#i will be rereading the whole thing though just. having thoughts now

[squarebracket-trickster]

#on writing#who would have thought everyone was different#might just be that I’m taking the advice to extremes?

@nacricissa

Apparently, I've just had a response to this sitting around in my drafts for ages haha, so, uh...

I wouldn't say you are taking all the advice to extremes... because I am the extreme.

I don't edit as I go. At all. Nope. Not even typos. The only, only exception is when fixing the typo will take me less than a second AND fixing it is absolutely necessary for future me to understand what the fuck I was trying to say.

Heck, even when editing, I have limits on what I'm allowed to do. I set a handful (~5) of goals, and that's it. That is all I am allowed to touch.

For WIPVII, draft 2, my goals were: cut 32k and fill out [square brackets]. I was also allowed to rearange the scene order and rewrite scenes to add or remove a character, change the setting, or change how a plot point happened. That was it. No line edits, no fixing typos, no fleshing out descriptions or googling synonyms. No research. Nothing.

For draft 3, my goals were/are: add missing descriptions (characters and settings), start considering how the dialogue and 1st person narration can reflect the different languages and dialects being spoken, address the plot holes and continuity issues I notice, and finalize exactly what happens, in what way, and in what order. I am only allowed to line edit if it's quick and easy; if I spend more than 5 minutes stuck on a sentence I have to leave it for draft 4.

Before I started draft 3 I took some time just to do research and plot things out on a map and calendar (for winds, moon phases, tides, seasonal changes). Once I started the actual draft, I was allowed to add in the products of this research/plotting, but I was not allowed to do anymore research or plotting.

Now, I love love love rereading my writing too. The whole reason I started writing was so I could read it; and I also have a hell of a time rereading my word vomit. It makes me cringe so hard I feel physically sick. If I could be the edit-as-I-go type, by god, I would be.

I tried, I really did, for many years, but, unfortunately, enjoyable to read was the enemy of done for me. I am so strict now about what I am allowed to edit because I spent years trapped in editing loops. I'd go over the same handful of paragraphs again and again and again because even though the passage was fine, I could always see a way it could be better, and once I got into the mindset of editing whatever came to mind, I was sure that if I left it to later I would forget all my (darling) ideas.

The only solution I've found to break these editing loops is to limit what issues I am allowed to look for in the first place, what kinds of ideas/solutions I am allowed to think of, and how much time I can spend doing what. And it works for me!

Yes, if I can get away with it, I may very well never open my first draft manuscript of wipvii again. The thought of doing so makes me nauseous! Once I'm done my third draft I will probably avoid opening my second draft at all costs too.

But, giving myself limits and letting my drafts suck intentionally at least absolves me of the fear that this cringe is my best writing, which makes rereading the cringe a hell of a lot more bearable when it is my most recent draft, and there isn't a better version I could read instead. It makes me forgiving enough that I can still even enjoy reading decent chunks of those drafts by ignoring the cringe and focusing on the stuff that actually is decent, despite my lack of trying, or that at least has potential.

I may never open my first draft again now that I have better versions of WIPVII, but I do also remember laughing along, giggling, kicking my feet as I reread it before starting my second draft.

And, it turns out there is one thing more satisfying and motivating for me than being able to reread my own writing anyway. It's renaming my document from draft_[number] to draft_[number]_COMPLETED.

So, to each their own, but, yes, the extreme does exist, and it's out of pure necessity for me. It's people like me this advice is meant for, and I owe so much to the pinterest screenshot of a tweet that first convinced me to try it out.

You’ll rewrite it later anyway, so stop staring at the blank page like it owes you money. Just start.

[1x1x1x1x1x1x1x1]

killer doctor!reader perhaps,,, like reader is a well-known doctor who is nice and kind, but when they were forsaken, the spectre made them think the survivors are sick/infected, so they want to 'cure' them. by the way, their way of killing is just,,, gentle and painless, like a quick death.

(+ a point if reader is blind or mute because idk i just feel like it xd)

hopefully this makes sense! feel free to ignore this <3

HII!! this is such a fun request and i hope i did it with what you had in mind!!

