#good news is I finally worked past my writers block for my fic for the last day so that one at least should be fine!

[jessicas-pi]

I should be working on my fic for tomorrow but the adhd said No, Do A Thing Instead... so now this fic will be illustrated!

[lee-laurent]

Say Something Stupid like 'I love you' - Nico Hischier

Summary: nico has a past with the new devils intern. and she's bringing a surprise along with her

Content: one-night stands, angst, mentions of sex but no smut, pregnancy, drinking, mentions of gaslighting and manipulation

wc: 6.3k

notes: i'm reallyyyyyy trying to get over my writer's block. here's a nico fic! for all the nico girlies out there. i feel like it ended kind of abruptly but i was struggling at the end. so... enjoy

The bar was louder than Jean preferred, but it was her friend's birthday, so she didn't complain. She let the bass-heavy music shake her bones as she leaned on the counter, waiting for their drinks. Around her, groups of friends and clusters of strangers laughed and shouted over the noise, celebrating as though they had no care in the world. Jean might've felt the same, except that wasn't really her scene. She took a deep breath, checking her phone for any texts from her friend.

"Not a fan of crowded bars?"

Jean glanced up to see a guy standing beside her, a faint smirk on his lips. He had dark, tousled hair and warm brown eyes that made her think of autumn leaves. His accent, subtle but noticeable, made her pause.

"No, not really," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But it's my friend's birthday, so... here I am."

He nodded, his smile widening slightly. "I get that. I'm Nico, by the way."

"Jean," she offered, surprised at how easily her name rolled off her tongue. Usually, she wasn't so quick to engage with strangers, but there was something disarming about Nico's presence.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the chaos of the bar swirling around them. Jean glanced over at him, taking in his relaxed posture and the way he casually leaned against the counter, as though he was completely at ease in the noise and crowd.

"You don't seem like you're really into this whole scene either," she commented, tilting her head toward him.

Nico laughed softly, his shoulders shaking just slightly. "Not tonight, no. I'm here with some friends, though. We won a big game today, so we're celebrating."

"Oh, hockey?" Jean asked, eyebrows raised.

Nico nodded. "Yeah, hockey."

"I don't really follow it," she admitted, offering a small shrug. Assuming he was just talking about a beer league or something. Surely NHL players didn't hang around in bars like this one. "But congrats on the win."

"Thanks," he said, his eyes lighting up just a little at her words. "It was a good one."

The drinks finally arrived, and Jean handed the bartender a twenty before grabbing the glasses. She turned to Nico, feeling like she should say something else, but not sure what.

"Thanks for chatting. Good luck with your next game."

Nico's smirk returned, and he tilited his head slightly. "Don't you think we should make a toast first?"

Jean blinked. "A toast?"

"Yeah, to your friend's birthday," his eyes twinkled. "And, I guess, to us both surviving this bar tonight."

Jean couldn't help but laugh. "Alright. Sure, let's make a toast."

They clinked their glasses together, and Jean could feel her cheeks warming, though she wasn't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way Nico looked at her. It was strange-- she had just met him, but something about him felt easy, like they had known each other longer.

"So," Nico said, setting his glass down after the toast, "what do you do when you're not getting dragged to crowded bars."

Jean grinned, leaning against the the bar and taking a sip of her drink. "I'm an intern. Physio stuff. Nothing too exciting, but it should keep me busy."

"Intern?" Nico asked, curious. "For what?"

She hesitated, not wanting to dive too deep into the job she had just started at the bar. "Let's just say it's a temporary gig, but one that's giving me some good experience."

He nodded, respecting her vagueness. "That's cool. Sounds like you're working hard."

They continued talking, conversation coming easily. Nico asked her about everything from her favourite music to what she liked to do in her free time, and Jean found herself laughing more than she expected. For someone who seemed so quiet at first, Nico had a way of drawing her out, making her feel comfortable despite the chaotic environment around them.

After a while, she realized she hadn't even glanced back at her friends. Jean's gaze flickered to the dance floor, where her group was still partying. Her friend wouldn't notice if she took a little longer at the bar, would she?

Nico must've noticed her distraction because he leaned in a little closer, his voice low. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Jean replied, meeting his eyes. "Just thinking about how I'm probably gonna get dragged into dancing soon."

"Not a fan of dancing either?"

She grinned. "Not when it's this kind of music."

"I get that," Nico said, his voice soft, almost conspiratorial. "How about we skip the dancing?"

"What do you mean?"

Jean raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Let's get out of here," his tone more serious now. "Go somewhere quieter just the two of us."

For a moment, she hesitated, the noise of the bar fading into the background as she considered his offer. There something undeniably tempting about it--about him. She wasn't usually the type to leave a bar with someone she had just met, but tonight felt different. Nico wasn't pushing or pressuring her, just offering her a way out of the chaos.

"Alright. Let's go."

~~

Sunlight filled the room, the blinds not shut all the way. Jean blinked against the light, her mind fuzzy as she slowly came to her senses. For a moment, she couldn't remember where she was--until the unfamiliar surroundings and the warmth of the body next to her brought everything rushing back.

Oh no.

She shifted slightly, careful not to wake him. Nico was still asleep, his chest rising and falling steadily. The sheets were tangled around him, and his hair was messy from sleep. He looked peaceful, oblivious to the fact that Jean was internally freaking out.

Last night. The bar. The conversation. The drinks. And then this.

Jean chewed her lip, mentally chastising herself. It wasn't like her to let things go this far with someone she barely knew, but there was something about Nico that had felt so... effortless. And now, here she was, in his bed, trying to figure out how to quietly slip out without making things more awkward than they already were.

She slowly slid out of bed, gathering her clothes from the floor. Her shirt was under his desk chair, and her jeans were halfway across the room. It felt like a scavenger hunt, and she couldn't help but mentally laugh at the situation. She dressed as quietly as possible, pulling on her shoes and grabbing her phone off the nightstand.

As she reached for her jacket, she heard Nico stir behind her. "Jean?"

She froze, cursing internally. Of course he's awake now.

Turning slowly, she forced a small smile. "Hey. Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

Nico rubbed his eyes and propped himself up on his elbow, blinking groggily. "It's alright. You're leaving?"

"Yeah, I've got a... thing I need to get to." Jean slipped her jacket on, her fingers fumbling with the zipper. "Last night was fun, but I really should head out."

There was a pause, and Jean could see Nico trying to process the situation through his sleep-fogged brain. He didn't look hurt or upset, just... tired. "Right. Well, it was nice meeting you."

"Yeah, you too," she nodded.

She wasn't sure what else to say. There was an awkward tension in the air between them, and Jean's only instinct was to leave before it got worse. She opened the door and glanced back at Nico one last time. He gave her a faint smile before lying back down, eyes already closing.

Once she was out of the apartment and into the crisp morning air, Jean took a deep breath. She hadn't intended for things to end like this. Nico had been charming, sure, but she hadn't expected the night to go beyond casual drinks and conversation. And now? Well, she didn't even know if she'd ever see him again--or if she wanted to.

Jean flagged down a taxi, sliding into the backseat as she directed the driver towards her place. As she sat back, she tried to push the whole night out of her mind. She had work to focus on.

By the time she reached her apartment, Jean had almost convinced herself that the night with Nico had been a one-time thing. They'd had fun, shared a few laughs, but now it was over. She didn't expect to see him again, and that was fine. They both got what they wanted out of the night.

~~

As the door clicked shut behind Jean, Nico lay still, staring up at the ceiling. His body felt heavy, not just from alcohol or lack of sleep, but from the quiet, empty feeling that he felt since Jean departed.

He didn't know how to place what had happened. Sure, he'd had hookups in the past but the connection was never as instant as this. It wasn't just the physical attraction--though that was undeniable--but the way she had looked at him, as if she didn't care about who he was or the life he led. It was refreshing.

But now she was gone, and Nico was left with the unsettling sense that he'd let something slip through his fingers without even fully understanding what it was.

He pushed himself out of bed and headed for the shower, hoping the hot water would help clear his head. As the steam rose around him, Nico replayed the events of the night in his mind-- the drinks, the conversation... the way her body felt against his. Jean had been different, not like the people he met in his usual social circle.

But maybe it was better that she'd left. His life was complicated enough as it was, with the team, the pressure of being captain, and the constant judgement from the media and fans. He didn't have time to worry about someone he barely knew.

Yet, as he got dressed and prepared for the day, Nico couldn't shake the feeling that he hadn't seen the last of Jean. Something told him their paths would cross again--whether he was ready for it or not.

~~

Jean checked her reflection in the mirrored wall of the gym, adjusting her jacket and pulling her curly hair into a mostly-tamed ponytail. Today was her first official day as a physiotherapy intern with the New Jersey Devils, and nerves were starting to bubble in her chest. She had landed the position after months of hard work and interviews, and now it was time to prove herself.

Taking a deep breath, Jean grabbed her clipboard and headed toward the rink. She had been excited about this internship since day one. Despite knowing nothing about hockey before landing the role, she had done her research on how the game was played (but not the players...) and she was ready to work alongside some of the best athletes in the league. Her goal was clear--make a good impression, learn as much as she could, make connections, and avoid all unnecessary drama.

She stepped into the rink, the cool air making her shiver in comparison to the warm gym. The team was already out on the ice, practicing drills and shooting pucks. Jean watched them skate for a moment, her eyes following the blur of players weaving in and out of drills with expert precision. Even though she wasn't a hockey fan, she couldn't help but be impressed by their skill and athleticism.

"Hey, you must be Jean, the new intern?" A friendly voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Jean turned to see a woman in a Devils polo approaching, smiling warmly. "I'm Sarah. I'll be showing you around today."

"Yeah, that's me," Jean replied, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm excited to get started."

Sarah led Jean to the bench, explaining some of the basic protocols and introducing her to the trainers she'd be working with. Jean did her best to absorb everything, nodding along and taking mental notes. She was ready to dive into her duties, determined to make a good first impression.

"So, you'll be working with some of the players on rehab and maintenance," Sarah said. "It can get busy, especially after games, but the guys are great. Just be prepared for anything--they're a competitive bunch."

"Got it. Thanks for the heads-up."

As they continued talking, the sound of skates scraping the ice grew louder. The practice was winding down, and players were making their way off the rink, their skates clattering against the floor as they moved toward the locker room. Jean watched as they passed by, mentally trying to match faces to the names she'd heard around.

And then, her stomach dropped.

Because walking toward her, wiping sweat from his brow and looking just as surprised as she felt, was Nico.

Oh my god. Of all people.

Jean wanted to die as they locked eyes. She hadn't recognized him the night they met at the bar, and she doubted he had mentioned being the captain of a professional hockey team during the brief conversation. Now, standing just a few feet away, it all clicked into place. Nico wasn't just some guy from the bar--he was Nico Hischier, captain of New Jersey Devils, and her new client.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The shock on Nico's face mirrored her own. Jean quickly tore her eyes away, focusing intently on the clipboard in her hands, pretending to check something, anything, to avoid his gaze.

Sarah, oblivious to the silent standoff, continued her tour, explaining the rest of the setup. Jean nodded along, silently replaying the events of that night with a new clarity. She hadn't known Nico was part of the team, and judging by his expression, he hadn't known she'd end up here either.

"Jean," Sarah said, pulling her back to the present. "This is Nico, the team captain. Nico, this is Jean, our new physiotherapy intern. You'll probably be working together quite a bit."

Oh no.

Jean smiled stiffly, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. "Nice to meet you," she managed, forcing the words out as she looked up at him.

Nico gave a slow nod, "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."

The way he said it--cool, calm, but with a twinge of something else--sent a shiver down Jean's spine. There was a tension there, one she wasn't sure how to navigate. They had shared a night together, but now, under these circumstances, it felt like that connection was suddenly loaded with a meaning neither of them had signed up for.

"Alright, let's head to the training room," Sarah continued, still unaware of the awkwardness. "We'll get you set up for your first session."

Jean followed Sarah, she could feel Nico's eyes on her as they walked away, and she couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. She hadn't expected to see him again, much less like this.

~~

Nico couldn't believe it. Jean? Here? He hadn't even thought about her since the morning she left his apartment, figuring it was a one-time thing. But now she was here, working with the team? As a physiotherapy intern, no less?

Part of him wanted to confront her right then and there, to demand to know why she hadn't mentioned anything about working for the Devils. But another part--the part that was still processing everything--told him to stay quiet.

He shook his head in frustration. He couldn't shake the feeling that she had kept something from him, that she'd known all along who he was. Maybe that's why she hadn't mentioned much about work during their conversation. It made sense now--why else would she have ended up here, of all places?

Nico grabbed his gear and headed to the locker room, his thoughts still spinning. He didn't know what Jean's game was, but whatever it was, he wasn't about to play along. He had enough on his plate already, and the last thing he needed in his life was more drama.

~~

As soon as Jean entered the training room, she leaned against the counter, trying to steady her breathing. This couldn't be happening. Not only had she slept with one of the team's most important players, but that player also happened to be her new boss, in a way. She could barely wrap her head around it.

