#i am. anxious to post it. but working on all of it. was my. idea. so. this is. my fault. i guess. i dont. know.

[deoidesign]

.

[c-infinity-83]

we have. a lot. of drawing. to do. this month. and. lots. of drawing. ideas.

Flo. wants. to write about. the effects of. Hanahaki disease. in our system. and how it. manifests. in the headspace. and then. do drawings based on that. if that makes sense. and i think. that would be fun. but we. already. have enough art to draw this month. so that. will probably have to wait. until the new year.

[izzy-b-hands]

At what point do i stop bothering to differentiate between the panic and anxiety attacks when they just. meld into each other and seemingly feed off each other

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[agirlwithglam]

things to think about/ do so you don't have time for overthinking ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

if you're confused, i understand. but if you're not, this post is perfect for you. this post if for the girlies who need to have something exciting in their life so that they're not so bored that they fall for some low quality man. its so that you can take back the power of how you feel and control it yourself so that nothing anybody can offer would be more appealing than what you give to yourself. also don't worry none of this is gonna be typical advice like "get a hobby!", this will be much more creative ;)

watch gossip girl!! you ALL know what i mean. literally when you feel like your life is lacking drama or something exciting, you can live vicariously through the scandals in this show

READ. "boring" no, you are. books are a great way to get lost in something thats also exciting. some book recs that i LOVED: percy jackson series, twilight, murder most unladylike, keeper of the lost cities.

do risky, scary, uncomfortable stuff on your own. a) to prove to yourself you're more than capable, and b) bc it will get you feeling groovy in no time. it can be things like talking to someone, prank calling, doing a random cartwheel in public, wearing an atrociously fabulous outfit, possibilities are endless. + plan spontaneous things you could do!

plan outfits in your head! ahhhh hahaha this is such a fav! if you know you're going out or on a trip soon, plan outfit combos and ideas of what you might wear instead of making fantasy scenarios of a loser (sorry sorry). even if you're not going anywhere, you could still decide outfits for any of the seasons or just future hypothetical scenarios

plan trips! yesss!! plan trips to countries you may want to visit, places you may want to take yourself on a date to, and not just that but actually decide when you're gonna go, are you gonna take family or friends? what you might wear, etc..

make argument/ persuasion ideas for when you hypothetically ask your parents if you can wear what you want. or, you know, something like that. if you didn't understand what i mean, basically try to think of persuading points of something that you want from your parents that they might not allow. its a good way to pass time ngl..

omgomgomg ok listen... pretend you're a spy working for/ against the government and you're here to get data... or something along those lines. wouldn't that be so cool!!

START A BLOG!! genuinely 10/10 recomend, idk i think i'd go insane without my blog lol. love it to pieces and its just something so fun to do, esp if you're a really creative person.

entertain the voices in your head. i don't mean in the troubling schizophrenia typa way, obviously. but like don't you guys entertain yourself by like mentally chatting to yourself? yeah do that! (idk if this is normal now, but i promise i don't have schiszophrenia)

if you really need some help/ are nervous, repeat affirmations. if you find yourself starting to feel anxious or scared or unloved or whatever, start repeating the opposite and do not allow those negative thoughts in. you can repeat things like "i am safe", "i am loved", "things will get better", "i am deserving of love and anything else i want."

[shiningjustforreid]

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentative fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve come home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?”

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly gone south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 8

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 8 of...who knows.

Sadly, Max didn’t get to push George Russell of the track. Instead he accidentally hit Oscar in the first corner, which definitely hadn’t been on purpose…and also resulted in another penalty point and a 10 second penalty.

He was really done with this season.

At the same time, Charles carved his way up from P19 to P2 in which, what Max was pretty sure, could only be described as going on the warpath. Max was honestly just impressed at the speed with which Charles had managed to claw himself up to P2, and he would have applauded the effort if he hadn’t been so damn frustrated with everything else.

At this point, he just wanted to get the race done and over with and go home. He'd have time to worry about the penalty later - he just wanted to get this race over the finish line so that he could get a flight to Monaco and to Colette.

With that thought in mind, the last 12 laps went by in a blur, and it felt like no time at all until the checkered flag appeared.

For the first time all season, Max didn’t bother trying to push beyond the limit for an extra few seconds of time.Because quite frankly, it didn’t actually matter.

McLaren had gotten the constructor championship for the first time in 26 years.

"t may not have been the fastest race but I just wanted to say a big thank you for the season, guys. It hasn’t been easy at times, we still have quite a few things to improve on but we still won a world championship.  So, thank you for all the hard work the whole year," Max said into the radio. "Enjoy your time off and then we’ll go back at it again next year. Thank you, guys."

And now Max finally got to go home to Colette.

GP's voice came over the radio. "Get weighed and then we need you to come into the garage as quickly as possible, Max." 

Max furrowed his brows at the words. That was…odd. Why would he need to go to the garage immediately?

"Is everything alright?" he demanded. 

GP didn’t answer immediately, which did nothing to diminish Max’s worry.

His heart skipped a beat when the engineer finally responded, hesitantly. “Just come to the garage, please. Quickly.”He had wanted to apologise to Oscar about their incident in the first corner at the start, but that was quickly forgotten, at the tone in GP's voice.

It sounded alarmed and anxious, and that got Max's heart racing. Something was wrong, something was wrong, and he needed to get to the garage to find out what it was.

It took him an incredible amount of self-restraint not to outright bolt out of the car and charge into the garage, but he somehow managed to get out of the car, weighed himself in and all but dashed towards the garage.

"GP?!" he called out as he stormed into the garage. "What the hell is going on? What’s wrong? Why-"

GP was the one who dragged him into one of the side rooms, where no cameras would see the exchange that followed. There was Christian waiting, as well as his father. 

This wasn't good.

The sight was alarming enough to make him freeze. His heart seemed to skip a beat.

"I-” Max cut himself off, staring at the three men. "What- what's going on?"

"Colette is in labour," Christian answered. "Her brother Arthur texted me. Your pilot filed flight plans thirty minutes ago. There is a car waiting to take you to the airport."

For a moment, Max’s brain just froze altogether, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

His vision wavered as the words echoed in his head, and he had to reach out and grab a hold of the wall next to him as his legs tried to buckle.

He couldn’t have read those words right. There was no way - she had four more weeks. They had more time, Colette couldn’t be in labour.

But it was GP's voice that was cutting through the fog in his head. “Max.  Are you with us?”

Max had to take a deep breath, forcing his mind into action.

"Yeah," he heard himself croak out. The only thought in his mind was that he had to get to the airport. He had to get home as fast as he possibly could.

“We need to get Charles," he demanded. “I don’t care how you do it. I’ll pay whatever ridiculous fine the FIA demands. But if he finds out I left without him, he’s going to kill me.”

There was no doubt about that. 

Max was dimly aware that all three men were looking at him with varying levels of sympathy - but he didn’t care. He only had one thought in his mind, and that was getting to Colette as soon as goddamn possible.

"Gemma is getting him right now," Christian promised him. "I already talked with Ferrari...or screamed at them, that is more likely. So did Arthur apparently. I need to warn you though, the press is swarming outside, especially after your father's little interview," he said darkly.

"What interview?" Max asked, staring at his father. What interview were they talking about?!

"I talked to Sky News about your anger issues," his father said drily.

"Correction," GP snapped. "You told Sky News that Colette and Max are a couple and that their baby is due any day."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and they were like a punch to the gut. His father had done what?

"You told the damn media she’s having our baby?" he exclaimed, staring at the older man. "Have you completely lost your mind?!"

"No, I merely said it’s due any day," Jos snapped. "Not that it's actually on the way. Calm down, I only said it because you need to stop denying that you two are an item, it’s getting ridiculous!"

Max honestly didn’t even know how to react to the words. Normally, he would’ve been furious right now. His father had just gone and announced their private life to the entire world. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the fact that Colette was currently in labour…

"He also said and I quote It took them long enough, they definitely practiced enough!" GP snapped, looking and sounding more furious than Max had ever seen him before. 

For a moment, Max almost choked and he whirled to his father, his eyes wide. "You-" the words got stuck in his throat. "We’ve been trying for nearly three years. Colette had two miscarriages!"

All of a sudden, the anger that had been boiling inside of Max just evaporated into thin air, leaving only cold, burning rage behind. He took a shuddering breath, his whole body trembling violently. "How. Dare. You," he spat. Even he was surprised how menacing it sounded, but he was also way beyond caring.

"You never said," his father said, nearly silently.

“Clearly I had a good reason,” Max bit out. “We lost two babies. And you are telling us that we took our time? How. Dare. You."

There was a flicker of something in his father’s eyes, which looked awfully similar to pain and regret, but Max was far too furious to care about some kind of guilt.

"You have no right-" he bit out, his voice trembling with anger, "No right to talk or say anything about-"

"It was already out anyway," his father defended himself.

