot that made you want to hide.

“You don’t have to hold your stomach in,” he whispered at one point, hands on your waist. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

You nodded, tears stinging — not from pain, but from the unbearable tenderness of it.

When he finally pushed into you, he moved slowly, filling you like he was coming home. No fast, rough pounding. Just rolling hips and soft praise and warm hands splayed over your body, anchoring you to the bed, the room, to him.

“You feel perfect,” he murmured against your neck. “Like you were made for me.”

You cried when you came — not from shame but from release, from the love pouring into you with every thrust, every breathless mon amour he whispered against your skin.

When it was over, he didn’t roll away. He stayed there, holding you, one hand splayed over your stomach like a promise.

“You’re not like anyone I’ve ever dated,” he said into your hair.

You tensed slightly — but he kissed your temple and added, “You’re so much better.”

Would you like a follow-up scene where he teaches you some French pet names in bed or insists on taking you to a public event just to show you off and shut everyone up?

[f1amour]

authors note | hello everyone! for my us followers (but this is open for everyone!) you all know thanksgiving is approaching and especially right now it might be a difficult time being around others after the recent election. in general the holidays might seem like a lonely time for some so i figured to host a little friendsgiving celebration! read below for details on the event and i hope you all enjoy <3

event schedule — november 24th to november 30th

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APPETIZERS 🫕 would you rather, fmk(iss), this or that, any games you got in mind send to my inbox. that is all i came up with haha

MAIN COURSE 🫔 social media au send a driver + small summary/concept you want and i will create a post for it it <3 here’s an example of what they’d look like but a shorter version

DESSERTS 🍮 choose from one list below or multiple ones and i will write a small blurb, drabble, or text message au based off it! (for the text messages it’ll be a f1 grid post rather than just one driver only)

¹ smut ² smut

¹ angst ² angst

¹ fluff ² fluff

COCKTAILS ��� will create a pinterest board, playlist, or moodbaord based off your favorite driver + trope/concept

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who you can request ! charles leclerc, carlos sainz jr., lewis hamilton, lando norris, oscar piastri, max verstappen, daniel ricciardo, alex albon, mick shumacher, pierre gasly, sebastian vettel, fernando alonso, franco colapinto. pairings: lestappen x reader, charlos x reader, landoscar x reader, carlando x reader, maxiel x reader, versainz x reader

what i will write ! angst, fluff, smut, poly relationships + threesomes, cheating, age gaps

extra details ! my blog is more for 18+ especially with this event involving smut concepts i don’t feel comfortable with any minors sending requests so please be respectful of that. i am only one person so i may not get to all the requests but i will try my best so please be patient <3

[honeytonedhottie]

starting and managing ur blog⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🍰

so you wanna start a blog? in this post i’ll break down effective ways to start, manage and maintain a blog (from my own experience of course) i hope u find this helpful ✨

TOPIC AND IDEA ; 

to have a blog you need an idea or concept about what your blog will be about. make your blog about either something that you know a lot about/are proficient in.

or blog about something that u are learning about as a way to track ur progress and learn new information. you could blog about something that you love a lot etc etc. 

AESTHETIC ; 

what is your aesthetic? for me it’s hyper feminine and pink and just DIVINE. when u choose and stick to an aesthetic it’ll give ur blog kind of a signature which is important for the rest of this post. 

when u have an aesthetic in mind for ur blog make sure that you have plenty of pins on pinterest that mesh nicely with ur aesthetic so u can find things like headers, dividers, photos and emojis that suit the aesthetic of ur blog. 

RESOURCES ; 

pinterest is my holy grail for resources. there u can find headers and photos to use in ur posts to give ur audience something visually pleasing to look at while they read ur post. 

what ur gonna want to start off ur blog aesthetic and theme is ; 

a header 

a color scheme (for coloring/bolding words. and the colors for ur blog page in general)

an informative bio 

a pfp 

dividers 

START OFF POST IDEAS ; 

if u want to run a well organized blog there are a couple posts that i think are beneficial for u to make. in fact the most important post that i think any blog should have is a MASTERLIST.

master lists are great for a multitude of things. they help ur audience to navigate ur blog easier and see all that you have to offer in one convenient tap of their finger. plus when u make navigating ur blog easy, more people will experience ur content which will mean more interactions with ur post.

not only does it help the audience but it also helps u to know what u did and didn’t post, so that u can plan effectively for the future. it’s also a fun way to see how much u posted. i recommend making a new masterlist every year or when you can’t put any more links onto it 💀. if u want a reference for a good masterlist you can check out mine right here.

CONSISTENCY ; 

consistency is key in anything and everything and blogging is no exception. i recommend not blogging in a competitive nature, rather i think in order to be consistent with something like a blog you should genuinely just do it for funsies/passion and as a way to have ur own authentic creative outlet.

i don’t have a set posting schedule bcuz i don’t want blogging to feel like a chore when in reality it’s just a hobby that happened to gain an audience because people enjoyed it. and because people enjoy what i write, it in return makes me happy and wanna write more.

SIGNATURE ; 

i cannot stress this enough but when u have a platform whether it’s small or big individuality sets you apart! have something that sets u apart like personalized hash-tags, a way that u talk, etc etc. 

personalize hash-tags with things like emojis. also, USE UR HASHTAGS because when someone looks up something like “self improvement” your post will be what they see if u add those hashtags.

furthermore if u personalize those hashtags it sets u apart and gives ur blog a kind of brand and individuality in a way. like a signature at the end of a post.

THINGS TO KEEP TRACK OF ;

what posts you’ve done/want to do

upcoming projects or ideas that u have

how your following/interactions are growing or shrinking

how much $ u get from tips

inbox questions or dms to answer

your plans and goals

your personalized hashtags

i hope this post was helpful to anyone who has been thinking about or wants to create their own blog, i encourage you to do so ✨

[melancholyshadow]

hi! i was wondering if you can write aki hayakawa x reader fic, something fluffy and domestic, maybe him being a little silky amd flirty (reader and aki are a couple)

THIRD TIME'S A CHARM - A. HAYAKAWA

PAIRING: aki hayakawa x f!reader

WARNINGS: not proofread!, just some horribly written fluff

SUMMARY: the two times aki didn't know what he was feeling, until it finally clicked.

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

A/N: i haven't written fluff in AGES, so i hope this is along the lines of what you were asking for anon, i kind of went my own way, but thanks for requesting!! if you have any request, feel free to drop them in my inbox! (be sure to check who i write for first!)

DIVIDER: @adornedwithlight <3

MASTERLIST

For the longest time, love was an unfamiliar concept to Aki Hayakawa. 

That was until he met you.

It wasn’t a feeling that just appeared one day, but a feeling that grew slowly over the course of your relationship.

When Aki thought about it, there were three specific memories that came to mind.

Moments that only made him fall further down the rabbit hole. 

Until that day he finally said that he loved you. 

The first time Aki felt it was about two months in, and it was a rare Saturday night for him.

Instead of being stuck at the Public Safety office, drowning in paperwork until midnight, he was at your apartment. He stood in the bathroom, in front of the sink, with his toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, watching you intently through the mirror. Per usual, he was easily distracted by your presence, as you applied some mascara to your eyelashes and mouthed the words to the song that played from your phone. 

He texted you the night before, and informed you to be ready by eight tonight, that he was taking you on a real date. Most of your dates, thus far, have been him coming to your place directly after work and ordering takeout. You certainly didn’t mind those sorts of dates, but this was a nice change. 

Aki informed you he was taking you to the bar, so you dressed accordingly. Casual, but still cute. The time was somewhere around seven-thirty, and you were finishing up, spritzing yourself with your favorite perfume.  

“Ya’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in anything other than slacks or sweatpants.” You teased him, pausing the music and wiping away a small speck of rouge mascara. He chuckled at your comment, he just continued to  brush his teeth, and watched you as you walked out of the bathroom and into your connected bedroom. 

“Leather or jean jacket?” He heard you call from inside your closet. After quickly rinsing off his toothbrush and putting it in the holder, he walked out to join you. You stood in front of your full-length mirror, holding both garments in front of your body. 