How was she supposed to work with Nico now? There was no way he wasn't upset about this, judging by the way he'd looked at her. He probably thought she'd planned this, that she'd known who he was all along.

The last thing she wanted was for Nico to think she had some ulterior motive. That night had been spontaneous--she hadn't even known what position he played, let alone that he was the captain of the Devils. Now she'd have to navigate the situation without letting it affect her job. Easier said than done.

~~

The next few days passed in a blur. Jean had tried her best to keep things professional, focusing on her duties as an intern, but every time Nico was in the room, the air felt heavier, like there was someone sitting on both of their chests.

She had avoided making eye contact with him as much as possible, always redirecting her focus to other players or her clipboard when he walked into the room. The last thing she needed was to stir up any drama in her first week there.

But ignoring Nico wasn't easy.

Every time he came into the training room for his post-practice treatments, she felt his presence like a magnet. The tension between them wasn't just awkward--it was unbearable. Her body would go stiff, her words would fumble, and she'd feel her heart race like it had that night at the bar. Except now, it wasn't excitement that caused her pulse to speed up; it was anxiety.

Jean was doing a decent job of keeping her distance, but eventually that plan went out the window.

It had been a long practice. The players filed into the training room, exhausted, sweaty, and in need of ice baths, massages, and whatever treatments the physio team could offer. As Jean worked on helping a player stretch, she noticed Nico walking in, catching her off guard.

She refocused, pretending she didn't see him, but her concentration shattered when she heard a voice nearby.

"Jean."

The tone was clipped, almost cold.

Her heart dropped to her stomach. She turned slowly, meeting Nico's eyes, which were hard and unreadable. He was standing just a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, looking like he was barely holding back his frustration.

"Can we talk?"

She knew exactly what he wanted to talk about.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Jean replied, her throat dry as she nodded toward the back of the room. "Let's step over here."

She could feel the eyes of a few players on her as she walked past, but she kept her head down, not wanting to make the situation more public than it already felt. They stepped into the small office space at the back of the training room, and Jean could feel how heavy the air was as she clicked the door shut.

Nico crossed his arms again, leaning against the desk as his gaze bore into her. "Why didn't you tell me you worked here?"

Jean blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness of the question. "I--I didn't know. I mean, I didn't know you were on the team when we..."

She trailed off, realizing how difficult it was to even say it out loud.

Nico's eyes narrowed. "So, you're telling me you just happened to hook up with the captain of the Devils a few days before starting an internship here? You expect me to believe that was just a coincidence?"

Jean felt her frustration bubble up. "It was a coincidence. I didn't even know who you were, Nico. My friend dragged me to the bar that night. I didn't know a thing about hockey, let alone that you were a professional player."

Nico shook his head, his jaw clenching. "It just seems pretty convenient, don't you think?"

"Convenient?" Jean's voice rose slightly, her pulse quickening. "Nico, I'm here to do my job. I got this internship on my own merit. I didn't come here for you."

He stood there, silent, and she could see the gears turning in his head. His arms uncrossed, his expression softening slightly. "I just... it feels like you kept something from me."

"I didn't keep anything from you. I didn't know. If I had, I probably wouldn't have even..." She stopped herself, realizing she was about to say too much. "Look, I'm here for work, okay? Whatever happened between us that night was just that--one night. Can we not make this a bigger deal than it is?"

He wanted to believe her--she could see that--but something was holding him back.

Jean waited for him to say something, but when he didn't, she sighed and moved back towards the door. "I'm going to get back into work. We don't have to do this every time we're in the same room."

She opened the door, but just before stepping out, she heard Nico speak again, his voice softer this time. "Jean."

She paused but didn't turn around.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

Jean closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words sink in. Then, without another word, she left the room.

Nico sat down on the bench after she left, his head in his hands. Damn it. He hadn't meant to sound so accusatory, but the whole situation was messing with his head. He'd assumed he'd never see her again, as fun as their night was.

But now here she was, working with the team, and it felt like everything had turned upside down.

He wanted to believe her. Wanted to believe that she didn't know who he was, that their meeting was just some random chance. But his gut was telling him otherwise. Years in the spotlight had made him suspicious of people's motives, and it was hard to shake that feeling.

But what now? Could they really just go back to pretending that night hadn't happened? And even if they did, could he ignore the way he felt every time she was in the same room as him?

He groaned, rubbing his temples. This wasn't what he needed right now. With the season in full swing and the pressure mounting, the last thing he wanted was a distraction--especially one in the form of a 5'4" physio intern.

Jean leaned against the wall outside the training room. She didn't know what Nico expected from her. She had been honest--she hadn't known who he was, and she certainly hadn't planned for their lives to tangle like this. But it seemed like no matter what she said, Nico would still have that doubt hanging over him.

This internship was her chance to prove herself, to build a career for herself in sports therapy, and she was not going to let a one-night stand ruin that. But how could she work in this environment with Nico constantly questioning her motives?

She pushed herself off the wall, straightening her jacket. She would handle this like a professional--keep her head down, do her job, and avoid any more drama with Nico.

~~

It had been a few weeks since her confrontation with Nico, and things had settled into an uneasy rhythm. Jean still managing to avoid him as much as possible, focused on her work and trying to put everything else behind her. They kept their distance.

But lately, Jean hadn't been feeling like herself. She was exhausted all the time, her appetite was off, and every morning, a wave of nausea seemed to hit her the second she got out of bed. At first, she chalked it up to stress--between dealing with Nico and trying to prove herself at work, it made sense that her body was a bit upset with her.

Then she realized her period was late. Very late.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Jean stared at the calendar app on her phone, counting the days. The realization hit her like a truck.

No. There was no way.

Her hands shook as she tossed her phone aside and quickly got dressed. There was no sense in waiting. Either she was pregnant or she wasn't. There was no inbetween here.

The drugstore was a blur, her heart in her throat as she made her way down the aisle, grabbing a pregnancy test off the shelf and heading straight to a cash register. The cashier rang her up without a word, and before she knew it, she was back in her apartment, staring at the small box like it was a ticking time bomb.

She took a long, deep breath, ripping the box open and reading the instructions, though she didn't really need to. She already knew how it worked. She just didn't want to face the possibility of what those two little lines might mean.

A few minutes later, she sat on the floor of her bathroom, the test clutched in her hands. The seconds felt like hours as she waited for the result, her heart pounding in her ears.

Finally, she looked down.

Two lines. Positive.

She forgot how to breathe, the room seeming to tilt around her. She blinked, staring at the test in disbelief. Pregnant. She was pregnant.

This couldn't be happening. She wasn't ready for this--she had just started her career, barely knew what she was doing, and now... this? And then, as if on cue, another thought pushed its way through: Nico.

Oh my god. Nico.

She hadn't seen much of him lately, but there was no escaping this. He had to know. It wasn't just her life that was about to change--it was his, too.

Jean sat there for a long minute, staring blankly at the test, trying to process the new information. She knew what she would have to do. She had to tell Nico. There was no way around it.

Or she could just flee the country and--

No, she had to tell Nico.

~~

Jean found herself standing outside the locker room after practice, her heart racing as she clutched the little plastic stick in her bag. She had rehearsed the conversation in her head a thousand times, but now that she was there, the words seemed to vanish.

The door swung open, and she saw Nico walking out, towel slung around his neck, still dripping from the shower. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her standing there, his expression unreadable.

"Jean." His voice was cautious, and she could clearly make out the hestitation in his eyes. Neither of them had spoken much since their argument, but now, the tension felt even thicker than before.

"I need to talk to you."

He nodded slowly, stepping aside to let her in. He led her down the hall to a more private corner, where the noise of the players faded away. Jean took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag as she tried to find the right words.

"Nico," she started, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to stay calm. "I didn't want to have this conversation like this, but... there's something you need to know."

Nico's postured stiffened, his brow furrowed. "What is it?"

Jean swallowed hard and reached into her bag, pulling out the test. She held it up, her heart rattling her bones. "I'm pregnant."

For a second, Nico just stared at her, his eyes widening as he registered what she'd just said. He looked at the test in her hand, then back at her face, as if waiting for her to tell him it was a joke.

But it wasn't.

"You're... what?" His voice was low, disbelieving, as if he couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

"I'm pregnant," she repeated, her throat tightening as she said the words out loud. "And it's yours."

Nico took a step back, running a hand through his damp hair, his expression changing every second. "How? I mean... we were careful. Right?"

Jean shook her head, feeling a lump form in her throat. "I thought so too, but... things happen. Condoms break. And now..." She trailed off, not sure what else to say. The truth was staring them both in the face, and there was no avoiding it.

Nico let out a sharp breath, "So, what now? You expect me to just... what, drop everything and deal with this?"

"No, Nico. I'm not asking for anything. I just thought you had a right to know."

His voice rose, "Right to know? You drop this on me and think it's just about telling me? Jean, this changes everything. I--"

He stopped himself, running his hands over his face as if he was trying to keep his emotions in check. When he looked over at her again, his eyes were filled with something darker, something that made Jean's stomach twist with dread.

"Did you do this on purpose?" he asked, his voice quieter, but no less harsh.

"What? No! How could you even think that?"

"I don't know," Nico snapped. "But this whole thing... it just feels off. You show up here, you get this job, and now, suddenly, you're pregnant? It's too much of a coincidence."

"You think I planned this? That I wanted to trap you or something?"

"I don't know, Jean," he shook his head. "But you have to admit, this timing is--"

"Don't," Jean cut him off, her voice trembling with emotion. "Don't accuse me of something like that. I didn't plan this, and I certainly didn't expect this to happen. Do you think I want to be in this position? Do you think I'm thrilled about this? Because I'm not."

Nico stared at her, his jaw clenched tight, but he didn't say anything. The silence between them was thick and heavy, filled with everything they weren't saying, and everything they were too afraid to admit.

"I came to you because I thought you deserved to know," she continued. "But if you can't even trust me enough to believe this wasn't some scheme, then maybe this was a mistake."

Nico opened his mouth to say something, but Jean didn't give him a chance. She shook her head, turning on her heel and walking out of the locker room before the tears she had been holding back could fall.

He stood there, frozen, as she walked out. His heart pounded in his chest, his mind still processing the news.

Pregnant. She was pregnant.

And it was his.

He sank onto the bench, running a hand through his hair, his breath coming in short bursts. This wasn't how he expected his life to go. He wasn't ready for this--hell, he didn't even know how to process it. But Jean... her words echoed in his head, over and over again.

I didn't plan this. I certainly didn't expect this to happen.

He wanted to believe her. He really did. But his trust had been shaken too many times before, and now, with this bombshell, he didn't know how to handle it. He wasn't ready to be a father. He wasn't ready for the responsibility that came with that. But ready or not, this was happening. And no matter how confused or scared he was, he had to figure out how to deal with it. Because whatever he was feeling, Jean was feeling 100 times worse.

~~

The days after her confrontation with Nico were a blur for Jean. She threw herself into her work, doing her best to push the pregnancy--and Nico's harsh words--out of her mind. But it wasn't easy. Every morning brought a fresh wave of vomitting and a reminder of the reality she was living.

She was pregnant. And Nico's reaction had shattered whatever fragile understanding they had left.

Her body was feeling the effects, and every small change was another punch to the face. She was on her own now, and it terrified her. She had spent sleepless nights wondering if Nico would come around or if she would have to face this all on her own.

But how could he accuse her of something so cruel? After everything, he thought she'd tried to trap him, as if she was that kind of person. The more she thought about it, the more it hurt.

And yet, despite everything, part of her still wanted to reach out. To hear him say he didn't mean it. But the silence between them stretched on, and Jean knew better than to hope for an apology that might never come.

Nico hadn't been himself since Jean dropped the news. He tried to focus on hockey, tried to throw himself into practice and games, but it wasn't working. His mind was always somewhere else, replaying Jean showing him the test.

He had fucked up. He knew it.

After Jean had walked out, he had sat there for what felt like hours, going over everything in his head. The way she looked at him when she told him she was pregnant--the hurt in her voice when he accused her of trapping him. And the worst part? He knew she was telling the truth. Deep down, he knew she hadn’t planned any of this.

But his fear had gotten the better of him. The weight of his responsibilities as team captain, his career, his life in the public eye--it had all come crashing down the moment Jean told him she was pregnant, and instead of handling it with maturity, he had lashed out.

He had always been guarded, always cautious about letting people in. Too many times, he'd been burned by people that only cared about his status. But Jean wasn't like that. She hadn't even known who he was when they met. She hadn't wanted anything from him--at least, not until now.

Now, she was carrying his child, and instead of being there for her, he had accused her of manipulating him.

"You're an idiot, Hischier," he mumbled to himself as he sat alone in the locker room after practice. He didn't know how to fix this, but he knew he had to do something. He couldn't leave things like this--not with Jean, and not with the baby.

He wasn't ready to be a father. Hell, he didn't even know where to begin. But ready or not, this was happening, and he couldn't just shut it out and walk away from it.

Taking a deep breath, Nico pulled out his phone and stared at Jean's name in his contacts. She'd given it to all the players in case they ever needed to schedule a last minute appointment. His thumb hovered over the screen for a moment before he finally worked up the courage to send a message.