The words made Max freeze again, and he slowly straightened, the cold fury rushing through his veins and making him feel lightheaded. He clenched his jaw, fighting to find the right words, even if he was pretty sure he was about to completely lose it.

“Another word. About her, about our baby. About either of them,” he snarled, his words low and dripping with venom. “ And I will have absolutely no problem with completely and permanently cutting you out of my life, vader.  You’ll be dead to me. To Colette. To our baby. Is. That. Clear? Colette is not something that we are going to negotiate about. It didn’t work when I was 15. It‘s not working now!"

Surprisingly enough, Jos didn’t reply. The only sound in the room was of Max’s ragged breathing.

He didn’t notice Christian’s worried glance in his direction, but GP’s low and quiet voice cut through his thoughts. "Max."

Max flinched, and he forced himself to get a grip. For a half a second, he couldn’t bring himself to turn to look at the people around him.

Finally, he straightened, forcing his legs to move and his mouth to form a response. “Yeah.”

“There is a car waiting. Go,” GP told him calmly. There really wasn’t any reason to linger, and if he were to say anything else, he was in serious risk of exploding.

Max took a deep breath and moved towards the door, the need to see Colette driving every thought out of his mind.

All the anger and adrenaline made it very easy to push through the hoard of reporters and journalists waiting just outside the garage, his mind laser focused.

There were cameras flashing and reporters shouting questions, but he ignored them all. His only priority was to get to Colette.

At the same time as his single-minded determination helped him to power through the throng of people and reach the car waiting for him, his mind was also whirling with a thousand different questions.

What happens if the baby came right now? What if something went wrong? What if-

***

Charles had known that something was wrong. But then...he had been having that feeling for days. Colette was feeling anxious and scared and angry and a thousand other things and Charles would have known that she was feeling that way, even if he hadn't texted her. 

They had always known if something was wrong with each other. They had always known what the other one was feeling.

That had always been their connection…He loved his brothers more than anything. He did. But they weren’t Colette. They weren’t his twin sister. 

Two lives, two halves of one whole. He would never feel complete without Colette. 

Charles could always tell if something was wrong with his twin. And for days now, something had been very, very wrong.

And still he had soldiered on. He had dragged his car from P19 up to P3. Just behind Carlos...two podiums for Ferrari but not enough to clinch the constructor's championship.

He had only done so because he had known that Colette was never gonna let him hear the end of it if he didn't do his very best.

Just like she had been with him during that Formula 2 race less than 48 hours after their father had died…and she had told him to get into that damn car and race in circles, she had done the same this time. 

And he had listened. 

Of course, he had. 

Still...he had never been more thankful that a Race was over than he was of this one. He was just happy that it was over. 

He followed along to the cooldown room on autopilot, Lando already, then Carlos following after him.

The absolute drama that went down there next...well, it simply started with a commotion. And screaming.

The next things they knew, there was Camilla, PR from Ferrari, in what could only be described as a screaming match with Gemma from Red Bull...with security following along as Gemma more or less threw herself into the cooldown room, completely ignoring what anybody else was telling her. 

Charles stared, utterly bewildered. What the hell was going on here? 

Why was Gemma here, literally shoving her way into the cooldown room and throwing herself at him, security struggling to stop her?

"He deserves to know!" Gemma snapped at Camilla. "You cannot keep this from him! This is about his family. We have tried to talk to Ferrari, you are either ignoring our calls or telling us that there is no way you'll tell him until after the interviews are done. What is wrong with you?"

“What the hell is going on?” Charles managed to finally find his voice. What was happening? What were they talking about? What the hell was wrong with Ferrari? "Someone, anyone, give me an answer!"

The only person who seemed willing to answer was Camilla and the look on her face was completely unapologetic. "You are a Ferrari driver," she said simply, as if that explained everything. "There is nothing that goes on with you while you are driving that takes precedence over your job."

"He isn't driving now," Gemma snapped, as she turned towards Charles. "Your sister is in the hospital. Max's pilot has filed flight plans. There is a car waiting to bring you both back to Monaco."

That got Charles' attention like nothing else would have done. In one second, he went from baffled confusion to absolute shock and alarm. His eyes widened, his heart beginning to pound as adrenaline and fear suddenly flooded his system. "She's...she's...what?" he asked hoarsely.

"In the hospital," Gemma repeated, giving him a pointed look.

"What happened?" Lando demanded suddenly. "Is Colette alright?"

"Is something wrong with the baby?" Charles choked out. 

With the baby. No. No. Not again. 

He had seen his sister utterly heartbroken twice about her two miscarriages. 

And these two miscarriages had been horrible. Heartbreaking. Devastating. Had destroyed her. But they hadn't been...They had been early on in the pregnancy.

They hadn't been after Colette had spent months pouring over baby name books and buying things for the nursery, after she had let him feel the baby kick in her belly...after...after all of this...

"What baby?!" Lando blurted out suddenly, but Charles ignroe that. 

"Max's pilot has filed flight plans. There is a car waiting to bring you both back to Monaco," Gemma repeated. "But you need to come with me now, Charles.” 

"He's not coming with you!" Camilla snapped. "Charles has media obligations!"

"I don't give a fuck about my media obligations!" Charles snapped back at her. He was literally shaking with the sheer strength of his anger. "My sister is in the hospital! I am going. Now."

Charles didn't wait for a response. He was already headed towards the exit, his blood thundering in his ears as confusion and fear and anger raced through his body. The only thing that was going through his head was Colette was in the hospital, Colette was in the hospital, Colette. was. In. The. Hospital.

If anybody tried to stop him now, he would have absolutely no problem going straight through them.

"You are a Ferrari driver," Camilla growled.

"And," Charles snarled, whipping around to look at her. "I am a brother. And a twin. And she is my other half. She is in the damn hospital, and you tried to keep that information from me. What, did Ferrari think that I just wouldn’t care?"

That seemed to render her speechless for a moment, but only for a moment. "We believed," she said coldly, with an undercurrent of anger beneath. "That you would remain professional and focus on your job as you were paid to do so."

"Are you serious?" Lando snapped at that moment. "His sister is in the hospital and you want him to do interviews!?"

"I was not speaking to you, Norris," Camilla said, in a voice that could freeze water. "It is none of your business. We are trying to deal with a delicate public relations issue here that you don't understand."

"I have sisters too," Carlos snapped. "And you better believe that if one of them was in the hospital, I would be there too." 

"Go," Lando told Charles at that moment. "GO."

Charles didn't need to be told twice. He was already halfway out the door. There was only one thought on his mind. Colette.

[halfadiamond]

You Think It’s Love- Part 5

Masterlist

No warnings since you know it’s angst, but plz read my ‼️Update Post‼️ esp. if you’re a minor/ ageless blog but if you’re not then it’s not necessary! (Edit: I deleted my post as I am trying out something else!)

Wanted to add that it somewhat deviates from the original idea but just a small bit; hopefully you guys aren’t bothered by it.

Love is very complex. To you, it’s like a rubrix cube where you constantly messing around with it until you get it all right. Sometimes you get frustrated and leave it be, but sometimes you decide to go back to it once you’re a bit calmer.

That’s what this felt like. You felt that you had tried your hardest to make the cube right and this persistence in making right was only because:

You really loved your boyfriends.

You didn’t know what they had experienced out there so you didn’t want to force them to act normal when it may seem impossible for them to do so.

The way they were acting now was how they acted before all this mess, but now you felt that you had checked out of this relationship.

You tried your hardest with this cube, you tried to make it all right but now you’re just wanting to leave it be. Maybe someone else out there would be willing to take the cube and do it right but you didn’t think you’d be the one to do it.

You talked about it with your friends and you made the decision it would be best to leave them. You would break up with them, and move into your friend’s place.

Luckily for you, your soon to be ex boyfriends were off on a quick work trip and wouldn’t be back for a week. It gave you plenty of time to pack up a majority of your stuff and take it over to your friends. And it would prevent the questions that would come from the men if they saw your stuff disappearing little by little.

Packing up is hard. Especially as you realized the memories that were made here with love:

Love was here when you and Kyle would cuddle on the couch while watching a movie.

Love was here when you and Johnny would sit out on the porch and talk about anything.

Love was here when Simon had you to himself and showed you how much he loved you in bed.

Love was here when John would come to the kitchen and help you cook, often he’d play some music and it lead to you two slow dancing in the kitchen.

But now? Love wasn’t here. And you didn’t want to stay in an area where love wasn’t present.

—

The men were anxious. They had noticed that they were often the ones calling and texting you during their trip. Before it would be even, sometimes you’d call and then sometimes they’d text you and vice versa, but now it was like you had forgotten about them.

Johnny would mope around the common room, wishing you’d send him your daily outfit of the day but it never came.