(this is gonna be x killers since you didnt specify if you want it to be the survivors, killers or both

i might make a part 2 with the survivors if this goes well!!)

.ᐟ.ᐟ possible OOC and spelling mistakes (im too lazy to reread.)

anyways ENJOY! coughs,,,,,, lobotomy

Killers × Doctor!Killer!Reader

1×1×1×1｡𖦹°‧

The spawn of hatred,, i think you know how this one goes huh?

The first time she saw you, he thought you were no threat and harmless,

You proved that wrong after your first match. That made her spiral a bit

She DOES wish you wouldn't go so easy on them though,, especially on a certaint someone. He thinks they don't deserve any mercy, but oh well.

You have helped him bandage some nasty slash wounds a few times, shes thankful, but nobody will waterboard that information out of them.

They know the Spectre made you see something else, twisting your percieving of this world and the survivors, but its not like he's gonna try to wake you up or something like that. She knows that won't work.

Found this out because everytime he tried talking to you, you just kinda... stared at them. Nothing else. Not like she's seen you talk too.

John Doeִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ

well he's.. something.

He looks at your gameplay from time to time, thinking about what he feels about this, about you.

The little of what he has of his counciousness left tells him that you are/were a doctor? 'Well thats nice' is the only thing that comes to mind before it being pretty much empty again

You have patched him up a few times after a nasty round, getting stunned, punched and backstabbed way too many times.

You guys did have some nice/friendly interactions together, its just that he forgot about them.

forsaken!Jason𓌏་༘࿐

what a guy amirite..

since (IF) youre both mute, you guys can practically speak without words

Actions speak louder than words after all i guess!

Speaking of actions, you have helped him multiple times after a round, and he has thanked you multiple times.

Loves spectating you when youre the killer, one of his favorite activities to pass time. Although he too thinks youre going too easy on them.

C00lkidd.✶ ⋆ (PLANTONIC!!)

LOVES your whole 'doctor' theme

He WILL make you play pretend with him, with him as the patient.

Also really likes spectating you!! Although he doesnt see you 'killing' the survivors, just a quick nap

draws you, so much. You have a whole wall dedicated to them in your cabin.

Noli-.ᐟ.ᐟ

The absolute FIRST thing he does when you spawn in for the first time is make fun of how you dress, probably why you disliked him at first.

He does eventually act 'nicer' (if you can even call it that)

He is most definetly impressed by how quick you can server-wipe and how good you look during it,, wait who said that.

He immediately catches himself off guard after thinking about how well youre doing in the round.

This also means that from now on when you help him after a round, he will NOT be able to stay still,,

So now he IS a bit less of a jerk, but still taunts you. Like a LOT

Playing random sound effects, etc etc.

Hes an asshole, but he can be sweet.

extra!!

Mafioso🂱⚔

Ohh this guy

Hes really fond of you, mostly for helping his guys a few times with some nasty wounds.

Youre the first person they come to (and the only one they can now, since they've been forsakend.)

He appreciates how quick you get things done, no stretching out the killing part. Just quick and painless

Theres just something about you that just drives him closer

Ah, and he doesnt mind you being mute at all! He can understand most physical cues that you give him

okay so this is like,, pretty short. and there defo are some spelling mistakes but i just want to get this out lol

ty for reading!!

[sp00kymulderr]

morning, morning, love of mine

Dieter Bravo x OMC

Words: 800

Tags/warnings: references to past drug use, references to sex, married dieter and his big teddy bear husband 🥹 just something short and sweet.

Early morning shoots had never been his favourite.

Those 5am wakeup calls, the shitty canteen coffee and rushed breakfasts and too many people in his face far too early after another late night bender. He’d grumble through the whole thing, bitch to whoever was doing his hair that day, snort a line before call time and then rush to reread the pages for the day.

A few years ago he was complacent in his work. Coasting by on easy jobs that paid just enough, b-movies that went straight to streaming and sequels for long dead franchises no one cared about any more. There were always good drugs on those kind of sets, and people didn’t care what he did as long as the film got made and everyone got paid. Soulless, lifeless, lacking in art. No love, no care, nothing to be invested in on those sets.

It was easy, he didn’t have to care.