Can we talk?

Jean was in the middle of finishing up a session with Dawson when her phone buzzed. She glanced down, considering ignoring it when she saw Nico's name. Wanting him to feel the way she did when she first found out. But her curiousity--and the small part of her that still thought he'd apologize--won out.

She opened the message, reading his simple yet heavy request. She sighed, weighing her options. Part of her wanted to tell him no, to make him feel the rejection she had been feeling. But she wasn't that kind of person, and this wasn't just about her anymore. She had to do what was best for her baby.

Ok. When?

His response was immediate. After practice tomorrow. I'll meet you at the training room.

She wasn't sure what to expect from this conversation, but she had to find out where they stood. She had to know if he was going to step up or leave this for her to manage on her own.

~~

Jean didn't really want to have this conversation, but she knew she had to. She had felt angry, hurt, and confused for days now. Whatever happened next, she knew she had to handle it.

Nico arrived after a few minutes, looking as tired and conflicted as she was. His eyes met hers, but neither of them spoke. Everything felt heavy and uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry," Nico blurted out. "For what I said. For how I reacted."

Jean just blinked, caught off guard by his apology. She hadn't expected one to come at all, let alone this quickly.

"I was scared. I freaked out. I'm not proud of it, but I did. This wasn't something I had ever imagined happening to me, and I... I didn't handle it well.

She nodded slowly, listening to everything he had to say. She could hear the sincerity in his voice, the guilt that had been eating at him. But it didn't erase the pain of what he'd said before.

"I didn't want to hurt you. And I didn't mean what I said. I don't think you trapped me. I don't think you planned this."

"You really hurt me, Nico. I didn't ask for this either. I wasn't trying to ruin your life or mess with your career. I was just as shocked as you were."

"I know. I know that now. And I'm sorry. I've been a fucking idiot."

"What happens now?"

Nico rubbed the back of his neck, "I don't know. But I do know that I'm not going to walk away from this. From you. I... I'm scared, Jean. I've never been this scared in my life. I don't know what I'm doing. But I want to figure it out. I want to be there."

Jean felt some relief wash over her, but she wasn't ready to let go of all her reservations quite yet. "You don't have to have all the answers right now, Nico. But I need to know you're going to be there. For me and for our baby."

"I will. I promise."

There was still so much they had to figure out, so many challenges ahead, but at least they were on the same page. At least now, they were facing everything together.

[joelstummy]

about me ✨

✨my name is katy (you may know me as atticrissfinch) ✨i am 31 ✨i am a virgo ✨i am bisexual ✨i have an unhealthy affinity for old men ✨this is a heavily kink- and sex-positive blog. you are safe here. (this includes noncon and all taboo subjects so fuck off with your qualifiers) ✨asks will be off on this blog for the foreseeable future ✨I have a notifs blog here, please subscribe if you want notifs when i post a new fic ✨all of my works are now restricted to registered users on ao3. if they are not showing up, check that you are logged in first. that is likely the issue. ✨i have made the decision to no longer post the text of my works on tumblr. ✨i will block anyone i spy who is listed as a minor and also any blank ageless blogs. the content i write is very dark and/or explicit and not at all suitable for those under 18.

Recent Works/Updates: ✨✨Purr (dark!landlord!joel x OFC) ✨Punishment (Brat Tamer!Joel/GWIW) ✨A Great Honor (oneshot)(minotaur!joel) ✨Good Neighbors (Part 1) (Part 2) (past lover/neighbor!joel) ✨Final Chapter of MMITB

General Items: ✨if you've been putting off requesting an invite to ao3, the best time to request was 2 weeks ago and the second best time is now. just do it. ✨support your writers. reblog. leave supportive comments. don't send hate. fic writers do this entirely as a hobby in their free time. fandom etiquette dictates that you never, EVER criticize free works for not being your taste or your kink. no one fucking cares if you don't like it. it's not for you. ✨don't fucking plagiarize anyone's work because you feel they've slighted you or because you don't receive the amount of attention you desired at home, or for any other fucking reason

[sameschmidtdiffname]

A Comfort or Two

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Vices never killed anybody.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no use of gendered pronouns for Reader, pre-established relationship, hurt/no comfort, Reader has ✨️issues✨️, this isn't a vent fic what are you talking about???, use of cigarettes, brief mentions of sleep medication, arguement, and this is barely proofread. (Read: Isn't.)

Notes: I have had writers block for three months. I shit this out in ten minutes. What the fuck?

Anyways, phone blapple teet.

                       ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

"Since when do you smoke?"

The voice rings clear in the dead of night, the only sound surrounding us being the crickets chirping and mosquitos buzzing past my ears.

"I don't," I answer, taking another drag off the cigarette between my cold fingers.

Mike doesn't speak as he steps onto the patio, softly shutting the glass door behind him with a sort of 'thump' sound that it always makes when the door seals shut.

For a moment we don't say anything. Then I exhale, and the noise that makes must be his silent blessing to speak.

"American Spirits," he notes, too awkward to say what he really thinks.

"Turquoise," I say. I take another drag, then speak as I hold my breath. "You know how many people that work at gas stations don't know what the fuck turquoise looks like when you ask for a pack of this shit?"

He sucks his teeth. I wonder for a moment if he knows what the color looks like.

"Most people are pretty good on red, blue, yellow," he says.

Yeah, he doesn't know.

"Pretty warm out here for a sweater," he notes.

"I don't like bugs," I say, exhaling. "They pick at my skin, eat me alive. Sue me."

His foot scuffs the concrete, a nervous habit.

"Can I bum one?"

This makes me turn my head to look at him, almost glaring as I try to gage how serious his request is, looking him up and down in his undergarments before speaking.

"Seriously?" I ask.

"If we're having a cheat day, yeah. Count me in," he says, walking to sit beside me, crossing his legs and resting back on his palms, then readjusting as he decides he doesn't like the feeling of the gravel on his skin, brushing the pepples off on his shorts.

I shrug and scoff, but pick up my pack and open the flap, shuffling out a little bit of tobacco and then finding a paper, getting to work on rolling a cigarette for the man who watches me curiously.

"Why not buy pre-roll?" He asks.

"You gonna give me the extra money to buy pre-rolled?" I ask, my tone too dull to be sharp, but too pointed to be sarcastic. He relents, looking away.

"Bad day?" He asks after another moment of silence, daring to glance back at me.

"Not a good one," I answer around my own cigarette, then hold it between my left pinkie and ring finger so I can stick my tongue out to wet the paper so it'll stick together.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asks.

I don't acknowledge his question, instead picking off a spare bit of tobacco that sticks out from the end of the new cigarette, then put the leftover back in my pouch. I offer it to him, asking if he needs a lighter. He nods, and he takes it with such a gentle hand it's like I'm watching a 15 year old try to act cool for his sisters college friends or something.

I lean back, removing the cheap, purple BIC from my shorts pocket and hand it to him. It shouldn't irritate me how he looks at the items like he's completely clueless, failing to hide it as his brows furrow in thought.

"It's not gonna kill you," I say to him.

"I mean... they will," he says quietly.

There's another silent moment. He toys with the lighter, flicking it to life.

"Why purple?" He finally asks. I look at him, our eyes meeting. He doesn't look less tired than me, but he looks concerned more than anything, which irritates but sates me all at once.

I contemplate answering honestly. Take another drag, hold, exhale.

"When I graduated high school, I started fucking this guy. Awful man, great-" I pause. "Mediocre dick."

I don't say that for Mike's benefit, let me make that clear.

"But I thought it was great at the time. And I thought I liked him. And his favorite color was purple," I say.

Mike looks down at the lighter again, letting the flame die.

"We smoked together," I clarify. "I thought he would like it."

"So, you've had this since high school?" He asks, sounding slightly impressed.

"No," I say. "I just became the friend with the purple lighter, so I stuck with the theme. They're cheap, so it's easy."

He nods, then finally lifts the cigarette to his chapped lips, licking them and carefully holding it as he lights it. I watch, anticipating his coughing fit, which he tries to suppress after his first inhale, though there's already tears in his eyes. I look away, trying to let him pop his cherry in peace.

"Did he?" He asks in a very strained voice, sounding pathetic as he holds in his breath.

I furrow my brows, looking back at him. His face is red, his chest is trembling.

"You're gonna die," I point out, reaching to pet his back, rubbing right next to his spine, under his lung. "Hold your arms up, that'll help."

He obeys, exhaling and coughing so disgustingly it makes me grimace. But I just rub, trying to help him as he sounds like he's trying not to vomit. I should take the cigarette away from him, but I kind of don't want to. This is the D.A.R.E. exercise that works, in my opinion.

"Like it," he coughs out, gasping for clean air. "Did-"

"Okay, okay, I got it now," I reassure him, patting a bit harder on his back. He gives me a thumbs up, finally starting to recover, and sniffling back tears that threaten to trail down his face. This man is 25, by the way.

I sit back onto my palms, relaxing now that he isn't going to die. I let him recover for another moment, then watch as he decides to go in for another hit.

"He didn't," I answer. Mike does better on this inhale, not trying to act cool and letting himself cough, which helps extremely. "He didn't even notice it, and when I pointed it out he just told me it's his favorite color because girls thought it was cool."

Mike's brows furrow in disgust, and at first I think it's from the cigarette.

"Dick," he coughs, smoke pouring out of his mouth and nose, which must burn based off of how he picks at his nostrils, trying to wipe away the burning sensation.

I nod. "Yep," I say, popping the 'p.' Then there's silence again, me smoking, Mike trying.

Eventually, I reach the end of my stick and snub it out. Mike contemplates holding out, then decides against it. Probably for the best. He looks a little green around the gills.

"So, what makes you go out and buy loose tobacco and smoke like you're used to it?" Mike asks me, handing me back the lighter and remainder of his cigarette, which is warm in my palm.

"I don't even know," I sigh, looking down at the semi pregnant joint. Not my best roll. "I've just been exhausted lately."

"Work?" He asks. I shake my head. "Friends?"

"I don't know," I sigh irritablely.

"Is there-"

"Don't ask me what you can do, because everyone else had already asked and if I have to sit through another grilling on this shit, I'm gonna fucking bite someone's head off," I snap, raising my head to look at the fence in front of us, closing us in and providing privacy from the neighbors that drink too much and party too loud during football season.

Mike sucks his teeth again, looking down at his lap. "Think you just did," he points out quietly. But it's not to make me feel bad. The delivery is almost comedic, really. More for my entertainment than guilt.

"I'm sorry," I say softly, shame creeping into my stomach and making me bury my head in my hands. I try to think of something else to say, an explanation to give. But all I can say is a repeat, "I'm sorry."

Even though I can't see him, I know Mike's face softens. His arms encircle me gently, pulling me closer to him, smoke so wrongly mixed with the taste of mouthwash on his breath.

"Hey," he soothes. "It's okay."

"I'm just tired," I say in a strained voice.

"I know," he says.

"And my head hurts."

"I'm sorry."

"And I can't sleep at night."

Mike's quiet at that, trying to figure out what to say, what to offer. My insomnia isn't new, and he's offered his own sleep pills, but I decline everytime. I'm just glad by the time my leg starts bouncing enough to rock the bed, the medication has such a deep hold on him he doesn't appear to notice. I wonder if he feels guilty that he sleeps so much easier than I, a relief that escapes me.

"Have you been eating?" He asks.

I scoff. Rude.

"I'm serious," he says.

"Yes, I'm eating," I answer, not raising my head from my hands, my palms digging against my eyes.

"How much?" He asks.

"Michael-"

"I just want to make sure-"

"Don't baby me-"

"I'm not babying you-"

"Than what the fuck is this?" I ask, looking up at him.

"This is me being worried over you," he says as though it were obvious, furrowing his brows.

"Well, I don't fucking need it," I tell him, now trying to rise, but his hands hold me down, pissing me off.

"Hang on, let's talk about this-"

"What the fuck is there to talk about?" I snap, standing so abruptly it throws us both off balance.

Mike stares up at me incredulously, his mouth slightly agape. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asks me, his concern turning into a glare.

I don't answer, storming back into the house wordlessly as he calls my name, opening the door with strength I don't mean to use because it sends the glass sliding door ramming into the other side of the wall, but thankfully it doesn't break.

"Hey!" I can hear Mike's snap echoing sharply in the room, loud and making me flinch as I storm away. "You don't fucking slam that door!"

I don't respond, too irritated and guilt ridden to acknowledge him, my mind scrambled on locations of where I can run for comfort. My feet carry me automatically to the living room, my hand snatching my keys off the coffee table.

Mike calls after me again, demanding of me that I come back, that I talk about this. But I don't want to. These emotions inside of me, I don't even know why they exist, what they are, what part of my soul to bare to force them to go away.

I unlock the front door, and there's part of me that acknowledges I don't have a phone on me. I'll be on my own, alone. A state in which I used to never find comfort, but is now the only state in which I know how to exist in.

Mike grabs at me, a bit too rough to be appropriate. He's desperate, maybe angry, maybe scared of what will happen if I walk out that door. He's stronger than me, which makes me react in fear rather than logic.