“Jean?” Aki said, although it came out more as a question. “But the denims don’t match, the jacket is too dark.” You huffed out. “Leather, then?” He suggested. “With the black top? I don’t want to look like some biker.” You explained, letting out another sigh. Aki chortles, and you whip around to look at him. 

“Why’re you laughing?” You asked, looking at him through the slits of your eyes. “Why ask if you don’t like either option?” He inquired. You just looked at him for a moment, genuinely considering his question, “You’re no help, you’re supposed to humor me.” You said, jokingly. 

Eventually, you decide on no jacket, not wanting it to ruin your outfit. 

The bar ended up being packed, even for a Saturday.

There was barely any room to move. Aki kept a secure hand on the small of your back as you navigated towards the bar. You finally find a spot to squeeze yourself into and motion to the bartender. Aki’s much larger frame is standing guard behind you, taking the brute force of the drunks walking past.

You order your favorite drink, and get Aki a beer. Surprisingly, there was a free table in the corner of the room, and you hunkered down there for the night. The night passed along at a steady pace, and you two talked to each other about whatever topics pop into your mind at that moment. As there was still a lot the two of you didn’t know about each other. 

Aki decides to only have a couple beers since he was the one who was driving you home. However, that meant you had free reign, and you took advantage of that. Neither of you went out often, and you were usually the designated driver for your friend group when you went out, so this sort of night was few and far between. 

It was around one in the morning, and you were too many drinks in to count. Aki was talking about one of his co-workers and how immature she could be. You tried your hardest to concentrate on what he was saying, but you were distracted. 

Distracted by him. 

By the way, Aki's lips moved while he talked, and his tongue swiped over his bottom lip occasionally. How his icy blue eyes still popped, even under the dim bar lights. The fact that he had a perfect button nose. And his hair, how it fell across his face just right. You genuinely could have stared at him for hours. 

“You’re not listening, are you?” His voice brought you out of your trance. He wasn’t angry, he couldn’t be, not at you, he was more amused. “‘M sorry, your jus’ so pretty.” You whined, propping your head up with one hand. “And you are drunk.”  Aki let out a genuine laugh. It made your heart skip. 

Aki would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking the same thing about you, he was just better at concealing his ogling. You always looked beautiful to him, even when you weren't trying. But, right now with that drunken flush flooding your cheeks, and the accompanying glossy eyes, you looked almost angelic beneath the dingy lighting. 

This is when he first felt it. 

Something he wasn’t able to explain. 

So, he ignored it. 

The second time was three months later. 

Aki was having a particularly bad day.

 Actually, it was an awful day. 

It was a plethora of things. He woke up late, people filing their paperwork wrong, perfectly good leads going missing, Denji and Power were being extra annoying and combative, and Makima’s usual unrealistic expectations. He had been so busy that when you sent him a text earlier in the day, he didn’t even have a single second to read it or respond. 

So, by the time the clock struck six, Aki was practically sprinting out the door. As soon as he stepped outside the Public Safety building, he lit up a cigarette and practically ran to your apartment. All he wanted was to see you, he knew that would make his horrid day all worth it. 

He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled his key from the lock, and pushed the front door open. The apartment was dark as he kicked off his shoes, he called out to you but got no response. You were supposed to be home, you had the day off. Aki grabbed his phone from his back pocket, remembering he had a text from you. Maybe you sent him a message to tell him you had picked up a shift at work. 

Except when he opened the message, it was not about you going into work. 

sent at 10:08am  you <3: happy birthday, aki! i hope you have a great day at work, can’t wait to see you later! <3

Happy birthday? 

Before he could ponder your text for much longer, he heard your voice call out to him from deeper inside the apartment. He noticed a small amount of light coming from the living room, so that’s where he decided to investigate first. 

As he flipped on the overhead light, that’s when he found you. You were stood in the middle of the room, cake in hand, decorated with numbered candles, small flames flickered at the wick. “Happy birthday!” You exclaimed, the smile on your face practically beamed off your lips. 

Aki was speechless. 

The entire room was decorated. There were streamers strung from each corner of the room, a garland with the words ‘happy birthday’ hung from the window above the couch. Balloons littered the carpeted floor, and some hung high on the ceiling. A festive table cloth covered the short-legged table in the middle of the room, and three perfectly wrapped presents and a card sat atop it. 

“Wait, did you seriously do all of this?” He asked, when his mouth was finally able to formulate some sort of response. “Of course I did.” You chuckled, “Now, come blow out these candles.” You added. Aki stepped closer, and noticed it wasn’t just some store bought cake, it was homemade. 

“And you made me a cake?” He asked, and looked up at you. You nodded, that smile on your face growing even wider, “Make a wish!” You reminded him. Aki blew out his candles, and took the cake from your hands, placing it on the table. You opened your mouth to question him, but before you could, he pulled you into his chest.

That unknown feeling popped up again at that moment. 

As he held you in his arms and admired all the work you had put in. 

This time he recognized that what he felt wasn’t just in his chest, but his heart.

The final time was a couple weeks shy of your one year anniversary.

It was a cold Sunday morning, and it was quite early. 

Aki was already up and had snuck out of bed. He started the coffee pot and when it was done brewing, he poured himself a cup and sat on your patio. He watched the people pass by below. Taking the occasional sip of coffee or drag of his morning cigarette to warm up the chill that reached his bones. When both were done, he attempted to try and slip back into bed with you. 

The keyword was attempt. 

You stirred just as he situated himself under the covers. 

He stilled any movements, hoping you would just fall back asleep. However, you flipped over and looked at him with your sleep-filled eyes. “Aki?” You asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” He cooed. You let out a small hmpf and collapsed next to him, with your head on his chest. He chuckled a bit, as he felt your body go limp, and your breath shallow out. 

Aki was certainly a morning person, mostly because he had to be, and you were more of a night person. There were many Sundays similar to this, where Aki had started his day hours before you started yours. He certainly wasn’t complaining, he enjoyed these moments with you. 

It was about an hour later when you would finally rise for the day, but it was a slow process. 

Aki had been enjoying the silence, which was only interrupted by the occasional snore that passed your lips. Your body began to move in the slightest way, but it wasn’t like the occasional twitch your body produced while you slept, but more of a stretch, like you were attempting to loosen your tight muscles. 

You sat up slowly, and used your fists to rub the fuzziness from your eyes. “Good morning.” He said softly, as you stretched your arms over your head and your legs out in front of you, a couple pops coming from your bones. “Good morning.” You murmured, finally looking at him with a sleepy smile. 

Aki knows you don’t necessarily like being asked a million questions just as you wake up, so the two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, allowing you to wake a bit more first. You turn to face him, and situated your body to do the same. 

“Being half-asleep is a very good look on you.” He uttered softly, and tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear. In the mid-morning sun, you looked absolutely divine to Aki. Between the disheveled hair, glazed over eyes, lazy smile and puffy cheeks you looked more beautiful than ever. At that moment, he imagined himself walking up to that sight every morning. 

That’s when that mysterious feeling began creeping back into Aki’s chest, and back into his heart. 

That’s when it seemed to click in Aki’s mind. 

He was feeling love. 

Something he hadn’t felt in years, not since his family was alive.  

That’s why he couldn’t put his finger on it. 

But, this was different. This love made his heart race, his palms sweat, and his stomach turn. That’s why he got nervous to see you, that’s why he was always thinking about you, and that’s why whenever he pictured his future you were included. 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, before he went reeling. You were staring at him with your big bright eyes. You could tell he had gotten lost in his thoughts, something that happened to him quite often. “Are you okay?” You asked. He took your smaller hand into his much larger one. He was smiling, but it was one you had never seen before. You opened your mouth to ask him if he was alright again, but he spoke instead. 

“I…” Aki struggled with his words, although he knew exactly what he wanted to say. He was nervous you might not feel the same way, that this might all be one-sided. That he might have read the situation wrong. But he decided to say it anyway.

“I love you.” 

And without hesitation, you responded. 

“I love you more, Aki.” 

if you thought my smut was rusty, my fluff is even worse!