Now, though…

It’s 4:30am and Dieter is teetering on the edge of awake as light starts to brighten the room. His eyes open slowly, and he stifles a yawn. Next to him, Theo is still sleeping; his chest rising and falling, Dieter’s arm slung over him, front pressed close to back. They’d gone to bed at 9:30pm after an evening of catching up on their shows whilst they cuddled on the couch. Dieter had bemoaned being old, but he went to sleep with a smile on his face, wrapped around Theo.

Blinking slowly, Dieter half sits up propped against his pillow. He runs a hand over the stubble on his chin as he gazes down at the sleeping form besides him. Theo was...well to Dieter he was everything. Not only was he handsome to a fault with his sparkling hazel eyes and a mess of reddish brown hair, with a beard to match. He was tall and big, well, everywhere. And to top that all off he was funny, smart, successful and humble despite being the best director working. And he put up with Dieter even on the bad days. Everything Dieter needed in one big, cuddly package.

He leans down and begins to pepper Theo's face in gentle kisses, trying to rouse the other man carefully.

“Hey, husband” Dieter whispers with a smile, squeezing the larger mans soft middle. In his dreams he’d been kissing that belly.

Theo groans and turns slightly, angling his face away from Dieter’s kisses, but there’s a smile playing on his lips that makes Dieter’s own brighter.

“I thought I had a husband, not a needy puppy who licks my face every morning” Theo grumbles out in his rough, deep voice that Dieter could listen to all day long. In fact, he does.

“You got both” Dieter grins, purposefully placing one sloppy, wet kiss to the other mans cheek before finally pulling away.

“Alright, down boy” Theo mutters and both men laugh sleepily. Theo turns on to his other side to blink up at Dieter.

He looks at the clock, nearly 5am. Nearly time to start the day.

“Big day today” Dieter says softly, tone changing from playful to anxious.

“You nervous?” Theo, ever the protective husband, takes Dieters hand in his and holds it tight, thumb swiping over the skin in a calming pattern.

“No...not...not nervous, so much. Excited. Too much energy. I, uh, used to do something- take something to take the edge off a big shoot day, a first day”

Theo frowns and slowly sits himself up. He knows. He’s seen Dieter at his worst, he’s seen it all. It makes seeing him now, at his best, all the sweeter. He loved him then, loves him now.

“C’mere” The older man pulls Dieter into a crushing hug, and Dieter sighs, lets himself go limp. No other rush feels as good as this, as good as love, “You’re gonna do great”

“Well, I hear the directors a real hottie” Dieter mumbles, back to playful now he’s smushed up in his big mans embrace, “Maybe if I get too het up he’ll let me blow him in the trailer til I calm down”

“Is that so? Guess you’ll have to find out, hm?” Theo huffs out a laugh and kisses Dieter on the top of his head before letting him go, not wanting to suffocate his husband on the first day of their first movie together.

The alarm blares 5am as they’re both gazing at each other, barely hearing it as they contemplate a feeling that neither knew existed before they found the other.

“You’re gonna do great, you know” Theo says quietly. all gentle, all love.

“Promise? ” Dieter mumbles, nuzzling against Theo's cheek.

“Yeah”

For a second they’re frozen in time. The beep of the alarm forgotten. Dieter kisses Theo, and pulls back with a shaky breath.

“C’mon husband, let’s go make a movie”

[whoslaurapalmer]