John would sit by his desk, tapping his pencil repeatedly on the desk, waiting for your call, he felt that he couldn’t do anything without hearing your voice.

Kyle would send you pictures during their trip but you wouldn’t respond like how you normally did; you’d have a conversation with him and yet now all you did was send basic sentences.

Simon would always be the last one to sleep while all his lovers slept beside him. He’d stay on his phone, just waiting for your good night text and yet now he found himself falling asleep before ever receiving one.

The men are just confused. They’d like to think that love was still here but now? They feel like you’re slipping away and they don’t understand why.

—

Everything was different now before you used to pick up your boyfriends from the airport if you weren’t busy with anything. However this time they didn’t ask and Simon let you know that they’d would just get a taxi instead.

It was odd.. but at the same time nice. You weren’t sure what to tell them if you had picked them up especially since today was the day; you were breaking up with them. You called it nice because you had this underlying fear that you would just blurt it out in the open instead of over dinner like you had planned. Maybe they already knew what was going on and didn’t want to cause a scene out in public or maybe they didn’t want to endure through your silence during the car ride home.

Whatever the case may be, you didn’t find yourself caring that much. All you were focused on was preparing the dinner and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

—

Eating with men was now awkward. Before it used to be filled with love as you, Kyle, and Johnny were the main ones filling the table with laughter and chatter. John and Simon would occasionally join in but they’d seem to prefer just watching you three talk about anything that’s on your mind. But now? It was awkward and quiet where dropping a feather could probably be heard because of how quiet it was. The men are quietly eating, not even discussing their trip and not even picking up their heads preferring to just eat, and you’re not asking them either about it, you find the food on your plate more enjoyable than conversing with them.

It’s when you guys are almost finished eating dinner that you gain the confidence to say what you need to say, you finally put your fork down and said what needed to be said.

“I think it’s best if I leave this relationship.”

That got their attention really quickly as the men all raised their heads up quickly and if you knew the men like you thought you did, you knew that the first one to speak would be—

“B-Bonnie. What do you mean ‘leave this relationship’? L-like you want to take a break?”

You couldn’t help but feel a little pity for Johnny, he’d genuinely looked like he wanted to cry. But it’s when you remember what led you up to this point that erases those thoughts away. They didn’t feel pity for you when they treated you like an outsider in your relationship. So why feel pity for them? If anything this was well deserved.

“No Johnny. I want to break up with you guys.”

You were calm and meticulous, taking the time to look at the other men’s reaction.

Kyle looked shocked at the news.

Simon was looking at you as if you told him that you had cheated on them. Full of betrayal.

And John looked calm but you could tell he was struggling with thinking of what to say. He wasn’t just the leader in their team; he was the leader in the relationship and if they never what to say, he always did. But now? He looked like he was a bit flustered, and quite frankly he looked like he was at a loss of what to say.

“I’m not understanding. Why do you want to break up? Is it because of something we did?”

Oh? Looks like Kyle was taking up the mantle. Maybe that’s why John used to tell you that Kyle had the future makings of a captain; wherever someone lacked, Kyle could make up for it. A true leader.

“If you guys don’t understand what you did then it’s more of a reason to break up,”

You got up calmly from the table.

“When you guys understand what you did and can tell me why you acted that way, we can talk but for now we’re done. I already have somewhere to go and I’ll give you guys the curtesy of letting you know when I get there safe but that’s it.”

And you walked away. You ignored the chatter of Kyle and Johnny telling Price to do something but you could hear Price stammering. You knew how it would go down, Kyle and Johnny would be upset and anxious at the news and Simon would be the one to comfort the two men while John would try to figure out how to fix the situation.

Old you would’ve comforted the men too, said that it’s just some distance and time apart, but current you knew that this was for the best.

As you headed out of the house and got into your friend’s car to go to your temporary home. You thought of this:

Love is here because sometimes love is better when you’re not together rather than being miserable together.

Guys I wanted to add that I’ve never dated anyone nor do I have any experience in love, so yeah 🤷🏻‍♀️ I think I write it unrealistically, but idk

Also if you haven’t already plz read my ‼️Update Post‼️ but it’s only necessary if you’re a minor/ ageless blog following me, if not then you’re completely fine! (Edit: I deleted my post as I am trying out something else!)

Taglist: @reni502

[butyoudidthis4what]

You’re Okay

Jack Abbot x Doctor!Reader

5.4k || All my content is 18+ MDNI.

Jack Abbot was the man who broke me.

I genuinely never thought I would write fanfic again and even when new characters and hyperfixations came I didn't, no matter how much the urge was there. I just could never go through with it. I write for a living currently and so the last thing I wanted to do when I got home from work was more writing, even if it was a different style and all my own. And then Jack Abbot entered my life at a time and I went on vacation where I had absolutely no access to work and was refreshed while also emotionally going through it and really had the urge to write and so here we are. A perfect storm.

In typical me fashion I decided I was so sad and anxious that I just wanted some happy fluffy stuff and wrote the exact opposite. I'm just an angst with a happy ending girl what can I say. But also I just really want someone to comfort me like this and it was cathartic to write. However, I'm not going to lie that I started feeling a bit better when writing this so it became a bit harder to write, weave together, and finish and I'm just rusty. Read the CWs please, it's rough stuff and potentially triggering, so protect yourself, and if I missed any please (nicely) let me know.

I have a number of other ideas and thoughts for this man and am desperate to yell about him so feel free to send your thoughts in the ask box or DM me to yell about Jack.

Titles and summaries are unlikely to ever get better. Please be gentle with me as this is my first foray back into writing and posting in years. Please let me know if you like it. I thrive on positive feedback.

Again, please read the CWs: suicidal ideation; self harm ideation; extreme depression and anxiety discussed; discussion of anxious depressive attack; reference to rescue meds; self hate; reader is not okay; reader tries to push Jack away; abandonment issues and themes.

Summary: You have an anxious depressive attack for no readily apparent reason. Jack is the best and gets you through it. Happy ending. Established relationship. You and Jack live together. Age gap but not specified or referenced. No use of y/n or related. Absolutely zero proofreading, I mean none. No beta. This is also a bit open ended and could be conducive to a part two depending on reception and if anyone would be interested.

The sadness consumes you, sticks to you like the tegaderm you apply to patients. The most irritating part is how it just seemed to have come out of nowhere. Sure, you were feeling a bit more anxious and depressed than usual, but nothing horrific. And then it got a little worse towards the end of your first twelve hours. But then around hour sixteen it was like you just walked into a black hole and were totally consumed by it as you took a few minutes to yourself to use the bathroom. 

It was the crying out of absolutely fucking nowhere for no apparent reason kind of sadness. The kind that left you perpetually teetering on a ledge and unable to breathe. The kind that makes you think this is it, you’re so broken now you’re past the point of fixable. Makes you think you will just be here forever, stuck in this sadness, unable to move or enjoy anything, condemned to a life of faking it. Makes you itch to hurt yourself. The kind that is so consuming and distorting it makes you ideate and think that ending it all might be an act of kindness to yourself and your closest; you no longer consumed by the sadness and them no longer burdened with you. The kind that is so frustrating for you because one sliver of logical, rational brain large enough to understand what is happening and that your brain is manipulating you escapes, so you know that you’re being unreasonable, that it’ll pass and yet you can’t seem to believe it. Or maybe it’s that you do believe it, it’s just that surviving until it does pass seems so hard and you are so tired. 

Work keeps you busy. Busy enough to be able to push the thoughts to the side and just live with the feelings for now, both mentally and physically. You can focus on others, on fixing others, saving others, solving other people’s problems. It’s a good distraction, but just that. A distraction. It does nothing to fix anything and the second it’s gone you know it will all come crashing down. 

Jack’s eyes are scanning for you the second he walks in the ED. Something was off with you when he finished his shift and left you for the second half of your double. You’d assured him you were just tired and would get some more caffeine and be good and he hadn’t pushed you. He’d told you to text or call him if you needed him, that he would probably get some sleep but would sleep with his phone on loud and near his head in case you needed him. He could just sense it on you.

You hear him make some sarcastic remark back to someone before you see that he’s here and it makes your heart race. There’s a little burst of happiness at seeing him of course, but then even that is overcome again by the sadness that rules your mind currently. You don’t want to ruin his mood, don’t want him to have to deal with you. It makes you more anxious, threatens to rip you in half in deciding what to do, tell him or try and pretend. You know that would be pointless though and you don’t really have a choice. Not when it comes to him. One look at your face and he’s going to read you like a chapter book. You thought the time getting home and ability to take some meds since you wouldn’t be working might help you calm down enough for it to not be quite as bad once you got home. You look back down at your tablet but chew hard on the inside of your cheek, taste the iron of your own blood, and when Mel walks up to you with a question you shift your tablet so that you can dig your nails into the skin of your hand. Just something to ground you. Just a little physical pain to match the internal.