I jerk my arm out of his grasp, but I have to use such force it sends my fist flying into my own face, my eye getting a good hit in the process, making Mike freeze temporarily.

It just makes me run out the door, into the night, scurrying into my car and turning the key quickly, leaving both of us to wonder where the hell I'm going and when I'll be back.

For both of our sake, I wish I had an answer. And I'm sorry that running feels better than staying.

I'd be a better person if I could be. If it could bring me comfort.

                              ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

Rawdogged this like I did your mom last night.

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool @laurrrelise @sleepyhutcherson . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

                 •¤Masterlist¤•

[shardsofmarxx]

Lost | Spencer Reid x GN! Reader

Criminal Minds Songfic based on/inspired by the song Lost by Dennis Van Aarssen. (This is a cover of the song "Lost" by Michael Bublé)

Summary: After a long case, Spencer decides to surprise you with a visit to your apartment. Once he arrives, he realizes that you've been struggling, and he does his best to comfort you.

Warnings: Talk of medication, and bipolar II. Reader is clearly going through a depressive episode.

Word Count: 1.8K

A/N: So sorry for the delay in getting a new fic out!! Between my busy college schedule, my mental health, and writers block, it took me wayyy too long to come up with a solid idea for a fic. I was randomly listening to this song one day and was suddenly hit with the inspiration for this, so I ran with it! I really hope you guys enjoy this one :)

Spencer rushed to his car, excited to see you after dealing with a long case in Florida for the past two weeks. He didn't tell you that the team finished the case because you two just hadn't talked much today. Now that he was thinking about it, he realized you two hadn't talked much at all these past two weeks, aside from casual good morning and goodnight messages. Regardless, he was sure you'd be happy to see him.

Spencer drove out of the parking garage, whistling some tunes and tapping his fingers as he winded down the road to your apartment. He got there relatively quickly, seeing as you only lived a 5 minute drive away from the BAU. He parked his car, got out, and eagerly headed up the stairs to your apartment.

Once he got to the door, he fished out the spare key you had given him when you two first started dating and unlocked the door, opening it very slowly so as not to startle you awake. He walked in, quietly taking his shoes off and placing his messenger bag by the door. He carefully walked through the hall and saw light coming from the living room, accompanied by the low sound of the TV. He stood in the doorway and found you asleep on the couch, watching Friends reruns. As he walked towards the couch, he noticed miscellaneous wrappers and bottles strewn around the floor. He furrowed his brows and diverted his path over to the kitchen, only to find the sink full of dishes and the trash slightly overflowing, along with takeout containers spread across the counter. He walked back into the living room and over to the couch, kneeling on the floor beside you. He looked over at you and moved some stray hair strands out of your face, being careful not to wake you. He saw your eyes were puffy and your cheeks were still a bit wet, which he deduced was from crying.

Spencer’s profiler brain quickly began putting everything together. He knew you had been struggling with bipolar II for a while, but things had been getting better. He made sure that you were seeing the best people in the field for your treatment. Your therapy sessions, along with the current medication you were on, seemed to be working fine, so he didn’t understand why this was happening. There was no way you would have hidden your symptoms that well from him; after all, he was a profiler. He sat there, racking his brain, trying to figure out what could’ve gone wrong.

Suddenly, it hit him.

Spencer quickly, but quietly, got up and walked to the bedroom. As he walked in, he turned on the lights and went straight to the nightstand on the right side of your bed. He quietly looked through the cabinets until he finally found your medication. He picked up the bottle and saw it was much fuller than it should be, confirming his suspicion.

You hadn’t been taking your medication since he left.

Spencer knew this feeling all too well from all the times his mother would refuse her medication. He felt a wave of guilt rush through him as he sighed and returned the bottle to the nightstand. He slowly trudged back to the couch and sat on the floor so that he was right by your face, completely enthralled by your beauty as you slept soundly.

As Spencer stared at you, his mind began to wander. He felt guilty for not realizing the implications of your distance from him over the past two weeks. Although he loved his job, he hated how busy it could get and how it could cause him to neglect the things he cared most about, like you. Most importantly, he felt guilty that he couldn't be there for you. He did his best to push all these thoughts out just as quickly as they came, telling himself that he should just focus on the present. He was here now, and he was going to do anything and everything he could for you. He sat by your side, gently caressing you until you finally awoke, stirring for a few moments until your eyes fluttered open.

“Spencer?” You croaked, your voice slightly raspy from sleep, “What are you doing here?”

“We landed a while ago, and I figured I’d come surprise you,” he replied softly, accompanied by a warm smile.

You sat up and rubbed your eyes for a few moments in an effort to wake yourself up. As you looked around, you realized the mess that was your apartment, and memories of how you'd been spending the past two weeks began to flood your brain. As this was happening, you came to the realization that Spencer has seen all this too, which means he’s definitely figured out that you’re off your meds. You immediately stand up, and Spencer does the same, a look of concern forming on his face as you lead him to the door.

"Well, Spence, this was a lovely surprise, but I have a busy day ahead of me. You really should get going,” I said, handing him his messenger bag. As you reached to open the door, he grabbed your wrist, his warm touch causing you to turn back around.

“Unfortunately for you, I can't be fooled that easily.” His voice trailed. “I'm not leaving you, darling.”

He grabbed the messenger bag from my hand and kneeled down to place it back by the door. He stood back up and placed his hands in yours, giving you a soft look with his warm, hazel eyes.

You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. All you could do was stare at the floor and mumble. “Nothing's going on, Spencer, really.”

“I doubt you would go off of your medication for nothing,” he replied matter-of-factly, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Listen, I understand that dealing with this kind of stuff is hard, really hard, but you can't keep me in the dark forever. I'm your boyfriend, and I'm always going to be by your side, no matter how hard things get. We're a team, remember?” He paused for a moment and cupped my face, making sure you were looking him in the eyes for his next sentence. "You're not alone, honey. I promise.”

As his words echoed in the room, you felt tears form in your eyes. It had been so long since you had heard those words— so long since you had someone express such genuine care and concern. You were so used to the shame, disgust, and scolding from others in moments like these, yet he displayed none of that. It wasn't long before sobs began to creep out of your mouth, and you stuffed your face into Spencer’s chest. He just held you tightly in response, rubbing his open palm on my backside and whispering words of love and care in your ear as you wept.

Eventually, you lifted my face and met his eyes once more. He gave you a small smile as he gently wiped the tears off your cheek.

“I say we go over to the bedroom and talk; does that sound good?” He asked softly.

“I think that's a good idea,” you answered.

He held your hand tightly as he led you to the bedroom. When he entered, he lay down on the bed first, motioning with his hand to the empty space beside him. You laid down, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in and completely enveloping you in his warmth. You both laid there silently for a few minutes, basking in each other's company. You lost yourself in the sound of his gentle heartbeat for a bit before you remembered what you two were here to do. You took a small breath, lifted your head from his chest, and began to speak.

“I didn't like the way I felt when I was on my medication; nothing felt right once I started taking it. I felt like I was a robot or something.” you began. “One morning I woke up and had enough, so I stopped taking them, and I felt great; I felt alive... Well, at least I did for a bit. After a day or two, it felt like reality just came crashing down and-” You paused, feeling a sob creep up your throat once more. "Suddenly, any trace of happiness was gone, and I crashed. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed, leave the house, or talk to anyone, especially you. I just felt empty.” You stopped for a couple more moments, glancing over at Spencer, before speaking again. “I was lost and didn’t know what to do, Spence, I’m so sorry…” You finished, your voice trailing.

Spencer never stopped comforting you as you spoke, raking his fingers through your hair and kissing your forehead. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for him to speak up once you had finished.

“Unfortunately, that happens a lot to people when they're on medication. I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there for you, honey,” he said, holding you tightly. “We can make an appointment with your psychiatrist to discuss changing your medication as well as looking for other treatments that might benefit you.” Spencer began rambling about various treatments for bipolar II that he had recently read about. Once he got word of your diagnosis, he poured countless hours of research into learning everything there was to know about it. He wanted to make sure that you received the best treatment possible, and, most importantly, he wanted to make you feel as understood as he could. After all, he knew all too well what it was like to not be understood by anyone around you.

He began rambling about things he had found in his most recent research on bipolar II, and you felt your heart swell with joy. Even though all you could really do was nod your head every once in a while and let out a few “mhms'' and “hmms” to assure him that you were listening, mainly because you didn't understand what he was talking about half of the time, you appreciated this more than he would ever know. After all, it was his way of making you feel loved and understood. Eventually, Spencer ran out of things to say and stopped talking. He turned his head down to look at yours, moving some stray strands of hair out of your face before he spoke once more.

“Y’know, because this case took so long, we got a 3-day weekend from Hotch,” he said softly. “I could help you clean up the apartment and keep you company these next few days, if you’d like.”

You met his gaze and smiled warmly at him. “I would love that, darling.”

Spencer smiled back at you and jumped up from the bed. You were barely able to get a word out before he bent over and picked you up, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding you securely against his chest.

“Spence, what’s gotten into you?!” you said, trying to stifle a giggle.

“C’mon, let’s go get breakfast,” he said, wearing a wide grin on his face as he carried you out of the bedroom.

Thank you so much for reading! If you have any ideas for fics you want me to write in the future, feel free to send them in my ask box!

[xoxobuckybarnes]

February 2024 Stucky Fics

Completed

Keystrokes and Music Notes (Rated: M, Words: 32K) by goblininawig / @goblininawig

Summary: Bucky is paying Steve for help tracking down his stalker. Nothing happens until something happens: Steve falls in love.

Mr. Brick Wall & Mr. Overshare (Rated: T, Words: 7K) by LilyElk13

Summary: Based on the Tumblr post that's like "half of college professors are like 'you can know nothing about me except my name' and the other half are like 'and that's why my wife left me! anyway what's up with y'all'" and the response "There were two professors like this in my department and I was one of like 20 people who was taught by both of them so there was a very small gang of us who knew that Professor Brick Wall and Professor Overshare were married with two kids." except in this it's high school teachers instead of college :)

A Company Man (Rated: E, Words: 75K) by mambo / @whtaft

Summary: It’s the way that Bucky smiles at Steve from across his desk. No, it’s the way that Bucky’s hand brushes Steve’s as they stand side by side in an elevator not crowded enough to justify their closeness. Or maybe it’s the whispered conversations every Saturday night, the way Bucky saves Steve’s number under a different name in his phone. No matter what it is, the truth is the same: Steve Rogers is in love with Bucky Barnes, a married man.

Rock You Like a Hurricane (Rated: E, Words: 112K) by CelticCross

Summary: Bucky Barnes is an author, he's written many books in his Winter Soldier series, starring Lloyd Hansen and Nick Fowler. He hasn't written a word worth writing in the past three months and his agent, Sam Wilson, forces him to take a break. Sam books him a rental beach house in a place called Plum Cove in Mass for three months, hoping to break him out of his writer's block. The owner, Steve Rogers, retired Plum Cove Police Captain, landlord and part time surfer is surprised to get such a lengthy off season booking but takes it anyway. He doesn't expect to spend a lot of time with the person renting his house, but then he wasn't expecting the storm to be that fierce.

Closing Time (Rated: M, Words: 10K) by RecoveringTheSatellites / @thisonesatellite & art by maichan /@maichan808

Summary: Steve works in a Brooklyn dive bar. A tall, guarded guy comes in to drink at regular intervals. He always sits in the back corner. Steve leaves him alone. He looks like a guy who deserves some peace and quiet. He does find out the stranger's name is Bucky. Finds out what he likes to drink. And little by little, conversation happens. Connection happens. Until one day a cock-flock of dudebros comes in (i made up cock-flock, but really, is that not their collective term) and the heckling goes up to eleven once they’re good and drunk. Bucky gets asked to take it outside. Steve will have none of that, thankyouverymuch. . A tale of love and hope in unlikely places, sprinkled with a bit of PTSD, and the occasional sarcastic quip.

Use Your Agency (Rated: E, Words: 15K) by romanticalgirl

Summary: Bucky is given the assignment (punishment) of being the agent whose job it is to integrate the newly-thawed Captain America into life in a new century. Only maybe it's not so bad. Because Bucky ends up dealing with Steve Rogers, who is nothing like the Captain America in Bucky's history books. From coming out of the ice through AoU.

Stay with Me (Rated: E, Words: 79K) by maikurosaki / @allegra-dreams

Summary: When Bucky Barnes accompanies his family to a ceremony dedicated to George Barnes' activity, he expects free food and drinks, the occasional boring speech, and watching his dad blush furiously as he gets to finally meet his childhood hero. What he doesn't expect is saving Captain America's life and getting shot in the process. What follows is a slow road to recovery, eating hospital food (still disgusting), making new friends (Avengers!!! Seriously, the Avengers!) and pining over Captain America (he won't comment on that). It sounds simple, but it really isn’t!