there's this discussion of. bodies in laura? or not discussion but, the specific presence? physicality? what a type of body or look means or signifies, especially a "man"'s body? like. waldo thinking mark's injury as something that romanticizes his body, something waldo's body is not capable of because he doesn't have the dramatic intrigue of a gunshot wound to disguise himself in, waldo brings up that although he's tall he's also "obese" with soft skin and glasses and there's nothing "heroic" about his body compared to mark, that mark has the body of a "hero", waldo throwing mark's leg back in his face by the end of the book and derisively calling him a "limping hawkshaw," shelby being thought of as more of a "model" of a man or a "hero," because of his carelessness and childishness and sheer vapidity contrasted against his strong stature and ease, not just by waldo but by mark as well, laura pointing out that waldo constantly derides men he sees as more of a "man" than he is (shelby and mark), laura sitting alone in her room towards the end of the book in her nightgown and calling herself a slut as the strap slips down her arm, waldo constantly referring to laura as "fragile" (or a "wench") and physically timid, he says mark is practiced at "self-destruction" and says mark and laura being together would also be self-destructive, mark wrestling waldo away from laura and down a flight of stairs and struggling with the weight of him as they fight and eventually cracking waldo's head against the banister, waldo's final piece of writing declaring "there remains some truth that she made a man of him as fully as a man could be made of that stubborn clay. and when that frail manhood is threatened, when her own womanliness demands more than he can give, his malice seeks her destruction. but she is carved from adam's rib, indestructible as legend, and no man will ever aim his malice with sufficient accuracy to destroy her"

and also the thoughts with......waldo trying to sculpt laura into someone ideal and Better and more cultured than she was before she met waldo, which he also tries to do with mark

[necrotic-nephilim]

what's fun about shipping Tim with Dick, Jason, or Damian is he has, at some point, hallucinated all of them to comfort himself. even when he doesn't like them or particularly get along with them, he has to imagine/hallucinate them just so he has the power to go on. Tim's concepts of the Robin mantle and what it should be is so fun, because he respects the others through the Robin mantle. Tim worships Dick because he was the first Robin. he wouldn't be Robin if Jason hadn't died in the mantle. and a lot of his frustration with Damian is he feels Damian isn't honoring the mantle correctly. when you ship Tim with the other Robins you can't divorce their identities as Robin from it because Tim will always see them as a Robin first and that's so fun and fucked up. like.

batman (1940) #456

Tim perceiving Dick as *Robin* cheering him on, not Nightwing, which is the version of Dick that Tim actually knows? that's just. wild of him. he will always view Dick as Robin first, his personal hero but also the original of the legacy. his love for Dick is shaped by that.

and then of course, even when he's hallucinating/imagining Jason cheering him on, it's *still* through the lense of being reminded how Jason failed? subconsciously believing that Jason got himself killed because of his actions, and that being a lesson for Tim to learn from? Jason isn't a person to Tim, he's a moral lesson about how to be Robin. any potential idolization he could have of Jason isn't because he loves Jason, it's because of the lessons Jason's death taught him.

and then, even though him hallucinating TIm is from the New-52, which makes characterization all kinds of questionable, i do think it makes sense for TIm to hallucinate/imagine Damian after Damian's death in an attempt to cope with it.

teen titans (2011) #18

to an extend, he sees Damian's death as in part his own fault. and even hating Damian, Tim needs the comfort from this to cope with Damian being gone. he's angry that Damian even was Robin, and has to learn something from Damian's death and how it impacts the Robin mantle, and teenage heroes as a whole. like, Tim can pretend he hates Damian all he wants, even getting taunted by the image of Damian, but there's still an underlying love to their relationship.

i think that's just the fun of shipping Tim with any of them. you will never divorce Tim's views of them from the Robin mantle and how fucking Unwell he is about anyone else who's been Robin before or after him, to the point he has to hallucinate them comforting him when he's at his lowest. it's always going to be a little unhealthy, a little toxic, and driven by Tim's relationship with being Robin as well. i need more Tim being weird about Robin in these ships.

[k1tty5]

hello :D please tell me more about your mezalian (is that how you spell it??) smalletho I will forever be indebted to you

(they are gorgeous I love them sm)

hey hi !! it would be my pleasure … (and I’ve been spelling it mezalean ??? but i have no idea LOL. there might be a canon spelling but i havent watched joels esmp1 since… probably since it ended. i will have to check sometime)

apologizing in advance because i will probably get very ramble-y!!

ummm. Oh god. How to start. Lets see. WELL. In this silly little au (i guess it has become a bit more than just me doodling designs LOL) in my head they have like this sort of zelink dynamic? obviously without all the zelda lore & stuff, just that kind of … okay forgive me I haven’t brushed up on my zelink lore for a good many years but. Like the princess and her personal knight that doesn’t really talk much sort of thing.

this made more sense in my head. But yeah. They have the vibes of zelink ? At least if i remember zelink right, I have a really bad memory :’) not exactly the same, i do think etho talks to joel (whereas if iirc link never really talks) - especially after getting to know him a bit - but just. they have the Vibes. You know?