Jack clocks it from where he is, finding you just as you look back down at your tablet. Your nails and cheek. There’s something else about the way you’re holding yourself that’s off too. His own anxiety ticks up. Were you hurt? Did something happen? He turns back to ask Santos if something happened this shift but she’s already gone. When he looks back over to where you were standing with Mel he finds you and Mel gone. He thinks you just went with her until he spots her alone with a patient. 

You had to flee after answering her question and telling her you were off and to spread the word if anyone asked. You wouldn’t know how else to describe it other than giving into this urge to run and hide. Some sort of flight or fight thing undoubtedly, you’d just never had the feeling before. You had to get out of there before you lost it in front of everyone. 

Jack being here isn’t good. It wasn’t the plan, the one you’ve been preparing and repeating to yourself all day to get through it without losing it. You’d get off, go home, he’d be there and you’d be okay and not feel like this because he’d be there. Or at least if you still were feeling like this he would be there and that would make it a little better, a bit less suffocating. It would make it all feel survivable. 

But now he’s here and you can only assume that means he picked up a shift and you’ll have to go home to an empty place, something you’re not sure you trust yourself with right now. You try and tell yourself it’ll be fine, that you’ll take some meds at home and just sleep through it until he gets back and then sleep more with him and that the feelings will pass. And you know it’s true. Your logical brain knows that these feelings will pass. Your emotional brain that tells you you’re going to be stuck in this all-consuming sadness and anxiety wins, however, and the thoughts just won’t stop. The physical feeling of sadness and anxiety won’t leave. It’s enough to make you gag. 

You don’t want to ruin his roof for him but you don’t know where else to go and think maybe you’ll find whatever it is Jack finds up here that seems to help him. And really you know you want him to find you. Need him to. Need him to take one look at your face and know how to help you, how to comfort you, like he always does. You hate putting that on him, though.    

You don’t even consciously do it. You just look up and realize where you are. Right on the ledge. It’s so metaphoric it’s disgusting. It’s odd though, being on the other side of the guard rails. It feels like it should be scary or exhilarating in some kind of way but it’s just not. It’s nothing. Everything is nothing except that everything is also abhorrently and suffocatingly sad in a way you can’t explain. You let your hands come out a little and catch the wind. Some part of you hopes it’ll carry you away. It doesn’t and you’re so in your head you don’t hear the door or him as he walks over to you until he speaks. 

“You’re in my spot, Doll.” His voice is gentle, feeling you out and giving you room. He’s desperate to see your eyes, to read your face in the way only he can. 

You shrug. “I suppose I am.” 

He walks a little closer, rests his arms on the bar. He doesn’t know yet, how bad things are, how bad you are right now. You’re just a little too good at hiding it with your back to him when he can’t see your eyes or face. “Bad shift?”

It takes you a minute to respond and when you do it’s a single word and an iciness starts to seep through him. “No.” 

The way you say it is off. The way you sound, the way you’re standing, body leaning just slightly forward.

“What’s up? You don’t seem okay. What happened?” The genuine concern in his voice melts you but at the same time a large part of you feels bad for it, for making him concerned and worried about you. It’s unfair of you to do. 

You shake your head a little in response. “Nothing.” As much as it sounds like a lie, it’s really the truth, at least to his last question. Nothing happened.

“Did you pick up a shift tonight?” You ask him quietly. 

“No.” “Why are you here then?”

He gives a soft laugh, almost a touch of disbelief to it. “I don’t know, the way you seemed when I left and we said goodbye. I thought you were just tired but it sat with me, stayed with me when I woke up. I just felt, I don’t know, drawn to come pick you up. Get my eyes on you as soon as I could.” There’s a pause. “I’m glad I came.” 

You hum. You hate that he can pick it up off of you, that you can’t hide it better to protect him.

He’s never seen you go past the guard rail and combined with your demeanor and body language and the aura radiating off you it scares him, scares the fuck out of him right now. “Will you come here, please? Even if not to me, just to the other side.” There’s a pause as you consider. He leans back up off the rail to keep his hands free, ready to jump and grab you by the scrub top if he has to. 

You don’t want to scare him, to hurt him. That’s the whole problem. And then you end up doing so anyway. He deserves so much better. You hate yourself.

“I’m afraid if you touch me I’ll shatter. Just totally fucking lose it. And you shouldn’t have to deal with that.” The way you say it tells him you want nothing more than to be in his arms. He’s right of course. He recognizes it for what it is beneath your words, an invitation for him to pull you back to him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally.

“Alright.” It’s his normal voice. Just Jack. He reaches and grabs your arm with his hand, gentle, but firm enough to keep you from going anywhere and show his seriousness. “You’re coming back on this side. Now.” It’s his Dr. Abbot voice, the one you know he must have developed in the service. “Please Doll.” And there’s your Jack, the tone he only uses with you, soft and sweet, empathetic, vulnerable in a strong way. Full of the love he has for you. You know if you pulled away he’d let you, but you don’t want to. You want him. Want to be close to him.

You don’t shatter from his touch. Not yet anyway. You let out a long breath but nod, let him help you back to the safe side. His hands are on your face, one thumb brushing over a cheekbone as he searches your eyes. You try to look away but he follows you. He hates what he sees, how sad and small you look and must feel, the nondescript anxiety coursing through you. 

“Doll,” he says a little breathless, aching to make it all better. “I need you to talk to me, please.” It’s desperate, on the cusp of begging. “Let me help. Let me in.” If anything the dialogue is normally reversed, but it’s been a good while since you’ve had to ask him to talk to you or let you in. You’ve been together so long now that it’s automatic for him. The only things he tries to keep you out of sometimes are his PTSD and flashbacks and phantom limb pain, but even then. He’s an easy lock for you to pick.

You scrunch your shoulders up hard for a few seconds as you take a deep breath and let them fall back down as you let it out through your nose. “And if I say I’m fine?” You give him a hint of a smile.

He gives a little scoff of a laugh. “Then I’ll be hurt by how much of a blind idiot you think I am.” It’s a little reassuring though. That you still have it in you to joke. It tells him you’re still in there. 

You give him the smallest smile before your face fades back into a heartbreaking sadness. “I don’t know Jack,” you say softly. “I… Nothing is even wrong. Nothing has happened. I just…” You trail off and he lets you, gives you the space to gather your thoughts even as he watches you with concern etched into his features. You look away from him, out at the city. He can still see your eyes get glassy though, the slightest tremble of your chin before you recover. “I’m too mentally ill for you. You deserve better.”

He has to give another laugh at that. “Have you met me?”

You look at him, and while he sees sadness and hurt he also sees terror. 

“I’m just… sad. I don’t know how to describe it. It’s all consuming and feels never ending even when I can sit and rationally tell myself I have nothing to be sad or anxious about. It just doesn’t fucking matter. It still feels like I can’t breathe except I am and I’m aware of it because I’m still alive and still thinking, still sad and spiraling. I’m almost like, fucking lightheaded it’s so bad, I shake, I can’t get that pit in my stomach and burn at my diaphragm to go away and over what? There’s nothing. There’s absolutely fucking nothing for me to be this sad or anxious or upset over.” You close your eyes and bring a shaky hand to your lips. “I’m just a huge mess for no god damn reason and I fucking hate it, Jack. And you deserve better, so, so much better, even if you don’t think so or want to admit it. You deserve not to be stuck with this, with whatever it is I am.”

He opens his mouth to speak but then shuts it. There’s so much he wants to say he doesn’t know where to start. He just wants to hold you. To hug you until all the pieces of you fit back together the way you’ve done for him so many times. He wishes he had a way to let you into his mind so that you could see how much he loves you, how much he needs you. 

“I feel so fucking melodramatic. The shift was fine. Nobody died. It was a good shift if anything. Life is good. I have friends who love and care about me. I’ve got you for christ’s sake, I’m the luckiest woman in the fucking world.” You shake your head a little. “And yet here I am. Like this. Feeling like the world is falling out from under me and so sad I almost want to jump for no reason. No fucking reason. And now I’m making you deal with it, with me. I hate it. I hate myself. You would be better off without me, you really would.”

“That simply is not fucking true,” he almost gasps out, just needing to get something out to you. “Jesus fucking christ I don’t know that there would still be me without you.” You shrug. “No. Don’t shrug, please do not shrug. This is not whatever. You are not whatever. It’s true, I don’t know if I’d still be here without you. I don’t know if I could go on without you. That’s just the truth. You’re not too mentally ill for me. You’re not too sad for me, or too anxious or too whatever. I can’t deserve better when I already have the best, regardless of whether you don’t think that’s true or want to admit it.” He sees you shaking a little. “I need you.” 