The Steadfast Soldier (Rated: E, Words: 12K) by danielosbourne

Summary: Bucky returns to Brooklyn to help his sister navigate a family crisis.

twelve twenty-five (Rated: E, Words: 43K) by burning_brighter / @burnin-brighter

Summary: “I have to say,” Winifred says, a mug of cocoa in her hands. “When you say you were bringing someone home, I thought you meant you were bringing a boyfriend. But I’m glad you brought Steve.” “Who says I’m not?” Bucky teases, laughing when Steve lets out an exasperated groan. “You two finally got your respective head out of your respective ass?” asks George, looking at Steve and Bucky intently. “No,” Steve says pointedly, “Bucky just thinks he’s so funny.” - Ever since they met, everyone assumed it was just a matter of time before Steve and Bucky became a thing. Ten years later and it has yet to happen. But when Bucky invites Steve to spend the holidays with him and his family in upstate New York, things start to change.

WIP

Every Me and Every You (Rated: M, Current Words: 38K) by deadto27 / @deadto27

Summary: Bucky Barnes is doing his best. He’s getting by after the blip, after Sam became Captain America, after Steve…well, it’s best he doesn’t think about that. The point is, his life is different now, and he’s trying his best. He just wishes the hollow feeling in his chest would go away.—–Bucky gets blinded by a bright light as the tear seems to implode in on itself and there’s an odd little jolt as the pulling stops, and then Bucky’s blinking, trying to get his vision right again as he loosens his grip on America.“You okay?” he checks, still squinting. He’s probably not blind, he thinks. It just feels like it right now.“I’m okay,” America tells him and he sees her nod shakily as his vision starts to clear, and he carefully lets go of her, seeing that she can support herself, hands pressing onto the floor next to her.“Uh…I don’t think I am,” says another voice, and Bucky turns his head so fast he might give himself whiplash. Because he knows that voice. He knows that voice better than any other voice on the planet and he’s missed that voice, so, so much.

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) (Rated: E, Current Words: 103K) by dorian_burberrycanary / @burberrycanary

Summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

[ageless-aislynn]

Title: “15 Minutes” (11/15) Author:  @ageless-aislynn​ Characters/fandom: Master Chief John-117/Reader, Halo the series Summary: John has learned something new that he'd like to show you… Series: How to date a Spartan (without even trying) Rating:  T (PG13) Length: 2,630 (this chapter, 27,487 total so far) Spoilers: Set in the Silver Timeline of Halo the series, not the games or novels. Though we began with the events of Halo 1x06, there will be no more show spoilers. We are still firmly seated in the AU Warthog, merrily driving out to places where there’s only a passing nod to canon. 😉 Disclaimer: Definitely not mine but I do enjoy borrowing them just for a bit! 😉 A/N:  Text is both here in this post or available at AO3, however you like to read. It's, yet again, been awhile since the last update, sad to say. I've been slogging through writer's block, health issues and some kinda awful real life stress but I'm not giving up on this fic (or its sibling, "Recreation"). I'd like to say that the final chapters will be here very soon but, well… I've learned to not call my shots, lol. I will, however, do my best to get them here as soon as I can. If you read, I hope you enjoy! ⭐💖⭐

Taglist: @pinheadbanger​ @mysardencut​ @laurenstacy610​ @sporadicbelievernightmare​ @ultrablackwidower​ @bxmxtx​ @jellotherelol @mirandastuckinthe80s

If you would like to be tagged in my John/Reader fics, just let me know! I also write John/Kai, John/Cortana and Kai/male Reader, so I’m glad to tag you for whatever you’d like. If you would like to be removed from the taglist, also feel free to let me know, no harm, no foul. 😉 💖

Halo fic masterlist ⭐

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

PT arrived bright and early and, while you continued to bring out every expletive in every language you knew, ultimately it seemed your left side was improving: more range of motion in your shoulder and more strength in your leg, though the healing fractures still ached. All together, though, it was a win, no matter that it left you sweating and shaking like you'd wrestled an Elite and lost spectacularly.

You'd just come out of the shower and put on a fresh set of clothes when the door chimed. To your surprise, you found Riz and Vannak in their civvies standing there. You knew Silver Team had been on stand-by for the past few days – John hadn't been able to join you for every meal, understandably, but he had been there every night. Sleeping curled up in his arms was a luxury you weren't sure how you were going to give up when the time came. Kai and her friend had visited but this was the first time the other two Spartans had.

"Please, come in," you said and they did.

"You need new curse words," Riz said seriously.

"We got here while you were doing your therapy," Vannak explained. "Didn't want to interrupt."

"You could hear me cussing out in the hall?" you asked.

"Superior Spartan hearing," she said, matter-of-fact. "I doubt anyone else could."

"Teach her the one," he urged in as animated a tone as you'd ever heard from him before. "You know, the good one."

Which is how you ended up getting a tongue-twisting word in Sangheili added to your arsenal.

"You say that to any Covenant species and it's guaranteed to send them into a rage," Riz said with a confident nod.

"Except the Unggoy," Vannak added with a sneer. "Little bastards couldn't give a shit. They'll try to kill you on principle."

"I'll make sure I'm on a bullhorn from far away, then," you said, biting the inside of your lip to keep from grinning. "Don't want to be in striking distance if I'm going to send them into a rage."

They thought that over.

"Chief won't appreciate us telling her to pick a fight with a Sangheili," she pointed out.

"Just use it on somebody you're pretty sure you can take in a fight," he told you.

"I'll keep that in mind," you said.

They made slightly stilted small talk for about 15 more minutes, then took their leave.

A rest seemed in order, so you propped up on the bed and checked the news. They were in the middle of reporting that they had yet to apprehend the man who had tried to smuggle the bomb back to FLEETCOM in the Warthog. It showed some stock images of the Pit before being damaged by the explosion and that got you to thinking…

There should be some sort of footage of the explosion, right?

But, after poking around on your padd for a little while, you hadn't found much beyond what apparently had been approved for public viewing.

"Would you like some help with that?"

Cortana's voice startled you.

"Oh, hey there," you said, thinking, Poor thing, she's got the most boring job in the world keeping an eye on me. I hope I get the chance to buy her a coffee or something after all is said and done. Then your brain tardily caught up with her words. "You mean you have footage from the explosion?"

"Yes, I do."

"And it's something I have clearance to see?"

"I have footage from the explosion," she repeated, her tone supremely innocent.

Before you could decide whether to ask to see it or not, the holo on the wall lit up. The security cams had caught the explosion from multiple angles. You winced as you saw a body – your body – fly out of the crane operator seat to disappear into a sea of smoke and debris.

A moment later, the view changed, the quality severely degrading. You squinted through the pixilation and haze and realized you were seeing from the point of view of the holo-emiter Cortana had contacted you from.

"Oh, shit," you muttered. The massive beam that had pinned you down should've killed you outright but you'd gotten supremely lucky in the way the rest of the building had fallen, providing just enough support to give you a tiny open space. But even without the sudden, helpful overlay that detailed out the edges of the debris through the smoke, you could see how quickly that respite was vanishing as the beam's weight bore it inexorably lower and lower.

You found yourself gasping for breath, cast back into that moment. The image changed abruptly. Trying to figure out where you were now viewing from helped to break you free of the encroaching panic attack.

Then it all made sense: you were looking at several officers, so covered in dirt and dust that you couldn't recognize their rank, much less determine their names. They also looked extremely short.

Before you even skimmed over the information feeding out in rapid-fire bursts, you knew that this was John's HUD after Silver Team had arrived back on site.

"John, get here now. The support beam is failing!"

Cortana's voice came through his helmet's comm. "There's no time," he said, interrupting the man as he was saying that they would have to wait for an excavation crew to arrive to safely dig you out.

He was running before the man could object. The feed cut back and forth from his HUD to the holo-emiter. This gave you an unexpected perspective on how efficiently Silver Team worked. They needed almost no words as they homed in on your location, grabbing, lifting, moving and supporting each part of the perilous structure as needed.

It was Vannak who caught the beam before it crushed you but it was John who lifted it off of you.

The holo-emiter's feed abruptly ended and you were back in John's HUD. Vannak and Kai caught another part of the crumbling wreckage, creating an opening for Riz to dig you out by hand.

You noted almost absently how steady John's vitals were. He was holding a building off of you as if it were nothing at all.

"Out," Riz announced and John carefully lowered the weight he'd been supporting.

When he turned, you saw Riz clearing the way for Kai, who was now the one carrying you. Vannak and John followed.

They emerged out of the wreckage and Kai went into the Spartan run, taking you directly into a Pelican where she turned you over to a team of medics. The Spartans were waved back and the ship launched.

"We'll catch the next one," Riz said.

"She'll be all right, Chief," Kai told him. "She's strong."

He nodded curtly, tracking the Pelican that was carrying you away.

And once it went out of sight, that was when his vitals spiked and his heart began to pound.

You were still thinking about what all you'd seen when the door chimed again. A glance at the chrono proved it was lunchtime. You opened the door and, indeed, the first thing you saw was a massive, covered tray that no doubt contained your meal. But it was John who was carrying it.

"Silver's on stand-by," he warned, "but I thought we might get a chance to eat together."

Since you weren't yet cleared to make the long walk down to the Mess, a table and pair of chairs had been set up across from the couch a few days ago. As soon as he'd placed the tray down, you practically tackled him.

"Permission to hug the Master Chief?" you asked well after the fact, your voice muffled into his chest.

He gently returned the embrace. "Always granted."

You found yourself holding onto him a little bit longer than usual.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I saw the footage from the Pit," you said, resting your cheek against him. "I already knew I was lucky to get out of there but really seeing it? I… It makes me appreciate being here."

He paused for long enough that you looked up at him, finding him gazing over your head as if hearing something over a comm. Then he turned his attention back down to you, brow furrowing. "She shouldn't have shown you that footage and upset you."

"Cortana? No, I'm glad she did. It happened to me, after all." You put your face against him again and squeezed him once more around his waist. "You held a building off of me, John."

He made a move as if about to pick you up, then thought better of it and knelt instead to bring you more on a level together. "I'd hold a million buildings off of you, don't you know that?" he said, cupping your face. "Just… try not to be under any more falling buildings, hm?"

"I'll certainly do my best," you swore and kissed his palm.

The look in his eyes altered, grew both darker and softer at the same time. When you leaned towards him, he met you halfway.

He started carefully, like he did everything with you, but soon the kiss intensified, deepened, and his hands skimmed from the crown of your head down your back as if he wanted to map every line, curve and angle you possessed.

And then your stomach growled, loudly and unmistakably, and you muttered your newly-learned curse word.

He leaned back to look at you, amusement tugging insistently at his mouth. "That one's Vannak's favorite. He and Riz talked about coming to see you today. I'm assuming they did?"

"They did," you said, then winced as your stomach grumbled something awfully close to a repeat of the Sangheili curse word.

"Why don't we eat," he said, completely surrendering to the smile, "and you can tell me all about it."

Happily, he didn't get called away and you were able to finish your meal together in peace.

"Could I show you something I recently learned?" he asked as you stood from the table.

"As long as it doesn't involve throwing me around the room," you teased.

"Oh, I'll save that until you're all healed up," he murmured, then winked.

You'd like to think you laughed but no, that was a full-fledged giggle. "So, what did you learn?"

"Therapeutic massage," he said, flexing his fingers. "It's supposed to promote healing and relaxation. Want to give it a try?"

"Absolutely," you said. "Where do you want me at?"

"On the footstool, if that's okay?"

"Sure."

The wide, plush, rainbow-colored bit of furniture was another recent addition to the room, added because John wanted you to have the option to put your feet up. Kai had told you that, as soon as you were healthy again, she was going to high-five you for the color choice.

While his back was turned as he adjusted the stool the way he wanted it in front of the couch, you took your shirt off and tossed it haphazardly towards the bed.

He sat, a leg on either side of the stool, and looked up at you, clearly about to say something. But then his expression went thunderstruck and the words never emerged.

You had the same UNSC sports bra that he had to have seen other marines wearing in the gym a thousand times. You'd spotted Kai and Riz in them before, so it shouldn't have been that shocking.

"This all right?" you asked.

"Uh-huh. Yeah. Yes." Every affirmative had its own completely separate inflection, from stunned to wonderment to Wait, don't put the shirt back on.

You turned away, hiding your grin as you sat down where directed. Considering that you were hardly in top fighting form at the moment, his reaction was a very nice little ego boost.

His hands settled gently against your back, fingers curling over your shoulders. "If I use too much pressure or there's pain, tell me right away. Is there anything I should definitely avoid?"

"Can't raise the arm like I should" –you gave a roll of your left shoulder– "but it's already much better than it was."

"Copy that, no raising the arm. Anything else?"

No matter how battered and bruised you felt, there was no way you were going to miss this. "I'll let you know," you promised.

"Okay," he said and his hands glided up to your neck, then out, following the lines of the trapezius on both sides. The heels of his palms followed your spine down in a feathery touch, then spread out along your lats like he was smoothing wrinkles out of them before skimming down your obliques to your hips.

He returned to your shoulders again and very, very carefully kneaded into the tightness there. You did your best not to flinch when he hit a particularly sore spot but he jerked back as if you'd screamed.