I reckon Joel’s definitely very into sculpting in this au, maybe dabbles a little in painting - I imagine mezalea to be very heavy on art and expression in general. think you’d especially see lots of pottery and textiles all around the place. He probably also has an interest in some form of like. um. whats the word. Some sort of … fighting. lmao. Specifically thinking of fencing, i had this idea in my head that he’s watched Etho practice outside the palace at some point and is just absolutely fascinated and enamored. by both the practice and etho himself haha.

and for etho… talented swordsman? he is Not washed. i dont really have many ideas for his character in this au To be completely honest, mostly just of his personality. Although, I alsooo think he’s probably not actually from mezalea? I like to draw him with those pointy elf ears, and i think mezaleans are just humans. I cant remember if thats canon or not but um. mezaleans have human ears, so i’d imagine etho’s probably from like.. rivendelle? Is that. What it’s called. The elf guys? Are they elves??? Goodness I cant remember. Grimlands would make sense too since i THINK they’re kind of like. technical engineer guys? but i dont know what species they are um so ,,, yeah,,,,

i think joel’s probably a bit put off by etho at first, mostly just because he’s not super enthused about the idea of a personal guard, but also because the guys a bit odd, you know? but he’s also probably suuuper intrigued by him. he wants to figure this new guy out, and when they start talking a bit more, i think. They are both incredibly charmed by the other. head over heels? possibly.

most of my ideas of this au are just little scenes that are cute and silly but dont follow any main plot. I would love to write some one-shots of some of the ideas i have in the future, but as of right now im experiencing a bout of creative burnout and am busy with the holidays - spending time with family, so… not right now lol!

hopefully this is what you wanted,,,, i tend to get very ramble-y when talking about literally anything, so i do apologize for that haha, i am Not good at explaining things in simple ways, as i’ve said many a time before.

[mathmusicreading]

Blog(ger) Shift

I am, so weird and bad about original posting and about reblogging and about saving things on Tumblr and that's why my blog has been mostly inactive or the lurking consumer type. But I don't want my fears about putting myself out there, being seen and known, articulating myself well vs. having been told my whole life I'm too wordy and opinionated vs. not managing to articulate myself well enough to justify being verbose and passionate, etc. to continue to control me so much.

So for my new specific-interest sideblog that I'm not locking, I hope it being themed will help me with making more original posts and reblogging, and I'm publicizing that here to push myself and also welcome interaction.

RIP to my other public specific-interest sideblog and the fandom sideblog I took over for someone that I didn't take further and to my private sideblogs that were meant to make me reblog and save and say stuff because they would be personal and just for me. I still would like to make those happen and reblogging and posting things that matter to me here, and oh my heart for the content ideas I haven't been working on, but they're pipedreams with how I'm (not) managing my life and I keep kicking those cans down the road.

To the person who I developed a real relationship with as a beta but who by now I probably count as having disappeared on with how long it's been and my not coming back to explicitly say I still can't help and don't know when I can, I am so sorry. I'm being a coward languishing in hoping I can tell you soon that I can get back into beta-ing for you and talking, but that's turned into me not talking to you because I'm waiting to be able to say something positive. Hopefully my vaguing here can help push me into talking to you, or at least this is here for you to read if you happen to see it; and I want you to know you absolutely can talk to me, can call me out, and if you're so gracious as to still want to be friends with me and just chat despite my dropping being your beta, I'm here for you and still want to be your friend even if I don't know if I'll have the spoons to be a good one and I know my saying that preemptively isn't apology or justification enough.

Honest assessment, I'm going to curse and say my living situation and work have both become even more of a shitshow, and with those things in mind I can't begin to imagine handling a real project until basically literally a year from now.