His voice cracks a little on ‘need.’ “Your brain is lying to you, no matter how real it seems in this moment, I promise. It’s okay to feel this way and to need to lean on me, to need my support. It won’t push me or make me go anywhere. I want to be here for you. I want to help you, help you feel better and not so sad. The depression and anxiety don’t care if the shift was good and nobody dies and you have friends and me. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel as deeply and as badly as you do right now. It doesn’t mean it’s melodramatic. It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve your life or me. You’re struggling. That’s okay.” His thumbs wipe some tears away from your face and his heart cracks. He feels so helpless, this is one of the only things he can’t just fix for you, can’t protect you from. He wants to cry himself. “I’ve got you. This is an anxious depressive attack,” he reminds you. “You are so strong and you will come out of it. It will pass.”

“It’s just been happening more and more, Jack! I’ve been having this happen more and more. And one day you’re going to wake up and realize you’re exhausted by it. And I,” a few tears slip out as you take a shuddery breath, “I feel so fucking guilty making you deal with me and watching you deal with it, with me. How much it scares you and makes you sad. I just want the best for you, happiness and easiness and a calm, steady, good life. You deserve that. After everything you’ve been through you deserve that and more and I don’t think I’m that. I’m just more stress, more exhaustion, more to deal with. And that’s not fair and you deserve better.” The tears flow more freely now and your voice shakes with every word but you haven’t totally fallen apart somehow. 

“I get this exact same way too. I struggle too. I feel the darkness consume me just like you are now. I lean on you, ask for your help, or accept it when you have to offer because I can’t ask for myself. Why should or would I not do the same for you? Why would I give up on and abandon you when you’d never dream of doing it to me?” He asks, hands a bit firmer where they’re still holding your face. 

“It’s different,” you mutter. 

“How? How is it any different?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. It just is. You’re different. It’s okay when it’s you.” 

“Well that’s bullshit, Doll, and I know you know that,” he says with loving sternness. He softens again. “It’s okay when it’s you too, I promise. The way you feel about me when it’s me is the way I feel about you right now. It’s okay if you don’t know why you’re feeling like this and it’s okay if the reason is buried deep inside and it’s okay if there is no reason and you’re just feeling like this. It’s okay. We’re okay. I’m not dealing with you, even though your mind is telling you that. You’re not a burden. You’re not pushing me away by being like this. Your brain is lying to you right now. I’m not going anywhere. For better or worse you got yourself stuck with me when you agreed to that first date. Because I knew it was you then. And I won’t lose you and certainly not to this.” His thumbs brush over your cheeks again, one going to brush over your thumb. His eyes are so earnest it almost hurts.

You look at him for a moment and then he’s pulling you into his chest and arms as you’re falling into them. He lowers you both to the ground with you in his lap as you do finally shatter in his arms. 

You sob into him. Not soft tears that are silent or even heavy tears with some sniffing and stuttered words. It’s ugly, chest heaving. You almost seem to scream into his chest at times in between the huge breaths you try to take in. There are times where you choke, cry so hard you dry heave. But Jack doesn’t flinch, doesn’t try to get away or pull away with any kind of disgust at any of it. He just holds you, his arms warm and steady and solid around you, keeping you grounded, even if just. He rocks softly at times, shushes you softly but not to get you to be quiet, just to reassure. There are whispered words, “I know,” “It’s okay, you’re okay,” “I’ve got you,” “I’m not letting go,” “Let it out Doll, I’m here, I’ll always be here,” “I love you.” He kisses the top of your head and rubs your back, squeezes you tight to try and help you regulate, desperate to do anything he can to help. 

Eventually you cry yourself out and are reduced to small sniffles and hiccups. You go so still a couple of times he thinks you may have fallen asleep in his arms, knows how tired crying can make you, but then you let out a sigh. You pull your head from his chest a little, look up at him with sheepish eyes. It’s heartbreaking, how swollen and red your face and eyes are, how beautiful you look even this sad. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he whispers when you go to speak. He knows you too well, better than he knows himself sometimes, you both swear.  

“I just hate it. Feeling like this. And having the rational part of my brain know at the same time that it’s ridiculous and unnecessary and all wrong but it losing to that emotional part of my brain that drags me into panic and all consuming sadness. I hate it.” You sniffle hard, try to wipe your face with your hand but it does nothing. Jack pulls his shirt up a little so that he can use it to wipe your face for you. 

“It just feels like it’ll never get better. Like I’ll be stuck in this darkness and sadness and anxiety forever.” Your words are muffled against him and make him hold you a little tighter. 

“I know. But I promise these feelings, especially at this intensity, will pass. I’m not dismissing them or saying they aren’t real, at all, but they will pass.” He kisses your hair a few more times, continues rubbing your back. He knows there’s not much he can say right now and doesn’t want to overwhelm you with words, just reassure you.

“Yeah,” you murmur. He doesn’t push you to accept it. 

“Did it help? The cry?” He asks gently.

You shrug in his arms. “I don’t know, probably.” You let the steady thump of his heart in your ear regulate yours. After a few moments you amend your answer. “It wasn’t the cry. It was you.” 

The corners of his lips turn up just slightly. He likes hearing he helped. “I’m glad.” 

“Thank you,” you whisper. He gives you a squeeze in response. A couple more minutes pass as you sit there just trying to recover. 

“I got your shirt all gross.” 

He shrugs. “It’s okay. I’ve had worse on me from people I don’t love more than anything.” He kisses the side of your head. “Plus it’s the one you like to steal anyway,” he whispers in your ear.

That makes you laugh, laugh enough that you start crying and let your head fall back into the side of his neck and shoulder again. “I’m sorry,” you almost squeak out.

“Oh baby,” he gives a sad little laugh. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

This round doesn’t last anywhere near as long, largely because you’re just too fucking tired. A bit because he was right, it was an acute anxious depressive attack that’s starting to lift. You sigh into him. “I think I’m done.”

“Let’s get up and go home. Get some food in you, maybe some of your rescue meds if you want, and some sleep. It’ll help even though I know everything feels kind of helpless right now.” He kisses the top of your head, your forehead and then your lips. Nibbles on your nose just to pull a smile from you. He goes to pull away so that you can get up but you make a little whine of protest and just hold onto him tighter, nuzzle your nose against his neck. 

“I’m already home.” You murmur. “You’re home.” You’ve both said it to each other before and he knows how fucking true it is for him but it still makes him smile, knowing he’s that safe place for you. 

He gives a fake exasperated sigh just to see if it’ll pull anything from you. “Let’s get up and go to our house, then, little miss pedantic. Get in our bed.” 

You smile against his neck and it makes him relax a little, makes him feel good knowing he’s the only one who could pull you out of this and make you smile. “I’m not pedantic, it’s just the truth. And even if I am pedantic I’m your little miss pedantic.” 

You don’t say it as a question but he knows it is one, a subtle way of asking for reassurance when being direct is too hard. 

“Yes you are. All mine.” He squeezes you a bit tighter to drive home the point. “I happen to find pedantism so hot. Gets me all bothered when you get so concerned about all the little details.” He mouths at your neck, rubs his scruff against you lightly because he knows it tickles you and wants to draw a little laugh. 

It’s just barely successful, you give him a little huff of a laugh, but with how you were, he’ll take it. You finally let yourself fall out of his arms and stand up with him. He can tell by your face that while you might be feeling the slightest bit better in the moment, you’re not really. You’re still deep in that hole and struggling. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “That I made you think I wanted to… end myself and for scaring you. And that I’m not better. That I might never be better.”

He shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand. I really do, Doll. And I don’t expect it to be better with one conversation or two or three. And I’m not going to get tired of it, of you, as much as your brain wants you to believe that. I’ll be here and helping you through it just like you will with me until we’re in the ground together, okay?” You nod at him.  

He winds his fingers through yours and squeezes. ���Let’s go home,” he says again, “to our house, the physical building where we reside together, where our bed is.” You go to open your mouth. “Yes, I still want you in my bed,” he cuts you off. “I could shower you first if you wanted.”

“Shower me? First?”

He holds the door of the roof open for you and you step in and hit the elevator button. “I know me washing your hair and body calms and grounds you,” he murmurs. He drops his voice a little lower, in volume and pitch and moves his face closer to yours so that his lips brush yours when he speaks. “And I say the shower is first because the second thing I could do for you, well, hopefully it would give you some oxytocin, dopamine and serotonin,” he smirks, gives you a teasingly light kiss on the lips. “Or if that’s all too much right now then we’ll just go home and get in bed and I’ll hold you while you sleep. Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

You grin at him as he pulls away. It actually meets your eyes, even if it’s not the biggest smile he’s ever pulled from you. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you Jack Abbot.”

“You were born.”

You start laughing. Like can’t breathe laughing, tears streaming, laughing. A smile pulls onto his face and he has to start laughing because yours is so contagious. “What?”

“I don’t fucking know,” you get out in between laughs, “just the way you said ‘you were born’ so seriously was so fucking funny. It was so… you.” You look up at him, eyes sparkling from tears but also love. “I’m so lucky,” you whisper, words a bit shaky. “I love you.” The laughing so hard you cried has brought you back to the precipice of tears. 