"It's fine," you said quickly, afraid he was about to end up perched on the back of the couch like a very large, traumatized cat. "This is the only way to get rid of it. Just got to work it out."

His hands settled cautiously on your shoulders once more.

"You're doing great," you assured him, patting his knees on either side of you encouragingly, and his thumbs drew circles over the painful places as if he were trying not to fracture a thin sheet of glass.

The knots relaxed and you exhaled in the closest thing to sheer bliss you'd experienced in a long while. The warmth and gentle pressure had you melting back into him, your head lolling a bit, your eyelids fluttering shut and—

The next thing you knew, you were waking up. "Oh come on, I didn't want to sleep through all the good parts," you mumbled.

John's chuckle rumbled beneath your ear. He had pulled you back onto his lap on your right side, cradled comfortably against his chest. One hand was gently rubbing your back while the other covered the hand you had fisted into his shirt.

"I'm going to take this as a compliment to my therapeutic massage skills," he said.

"And you absolutely should." You raised your head to look at him. "Maybe next time I can even stay conscious long enough to really appreciate said skills. If there is, you know, a next time."

"There will most definitely be a next time," he swore and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

"I still owe you a proper back scratching."

"And I am absolutely going to collect on that," he returned, his tone unexpectedly husky.

You smiled, straightening up to kiss him. He pulled you closer, then paused and sighed against your mouth.

"I've got to go," he said resolutely right before his wristband chirped.

You looked for a way to roll off of him that wouldn't aggravate your shoulder – or potentially crush any of his, ahem, important Spartan equipment – but he scooped you up bridal style and stood as if you weighed nothing at all.

"I'll meet you for dinner if we're back soon enough," he promised and gave you one more tender kiss then placed you onto the couch. Before he went through the door, he paused, looking back like he was memorizing this moment, then he took a breath and was gone.

It was nearly dinner time when the door chime rang and you went to answer it with as much of a hopeful spring in your step as you could manage. However, this time, it wasn't John holding a tray with your evening meal on it.

"Dr. Keyes," you said in surprise, snapping a salute.

She said your rank and last name. "May I come in? We need to talk."

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop part 8

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

M!reader version in my masterlist :^)

Fic type: fluff

Warnings: mention of bullet wound

Summary: two years on from the bathroom incident, Adam decides to make a big change in order to feel like himself again

A/n hello!! It's been a while, but writer's block is slowly dissolving, so I hope you enjoy!!

10th September, 2003

Today was an exciting day for Adam, he was finally going to say goodbye to a sore reminder of the past. Exactly two years prior, he'd been put through pain so tremendous that he thought he would never see the light of day again, but despite all John kramer's efforts, he had lived. And how far he'd come was nothing short of a miracle, he had a wonderful girlfriend, a nice apartment, and a cat.

He was no longer a stalker-for-hire, nor was he working for an asshole boss at a crummy photography business. A few months ago, a local news station had reached out and asked Adam for an interview regarding his brush with death, and feeling uncharacteristically confident, he'd said yes. The interview had gone down tremendously, and the very same day that it was broadcasted, he recieved a call from an alternative music magazine, (one that Adam had read since he was a teenager), offering him a job as a band photographer, they seemed to like his laid back attitude.

His life had changed in other ways too, somehow he'd let y/n persuade him to reconnect with his estranged family. He called his mother regularly, and he was gradually starting to fix his relationship with his Dad.

It was truly amazing how much had changed in just two short years- yet one thing had remained.

"It's gonna feel kinda weird when it's gone" Adam said, his toothbrush hanging from the corner of his mouth as he stared at his shirtless body in the bathroom mirror.

Y/n hugged him from behind, kissing his cheek.

"Yeah, but good weird, right?" She asked, wanting to make sure Adam was ready.

"Oh yeah, like, the BEST type of weird. Instead of looking at this ugly thing every morning, I'm gonna see a kick ass snake" he grinned, pointing towards the bullet scar on his right shoulder.

A tattoo cover-up was something Adam had been wanting for as long as he realised it was a possibility, and it only seemed right to get it done on the anniversary of the day he got the scar. He tried to picture himself with a big snake, winding up his arm and across his chest, he thought he'd look kinda badass.

"You sure you'll manage? Your pain tolerance is pretty shit" y/n teased, her cheeky face peering over Adam's shoulder into the mirror.

"C'mere you" Adam smirked, spinning around and grabbing y/n's waist in one swift motion. He held her tightly to his chest with one arm, and tickled her ribs with the other.

"Who's the wimp now?" He sneered, as y/n squealed and giggled, wriggling around to try and escape his grip to no avail.

"Okay! Okay, fine it's me!"

"Nope, I need to hear you say it"

"I'm a wimp! I'm a wimp!" Y/n cried out between giggles, before Adam finally stopped tickling and rested his hands around her waist.

"Thank you.. for y'know, agreeing to come with me today" he said softly, his piercing eyes never leaving hers, "this is a big deal for me"

"Wouldn't miss it" y/n smiled back, kissing Adam gently.

...

As it would turn out, Adam took the pain of the tattoo like a champ, but he did wince and squeeze y/n's hand a few times as the needle went over the scar. It's not that it hurt all too bad, just that the hot sting in that particular was a little too familiar for him.

"All done man, you wanna check it out in the mirror?" The tattoo artist smiled, wiping down his chest with some antiseptic.

Adam stood up, and slowly walked over to the mirror. His eyes were shut, and his breaths were shallow. He couldn't believe that when his eyes finally opened, he'd be staring at a brand new Adam.

"Hey," y/n whispered, taking his hand, "it looks amazing- you look amazing"

This was all the encouragement Adam needed. He braced himself, squeezed y/n's hand tightly and finally, opened his eyes.

"Wow..." was all he could utter before tears began to well in his eyes. He hastily wiped them away, and swallowed the lump in his throat, not wanting to cry in public.

"Th.. thanks man, it's perfect" he choked out, smiling towards the tattoo artist.

...

In the small hours of the next morning, y/n woke up to find Adam was no longer beside her in bed. She blinked as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, until the sound of quiet sobs emanating from the bathroom caught her attention. Fearing the worst, she arose from the bed and made her way to the bathroom door, slowly opening it so as not to startle Adam.

There he stood, much like the previous morning, staring at his shirtless body in the mirror.

"Baby?" Y/n asked softly.

Adam turned to look at her, his eyes red and his hands trembling.

"I can't stop looking at it" he spoke softly, a small smile appearing on his face.

"Oh baby, " y/n cooed, wrapping her arms around Adam in a tender embrace.

He rested his head on her shoulder and began to laugh through the tears, "I feel like me again"

[rocksibblingsau]

Do you have any writing tips?

I'm still a beginner writer myself and I'm not sure if you mean for technical skill or the writing process but my tips would be:

Don't be afraid of the word said. As tempting as it is to avoid saying it because you feel like it's everywhere, it makes the times you DON'T use it stand out more if you use it a generous amount and honestly I never notice when someone uses 'said' a lot.

Listening to music that fits the scene can help a lot. It's very hard for me to write a sad scene when 'Dance the Night' is playing on Spotify. For Trolls specifically it also helps if the music matches the genre you're portraying.

Have a bit of a framework that you can follow. When I finished Chapter 1 and I realized I wanted to turn this into an actual fic, I paused and thought about where I wanted the fic to go. I thought about plotlines and future events so that here in the past I can set things up well in advance and even foreshadow things.

That being said, keeping it a little loose also helps! I've changed some things and gotten new ideas since starting and it helps to have the space to make those changes!

Inspiration is a huge part of writing for me, and I think that any life experience or piece of media consumed when 10 years old can be used to make a cool story. I've ranged from using actual places I've seen to kids movies I barely remember.

Mixing truth and opinion in narration helps shape the protagonist and shows their perception of reality. You don't want the narration to be unreliable (unless you're aiming for 'unreliable narrating' type of storytelling) but seeing the character notice a small detail and then their thoughts derailing to an assumption tells me a lot about how that character thinks and how they perceive themself.

This is kinda cliche but: write the story you want to write. You will hit writer's block after writer's block and struggle so much if the story you're writing isn't one you would want to read. I get wanting good reception but you should be the first person who would see your story on AO3 or in a book store/library and go 'Oh my god FINALLY someone wrote this'.

It can be good practice to write little ficlets/one shots of the most off the wall random AUs you can think of. The practice can come from anywhere and I feel like the fact I make 1 million AUs in my head has helped me explore a bunch of random ideas and learn more about things I like and dislike in writing. A small idea that I came up with when messing about with an AU that makes 0 sense is actually making it into chapter 16 because I went 'oooh tasty worldbuilding and cute idea'.

I hope this helps, as again I'm very beginner to writing and even more so to posting works for others!

[variety-fangirl]

I have a fic request if you’re taking them! You’re the fem dancer who performs the rain duet in the Magic Mike show in London and your lovely Moon boys go to watch your show as the supportive boyfriends they are. What happens when you get home?

Rain Dance / Moon Boys x fem!reader

Summary: You're a professional dancer helping Mike with his final surprise performance at The Rattigan, the money was just too good to refuse. Of course, you had prepared and pre-warned your boyfriends about the sensual and intimate nature of the dance being performed but they had been supportive of your role and wanted to come watch the final product of your hard work. After witnessing the dance you head home with your boyfriends, only to be in for a surprise of your own.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS SHOO. Descriptive sexual words and sentences, mentions of intimate, sexual, sensual, and consensual dance, jealousy and possessiveness, smut (unprotected p in v, soft!dom moon boys, spanking, choking, marking, female oral, praise kink) lmk if I missed anything.

Authors note: (SPOILERS! For the new Magic Mike Last Dance film). Absolutely 😍 oh I love this idea! I actually just finished watching Magic Mike Last Dance and loved it, so this idea is *mwah*. That scene was spicy and beautiful! 🥵😍 Thank you so much for requesting, it means a lot! 😁🥰 I hope that you like it and it turned out the way you wanted it to. Sorry it took so long, life and writers block have been kicking my ass fp 😅 Thank you for reading and enjoy! Liking, reblogging, and commenting really helps me out. Thank you.

Word count: 2.2k

Never in your life did you think you would be performing a dance of this nature, something so raw, sensual, and intimate. It was something you never thought would happen outside of a relationship, minus the fact of having clothes on, being so up close and personal in someone's personal space and they you. But there was a part of you that wanted to prove to yourself, that you could do something like this and walk out a new woman who genuinely did something that mattered. And that was by helping Mike, so that he could prove himself and Maxandra also. Did it feel a little weird that she and your boyfriends would be watching you and Mike basically dance fuck with your clothes on? Yes, yes it did. But when it came down to it, it was just a job to you both.

The lead-up to the final dance was chaotic and stressful, with so many ups and downs but you all got there in the end. Granted you had come in last minute with little time to prep but Mike had his vision sorted and ready to go, you just needed to learn the choreography. With all your years of dance, you had found it profoundly difficult, having never done something so obscene and sexual before in dance but honestly? You were so excited about it. It was a new wonderful challenge to say you had overcome. And seeing the final product of what you had all achieved was spectacular and you couldn't wait for others to witness the greatness Mike had created.

When it came to the day of the performance, you were pent up with energy and nerves about the outcome and how your boyfriends would react. You were sure they would be proud of you and your ability as a performer but the dance itself? You weren't so sure. You were just hoping they wouldn't take it to heart. That they could see past the sexual aspect and understand how beautiful and artistic it truly was. You would be thinking of your boyfriends the whole time anyway. Not anyone else, because they were the desire of your dreams and life itself.

When the time for your performance was steadily yet quickly approaching, it was a lot to take in, you were nervous beyond belief. But your main goal was to make your loved ones proud of you, so whilst backstage, you rehearsed and prepped your dance as much as possible. You wanted everything to be flawless and beautiful, so mesmerising to watch that you couldn't take your eyes away. As you were stretching to loosen up your body for dancing, Mike came over. "You ready?" he asked with a cheeky smile that helped calm your nerves ever so slightly, you nodded with a smile.

As you approached the stage to begin, you felt your heart leap out of your chest. It always did before each performance, no matter how many you had done over the years. You spring into action, dancing methodically and passionately, putting all your feelings into each movement. You worked with Mike, not against him, letting each other guide the flow. Your bodies moved so naturally, with so much grace and beauty that you felt the overwhelming emotions that poured out of you. It reflected in your movements, in everything you did in that moment, and it truly made all the difference for the impact. You imagined your beloved, amazing boyfriends the whole time, envisioning the amazing passionate nights you spent between the sheets together. All the love and desire you felt for them, the way they made your body feel.

You kept your eyes on Mike the entire time, not wanting to break focus for even a second, too afraid of ruining the intensity of the performance. Each thrusting, pushing, flowing movement felt so raw and powerful, and yet vulnerable all at the same time. Your emotions and movements were in sync, working as one as well as with each other, it was a team effort. You felt the music flow through you as you transferred to the water part of your dance, the most sexual part. The dance was a mix between ballet, erotica, and freestyle dance. You could feel the audience holding their breaths as they watched you and Mike grind, touch, dance, and push at each other.