Which segues back into the main topic of this post. My goal isn't to have my new sideblog be like an active mainblog nor to abandon this blog—people interested in that blog can and should still interact with me here given how primary vs. secondary blogs on Tumblr work, and in terms of using that blog to help make me be a better Tumblr user, I think I should make certain original posts here and reblog them there as opposed to them being original there. With my mental-emotional and time resources, I want that blog to be "active" for a given definition of active, but really I think I should see my objective as "clear out tabs and likes and photos and lists and notes and drafts, etc. from the last four months" by saving stuff there, as opposed to my goal being the original posts I want to make there, and actually my long-term goal should be to use that momentum to do the same for older digital and physical storage that hasn't been lost or stolen. In my failure to be an interesting person, do I at least manage to be fascinating as a basket-case? Ha. But, also, as expressed above the Read More, the exercise of my danmei/Chinese sideblog is supposed to be a foray into me allowing myself to be an interesting person.

[malusokay]

Little things that improved my life 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Accepting my sleep schedule. I'm a night owl; I focus at night, I'm calm at night, I'm motivated at night. For a long time, I tried to fight this since everyone always preaches getting up early, but since I started accepting my natural sleep schedule, I've been feeling a lot better and have become way more productive.

"drink more water". TEA. Tea is the secret here. I will be honest, I hate drinking water; it doesn't matter if I have a cute water bottle or a cute glass, I still hate it. TEA.

Replying quickly. I used to be one of those people who get a text message and think, "Oh, I'll reply to that later", and then just forget about it entirely. Now, I text back as soon as I see the message. This has not only improved my texting anxiety (which I cause on my own by now replying and then feeling bad) but also deepened my connection to my friends. <3

Keeping my circle small and being okay with that. Over the past months, I've had this sudden urge to expand my social circle and get to know more and more people, especially after I moved in August. However, this quickly ended in what I like to call my "social burnout". I was tired, annoyed, and overwhelmed. It took a few weeks for it to settle, but I've come to the conclusion that I would much rather have a smaller circle of people who I trust and love deeply than a huge group of friends, and that's totally okay.

Wearing what I like. Even though I live in a big city, I'd still say that my style can sometimes be a bit more extravagant than what most people wear, another point is that I'm very uncomfortable with pants so I only wear skirts, which is also considered a bit odd where I live. But over the past years, I've come to accept that and have become so sure of myself and found such comfort in my style that I now just wear whatever I like, and it makes every day a little bit nicer.

Reading and writing for pleasure. Reading books outside of my studies and spending time researching topics that simply interest me is such a great way to calm your mind. Same for writing, I always like to say that to write is to think; putting your thoughts on paper in cohesive and well-crafted sentences that you can then reread and think over again is such a liberating thing to do.

Reaching out more. fuck the whole "double texting" and "no contact" thing. If you want to speak to someone because they mean something to you, then just do it. Unless they specifically asked for space, you shouldn't feel bad about wanting to be in touch with them. Many even really appreciate it when you show that you truly care. Let's stop the nonchalant act, and instead, let's face deep emotions and true vulnerability. <3

As always, please feel free to share your own little insights and things that helped you improve comments! <3

my insta: @ malusokay

love ya ･:*₊‧✩

[em1i2a3]

Bob and falling asleep on his chest while he reads to you??

Late For The Sky

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Bob have a nightly routine where he reads to you the latest book he’s decided to buy.

Warnings: No Warnings, just pure fluff

Author's Note: I really liked this request, and after a whole weekend of writing smut, I thought a nice little fluff piece would be great to start off the week. I’ve got a lot of pieces on my platter this week, and I’m really looking forward to putting them out for y’all ❤️

Word Count: 4,040

It started innocently enough–just Bob leaning against the threshold of your workshop at the end of a mission debrief, with a well-worn paperback tucked under one arm and a sheepish sort of smile playing on his mouth like he was teetering on being excited but nervous all at the same time.

You were hunched over your workbench, goggles pushed up into your hair, sparks spitting gently from a soldering iron in your gloved hand. The air smelled like burnt copper and machine oil, and your concentration was laser-focused–until you sensed that he was hovering.

You didn’t look up right away. There was no need to. You knew he would start the conversation in his own time.