[maidragoste]

I. Frank

I'm excited and nervous to post this because I really want the people who supported the concept like it.

I remind you that interactions (likes, comments, reblogs) are highly appreciated because they motivate me to keep writing. So if you enjoy this first chapter, please comment 🥺🥰💖

My inbox is always open to read your questions, headcanons, and thoughts 🤗💖

Taglist: @pocket-of-possibilities @foolishseven @starsdustofyesterday

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

I hope you have a good reading!

The hallway is empty except for Frank. There are five minutes left until the meeting starts, but he doesn't rush to enter. He prefers to stay in the hallway as long as possible because once inside, he'll have to interact with all these strangers and tell them his story. These groups aren't supposed to judge you, but he's sure they will.

You're doing it for your wife and the kids, he reminds himself when the involuntary thought of leaving crosses his mind as the minutes tick by on his phone screen. But the thought won't go away. Maybe he could try it next week? Would his wife be furious if he came home now?

“First time, right?” Frank jumps when he suddenly hears a female voice next to him. His eyes instantly snap from his phone to meet a young woman in her twenties with a medium skin tone, dark hair, and warm brown eyes. How could he not hear her moving? “First times always make you nervous, it’s normal to want to run away.”

“I was going to come in,” Frank says, instantly getting defensive. If he hadn't only picked up on the last part of what she said, he would have realized she'd just admitted between the lines that this wasn't her first time being clean.

“Of course,” she says and opens the door. She looks at him, clearly expecting him to go in first. Frank wasn’t about to look like a coward in front of a stranger, so he goes in. He doesn’t miss the small smile that appears on her face, and he realizes she did it on purpose. “I don’t recommend the coffee; it’s horrible.” She goes to the table in the corner, and Frank follows her out of inertia; after all, she’s the only person he “knows.” He watches her pour water into a plastic cup. “Do you want water? By the way, I’m Charlie.”

“Yes, thank you,” he accepts the cup. “Frank.”

“Please, everyone, take a seat,” asks a redheaded woman in her late forties.

If Dana and Collins were here, Frank is sure they’d laugh at him for the way he seemed to follow Charlie around like a lost puppy. He literally ran to avoid another guy stealing the spot next to her. God, he hoped she didn’t think he was a weirdo. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Good afternoon. How are you?” the woman greets.

There were some murmurs of “fine,” but Frank was sure he heard someone say “like shit,” and he also noticed a couple of people, like himself and Charlie, who remained silent.

“I see a couple of new faces, so I'll introduce myself. I'm Maureen, and I've been clean for twenty years.” She smiles, clearly proud of herself, and Frank hopes he can look as confident as she does in the future. “We're all here to listen and help each other. No one is here to judge you; we know better than anyone what addiction can do to us,” she says in a calm voice. “Does anyone want to introduce themselves first?”

Frank thinks, why not just rip the band-aid off?

“Hi, I'm Frank, and I've been clean for a month and a week,” he begins, looking around the room, not wanting to look at anyone directly so they can't see he's nervous. “My addiction started after I hurt my back helping my parents move. I was prescribed pain medications and muscle relaxers, but my prescription ran out and I still hurt, so I started stealing medicine from the hospital where I work.”

“Wow,” says the guy sitting across from Charlie, earning her to stomp on his foot. “I'm sorry,” he apologizes instantly, looking at Frank.

“Do you regret doing that, Frank?” Maureen asks, as if she hadn't heard the guy.

“Of course,” she answers instantly, not because it's the right thing to do, but because it's the truth. “I can see now that I handled everything wrong instead of asking for help. I let a lot of people down, my coworkers.”

“And were you able to apologize to them?”

“Not to all of them,” he admits ruefully, thinking of Robby. His mentor didn’t want anything to do with him.

“We can work on that later,” the redhead says, and Frank nods. Maureen seems to see he’s not going to say anything else, so she invites someone else to continue.

Frank spends his time fiddling with the bracelet Tanner made him while listening to the others’ stories. It’s not that he wasn’t interested, but he was anxiously waiting for it to be over with.

Some stories seem like something out of a movie, like that of Joe, a man in his late forties who started using drugs in his teens after surviving a car accident in which his sister died and who is trying to stay clean this time because he just found out he had a daughter with his teenage girlfriend and wants to meet her. Others aren’t as dramatic, like Peter—the boy next to Charlie—who started using drugs trying to fit in with his group of friends and then became addicted.

At the end of it all, there is Charlie.

“Most of you already know me, but I’m Charlie,” she introduces herself. Frank notices that she seems anxious by the way she keeps touching the heart-shaped pendant on her necklace. “I started using drugs five years ago after my mom died. I still mourn her,” Charlie's voice becomes a little shaky, “and the anniversary of her death is coming up, and I’m scared of relapsing.” Her eyes drop to the floor, as if she’s embarrassed.

“It's normal to be scared, Charlie. It's a tough day for you,” Maureen says softly, causing Charlie to look at her. “Why don't you ask someone to join you that day? You could call Jack.”

“Who's Jack?” asks Joe, who, like Frank, is new to the group.

Charlie opens his mouth and closes it again. She was about to say something but thought better of it.

“Jack was my mom's husband. He practically raised me with her,” she finally answers, gripping the pendant tighter. Frank thinks that if the necklace were made of a weaker material, she probably would have broken it by now.

“So he's your dad,” Frank concludes, making Charlie's brown eyes focus on him. Frank regrets speaking when he sees how she seems to be holding back tears.

“Will you call Jack? I think it would do you both good to be together on that day,” Maureen insists.

“No, I can't call him,” she denies, her voice trembling. “I can't just reappear in his life. I haven't spoken to him in years. What am I going to say when he asks me why I disappeared?”

“Addiction isn't something to be ashamed of. Besides, from everything you've told us about Jack, he doesn't seem like someone who's going to judge you,” the older woman tries to reassure her.

“Yes, I'm sure he'll welcome you with open arms. A father doesn't stop loving his daughter just because she doesn't speak to him anymore,” adds Rick, a blond man with light eyes in his forties who has been clean for ten years.

“Exactly, fathers never stop loving their children,” agrees Linda, a woman with brown hair and brown eyes in her thirties who has been clean for three years.

But Frank can see that Charlie doesn't seem to fully believe what they're saying. Maybe because she's afraid, or because she hasn't had her own children yet.

He's certain that no matter what happens in the future, he knows he'll always love his children. Tanner and Luke are the best things that ever happened to him. God, he hoped his children never went through what he was going through, and if they did, that they'd have the confidence to talk to him, that they wouldn't disappear from his life out of fear or shame.

“If you don't feel ready to talk to him, then you could ask a friend to spend the day with you. The important thing is that you're not alone,” Joe suggests, and Frank gets the feeling the rest of the group isn't happy with his input. Maybe they've been trying for a long time to get Charlie to talk to his dad again?

“I think I'll do that, thanks.”

After that, the meeting quickly ends. Charlie seems a little calmer, but Frank feels that everyone ends up bitter.

Frank picks up the plastic cups they both used from the floor and throws them in the trash. He waits patiently for her to finish putting on her coat before they both walk out into the hallway.

"I see you next week?" she asks.

“Yes, you don’t have to worry about me running away anymore,” he replies. "And will you come next week?"

“Let's hope so. Pray for me,” she says with a smile, but it's different from the smile she gave him before entering; this one isn't as bright, she looks tired, and her eyes are dull.

Frank doesn't know if she's serious or joking. He only met her today, but for some reason, he's already worried about her. Has rehab made him more empathetic?

“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” he says as he opens the door for them to leave the establishment. “But I really think you should call Jack,” he says, looking into her eyes. “No one will understand your pain of losing her better than him.”

“I'm not ready,” she repeats.

“Just think about it, okay?” he asks, and when she doesn't nod, he adds, “If you need company, you can call me.”

Maybe he'd regret giving her his number later. But Frank wasn't going to risk this girl relapsing because she had no one with her.