Each sultry touch of your bodies, each sensual movement, each intimate body part that ground against one another, enticed and pulled the raw emotions you wanted the crowd to feel. As if they were the lookers observing and assessing the voyeuristic lovemaking of a couple for all to see. It was perfect, every part and every moment, was something to marvel at and savour. You felt beautiful as you moved, hips and head tuned in with your sexual desires, you were lost in the passion.

When you came to, it took you a moment to realise it was over, that you were standing and walking from the stage. As soon as you were away from looking eyes, you finally felt like you could breathe again. As if breathing would have disrupt the dance and distract the audience from it. "Holy fuck! That was awesome, you did amazing!" Mike complimented with a large smile as you both walked into the dressing room. You smiled wide, "It was, wasn't it? You did so amazingly!" you felt unlike anything you ever had, it was hard to explain. You felt... beyond. You both laughed happily as you separated to dry off and get changed for the end of the show.

When you re-emerged, you looked for your boyfriends, not immediately seeing them. In your search, you noticed Mike and Maxandra had finally made up and were kissing. It made you smile, you were happy it had worked, that she seemed proud. And thankfully, not at all angry or unhappy. You noticed a dark figure to the side of Mike and smiled, immediately running towards them. "Hi," You whispered in his ear as you wrapped your arms tightly around your boyfriends. "Babe, you were amazing up there, was hard not to get jealous," Marc spoke huskily into your ear, placing a gentle kiss below your ear. You moan softly, "I was thinking of you three the whole time anyway, honey." you leant up and bit Marc's earlobe gently, earning you a delicious groan. His hand smacks your ass, leading you toward the exit. You smile, already knowing what was about to happen.

It didn't take you both long to get home, the drive was short and filled with many compliments that Marc relayed from your other two favourite men. You were blushing furiously and your panties were utterly drenched by the time you walked through the door. The anticipation was killing you, and the need for your boyfriends was insatiable. The second the door closed and the lock clicked, you were roughly pushed against it, a gasp managing to escape before Marc's lips were on yours. You both moan as your tongues explore one another's mouths, fighting for dominance.

You make quick work of removing each other's clothing, breathless gasps mingling between your only just separated lips, never too far from each other. Once naked, Marc picked you up one-handed and pressed you against the hard wooden door, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist to secure yourself. Tongues battled for dominance as Marc's hands grabbed at your ass, needing the soft plush skin in his hands. His hips ground into yours, cock rubbing perfectly through your dripping slit, allowing him to move so much easier. "Fuck baby, you are so wet already and I haven't even touched you yet." you moaned at his words, both listening to the obscene sounds of your wetness filling the quiet room.

"You're such a good girl for us love, you were amazing up there." you smiled, wondering whether you would see your other boyfriends tonight. "Steven" you breathlessly say as his mouth travels down to your neck. Your body was on fire, so pent up and got with the need built up in your body, you felt you could burst at any second. Especially with the way their cock was grinding oh so perfectly against your clit every time he thrust forward. You felt your back being removed from the stability of the door and landed on the soft duvet of your bed. You gasp at the soft impact, looking up at Steven whilst biting your lip, waiting for whatever they were willing to give you. "I'm going to show you just how jealous we were tonight my love," Steven announces with a seriousness you hadn't expected to come from him, it made you a little nervous but you trusted all three of them with your life.

"Have at it, sir," you smirk, knowing that name got Steven fired up. For Marc it was just his name, he didn't have a kink name that he liked to be called. Although, you did experimentally call him 'daddy' once and that really got him riled up. Jake liked to be called Pappi, naturally. It made it more fun in the bedroom, for each of them to have individual sexual preferences. Steven growled and latched his lips onto yours, kissing you as if it would be your last ever kiss. It made you completely breathless when he pulled away, and more so when you saw the look in his eyes. Pure lust and adoration, like you were the most beautiful thing he had ever laid his eyes upon. You watched as Steven moved lower, moving to your breasts, placing his mouth around your nipple as he played with the other in his hand.

You moan and writhe against the soft cotton duvet, gasps intermingling between as his lips continued to travel lower, down to where you needed them most. His hands glide across your skin as they follow his mouth, savouring every inch as if you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. The second Steven's tongue licked your clit, you were a goner, completely consumed with pleasure. "Oh, fuck, Steven." you gasp, head thrown back and eyes rolling. Your body takes a mind of its own, your hips thrusting gently into Steven's face, trying to desperately chase your high. Needing that sweet release more than air itself.

You could feel your high quickly approaching from Steven's tongue alone. He was that good. He knew exactly how to please you and what to do, all from your body alone. As soon as Steven added two fingers into you, you were done, coming hard. You cried out as your head threw back once again, eyes rolling back into your head as Steven rode you through the pleasure of your high. He kept going even after you had finished and had been licked clean, overstimulating you to sensitivity. You giggle with a gasp as your body spasmed, gently pushing his head away. You look behind you to see the mirror pointed to face the bed, knowing Marc and Jake are watching you intently, probably with large smirks on their faces as they spoke to Steven.

You smirk, biting your lip, "Enjoy the show boys?" you question breathlessly, a teasing tone to your voice as you turn back to look at Steven. "We absolutely did princesa." Jake groaned as you pulled him down to press your lips to his, your hand tracing slowly down his body until you landed on his cock. You stroked his cock slowly, wanting to please them the way that Steven had pleased you. Jake groaned loudly, mouth open against yours, both breathing deeply. "Fuck, baby." Jake moaned before kissing you passionately.

Jake pushes your hand away gently and lines himself with your entrance. He slowly drags the head of his cock back and forth your slit, spreading your wetness around. Jake made sure to bump your clit every time he dragged his cock up, enjoying watching you gasp and twitch from sensitivity. After teasing you for a bit, Jake got fed up and gently entered you without warning. He kept slowly entering you until he was flush inside of you, giving you a moment to adjust to his size and the familiar stretch.

"Jesús bebé, te sientes tan bien" Jake groaned as he started moving, quickly building a steady pace that had you moaning in seconds. As Jake thrust into you, his hand wrapped around your neck, applying just enough pressure. "You're mine," Jake paused, looked to the mirror and rolled his eyes, "ours." He corrected with a grunt. "Yours." You gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist, wanting them as close as possible.

You felt Jake stiffen and hear Marc's voice take over, making you smile. "Fuck baby, you feel too good." Marc's lips attached to your neck, kissing and sucking the delicate skin, no doubt leaving marks in his path. There was an odd sense of joy you got out of your boys feeling jealous and slightly possessive, it made for the sex to be all the more amazing. Suddenly Marc pulls out of you, flips you over and directs you to go on all fours, facing the mirror perfectly. You both moan loudly as he re-enters you without issue, fucking you slowly to begin.

Marc without wanting begins to fuck you, hard, into the mattress. You gasp while moaning, mouth open wide as he enters you nice and deep, hitting that sweet spot inside you that had that familiar knot tightening in moments. Marc's palm collides with your ass, one on each side, "that's our girl." he groans. The bed rocks with the force of his thrusts, mixed with the obscene and wet noises you were both making. You feel yourself getting close, "That's it, come for me, baby. Give them a show." Marc whispers against your ear before giving you the fucking of your life.

You scream in ecstasy as your high hits you like a train, the pleasure so intense that your arms gave out and you flopped onto the bed. Marc came seconds later, stilling as he released his seed inside of you. He collapsed next to you, both breathing heavily and feeling like jello. You turn to face Marc with a sleepy smile on your face, your hand gently pushing his loose damp curls off his forehead. "I should make you guys jealous more often if I get fucked like that." you joked with a giggle, leaning in to kiss him. Suddenly you were on your back again and your boyfriends hard dick poked into your stomach, "good thing then because we aren't done with you yet." Steven's voice alerted, making you squeal.

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Hi! First off, I want to say how awesome and well-organized this page is. I know how much work it must be to put it together. I do think that the word retired has an air of finality to it, like it's implied that the authors who appear on the retired authors list are done writing THG fics. But they might just have stuff going on in their lives or writers block and that's why they haven't updated in awhile. I feel like there might be some authors who won't enjoy finding themselves on that list. Anyway, thanks for hearing me out. I've enjoyed seeing all your posts.

Hello!

Thank you so much for your perspective! I can understand where this is coming from and did debate on what term to use for categorizing the authors, which is why I do put that note on the top of each masterlist noting the differences in categorization. I, in no way, meant to imply that these authors are never coming back into the writing game! I've seen writers take years off and come back into the writing game stronger than ever. I'm truly sorry if it came off that way.

I looked into a few other fandom blogs similar to this and noticed "retired" being a main word used for authors who haven't updated fics in a while but are active in the fandom or writing but from other fandoms. I've also seen the word "Hiatus" used and debated on that for a while. I'm always open to suggestions and comments like these, especially from authors as you are the individuals most directly affected by my word choices. I never intended to make authors feel upset and tried my best to use more inclusive terms. I chose not to do "inactive authors" series for this exact reason because I did not want someone to stumble upon the list and be hurt by it in some way.

Please continue to share your thoughts on how I can make this blog more inclusive of everyone in the fandom and how I can use my language in a better way for this specific series which is "a blog/writer who has updated within the past year but has not posted a fanfic in the fandom in the past year". Or let me know if the series should be terminated if the idea isn't a good one. I truly thought that by highlighting these authors it may help more people find them and perhaps inspire them to write again or at the very least have a nice few comments to discover one day. BUT if this series seems in poor taste please let me know!

As followers of the blog, or THG writers, I'd like your input on what that series should be called. I'll make the appropriate changes/edits to upcoming releases and past releases in accordance with the results of the poll.

I put the a week timer on the poll and will hold the remaining posts in that series until this poll closes and we decide on a new term as a community.

Again, I am so sorry if I offended or hurt anyone in the community. I strive to create an inclusive and friendly safe for everyone!

-Admin:e

[starlahuskyz]

Chances - Chapter 1

A TLB fan story

Summary: It's 1988 and Jordan has been alone for a while now. She's tried to escape her past which has forever tied her to Santa Carla, but now has to learn to trust again. She also finds out that her past will always come back to haunt her.

GIF by @hypnoticvamp

This is my first ever fic and most likely one of my only ones. I plan on telling this entire story so stay tuned for updates. BTW I'm not a very good writer but I'm just telling this story for fun. If you don't like oc x canon stories then you are gonna want to avoid this one.

TW// none for now

Chapter 2

Feedback is appreciated ^ ^

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Boardwalk

Summertime only means one thing in Santa Carla, it brings in hordes of new tourists and visitors into this crazy town. And you can expect it to remain that way for the next few months. But amongst all of the people on the boardwalk, there is one individual who walks alone. She isn’t a particularly special individual, not really attractive or ugly, dresses casually but not really normally either. She’s a stranger to most people and seemingly can’t be read by most who pass her. She has one goal in mind and one only, she doesn’t let anyone get in her way as she goes.

Within a few minutes, she’s reached her destination…Max’s Video Store. Looking through the entrance she doesn’t see the owner, “Awesome…” She isn’t a fan of the owner. He always gives her a ‘look’ when she walks in. She makes her visit brief as she sifts through old VHS’s looking frantically for something that catches her eye. 

As she finally finds something, A new presence makes itself known by slamming its hands onto the box she was looking through. She winces as she already knows who it is.

“Before you say anything, please save it” She looks up at them with the most uninterested face she could muster.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, I was gonna simply admire you from afar…” They said with a snarky yet lovestruck smile. It was Marko…

That curly haired blonde who sported the most complex looking jacket she will ever see and wore black leather chaps. He also had the face of a Greek statue and eyes that she swore could change colors at will. A part of her wanted to feel flattered that he liked her, but at the same time she knew she didn't quite trust him.

“Well I’ll have you know that I’m pretty busy, so you should do yourself a favor and go with your buddies before I let you down again.” She walked towards the counter to pay for the VHS when she heard a new voice.

“Jordan! You didn’t tell us you would be here today! Why didn't you tell us?” A tall lanky blondie who looked like Twisted Sister wrapped his arms around Jordan’s much shorter frame and spun her around much to her dismay. “You guys don't need to know what I'm doing OR where I'm going!" She twisted and writhed in his arms as he simply dangled her over the ground.

Paul kept blabbering while Marko came up to her and simply said, “You said I should go with my buddies, but I already brought them here.”

Jordan finally got herself out of Paul’s arms and slammed cash onto the counter for her VHS. “You can keep the change just please let me get the hell out of here” The lady working the register simply smiled and laughed to herself “I know how you feel.”

“What’s the hurry?” A new voice intervenes. Everyone looks from what they are doing, it’s David.

Jordan could recognize the platinum blonde from anywhere. Walking up to Jordan he puts a rough hand on her shoulder. “You should know they are just excited to spend some time with you.”

“You forget yourself, it’s just Marko who wants to spend time with me. You guys are just third wheeling his sad attempt at flirting with me for god knows how many times. I’m sure he’s wonderful and all but I’d advise you to give him a wake up call.”