“I love you more,” Jack tells you as he wraps you back in his arms. The elevator opens though and you’re able to take in a deep breath and keep it together. 

“You wanna go out the side and I’ll meet you outside the ambo bay? I’ll swing back to the ED and grab your stuff.” He wipes a few tears from your face. It’s an offer to save some face and not look like a mess in front of everyone. 

“That bad?”

“You never look anything less than gorgeous, but the crying is obvious, yeah. It’ll draw questions.” He says it so matter of fact, that you’re never anything less than gorgeous in his eyes and that the crying is so obvious and people will gossip and it’s just another thing that feels so him that it helps tether you to reality. 

You nod. “Thank you,” you whisper. 

When you reach the door he squeezes your hand. You can see a little fear in his eyes. “You’ll be waiting, yeah? On the sidewalk?”

You give him a soft laugh and smile. “Yeah, on the sidewalk.”

“Good.” He leans in to give you a quick kiss. “I need you, you know? Just as much as you need me.”

“I know. I do, I promise.” As he walks away you call his name and he’s back by your side in a second. “I am sorry, you know. I would never actually do anything and leave you, and I’m sorry for hurting you by insinuating otherwise.”

He shakes his head slightly. “You don’t need to feel guilty for saying how you feel or felt. You don’t need to apologize.  I want you to talk to me, even if it is painful for me to hear. It’s the only way I can help.”

“It’s just hard to say, especially when I worry so much that it’ll make you go away. And I promise that’s not a reflection on you, or that I think you would-” He silences you with a kiss. It’s uncharacteristic for him at work, even if you’re not in the ED. That makes the fact of it happening a little better in some way, you think.

“I know. I understand, I promise.” He pulls back and looks at you. “I would tell you if it was becoming a problem or something I couldn’t handle. But I’m never going to have to tell you that. Now go wait for me.” He flicks his chin at the side door and gives you a little tap on the ass, flashes you one of his smiles that’s almost a smirk and makes you melt. You nod, do as instructed. And Jack watches you walk away until you disappear out the door, a whole piece of his heart out there existing outside of him. He knows you’ll be okay, that you’ll get through this. But it still scares him, still kills him to see you struggle like this. He wants to protect you from everything, does everything he can to, but always ends up trying to grapple with and accept the fact that he can’t really protect you from yourself. 

Outside, you wait for him on the sidewalk like you promised. Things are a bit lighter now that you’ve been able to speak to Jack, to just let yourself fall apart and cry. The guilt still eats at you even though you try not to let it. You watch him walk up to you, see the way he smiles when he spots you. It makes your heart ache. “I really love you, you know?” You murmur to him when he’s back at your side. 

“I do,” he nods. His lips pull up in a teasing smile as he starts up his favorite ‘argument’ you guys are always having. “I also know I love you more.”

[wishfulsketching]

wow your comics are stunning! the vanco especially is so effortlessly beautiful and well structured. Do you have a tutorial on how you make comics? Your panel work and composition is especially great, would love to know more about the process

THANK YOUUU. I am not really good with tutorials, hah. My comic process is also very much "I want to do this NOW!" and then I do it. I don't do any script, I sketch full sized thumbnails and write the "kind like this" versions of the dialogue into the thumbnails (or I won't and after I'll be like hmm I wonder what I wanted to do here).

Here's the steps of my latest little comic:

These are my thumbnails. My main goal when I start a page is to do a simple 1. Establish where we are 2. Establish who are there

I am not good with establishing shots tbh. They kill me every time. With fancomics it's easier because I don't even have to show The Last Drop because of course these idiots would be there :D

After the rough idea I do the actual sketch that I will use to help me do lineart. Just very simple and usually the characters are just their most important features. Sometimes you can barely recognize them.

Here's the final one just for comparison.

With the bigger comic I posted yesterday, I just love making movement that carries through the panels. When I know I have to add lots of dialogue to explain things, I'll make the characters do something at the same time

I just wanted to make this casual/domestic moment of bitching about life while Vander is being caring and Silco accepts it.

With composition and panel work, idk, it usually comes down to what mood I want/what I want to show (expressions usually) OR. What I don't want to show :D When you want to be lazy, you will become creative! And nobody will know!

I am very fond of breaking the panels to kinda showcase change, I guess. I do it a lot. With like the effect of the next panel entering the previous one or with speech bubbles.

With this one I had to come up with ways to transition to all the scenes within the "memory" and it was pretty fun yet also made me anxious because I also had to keep the pace up.

I draw quick and I am pretty confident with my control over my lines, so I don't really have any tips for lineart. One thing I do wanna say is that you have to learn to let go. I want to fix so much from the headcanon comic I did. I won't. It's not bad, it's just not perfect. It wouldn't be perfect even if I would fix it.

[shibiichi]

I absolutely love your updated Daycare attendant, especially Moon such a handsome beast. I've always loved your version of Moon it my favorite one

Thank you so much!!! 🫶 I’m so glad you enjoy their updated looks! (I’ve never been this happy with their designs haha. Especially Moon’s!)

I’m flattered you enjoyed my old Moon too! My old DCA designs are sorta weird to me lol! They were definitely a result of me wanting to have fun with the designs but also being scared to stray too far from canon! (You can def see that in Moon’s colors) Honestly though, my AU isn’t canon! So there’s no reason to be anxious over making them too different! It’s supposed to be a reflection of my current tastes, my Sun and (especially) Moon designs really encapsulate that! :D

Also here! I realize I haven’t really posted ART since January (oops) so I do have a small handful of sketches pertaining to the DCA!

[Moon concept]

Above is one of my first attempts at redesigning my DCA! There was a previous version with full stars that looked more like my old style but I found I didn’t enjoy those at all. A problem I’ve always had with my old Moon’s design would be the star patterns on his pants, hat, and sleeves. They often weren’t very sharp and looked kinda ‘spacey’ (and not in the cool celestial way lol!) They kinda looked more like an overlay and lacked definition, making my old Moon’s design kinda lack luster? So the first thing I wanted to do was figure out that pattern more! (I ended up going with a split look to help make the stars that are there not overwhelm the character)

This fixed up first pass is pretty close to what I ended up going with, though I decided to change some anatomical things to make him look more doll like and more elongated. (I really wanted to make them look uncanny when they don’t have their jester fits! Like they are fully relying on those outfits not to look uncomfortable.)

[Moon and @shadysubject06 ‘s Chica!!]

I briefly mentioned what my DCA’s side facial profile would look like in the ref post, so here’s an actual drawing of it! They do look pretty humanoid in head shape, though with a weak chin and flat nose to accommodate the ‘dinner plate’ look lol. I love how Moon here looks like he’s the MC of an anime that just bumped into the love interest and is all ‘flutters eyelashes’ and starry eyed.

A big change I made between my old and new Moon designs would be the titular nightcap. Before my Moon’s nightcap sat upon his head normally and was SUPER long! Like to the floor. The more I thought about it the more I began to get uncertain about the idea. Like sure, that’s fine if Moon were more like his canon self at around 7ft, but my DCA is 12’8”! As someone who sews, the amount of fabric needed to make a nightcap that both fits Moon but is long enough to drag on the floor gives me a headache. Besides, I found I really loved the ‘covers one eye’ look so much more. He looks shy, like he’s hiding behind his own hat. Also I wanted him to fidget with his hat more, so having it hang over one eye makes it a lot more accessible! (Also I am one of those FNaF fans who tries to think about the base logic on how these characters are built. 💔 i can’t help it.. it makes designing more fun. The only place where a hat like that could be stored would likely be somewhere in the torso, and my old DCA’s torso was pretty packed already. 😭)

[Jack-o’-Moon / Harvest Moon concept]

Also had fun with a Halloween design idea! (I know it’s not even fall….) this drawing is pretty accurate, though the main sun rays would not be present for this design as this is technically Moon.

This costume would be used for the week of Halloween in the plex, the mall working like a fun family friendly fall fest in the day and a horror attraction at night. Sun would refer to himself as ‘Jack-o’-Sun’ as Sun’s specific look would fall into the pumpkin jack-o’-lantern look during the day! At night the staff would make Moon look a bit more scary and we’d get ‘Harvest Moon’, who plays more into the whole grim reaper look. Not sure if they’d actually have a scythe but I thought drawing them with one was fun!

I have a lot more lore to drop but this post is getting way too long and I’ve rambled enough. Thank you for the ask!! I really appreciate it! Nighty Night!

[uyuforu]

Astro Observations: Solar Return Chart IV

Hi!! Here is another Solar Return Chart Observations post lol. Since I am officially on the new one, I thought of doing another post to conclude and coming back on the last one, meaning the one of last year. Coming back and looking back over what happened :) Let's go! I hope you will enjoy this post ^^ This post has mature and triggering contents, so be aware and careful when reading it!