[cosmos-coma]

heyy i was wondering if you could write the winter soldier x reader? im obsessed with him

i just want something fluffy with him cause im obsessed with him having a soft side for the reader😭😭

Winter soldier fluff HCS

Ahh, sorry! I know I got this SO long ago and I feel bad about this being in my inbox all the time, AND I’ve been struggling to think of a plot for this, so I hope you don’t mind some fuffy Headcannons!

Bucky Masterlist

The winter soldier Is not a man of many words, especially if he can help it.

Instead he prefers to use actions to let you know what he means; Hooking his fingers with yours and tugging you that much closer when he wants to hold you or touching the small of your back when he just wants to be close (his footsteps are always so quiet)

When you first got together he wasn’t actually all that touchy- I mean he had spent decades under other people’s control, doing everything asked of him and getting nothing in return. He doesn’t really understand the concept that that things (especially things he does) can be for his own joy.

So in the Beginning it’s mostly you initiating the touches, just little ones to start- the brushing of fingers and leaning on one another- the last thing you wanted to do was overwhelm him.

You assure him it’s okay to reach out and request you, but It still takes him a little while to get comfortable with it, but once he is he barely wants to let go.

Occasionally he will use words though, a simple “please..?” Low and rough, barely above a whisper, but you hear it loud and clear. It usually comes at the end of particularly rough days, when his own mind seem to degrade and distance himself from everyone and everything… he knows you’re the only one who can bring him back. You never waste a second falling into your place beside him.

On your bad days, he seems to know and understand your feelings in no time. His trained eyes see the furrow in your brow that you didn’t know you were holding, the clench of your jaw you hadn’t felt, or the way you set your keys down just a touch harder than normal.

I should say- he’s not adverse to talking and using his words, he’s just more often a quiet man.

He’ll tug you toward him, away from the stressful loop running in your mind, away from the world outside and pull you close against his chest. His arms fall easily around you, his hand finding your hair instantly.

“Who do I need to get rid of” he’d ask.

It never failed to made you laugh, your chuckle bubbling up from deep in your chest.

The Winter Solider didn’t understand; He was being completely serious, but it made you laugh so he just never stopped asking it. Every time you came home upset or sad he’d ask again. You’d always give a laugh, or at the very least an amused huff, and assure him no one had to die because of your shitty day.

Part of him is waiting for the day he can actually do something about it- your bad days - but for now he’s just happy he can still put a smile on your lips.

[that1fangirrl]

Dating a Ballet Dancer...

Cw: some 18+,food mentions

A/N: This was honestly so adorable to me. I think I might write so more for it later on. If you have any ideas for this or other concepts, my inbox is always open. Enjoy!

He does not understand why ballerinas wear so many layers to practice. Especially because they are mostly thin and mesh garments, but with leg warmers

Yoga and stretch “dates”

Forcing her to eat more food so she can build up strength… or at least him sneaking a few snacks in her bag before she leaves for practice

Helping her stay in shape and healthy always

Something tells me he’d be curious to try a move… maybe stick to plié or tendu. Just like small footwork. Nothing extreme

He probably helps her with choreography. His enhanced senses pick up on slight changes so i definitely see him being like “oh that pirouette wasn’t as strong” or “your elbows aren’t tucked in right”

He doesn’t seem like a nervous person, but knowing with any sport you can get hurt has him on edge all the time. “What if you don’t land right and break an ankle?”

But he’s fairly confident in his babygirl… she's a professional after all

He's a huge stickler when it comes to her health. I know I said it before, but he's constantly watching what she eats, how much sleep and rest she gets. Cause he knows what the body needs to feel good and function better

Maybe it even motivates him to be better about his own health

It doesn’t help that they’re in college which always somehow means snacks over real food

If practice goes longer into the night, he’ll wait in the building or in the studio, so they can walk back to his or her dorm

Classical music is a must for them both. Just picture it. Him sitting on the bed studying with the music softly in the background while his adorable lover mimics the movements in her head along to the music. He would have the cutest little soft smile on his face(y'know the one)

When it’s tech/rehearsal week and he's not allowed to be around, it’s the worst. He’s only allowed to sit on one of the benches outside of the theater/auditorium. He can hear her jagged breathing, the nerves bounces off the walls, the constant frustration running through her veins. It makes him super antsy that he can’t barge in and console his sweet angel. 

But after each night of rehearsing, he makes sure Foggy isn’t at their dorm, so he can give her a well deserved night of comfort. Whether that be a nice massage, cuddling with an audiobook or some music, or everyone’s favorite… sex!!

Speaking of sex… he’s 100% her first. He’s so sweet and gentle. Constantly asking if she’s okay, if she wants to try something else, etc. It’s always a good time. Vanilla, but who cares? They're only in college.

Back to our charmer, he might’ve flirted with the dance instructor a little so he could be allowed into the dance studio after hours or during sessions. She’s an older lady, so of course she’s gonna love that little catholic boy who’s “too much”.

Now when the tickets for each show goes on sale, he is the first and i repeat THE FIRST to get a ticket. He’s up bright and early waiting for the doors to open so he can get one and be prepared for the night. 

During the day, he tries his best to keep her head up. Makes her stand in front of a mirror and say only positive things to herself. Even texts in the middle of his day, that she's gonna kill it. 

He even has Foggy tag along. Has him help pick out flowers and a cute card. Maybe even some cute jewelry, like a little dainty bracelet that has a ballet charm on it. Foggy doesn’t mind though, he’s their number 1 supporter. 

At the end of the show, he finds her backstage crying. Something about how she messed up on her turns and everyone noticed. To which he assures her with the biggest and tightest hug. “The crowd loved you Angel. They were absolutely breathless and amazed. If you did mess up, they didn’t even notice because your beauty hypnotized them too much.” Ending it with a billion kisses all over the face and on her forehead. 

She kept those flowers by the way. Dried them out and has them in a special area of their apartment. Probably in some cute little keepsake box. 

 After all these years, they’re still together. Graduated from school. Successful lawyer and Ballet Dancer of Hell’s Kitchen.

He still goes to all of her shows. Brings Foggy and Karen. Has a cute new bouquet of flowers each time. 

One night, he brings a ring. And after the show, they go for a small walk in the park nearby and he gets on one knee and proposes to her. The rest from there is history.

[girl-lostconnection]

SEAL ANON ASK CAME IN *evil laughter* AND ITS MASSIVE *laughter becomes eviler* We are eating good tonight, oh my god

I cackled when I read this, lowkey thought you didn't like my ask.

THERE ARE TEO OF THEM? Let’s fucking go

*squeals in delight* I'm so-very glad you feel excited for my asks.

God, I’ve been literally pacing around waiting for it to come in and then somehow it didn’t show up in my notifications and I never saw it. Jesus, I thought you read the fic and didn’t like it much so there were no ask. BUT HERE IT IS. Tumblr tried to eat it. Thankfully to no avail.

I quite literally kept checking your account every few hours for the whole weekend.. and when I saw updates I was like: "My turn! They're replying-" and nope, you were reposting stuff. (Not that I mind *smoochs*)

Tumblr won't and can't get in the way of this relation! Hehe

Seal, you are matching my freak so hard, you have NO idea how much I like reading you. So don’t overthink it, it’s all good. Please, type away

Stawp, you've got me tripping on my shoe laces. *giggles*

I’m ngl, Seal, the man is a freak, he’d probably like your tears. But that was actually the point of my description of his face. My Ghost is rarely pretty in the conventional sense, because a person doesn’t need to be pretty to be hot. Like you said, you’d cry in disgust but it makes him even more desirable.

#Imatchhisfreak

Honestly, it was a very self-indulgent thing for me to write so I understand why big lilies and other stuff might read a bit silly or smth like that. But yeah it was self indulgent and I self inserted a bit here and there, but that’s why god has given me the ability to write.

Honestly I don't mind! Might sound weird, but it's fun if !reader does not-exactly neutral stuff and shows interests and skills.

Keep being self-indulgent bb, I'll eat every single fic of yours up.

autumn is free so if you feel like getting stolen away in October — *folds fingers in a phone gesture and shakes it* I’m gonna hit you up

Hit me up whenever bb, I'll always reply. (Not if I crash in my motorbike but huuh)

It’s in the Ghoap folder. Would read a bit less cooked than this one, but I do like “The Big, The Bad and the Wolf”. There is also Acceleration AU, but beware it lacks the last part. I’m getting to it. Slowly.