Jordan snatches the VHS off of the counter and makes a beeline for the exit before she is blocked by the one brunette of this club of crazies. “Well, you haven’t even given him a chance, so how do you know you don’t like him?” He grabs her shoulders and turns her around to face Marko who is giving her the biggest frown she’s ever seen. “See? You can make that frown turn upside down if you give him the chance to-” 

“What did I tell guys you about coming in here?”

[kartaylirnaak]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Thanks for the tag @medic-6116

Rules: In a new post, paste these following questions with your own answers, and then tag somebody, just for fun!

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

At the moment it's 11.

2.) What’s your ao3 word count?

29,647

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars, specifically The Clone Wars.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

The Lingerie Approval Board — Codywan, Obi-Wan/212th, Obi-Wan/Ghost Company, Smut, Chat fic, slightly cracky

9. Praise Kink (Fox/Dogma) — Smut, Kinktober 2024, Dom Fox, sub Dogma, Dogma is The Goodest Boy

5. Fisting (Bacara/Fox/Neyo/Wolffe) — Smut, Kinktober 2024, Trans Fox, Poly clones

3. Vibrator (Dogma/Hardcase/Tup) — Smut, Kinktober 2024, Poly clones, Dogma is a Good Boy

17. Fucking Machine and Gags (Cody/Rex) — Smut, Kinktober 2024, sub bottom Cody, Dom Rex, Clone Rebellion

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Getting a comment on a fic is so special and is often the highlight of my day. The lack of people that comment is so disheartening so if someone does go to the effort of commenting, then I'm definitely going to go to the effort of replying and thanking them for reading and commenting. Plus I like to hear about what they enjoyed and love seeing peoples feral reactions to the smut I've written >:3

6.) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Nothing yet and likely never will. Not a fan of angst. The most I can do is light angst with a happy ending.

7.) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my fics don't really have an ending per say, as the fics in my Kinktober 2024 series are more like moments in a larger scene, rather than whole complete fics. The only fic that really has a more concrete ending is The Lingerie Approval Board, and that's a fairly happy ending, particularly for Obi-Wan.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I've seen but if I do, that shit is getting blocked and reported.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Hell yeah! Very kinky smut >:3

10.) Do you write cross overs? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. Don't do that shit.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I haven't cowritten a fic with someone that we've then posted on AO3 but I have certainly rambled on and bounced ideas off others in discord servers.

14.) What’s your all time favourite ship?

How am I supposed to chose?! *cries in multishipper* My OTP is probably Jessix, followed closely by Codex and Foxma.

15.) What’s a WIP you’d like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I've got a bunch of WIPs for other prompts from Kinktober 2024 that I really want to finish but I'm really not sure if those will ever happen. I'd love to do a whole fic and more about Match, my 212th ARC OC that I cover in more detail in an answer to this ask, but as I mention in that post, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do that justice either.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Not really sure what to put here. Does being detailed count? Though that's also a weakness. I do really like getting into the emotions of smut and the trust and vulnerability that is essential to kink and bdsm working. The safety that finally allows a character to let go and get the release they need.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Rambling on far too much and going into far too much detail. Being unable to finish things. Planning too much and then not being able to write the actual fic because my brain thinks it's already written the damn fic.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I enjoy a liberal smattering of Mando'a in my fics but I usually stick to one or two words in dialogue. Anymore than that and I find it difficult to read and understand.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Star Wars. I only started writing fic fairly recently.

20.) Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

I'm not sure I have an outright favourite. I'm fond of various different ones for various different reasons. I'm quite fond of 13. Dom/Sub (Fox/Dogma) as it gets into some of the things I was talking about in my answer to question 16.

No Pressure Tags (NPTs): I never know who to tag in these things, mainly because I'm worried about tagging someone who's already been tagged by other people. So if you see this, consider yourself tagged! Especially if you write kinky smut.

[twosetmeridian]

hi merri! i'm absolutely terrible at ao3 comments and i couldn't pick a chapter to leave one on if i tried, so i thought i'd come here and let you know that i'm absolutely adoring ovation and frame by frame. I'm so so so excited to see where it goes and to have the details of their past filled in even more. i physically vibrate when i receive the update emails. thank you so so so much for gifting us with your wonderful writing and creativity and the beautiful world you've created! it has me really invested and i love it so so much. anyway this was very ramble-y but yeah! extra double kudos times a billion, and thank you so much

hello hello hello, fletching! i realize i've taken ages to reply to you, but i'd still like to, regardless! thank you so much for your lovely message and for the extra double kudos x a billion, it absolutely made my day 🥹💖 i'll be looking at it on the rainy-brain days to keep myself going with ovation. . . it's taken so long, and i've crossed acres of writer's block-infested land and general irl chaos, but i'm finally getting back to writing it again 🙏

oh, btw! i've seen your name and a few of your fics whenever i open ao3; i'm excited to get to read your work soon 😍 it's always wonderful to meet a fellow tsv fic writer! i hope you're doing good in the light of the recent tsv news and that life is treating you and your writing well 🫶

[melis-writes]

Fanfic Disclaimer: If you don't like it, please don't read it.

After writing and working fanfics continuously now on a daily basis for almost two years now, unfortunately it seems like making this post now is sadly unavoidable. 🫤 I feel the need to finally mention the disclaimer I'm putting on all my fics/work now due to a constant pattern of anon hate, insults, de*th threats and unwanted "constructive" criticism on my work.

I can't stress enough: if you don't like a fanfic for any reason whatsoever, you don't have to read it! You really don't. Nobody's making you read anything you don't want to and you're not a bad guy if you put it down the first paragraph in or five chapters in. Another thing you don't need to do at all whatsoever is send hate comments/asks, or tell fic authors they're writing is shit and their fic is too. Unwarranted, rude and hateful comments only make you look like the awful person, not someone with a "different opinion". 😕

This exact kind of disgusting behavior is a huge cause of why many fanfic authors delete all of their works, stop posting, and stop writing. I ignored it for some time myself but seeing that it's clearly going to continue periodically and not stop, I'm addressing it all in this post.

From the past almost 2 years since I've been writing Moth to Flame, I've been repeatedly a target of this behavior/bullying up to the point where it's evolved to anon hate/blogs that I've blocked changing locations to send me asks, sending me and my fics hate while making new blogs to interact with me, actively reading my fics and writing hate comments on them, and interacting with my blog while continuing to send me hate over a fanfic. 😶 What it's evolved to is downright ridiculous and insane and I am no longer entertaining it in any way, shape or form whether it comes on AO3 comment sections or here.

I'm not going anywhere. I'm never going to stop writing fics or my original work. Writing is my hobby, my passion, one of my favourite things to do and this hasn't changed for 16 years and it never will. I'm not going to delete my fics/works for anyone or anything and that includes anon hate and every nasty message inbetween. I'm here to stay, and nobody is obligated to read my fics or even interact with my blog so please, if you don't like me, my writing and anything regarding it from the style to the characters' personalities and down to the plot, unfollow me. Block me. Please don't interact with me in any way if you don't like me/my writing for whatever reason.

My welcome onto Tumblr after beginning to post the first few chapters of Moth to Flame was anon hate and nasty messages. Because of a fanfic, I've been told to "stop writing it because it discourages other fanfic authors" due to Moth to Flame's soaring popularity, that I have "ego problems" from accepting and being grateful for feedback and compliments, that I "think I'm better than every other fanfic writer" because I'm confident and comfortable with my writing style and skill and refuse to insult myself or downplay my own talent in some way, that I have a monopoly on Michael Corleone x Reader fics and that I supposedly think "nobody else can write good Michael Corleone x Reader fics". ??? None of these are remotely true at all. ☹️

Since then, I've had growing suspicions this kind of bullying and behaviour was coming exclusively from The Godfather fandom and unfortunately, I was right. 🫤 Being in many fandoms for long periods of time on and on for years, The Godfather fandom is the first fandom I've ever been in where I've seen blogs group up and gang up on other blogs to send anon hate/make nasty posts about them, have someone tell me to k*ll myself over a fanfic, encourage other blogs/users to individually send hate (over anything, ships, headcanons, etc.), make new blogs to send hate and to follow/stalk from and so much more disgusting, awful behavior.

It got all the more concerning when I had friends and mutuals telling me they're distancing themselves from The Godfather fandom and choosing to have nothing to do with it or follow anyone from it. I've had beloved mutuals and friends deactivate their blogs over witnessing this behaviour in the fandom. 💔

Over a fanfic, I've had anon hate telling me I'm a misogynist/hate women because Moth to Flame is based in the late 1940s/1950s, that Victoria has "too many children", that there's "too much smut" in a SMUT fic, that Victoria "isn't shy enough" (just to name a few) and users telling me how I should write my own fanfic and my portray my own characters differently because they don't like how the plot went or how the character acted. These are no longer bits of "constructive" criticism, but condescending insults coming from individuals who clearly don't like my fics or my writing, but refuse to stop reading them, refuse to stop interacting with me and continue to send more anon asks and anon AO3 comments.

I believe that one of the many great things about second person perspectives in writing/fanfics is that you get to step into a new world and experience the plot with or as the character. This doesn't mean the character is going to be 100% like you and it's not my intention or wish to do that or change my characters entirely so someone likes them better either.

I'm all for difference of opinion and love the unique ways my readers enjoy my works and react to them. 🥰 I've received many intriguing comments/feedback on my fics where readers were shocked by a plot twist or didn't expect a character to behave a certain way, even that to them the characters weren't good people, etc, or have asked questions about why something happened the way it did or why a character is the way they are. I've always been happy to answer and been more than okay with welcoming all opinions and comments on my fic so as long as they are kind.

I'm not accepting any type of comments/submissions/asks of the sort received containing "constructive criticism" of any kind over a fanfic, telling me how to write/portray my characters, telling me to alter/change the plot, etc.

I'm very happy to block, report, rinse and repeat whether it be here or on AO3. I've met some amazing people from The Godfather fandom on here and made the best of friends with many, but to ignore the toxicity here is to ignore the obvious. This isn't okay. Please for the love of God, read fanfiction you enjoy and interact with blogs you enjoy, not the opposite.

I will always love and welcome thoughtful and kind comments/feedback on my fics but I'm not going to stop writing my fics, I'm not going to change my characters or alter the plots because someone doesn't like them.

To my beloved readers, followers and mutuals who love and support my writing and fics: thank you. ❤️ I'm forever and always grateful for every bit of your appreciation and feedback. Thank you so much for everything. I can't wait to write more fics and share my writing with you guys!

If you don't like it, please don't read it and please don't send hate over it to any fanfic writers and to their fics.

[takeariskao3]

2022 Wrapped

tagged by @displayheartcode & @hinnyfied 💖

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

confessions should be better planned this little oneshot really challenged my storytelling and how to convey my sense of humor. i’m very proud to say that it ended up exactly how i wanted. 

enough of both another oneshot that i put together for ttb summer soireé, the idea of harry and ginny as newlyweds is so so interesting to me and i like the idea of them writing letters during their brief bouts of long distance

what we had become (before we ever had begun) this was a brain worm that Would Not Leave Me Alone until i finally wrote it all down. it was my first contribution to jilytober (even though it’s jilypad) and i think i’m most proud that i not only wrote it but had the courage to post, because it is not my usual content. 

already gone i dove headfirst into the angst, which has never felt like a strength of mine, and decided to fully commit to the bit. this one surprised me so much, i have no outline, no real plan, i am pantsing the shit out of it and i love it so so much

the path from you 104,000 words, two spin offs, and twelve chapters later, the universe that lives in my mind because of this fic has completely taken over my life. and we are only half done. i love the journey harry and ginny are on and i love that so many other people love it too

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

the path from you PART 2 - i really want to finish part one by april and kickstart part 2 (neville/pansy & ron/padma) by the second half of the year

spring fever - a contribution to @hpknotfest that is self-indulgent smut and i’m not gonna be ashamed about it LOL

ginny potter and the honeymoon of horrors - i’ve mentioned this one in passing several times and i really *really* like it. it is so stupid and so fun. 

a crack fic that i am writing with @nuatthebeach ... no comment

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

drafting - though i still want to get better at drafting, i am miles ahead of where i was a year ago. i have really embraced the imperfect first draft and my writing is so much better for it

plotting - i used to be a pantser through and through, but tackling a multichap action fic forced me to actually outline. 

prose - this is so general but i really feel like the rhythm and emotion in my exposition has improved. i’ve found new ways of saying things and added so much depth to my characters because of it. 

your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year

i really want to be a better problem solver, i know i have a good imagination but when what i outlined doesn’t immediately work on the page i get really discouraged, so i want to be more creative in working through my bouts of writer's block

along the same lines, i’d like to be able to *trust* my decision making and not constantly need outside reassurance for my story decisions.. (i really need to thank @narukoibito @nuatthebeach and @fairsquare16 for helping me through this year. i could not have done any of this without them)

and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year

My favorite line that i’ve written this year hasn’t been posted yet... it’s from a later chapter of the path from you:

Harry kissed her the way he’d always wanted to, the way he should’ve the moment Tom Riddle’s body had crumpled to the floor.

Tagging @thedarkestgreys @dammitgranger @seriouslysam8 @theresthesnitch