All pictures were found on Pinterest

Other posts you could like:

જ⁀➴ Solar Return Chart I

જ⁀➴ Solar Return Chart II

જ⁀➴ Solar Return Chart III

PRIVATE BOOKING OPEN

email adress: tarotjunoboda@gmail.com

Soft To You presentation and Q&A ᡣ𐭩 rules ᡣ𐭩 private readings reviews

astrology menu ᡣ𐭩 tarot menu ᡣ𐭩 special astrology & tarot readings

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ I was Leo Rising last year, and I was very popular around me, people were also checking me in the streets. It wasn't even sexual or anything, people were just noticing me super easily, and I was the center of attention wherever I was going.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Sun 12H indeed meant that loneliness was def going to be there. I was very lonely most of the times, and it's not even physically, it was def mentally. I wasn't seeing my friends often, and I was just feeling very alone in a corner. I felt like no one really understood me and as if I was just left alone. One of my friend passed away suddenly also this year, so I really felt alone for sure. Also the years I was more into Astrology and Tarot! Just a full year of learning more on the spiritual and esoteric side!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Venus 1H, I had a glow up, though it happened quite over night. I don't have much explanations on how it happened. Suddenly I was veryyyy pretty, I bought better make up products, and the way it was showing on my face was just insanely good?? IDK!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Mercury 1H, I was more confident when it came to talking to other people. I used to be very shy, and used to not be confident enough to talk to others, but this year I felt more confident to do it. Anxiety when calling, ordering disappeared. And I was less scared to talk back to people.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 1H Ruler in 12H, I was most of the times by myself, mostly doing things on my own, and I felt very alone.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Mars 2H, I was much into shopping some times, and I was more anxious and stressed about making money. I had a lot of motivation about it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 2H Ruler in 1H, I was more spending money on myself.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 3H Ruler in 1H, I was talking more about myself to others, than before. And I was also writing more about myself, for example on the blog I post a lot about my experiences to support my theories.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Scorpio 4H, time at home was stressing and slightly toxic. I had this need to runaway or even live somewhere else. I wanted to escape. My idea of home changed.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 4H Ruler in 6H, staying at home was my routine, I was working from home too.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Vertex 5H, some destined events happened in my love life.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 5H Ruler in 9H, I traveled to NYC last year, and it was for holidays. I traveled to meet someone I loved (who didn't come in the end lmao). I also met another guy who had a crush on me there.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Pluto 6H, I took some weight lol, not so much. Since I moved less because of my job, I kept seating down and took some weight.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 6H Ruler in 7H, I was healing my relationships trauma last year, I went to therapy and understood a lot of traumas I had. I also made a lot of friends at work.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Aquarius DC, a lot of things changed in my relationships, I realized tons tons tons of things!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 7H Ruler in 10H, I was in a serious relationship last year, but 7H was ruled by Uranus, and it didn't end well.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Saturn 7H, didn't see my FS all year, didn't talk to him. And when I asked to meet him, he refused. Def a year I couldn't reach out or talk to him! I also couldn't be in a relationship, or anytime a guy had an interest in my, it's like the Universe worked through to not make it work out. I also broke up with my ex bf that year.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Saturn conjunct Groom, same!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Groom 7H, I realized my FS was my FS last year. I also realized I was in love with him.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Neptune 8H, I had a lot of vivid dreams last year, I dreamed of my mother in law too, and of my FS as well, both of them talking through dreams to me. I also didn't had s3x all year, refused any s3xual advanced. Though, I had a lot of s3xual dreams.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 8H Ruler in 8H, transformation was a keyword last year, I was also more open on the spiritual side, and I had a lot of grow that happened.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Moon 9H, I was constantly learning new things, and more on the spiritual side, and also esoteric. I discovered so many new things, and I needed that. I wanted more and more!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Chiron 9H, i traveled and felt like the travel I did was a waste of time and money lol ;-;

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 9H Ruler in 2H, I traveled to NYC and it was painful for my bank account.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Jupiter 9H, similar to Moon 9H.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Moon conjunct Chiron, my feelings were hurt often this year. I was crying A LOT in general. Perhaps the year I cried the most.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Jupiter conjunct Uranus, a lot of benefic transformation, despite it wasn't that easy sometimes or just very sudden.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Taurus MC, a year of trying to find a harmonious balance at work, and trying to find my way. Was focused on the money I made, and also trying to find a routine through work.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Uranus 10H, I changed jobs twice last year! I was fired, I just changed. And by the end of the second job, I decided to work at my own name. And so, I now work online, as an Astrologer! Uranus also rule here over uncommon jobs.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 10H Ruler in 1H, was more popular, and people noticed me in the crowd more easily. I also decided to work for myself, and started my own company.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 11H Ruler in 1H, I was positing lot more selfies and pictures of me than before online. I also had a lot of internet friends.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Union Cancer 11H, I met one of my best friend last year, she is a Cancer Sun and we met online!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Juno 12H, i was dreaming a lot of my FS this year, also didn't meet or talked to him all year.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ 12H Ruler in 9H, I traveled this year, and overseas!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Sun conjunct Venus, I was and felt more pretty, a glow up that happened!

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Mercury conjunct Mars, I was more aggressive sometimes when I was speaking, I was often aggressive when trying to stand up for myself, or just explaining myself, I think it was me finding the right adjustment between never standing up for myself before, and doing it now, but not knowing how.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Groom conjunct Neptune, dreamed a lot of my FS.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Sun opposite DC, didn't see or talked to my FS for the whole SRC, I also didn't want to be in a relationship.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ Venus conjunct Rising, very same as Venus 1H or Sun conjunct Venus.

Thank you for reading!

back to index ; ask ; request ; rules

[fairyminnie444]

It's time to see everything in your favor, NOW

This post will be simple and direct, it is not about leaving it for later, it is about internalizing it NOW and everything that comes from now on, this is your mindset.

You already know that circumstances happen and are NEUTRAL, everything that happens does not come with a sign on top saying "this is good" or "this is bad" these are all beliefs internalized in you. So when you think something is "delaying" your manifestation, you can change it and KNOW it's the opposite. IT'S HELPING YOUR MANIFESTATION! let's REPROGRAM THIS > RIGHT NOW<

1. “I woke up feeling terrible, without energy, everything seems heavy.”

→ Great! I decide that every day I wake up like this will help my manifestation and not hinder it. This means I am clearing everything that no longer serves me.My desire is already here I can feel however I want this doesn’t change this fact.

2. “I feel like nothing is changing, I am stuck and I don’t know what to do.”

→ Perfect! Every time I feel this I will remember that it is already done. 3D molds itself to what I believe and not the other way around. The change has already happened.

3. “I am overthinking and it seems like I am ruining my manifestation.”

→ My brain is processing the new reality. This only proves that my manifestation is happening.

4. “I have been persisting for so long and nothing has changed.”

→ This means that everything will change AT ONCE, because my desire is already so internalized within me that it will happen from one moment to the next because I already FEEL it.

5. “I had a bad day, I reacted, I cried, now it seems like I ruined everything.”

→ Even better! This means I have released all resistance and all my old me. My manifestation is even more certain now, I have become what I want to be.

6. “I am anxious and impatient, I need proof now.”

→ Great! This means my manifestation is already done and my body is just reacting to the change.

7. “I saw something in 3D that triggered me and now I am doubting.”

→ Great! This is just 3D trying to test me, and if I ignore it or react in any way by denying it in my head, this only confirms to me more that I am already aligned in my DR. I already know I have won.

8. “My past is haunting me, I can’t seem to escape.”

→ This means I have overcome it. The past only appears because it knows it has lost. It's the same thing as seeing something gray/dead.

9. “My mind keeps bringing up limiting beliefs.”

→ Great! This just means I am reprogramming. The more it appears, the more I know I am changing. I recognized that it is a limiting belief > therefore I know that it means nothing to me.

10. “I can’t connect with my imagination, nothing seems real.”

→ When this happens I just remember that my subconscious already knows EXACTLY what I want, and that it works for me that’s it. If nothing seems real, then I am free to choose and create whatever I want without limitations.

The idea is to transform everything that previously seemed like a blockage into confirmation that the manifestation is right. Everything works in your favor!

[elsewhereuniversity]

Jw, but it's been a minute. Are y'all okay? Any updates?

Thanks for checking in, that's really sweet of you. Sorry for the radio silence. To be honest I am Not Doing Great. I'm getting through it and things should get easier in a few weeks, but it's been a rough winter.

About the boat/accident/insurance, no word since last October. Still no idea if we can expect any compensation for the months of lost income from the accident. Depending on the day I get either very sad or very angry about it still. The paperwork is mostly sorted out now, but that's been a nightmare at times too. And I've found I'm now really anxious about something happening to my partner/going wrong on the boat when I'm not there to help. I was parking the car when the accident happened and my partner was on board trapped below deck by the falling mast. I ran the whole way to the docks and I don't remember most of it. ig the whole thing's had more of an impact on me than I'd realized, and managing that's been a challenge.