Baby, baby, you must know that I read at least 85% of your fics, so yes, I already read "The Big, The Bad and the Wolf" and Acceleration AU. (I'm patiently and lovingly waiting for next chapter, *smoochs*)

Babylicious…*looks you in the eyes, smiling like a maniac* seal of my inbox, you read the Grief series already? No? Let me know what you think about it if you get to it (no pressure. It’s hurt no comfort, pure angst, poly!141 x Reader, Reader dies btw)

OMG NO, I saw it in your masterlist but nothing was linked.. I'LL READ IT AS SOON AS I FINISH WRITIN THIS. OHMYGOD. Your asks inbox will be filled by me.

I'm filling your inbox now, good luck everybody else! (Tell me you get the ref, pftt)

He’s real sorry, but they were also such a dark red:(((( And petals were so soft and then he thought about the fingers that touched it, had to eat a petal, and then kind of go “she loves me-she loves me not” with that shit because he was waiting for too long:( he got bored

I'm going to squish you author, you sound so digestible and sweet.

He payed for new once the very next day if it makes it any better🥹

Okay.. yes.. yes... mhmh..

LMAO, not in his perception of reality. But frankly speaking in his perception of reality he’s welcoming home his wayward wife from work and not a woman he saw like once on the street in the middle of Manchester

Whatever drugs he's on, get me a batch too. LMAO.

Lmao, maybe. Next time check the dark corner further away from your bed, if there is a face in the dark. Maybe it is me. Maybe not. Also a glimpse of someone’s face in an impossibly small vent? Also could be me, I lurk in many places (I’m sorry, I take pleasure in horror concepts)

I'd cry, hard and scream, then start swaying my knife and pepper spray in your nose.. If I die I'll drag you with me. #eyeforaneyeandwellallgoblind

I don’t know, pookie. Should you worry, should you like to know why?👀

Honestly.. I should definitely worry, on second thought I might not need to know why..

No, bb. Simon will be the last thing to die🙂

No. Me. (giggling)

Thank you so much for reading it. It is such a pleasure to receive your analysis and be able to talk about my work with you. Really, I’m super happy you liked it. Also I hope it’s a good thing that it made you go numb?👀let me know if not

It is a good thing, it means that you hit every good spot and made me see hell and back <3

Thank you! And yeah, it is significantly heavier than most previous things I wrote and it was kind of a step out of my comfort zone. But I wanted to write something of the kind for a while so honestly, I regret nothing. I loved the end result and I enjoyed the work process. It consumed me a bit but yk what they say, to be great you need an obsession (kinda cocky of me)

You did amazing, so so proud of you !

Also, just for clarification, if at any point you realise that smth I recommended or wrote is not your cup of tea or it’s like too heavy for your tastes — you are under no obligation to read them. I’m happy to discuss other things and you are very fun in on yourself. I’m saying that just in case, because I’d hate to make you read stuff you wouldn’t enjoy for the sake of chatting me up about it.

Sadly, or luckily for you, I'm a starved seal for your works, I'll take anything, any scrap, even just a word.

So, nop, dun worry sweetheart, recommend me anything. I'll obsess over it.

You are cool and I’m a bit like Ghost, I enjoy you for your presence, demeanour and for how interesting it is to talk with you, not for your engagement with my things. Sounded better in my head but I hope you get what I mean🥲

I get it bb, dun worry your pretty brain about such frivolous things.

Onto the questions.

Wont reply to all of 'em, but delicious answers.

AND

Big lilies and big bouquets is something I do and something that is a tradition for my family. All of us love flowers so we do buy whichever we liked on our way home if we saw any. So yeah, walking with big bouquet is a real thing that I do pretty often

That's adorable, I pat you.

Byebye.. See you soon..

*never leaves*

-🦭anon

I finally got to answering this ask, oh seal of my seas. Took me a couple of days to get to it but im finally here. Let's dig in

I cackled when I read this, lowkey thought you didn't like my ask.

I loved your ask. Like that was such a great experience to talk through my work in such detail with someone who genuinely enjoyed reading it and had their own thoughts on the matter. It was a great ask. 10/10, I’d say no notes, but as you can see we got a bunch of notes. We communicate through digital pigeon carriers of tumblr askbox, that’s an experience I didn’t know I wanted but now I’m excited beyond anything

*squeals in delight* I'm so-very glad you feel excited for my asks.

I ammmmmm. Very much so. But it’s probably obvious from how much I chat you up in them

I quite literally kept checking your account every few hours for the whole weekend.. and when I saw updates I was like: "My turn! They're replying-" and nope, you were reposting stuff. (Not that I mind *smoochs*)

I honestly had no idea your ask came in, Seal. Like I kept waiting for a notification or anything and checked the askbox a few times before I made myself stop. So yeah, we had some very wattpad-esque “I thought that you didn’t like it! No, I thought you didn’t like it!”, but I’m glad we actually managed to cross paths again

Tumblr won't and can't get in the way of this relation! Hehe

No one can, pookie, you are the star of my harbour. I got obsessed with “starbour seals” recently, that’s just seals drawn with a lot of stars or like constellations so hence weird analogies. Don’t mind me

Stawp, you've got me tripping on my shoe laces. *giggles*

*twirls my hair* can’t promise anything, but I could try to catch you and say a very cheesy “don’t go falling for me just yet”. And like throw my hair over the shoulder and wink at you before mysteriously walking into the sunset

Honestly I don't mind! Might sound weird, but it's fun if !reader does not-exactly neutral stuff and shows interests and skills. Keep being self-indulgent bb, I'll eat every single fic of yours up.

I honestly really like it in fics I usually read because it’s so fascinating to see a little more of writers range when they bring something new in. It feels less plastic-y or like less sterile and it makes Reader in a way also real. So yeah, I had fun making a little more live Reader

Hit me up whenever bb, I'll always reply. (Not if I crash in my motorbike but huuh)

Motorbike? *bats my lashes* bb, I’m already calling as we speak, on my way to book a meet up someplace nice *leans on the doorframe trying to look like a proper bad boy from the movies* how’d you feel about Italian? I am willing to share breadsticks

Baby, baby, you must know that I read at least 85% of your fics, so yes, I already read "The Big, The Bad and the Wolf" and Acceleration AU. (I'm patiently and lovingly waiting for next chapter, *smoochs*)

Damn, you are fast! Not that I’m complaining, I’m glad you are having fun there

OMG NO, I saw it in your masterlist but nothing was linked.. I'LL READ IT AS SOON AS I FINISH WRITIN THIS. OHMYGOD. Your asks inbox will be filled by me.

Maybe it’s tumblr being a bitch again cause I could have sworn it is linked

I'm filling your inbox now, good luck everybody else! (Tell me you get the ref, pftt)

I do not, but I also do not mind you filling the inbox of mine, you are always very welcome here😌🙌

I'm going to squish you author, you sound so digestible and sweet.

I’m very not digestible and probably very sour but like this hard-ass apple-flavoured candies that can break a tooth on a person. So beware😗

Okay.. yes.. yes... mhmh..

Giggled at the tone of that

Whatever drugs he's on, get me a batch too. LMAO.

Trust me…you don’t want them. You don’t want them, pookie, the man is delusional because he is. Also Simon, my beloved, is just straight up a guy that saw Reader, got immediately obsessed and proceeded to speed run the whole meet and greet

I'd cry, hard and scream, then start swaying my knife and pepper spray in your nose.. If I die I'll drag you with me. #eyeforaneyeandwellallgoblind

Lmao, whatever you say, bb. But we might both go blind since using pepper spray inside…I’m gonna be groaning on the floor, you gonna be crying in bed. Both of us blind and coughing

Honestly.. I should definitely worry, on second thought I might not need to know why..

🙂

No. Me. (giggling)

*rolls up my exam papers and smacks your shoulder* nein😒

It is a good thing, it means that you hit every good spot and made me see hell and back <3

Ohhhhh, I’m really glad then! Your pleasure is my pleasure of however it’s said

You did amazing, so so proud of you !