”I, uh…” Bob cleared his throat, fingers drumming lightly on the book’s cracked spine, “I finished t-that one about the guy with the g-genetic disorder where he’s able to t-time travel but it’s at unpredictable times.” You paused what you were doing, and glanced over your shoulder, pulling your goggles off to look at him–and to also give the skin around your eyes a rest.

“Already?” You asked, with your eyebrows raised. You were impressed, because you had taken a stab at reading that book but it took you weeks to finish it–that was more due to you getting busy with repairs, not because you didn’t like that book itself. Bob nodded at you, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, more confident now that he actually had your attention.

”Y-Yeah, I couldn’t put it down. I-I didn’t really like how it jumped around a lot at first b-because i-it was a bit hard to keep up with things, b-but once it really got into the crazy stuff and a-all the elements started coming together I r-really needed to see how it e-ended.” That was Bob when he talked about books. He never just read them, he sunk himself into it and got lost in it. He spoke with his whole body when he really got into the nitty gritty details about the story itself–animated hands, wide eyes, and that faint breathless awe that made you want to reread books or add them to your mile long list that you had barely touched because you barely had time.

Bob hadn’t always been this way though.

He used to pace the compound, and wear down the floors until it creaked beneath his feet. When he was still under mandatory observation. When he felt like he was in a strange version of purgatory where everyone treated him well but he felt imprisoned in the walls that were supposed to keep him safe.

You had been unofficially tasked with keeping an eye on him during those first few weeks–mostly because you were the only one not actively going on missions, and you were behind on fixing some tech for the compound anyways.

At first, Bob would just linger in the background–standing in the doorway with his hands tucked up into the sleeves of his hoodie, watching the blue sparks of your arc welder with the quiet intensity of someone afraid to ask if they could stay or if they could help. But you learned pretty quickly that Bob didn’t do well with silence. Not for long.

So one rainy Tuesday, when you were sick of watching him pace and sigh and pretend like he wasn’t bored out of his skull, you told him to get ready and you dragged him into the city–to your favorite secondhand bookstore.

It was tucked between a locksmith and an old bakery, it was the kind of place that smelled like cracked leather and warm dust, where the aisles were narrow and the ceiling was low, and where books were stacked in precarious towering columns that made the air feel scarce. You had told him to look around while you spoke to the owner.

That day you saw it–you saw something in him soften. It was like his muscles were unclenching somewhere deep in his chest. He walked through every aisle, pausing to brush his fingers over cracked spines like they were ancient artifacts. You’d glance behind you once in a while to check to see if he was okay, and when you saw his face buried in the first few pages of a book, you knew the choice to bring him there was a good one.

He left that day with three books, and then he asked you the next day to take him back there to get more.

Ever since that day, it had become his thing–tucking paperbacks into the crook of his arm, disappearing into them for a few hours, and then, without fail, finding you when he finished to divulge every last thought he had about them.

It didn’t matter if your hands were elbow-deep in fried wiring or if you were halfway through fixing tactical gear–if he finished a book, he needed to talk to you about it, and only you…Because you truly listened to him.

You didn’t nod along blankly or tell him to save it for later. You engaged with him, you asked questions and remembered characters’ names. You pressed him on parts that made him anxious or thrilled or tear up a little, even if he pretended like it didn’t happen. You didn’t tease him when he stumbled or stuttered over his words from excitement. You leaned in and gave him the attention he wanted, because in your own odd way, you needed those moments too.

You never said that out loud, but Bob could tell. He could see it in the way your shoulders dropped an inch when he entered the room, or the way your lips twitched when he fumbled over a complicated plot. He could see it in how you never asked him to leave.

Then one night you knocked on his bedroom door.

You were worn out. Bone-tired, yet you couldn’t sleep because of how wound up you had been that week. Your voice had gone hoarse from an afternoon arguing with Val over calibration specs, and you’d barely made it through dinner. Your plate had gone mostly untouched, more because you kept taking calls and arguing with whoever was on the other end of the line. Your eyes had looked sunken beneath the weight of the lack of sleep.

So to say he wasn’t expecting a knock on his door–let alone a knock from you of all people would be an understatement.

It was past midnight, and the compound was quiet–save for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation system and the soft creak of the page he just turned. His lamp was still on, casting a golden spill of light across his comforter and the open paperback in his hands, spine worn and corners curling from hours of reading. His tea had gone cold but he hadn’t noticed or cared.