My partner and I also got hit with about 10k total of unexpected and necessary expenses (dental surgery and vehicle repairs being the big things). I had to get a winter job to cover us, leaving my partner to repair the boat alone. So I've been working 80-90hrs a week while he's doing what's rightfully a job for two people, and every week there's been a new crisis that's a thousand dollars plus to fix. We've scraped through, and we'll be alright, but it's been exhausting.

Because of that, repairs are taking longer than we'd hoped. They're still ongoing, and at this point all the spruce for the new mast is planed smooth to the right width, but it's on hold for the moment because the table saw isn't working right. The owner of the workshop has told us not to use it at all till he can look at it himself. Once that's fixed we can start cutting rabbets - the grooves that let the planks fit together. But it's definitely not getting finished before summer.

It'll get easier soon. I do genuinely like my winter job, and once it wraps up, I can help my partner in the shipyard. I'm mostly recovered from dental surgery at this point. A friend offered us his boat so our little tour company can sail this summer like normal, and that'll be enough to pay the bills and fund the next year of repairs. The owner of the workshop says we can keep our 50ft table set up all summer so we can keep working on the mast when we have rain days. If we can just make it to June then we'll be in the water with all major yearly expenses covered and a regular source of income again, and from there life should get easier.

That's where we're at right now - no big news, just getting through. We're shifting gears soon to focus on getting the new boat ready for the season, and we're hoping that over the summer we'll complete the new mast and begin to address to damage to Nautilus' deck and hull, starting by pulling up her teak planking to get at the fiberglass below. She's stored outside so that's a warm weather project anyway.

Thanks again for asking, it means a lot. Sorry I've been so quiet here. My partner's taken some lovely videos of the planing and other workshop things. I've been too tired/busy to sort through and post them, but I'll get there eventually. I miss elsewhere a lot; one of my only non-work things is picking away at that little elsewhere u text game I'm still trying to write. Nowhere near fit for human consumption yet, but I miss it here! When things are finally better I'm looking forward to coming back.

[jello-writin]

Boundless Stars

importance: this is written without the knowledge of 3.3 story quest. phainon is flame reaver in this story.

Intertwined gently in his finger is a single blue hyacinth, accented with the sweet and aquatic aroma. He carefully preserved the sacred memento for years now; it was a reminder that he was more than a Chrysos Heirs—he was a human. Phainon leaned his head against the bumpy tree trunk and allowed the gentle breeze to ease his future worries. He heard you shuffle your body, he turned his gaze and watched as you turn to face the field of blue hyacinth; unfortunately, he could not see the expression you held.

“Do you know why I gifted you a blue hyacinth?” He hummed, so you continued: “Blue hyacinth means life.” Phainon’s hair softly danced among the wind as the flowers swayed with a low melody. There was a small pause, “I have dedicated most time with you—I know your loyalty no longer resides with me, but to the people in Okhema.. Yet, despite the raining and foggy days—I will pray for you, so the stars can guide your march to safety, carrying everyone’s hope.”

Phainon responded in silence—he was stunned. “I know.. During times like the black tide, there is no room for personal feelings,” he furrowed his brow momentarily before his expression softened, “But, I promise you that I will always return to you—no matter the circumstance.” He moved his body closer and gently clasped his hands on yours, he wanted you to see his determination—to know how much he means his declaration. 

He watched as you turned to face him—however, he could not make your face. It was blurry, and your face was hidden by your hair.

The wind blows strong. 

He blinked and noticed that all the hyacinth turned crimson and were wilting. In his hands was a red hyacinth—he blinked once again.

You are on the ground, multiple crimson flowers that leaks from your chest.

“..H.. Huh?” His vision trembled and his head felt scattered. He slowly fluttered his eyes but hastily opened them. The field of flowers was gone, replaced by multiple shelves that held many books. Scarlet liquid painted the ground, with paperwork and broken pieces of glass scattered alongside. His dominant hand carried a heavy weight, he quivered as he looked at the long sword—covered in blood.

Phainon was chagrined as he saw your deceased body.

“.. Ah,” he felt bilious.

All his memories came together. 

Right. He came here to save you.

—Yet, he failed. 

“... I .. failed.. My promise..”

Next cycle, he will ensure that his promise is fulfilled, regardless of the circumstance.

note: i borrowed a dialogue from “From All Time/Lovebrush Chronicles” again ...(*￣０￣)ノ.. i hope this makes sense, please let me know if it doesn't, conveying the story was more difficult than i thought (╬▔皿▔)╯i hope to release more stories since i am stressed and anxious over my university (my major was bio switched to criminology) and writing helps me cope. i'm debating to open request since i do need ideas. i have a twisted wonderful series i'm working on + i have a draft for anaxa i hope to publish it soon..! also would you guys enjoy fanfic with artwork? i want to post drawings to convey the story. feedback is appreciated, thanks for reading!

[sunny44]

Happy anniversary

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x wife!reader

Warnings: just pure fluff and English is not my first language.

Summary: Today marks one year since you said ‘Yes’ to the love of your life. The best way to celebrate is by remembering that day as if it were yesterday.

I had planned everything carefully. Our first wedding anniversary had to be special. Charles had always been the man of grand gestures, of emotional surprises, and this time I wanted to do something different. Something that showed how much he meant to me.

I woke up early and went straight to the closet where I kept my wedding dress. That white dress I wore on the happiest day of my life. The memory of that day was still fresh in my mind—the way Charles looked at me when I walked into the church, with tears in his eyes and a smile that lit up the entire place.

I put on the dress carefully, adjusting every detail to make it perfect. I looked in the mirror and, for a moment, I was transported back in time. There I was again, the anxious and passionate bride, ready to say "yes" to the love of my life.

I walked down the stairs slowly, my heart pounding in my chest. Charles was in the living room, facing away from me, engrossed in some work on the computer. I took a deep breath and called his name, my voice trembling with emotion.

"Charles?"

He turned around and, for a moment, was frozen. His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, unable to form any words. I saw tears start to form in the corners of his eyes and then roll down his cheeks.

"Y/n... you... you look beautiful," he said, his voice choked with emotion.

I walked over to him, feeling my own eyes fill with tears. "I wanted to relive that moment, Charles. I wanted you to know how much this year has meant to me. Every day, every moment with you has been a gift."

He stood up and came to me, holding my face in his hands. "You have no idea how happy you make me, Y/n. This year has been the best of my life, and it's all because of you."

We hugged there, in the middle of the living room, feeling the connection that had always united us grow even stronger. Charles pulled back a little, just enough to look at me again, admiring every detail of the dress.

"I remember every second of that day," he said, smiling. "The way you walked into the church, the light reflecting off your dress, the way you smiled at me... it was the most beautiful moment of my life."

"For me too," I replied, holding his hands. "And I wanted you to know that every day, I choose you. I choose to love you, to care for you, to support you. You are everything to me, Charles."

He pulled me into another hug, tighter this time. We stayed like that, in silence, letting our hearts speak for us. After a while, he pulled back again and looked at me, with that smile I loved so much.

"Do you want to dance with me, Y/n?" he asked, a sparkle in his eyes.

"Of course," I replied, smiling.

He put on a soft song and pulled me into a slow dance. We twirled around the living room, lost in each other, feeling every heartbeat. At that moment, I realized that it didn't matter where we were or what we were doing. What mattered was that we were together, and that was all we needed.

As we danced, I whispered to him: "I love you, Charles. Always and forever."

He looked into my eyes and replied: "I love you too, Y/n. More than anything in this world."

And so, we danced until the sun set, celebrating not just a year of marriage, but the promise of many happy years to come.

Bonus scene!

Y/nleclerc instagram post

Liked by @charlesleclerc, @pescaleleclerc, @lewishamilton and others 200270

@Y/nleclerc There are not enough words to describe my love for you. When I said “yes” one year ago, I knew it would be the best decision of my life, and I was right. I can't wait to start a family with you and grow old together. I am very excited for the coming years of celebrating our wedding anniversary. I love you today and will love you until my last breath.

Happy 1 year anniversary my love ❤️.

@charlesleclerc Thank you for everything mon amour, your the best thing in my life and I knew you were the one for me since the day I met you. I love you with all my heart and I also can wait to celebrate this day every year with you.

Ps: Let’s talk more about this family thing, I really want a baby

Liked by y/nleclerc

@lewishamilton happy anniversary guys, so nice to see the love you have for each other.

@pescaleleclerc this makes me so happy, please give me a few grandchildren

@charlesleclerc thank you maman and I’m gonna try to give you the grandkids

@user9183 wow it’s been a whole year, feels like a lifetime