Thank you😌🙌

Sadly, or luckily for you, I'm a starved seal for your works, I'll take anything, any scrap, even just a word. So, nop, dun worry sweetheart, recommend me anything. I'll obsess over it.

Cool! Cause I’m only gonna get weirder from here! So buckle in. Or like grab the steering wheel, I don’t drive, I’m a passenger princess.

I get it bb, dun worry your pretty brain about such frivolous things.

*giggles and kicks my feet* aw, you think my brain is pretty?

That's adorable, I pat you. Byebye.. See you soon.. *never leaves*

Audibly cackled at that. Make yourself at home, you’d probably share the askbox with honeyed yea anon, they are somewhere around here. Still plotting my swift kidnapping to a quiet soundproof place with blankets.

Left a seal hide last time btw, now I have a seal hide in my imaginative lair, god bless them. Shout out to you, honeyed tea anon, gotta be my favourite kidnapping.

[lelengerine]

helloo! for the drabble event, could u do a celebrities + soulmates au for renjun pls? thank u 🌟

oh to see you

pairing | actor!renjun x actor!reader

genre | celebrity + soulmates au, it’s implied the reader is female for this one ;0; renjun’s a little grumpy in the beginning, do lmk if i missed anything!

wc | 0.9k

notes | thank u sm sm for requesting this, i was so excited to write this one as soon as i saw it in my inbox because i haven't tried writing something like this yet (kinda) ;0; likes, rbs, and feedback are always appreciated !!

this is part of my drabble req event here!

m.list

for once in his entire acting career, huang renjun is left stunned as he reads through the stack of papers detailing his role in an upcoming drama.

he had always resonated with the characters he was assigned to, having a good feel of them before filming even began, yet he can’t seem to wrap his head around this specific one.

his company decided for him to play as a smitten college student, desperately pining over a girl in his year level after figuring out they were soulmates.

it didn’t make sense to him. the character was acting that way simply because they were soulmates and nothing more? what even was the point of love then? 

he would never admit it himself, but he was a romanticist who preferred carefully thought out acts of love over fleeting bursts of affection. though, who was he to argue seeing as the drama was well received by the public when news of it first hit the headlines.

but don’t get him wrong, the idea of soulmates was a concept he was more than familiar with. it wasn’t surprising to hear about it in the first place, especially when the world he lived in was full of it — red strings of fate, matching tattoos, special birthmarks, he’s seen it all, but stubbornly refuses to accept it in its truth. 

perhaps it's because he believed having a soulmate himself was highly unlikely.

he still remembers the stories he’d hear when he was younger about his cousins finding ‘the one’ — a person they shared a special bond with that no one else could replicate. it was then he tried looking for anything that could signify he had one of his own, but to no avail.

the memory still sits bitterly in his mind, yet he finds himself standing in front of the film site, unable to deny the proposal of the director. this was still work, after all.

you’re inside a trailer in the same set, sitting in a pile of jittery nerves as your make-up artist does their best to make you look presentable on camera. 

you had stayed up a bit too much rereading your script over and over again, time passing through your fingertips before you even knew it. dark circles lay under your eyes, but you still think your efforts were worth it. this was your first major appearance in a drama as one of the main leads, a crucial moment in your career to make yourself known. 

you couldn’t let something as precious as that slip away.

“you’re done here, i better see you getting a good night’s worth of rest after this!” your make up artist jests, making you laugh along with them. 

a smile makes its way up your lips as you stand up from the seat, “what would i do without you? though, i’ll be off now!”

with a small wave, you bid them a goodbye, opening the door to find yourself face-to-face with someone who was so effortlessly serene, it kind of intimidated you. “ah- i’m sorry, were you coming in for make up?”

you notice he looks rather familiar, plush lips parted ever so slightly, and eyes twinkling with a shade of pink as he stares at you. his gaze was mesmerizing, a little too much that it brings out your bashfulness, pursing your lips together before deciding to speak again. “hello? did you come here for your make up?”

“huh- oh, yeah.” he quickly transfers his line of sight to his feet, his heart beating like he just ran a 10 meter marathon. he’s never seen you around as one of the make up artists, so who exactly were you?

“my name is y/n.” you begin speaking as if you read his mind, “i’m one of the leads for this drama. it’s nice to meet you…?”

and suddenly his world clicks into place. you were going to be his partner for the drama- ‘snap out of it’, he grumbles to himself, causing you to give him a confused look.

“sorry?” you ask, hoping he could repeat what he just said because you weren’t able to catch it.

“no, it’s nothing. i apologize.” he states softly, “my name is huang renjun. i look forward to working with you.” he’s smiling now, the sparkles in his eyes now glowing a bright yellow, and your cheeks start warming up. did everyone’s eyes normally look like this?

“i- i look forward to working with you too.” you turn away to give room for your flustered expression, “um, you should get ready now. i’ll leave you be.” 

your polite words disappointingly leave him with no reason to refuse. it was a shame, he wanted to talk to you more… wait, what? just what was going on in his mind?

“yeah, okay, thanks.” his replies hurriedly, not at all in the way he hoped for, but it somehow just came out in that manner. “i’ll see you later for shooting?”

“yeah.” you smile for the first time and renjun finally sees the same kind of sparkle that floats in the depths of your irises as his, leaving him just as enthralled as you were moments ago. “i’ll be on my way then.”

the two of you now stand on opposite sides of the trailer’s door, and while you’re wondering how you’re going to properly dictate the lines you practiced while looking at him, renjun’s come to the revelation that there might just be a soulmate for him out there — or rather right outside this very trailer van. 

perhaps he’s just understood the desperation of his character’s lovesickness because he wants to open the door once more and rush out to look for you — you who he hopes is the soulmate he has been silently yearning for his entire life.

[moonsaver]

It’s me @pix3lplays back at it again, not a request, but you mentioned a SLEEPOVER with the Stellaron hunters and it isn’t leaving my head so please have some thoughts…

First of all oh my gosh just IMAGINE their pajamas I’m crying that’s so funny…Silver Wolf’s is just straight up a Pokémon onesie or something-

Kafka has some very pretty, tasteful silk pajamas with lace…

Blade. Idk I imagine he probably sleeps shirtless or something (I’m normal about his scars I swear) but if he knows they’re having a guest he wears some random t-shirt alongside his sweatpants. Like. He doesn’t care what he wears at night…it’s a t-shirt with a really bizarre Picture or incomprehensible writing on it and you’re just like ??? Okay….

The human cast? Each of them have long enough hair…for a braid train…Kafka doing something really nice with Silver Wolf’s hair…while Blade just does something basic for Kafka, and then y/n gets to experiment with Blade’s hair…if he’ll let you. Important stuff I’m telling you.

Trying to play a board game with them that results in Kafka having to use her Spirit Whisper at LEAST once to get you all to calm down. Do NOT play Uno. Blade got +four carded like five times in a row, you felt so bad for him…

PILLOW FIGHT GONE WRONG!!! SO MANY INJURIES!!! Sam and Blade took it WAY too seriously.

At least one incident of Blade asking you to smother him with a pillow.

Silver Wolf who stays up LATE. So late. You’re all watching her play a video game, and the girl just doesn’t STOP, haha. Eventually you all would like to go to sleep…not her. You try so hard to stay awake to watch her but you end up falling asleep on the shoulder of another Stellaron Hunter.

Kafka eventually makes Silver Wolf go to sleep, but Silver Wolf does that thing I used to do as a kid where I’d just. Hide under the blanket while playing my DS. That’s Silver Wolf.

Blade getting a mara flare up in the middle of the night kinda killing the mood. Sam holding him like he’s a feral animal while you and Kafka calm him down.

Sam who I’m assuming doesn’t have to really sleep? Combined with Blade waking up really early results in them waking up the rest of you by accident in the morning haha.

Cooking breakfast for the Stellaron Hunter humans…please I NEED- (don’t mind me not really knowing how to cook but I CAN make pancakes and scrambled eggs lol)

I just…need a Stellaron Sleepover. Elio needs to put it in the script, I’m BEGGING.

Hello, Pixel! Glad to see you in my inbox, hehe.

The sleepover is a very fun concept!

I think your descriptions of their sleepwear is quite spot on. As for Blade.. does.. does he sleep? I feel like.. he just only takes off his normal clothes for wash day. Otherwise he probably just has.. some ripped up, old clothing that's begging to be put out of it's misery. Kafka has to come to the rescue once again and fish out some more appropriate wear for the sleepover and force him to change into them.

As for the braid train, I love it! They're all chattering and snickering, and y/n gets to experiment with Blade's hair. I imagine they temporarily dismantle the train to look at y/n's progress on his hair, and go back into their positions after. I think Blade's hair would actually be kind of silky near the roots, and in the middle. Most likely because he uses either Kafka's, or Silverwolf's bare minimum shampoo products which is miraculous for his hair. The ends are.. crusty, to say the least. But hey! It's not everyday you get to braid and shape his hair all silly. Make most of it!

The card game.. aww. Uno is probably the only thing all of you can really play, monopoly's not interesting enough for Blade to keep his attention, and other board games like Ludo makes Silverwolf too competitive, and Kafka's tried one too many times to cheat the dice. So.. Uno's the only simple option, not like they can't cheat, but.. it's a small card game, so.. whatever. They just stay dormant. Until all of you simultaneously pulled out a +4 and Blade had to pick up almost half of the card stack.. yikes.

Pillow fighting is probably the only activity that gets Blade actively engaged,but it's not long before the threads all snap except a few and the pillow is begging for mercy, Blade swinging it with such force to the point there's only a small bunch of cotton and fabric left.. injuries are even worse than that. Sam is a hair's breadth away from shooting someone through the pillow itself. So pillow fighting is banned until both Blade and Sam learn how to take it easier.

Silver wolf staying up to play extremely late.. makes sense. She would. Forms a small tent with an ominous glow from the inside, and it's just her console. At least, she doesn't quite disturb you as much as the others.

Blade.. poor thing. He himself probably doesn't want the mara flare up. After a while of calming him down everyone's just docile and kind of concerned about his shuddering state. Except Sam, of course. Deathly iron grip. Asks if he's done and if he can go. Dude, read the room!

Breakfast! Silverwolf's definitely not awake by then. Kafka's up and ready, miraculously. She offers you.. questionable substances, if you can even call it edible. But don't worry! Just close your eyes, take a mouthful, and leave it to Kafka if your stomach feels weird. Blade.. isn't someone that's partial to cooking, but all the Stellaron Hunters quietly watch him cook from the side.. watching him struggle a bit, but manage to cook an average breakfast with a few burnt sides. And of course, y/n gets first dibs.

[easilyandromeda]

One More Troubled Soul (Dimension Jumper)

Fuck okay, so I decided to write the first piece of the anthology fic I discussed in a previous post. Basically, what would happen if our main character got blipped from her world into a world where the Clergy existed. This story is something I want to write out of order, so if anyone has as ideas for situations or events throughout the course of the story let me know. Shoot them in my inbox and I would be more than happy to write them. Hope y'all enjoy! <3

Cardinal Copia x Original Character (F)

Word Count: 3.0K

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of Anxiety, Google Translate Italian

---------------------------------------------------------------

I hate nothing more than the nights where I know I need sleep and my body simply refuses to let me. I tossed and turned for hours in this bed trying to still my mind and slip into sweet oblivion. I have returned to this bed every night for the past three days with barely any success in actually sleeping. 

The bed was incredibly soft, luxurious even, with plush dark red sheets and a down blanket nicer than anything I have ever owned. The pillows were plump and cradled my neck in the perfect way to allow me to relax, but it wasn’t my bed. This was a strange bed, in a strange room, in an abbey that should not exist. In a world where I don’t belong.

That’s the thought that forces me upright with a jolt, curling my fingers into the blanket with the force to shake. The panic catches me in odd moments, like a jolt of lightning to my system. It forces me to move in primal terror, like I just can’t exist within my own skin. Existence feels wrong. 

“You’re okay,” I mumble to myself, pulling the blanket up to my chest and under my chin. Peeling my eyes up from the dark comforter, I take a moment to look over the unlit room. Sister Imperator had been very kind to allow me to take one of the guest suites for the duration of my ‘stay’, as she put it. 

The space was similar to that of a university dorm room, fitting a bed, dresser, small sitting area, desk, and kitchenette all within four walls. This style of dorm thankfully had an attached bathroom as well. The decor was exactly what you would expect within a satanic monastery. Dark oak furniture and draping red curtains, a painting of who I am assuming to be Lucifer himself placed on the wall next to the door. It did not discomfort me. 

The entire situation was far more unsettling than the setting. Appearing from my world, where the Ghost project was simply a band that brought me joy with a kitschy story and excellent music, to theirs. A world where the Clergy existed, and all its characters were breathing souls with a quest to spread the Dark Lord's message. I was dropped unceremoniously into this place. I did not step through a portal, or appear on an altar. I simply blinked and was here. Standing inside of a mausoleum I thought existed in California as the occasional set for the band's videos.

I still have no concept of where the abbey actually is in this version of earth. The complex is surrounded by what appears to be miles and miles of trees, making this place feel like it exists outside of time. The universe was not kind, so I did not keep my phone when I transferred over. The inhabitants of the abbey or the library may be a better source of information, but I did not have the heart to try and speak to anyone. Anytime I have stepped outside of this room, I’ve heard the whispers of the Siblings of Sin that seem to flood this place. 

I have run back into hiding every time. I can only handle this nightmare so much without becoming a zoo animal at the same time. 

The Clergy has been very kind to let me stay, considering my situation. Someone has brought food to my door every day, and I have not been called to speak to anyone. I have just taken up space here. It has been more than gracious for them to let me settle as best I can, but they will likely try to speak to me soon about how I got here.

I need air. It’s the middle of the night, no one should be roaming the halls of the abbey. I should be able to slip out to the courtyard or to the library unnoticed. If I can’t sleep, I can hopefully try to find some peace or some answers. 

I pull the blanket off of my lap and swing my legs off of the side of the bed, reaching down and pushing my feet into a pair of black slippers. Fuzzy, soft, opulent. Everything in this place has outmatched the quality of anything I have ever owned, but one could guess a church that has existed for at least a millennium would have money. That extended to the clothing I had been gifted to wear.

I was not given a habit or dresses like the Sisters of Sin, but simple black dresses and sweatsuits. All were within the dresser by the time I had been brought to this room, in my exact size. I had never told them my sizes, but it was possible that they were astute in their observations of me.

I was currently wearing a black t-shirt style nightdress, and debated changing before venturing out into the halls of the abbey.

“It’s not worth it,” I mumbled to myself, before standing and reaching for the black robe that was draped across the back of the desk chair to the right of the bed. I pulled the garment onto my arms and moved towards the door, not bothering to tie the sash around my waist. I grabbed my glasses off of the edge of the dresser as I passed, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Hagard, that was the only word to describe my appearance. 

Moving to the door, I hovered my hand over the knob for a brief moment. Did I really want to do this? It was so late, and I really did not want to be spotted. However, if I stayed in this room right now I would not be able to put myself to sleep. That was decision enough.

I turned the knob of the dark wooden door slowly, peering out at the hall through the crack. The abbey really was gorgeous, like it was plucked straight from a gothic-era novel. The walls were made from a dark stone, reaching high and curving at their apex. Beautiful tall windows lined the side of the building just outside of my room, their wrought iron bars and swirling patterns reflecting shadows onto the hallway floor thanks to the full moon glowing outside. 

The hall was silent, no signs of life to be found. Excellent. I pulled my door open a little further, moving to step out into the hall. I palmed the door’s skeleton key in my pocket once to make sure it was still there before pulling the handle behind me. I felt the weight of the door slide shut, and heard the soft click of the latch. I took one more deep breath before turning left and starting to walk down the hall.

The abbey felt like a sleeping beast at night, all of the bustle I usually heard through my door replaced with an eerie yet calming silence. Fresco’s and paintings of previous church leaders lined the halls, glowing in icy shades of moonlight. This whole place was such a sight to behold at night that I couldn’t help but think maybe the sun was never meant to rise here. Shadows really did suit this ancient building. 

After descending multiple sets of stairs and turning down multiple wrong hallways, I finally made it to a set of large glass doors that lead out to a courtyard. As I pushed one of the doors ajar, a strained groan resonated through the hall. I hissed quietly, quickly scanning the surrounding area before slipping out into the night air. 

“Fucking glorious,” I mumbled to myself, walking out into the gardens. The courtyard was surrounded on all sides by the abbey, giving me the opportunity to gaze in awe at her rising spires and intricate architecture. The air was cool, billowing softly and brushing against my face. I couldn’t help but smile, this place was simply gorgeous. I wish I could have gotten the opportunity to explore her under any other circumstances. 

“Signora?”

The sound of the voice behind me snapped me from my thoughts, whipping my head around to a sight that almost made me choke. A cardinal, dressed in black cassock stood in the courtyard doorway, the glass pushed ajar by a gloved hand. I knew his name, but I dared not to speak. Not even to breathe. The reality of my situation was becoming ever clearer. 

“I am so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you. Are you okay?” The cardinal asked, taking one step further into the courtyard and holding the glass door a little wider. His salt and pepper brown hair was not pushed back or styled, but instead disheveled and falling across his forehead in wisps. He was piercing me through with those damn mismatched eyes. In this world, those are not contacts and his face is not a rubber mask worn by a different man. His face has life, the wrinkles adorning his cheeks and eyes scrunching with concern. His black eye paint was slightly smudged from what looks like attempts to rub away exhaustion. He, however, did not look like he had been sleeping. 

He just continued to stand there, and I was staring. Fantastic.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You scared me.” I let out shakily, moving to grip the edges of my robe and tugging them in on myself. If there was a God, or a Devil, now might be the time to strike me down. I could not be here, could not be standing before him. This was all a cruel joke.

“Then I am the one who should be saying sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He spoke softly, stepping fully out into the courtyard and letting the door close with a creak. I don’t know how I didn’t hear him in the first place. 

“Are you our new visitor?” 

He’s prying me with questions. He wants me to speak, and I can see in his eyes that he wants to ask me so much more. At least in his green eye, the white is just as eerie and unreadable as in my world. I am an anomaly.

“You could say that, yes.” I responded, turning fully to face him as he walked a few steps closer. He was taller than me, which isn’t much considering I am 5’3 on a good day. He was gazing at me with what I could only describe as pitied fascination.

“My name, well more like my title is Cardinal Copia. Please, just call me Copia. What is your name, signora?” 

“Alex. It’s nice to meet you, Cardinal.” I reach out one hand for him to shake. Damn it all if I wasn’t going to be polite. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and I wasn’t going to be rude just to satisfy the equally spreading dread that filled my bones. This was all so deeply wrong. 

He took my hand in his own gloved one and shook. He squeezed gently before dropping my hand and turning his gaze to the night sky. He took a deep breath as the night air whipped around us again, fluttering the ends of my robe and his cassock in its breeze. It could have been almost picturesque, this scene. 

“Sister Imperator informed me of your situation. Well, what we know currently. Are you feeling okay, Alex?” He fixed his gaze back on me, a soft smile crossing his lips. I had not spoken to anyone in days, and the smile that he gave made me want to spill every last thought in my mind about everything. All of the pain, and fear, and exhilaration of this situation. His duties and position as an actual cardinal in this world must afford him that kind of sway over people. 

I laughed curtly, flicking my gaze quickly over the courtyard before turning it back to him. 

“If you could call getting teleported from your world to one where you don’t even exist, and then trying to come to terms with that ‘okay’, then sure. I’m doing okay.” The words came out a little harsher than I intended, so I tried to put a smile across my face to ease the tension. I am sure it doesn’t reach my eyes. 

“I am sure that has been scary, Alex. Cazzo, more like terrifying. I imagine that’s why you are out here at 2 in the morning.” His words are warm, and I feel them in my chest. Fuck, I have missed speaking to another soul one on one. Not an interrogation, but a conversation. 

“It has been pretty nerve-wracking. I needed air, I couldn’t sleep. Same for you?” I watched Copia reach a gloved hand to run up through his hair. He let out a chuckle before meeting my eyes again.

“You could say that. I had some paperwork to finish. We have some outreach initiatives upcoming that I am a part of that need planning.” He is dancing around talking about Ghost. He is assuming that I don’t know where I am exactly, or who they are. Like the entire aesthetic of this place wouldn’t give away its satanic affiliations.

“The Ghost project, you mean.” The words fly out before I can stop them. If I could bury myself in the dirt, I would, because his gaze turns from soft to shocked in an instant. I watch a soft grin turn the corner of his mouth, and I have opened a can of worms I can’t take back. I have tried desperately to keep from the Clergy that I have an idea of who they are, and I just ruined all of it. 

“Oh, so you know of us? Our message?”

“Ghost is a band in my world, but your church does not exist.” I respond, and he looks even more intrigued. I decided to continue.

“The band has always had the same frontman, just in different masks depending on which Papa or Cardinal is in charge of the story at the time. Really big following.” I waive my hand with that expression, getting a laugh out of the Cardinal. His eyes are almost radiating glee now, and I could almost swear that white eye is glowing. 

“Masks? That just sounds uncomfortable. And it is all the same man? That seems like a pain.” 

I am going to combust. This entire conversation is like the stuff out of my wildest dreams. Getting to stand across from Cardinal Copia and explaining to him how their band works in our world. It is all too much. I grin a little at his laughter before continuing.

“I could imagine it is, but the frontman is incredibly good.” 

“Oh, so you’re a fan then? Of our work, I mean.” His grin has met his eyes. He’s going to try and tease me. This is all so ridiculous.

“I enjoy the music, yes. I have always been a fan of rock and metal music. Music in general, I miss it. I haven’t had the heart to ask for a phone or a radio since I’ve been here. I think if I had asked days ago I wouldn’t be so…” I trail off, the realization of my situation running over me like a tidal wave again. That sadness, the fear of this being my new reality. I pull the edges of my robe closer in on myself as the wind kicks up again. 

Copia catches the falter in my tone and turns his gaze back to the glass door. When he looks back at me, concern and pity have replaced the playful look in his eyes. 

“Come signora, let’s go back inside. It’s getting cold.” He holds out an arm for me to take. He is being incredibly kind, and I am hesitant to take his lead. It’s so cordial, so gentlemanly. I tentatively reach out, wrapping my hand into the crook of his arm as he walks us back to the courtyard door. He opens the door and lets me enter first, and the quiet of the abbey sucks all of the air out of me once again. The reality of all of this. I hear the Cardinal shut the squeaky door behind me before moving to stand next to me again. 

“Fuck, I should probably let you get to sleep. Sorry for keeping you outside.” I turn to move back towards the stairs before a hand on my shoulder stops me. I turn my head back to lock eyes with Cardinal Copia. His gloved hand is gently resting on my shoulder, holding me in place. His gaze is soft and he is smiling with sympathy.

“Don’t be sorry for speaking with me Alex. Thank you for humoring my questions.” 

He’s so genuine it hurts. He fishes in the pockets under his cassock for a pen and a piece of paper. He writes something down before passing me the note. It has a room number scrawled in messy writing. ‘6345’

“This is my office number. I will try and find an available MP3 player or old phone to get you some music. It always brings me comfort, I can only imagine what it would do for you right now. If you need anything, even someone to talk to. Please, don’t hesitate.”

I am smiling now, feeling slightly light as I flick my gaze back up to him. It is all so caring and sweet. He smiles in response, and I decide to choke out a few words.

“Thank you, for everything.” 

“Non c'è di che, Alex. I am sorry for your circumstances.” His words sound pained with the last sentence. I feel the pain as well, but exhaustion is finally starting to grip me. 

“Goodnight Copia.”

I turn back towards the stairs and start to walk.

“Goodnight, signora.”