The knock was gentle. Barely there.

He blinked himself out of his trance, frowning faintly, before reaching up to rub at his dry eyes. He let out a small sigh and set the book beside him like a loyal dog, half-forgotten for the moment, getting up from the pile of linens and duvets that surrounded him.

When he opened the door, it was like the hallway itself had gone still.

You stood there, barefoot on the wooden tile, wearing a pair of soft sleep-shorts and a baggy old Thunderbolts t-shirt from that one disastrous PR event last year–the one where everyone was forced into color-coded teams and awkward staged interviews. The shirt hung off your frame like you were a ghost, the cotton threadbare in places from being worn and washed too many times. Your hair was damp, like you’d given up halfway through drying it, and there were faint creases along your cheek from a pillow you hadn’t quite managed to fall asleep on. Bob’s brows lifted, as concern bled into his expression before he could stop it.

”Hey…A-Are you…?” He glanced past you instinctively, then at the digital clock on his nightstand that glowed dimly behind him, “Is everything okay? I-It’s pretty late, I didn’t think–“

”I couldn’t sleep,” You interrupted quietly, rubbing at your forearm. Your voice was still scratchy but it wasn’t as bad as it was during dinner time, “I thought I heard you…” You added.

Bob squinted at you, more confused than anything else, “Heard me?”

“Yeah,” You nodded faintly, a ghost of a smile touching your mouth, “Heard you laugh, or–or something that sounded like it at least.” He felt the tips of his ears go warm at your comment, remembering that about half an hour before you came he had almost thrown the book across the room in excitement because of how good the plot was getting.

”Oh…Uh…Yeah s-sorry about that. There was–t-there was a plot twist.” Your smile grew a little at that.

”No need to apologize,” You replied, “I’ve had those moments before. When something hits you so hard you have to squeal…Or throw the book out the window.” This earned a small laugh from Bob, as you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed in the easy, tired sort of way that said you weren’t really in a rush to end the conversation any time soon. Your eyes flicked past him, just for a moment–curious, unassuming–but Bob caught it.

And then, you asked the burning question of the night.

”Can I come in?” Bob didn’t say anything at first, he just stared at you with a look of surprise plastered on his face, because he wasn’t expecting you to ask that, nor want that in general. After what was probably far too long, he stepped aside.

”Y-Yeah, of course.” You stepped past him slowly, and all your senses immediately started working overtime. The first thing that hit you though, was the smell.

It was Warm. Complex. Spiced, almost. Like cracked pepper and worn paper and the faded traces of his cologne lingering in the fibers of the room. It wasn’t overwhelming–wasn’t artificial or sharp–it was lived-in. Masculine in a gentle, quietly steady way. Like the soft base notes of cedarwood and clove that had sunk into the blankets and pillows mixing with the faintest wisp of black tea and honey.

It smelled like him, and it startled you–because you knew him. You knew his hands and his laugh and the way he stumbled through his excitement when he got overwhelmed. But stepping into his room felt like opening the cover of a book you thought you already read–only to find unfamiliar pages.

You had not seen the inside of his bedroom before. You had caught glimpses of it for sure. A cracked door when he was carrying his laundry. A half-glance from down the hall when he’d leaned into the doorframe to talk to you. But this–this was his inner sanctum and it was all of him.

There were books everywhere. Piled on the floor in loosely sorted stacks, balanced on windowsills, stuffed into a long shelf that sagged slightly under the weight. They ranged from battered sci-fi paperbacks with alien landscapes on the covers to dense philosophical texts and dog-eared literary fiction. A few comics peeked out from beneath the bedside table, alongside notebooks with half-tucked pens and sticky tabs poking from the edges like colored confetti. They looked damaged and battered, but it was from extensive use rather than carelessness.

The bed was massive. Not in a luxurious sense, but in a way that suggested someone needed space–maybe to move, maybe to breathe. The comforter was thick, gray-blue, rumpled from how he must’ve been lounging on it. A fleece throw was tangled near the bottom corner, and a pile of pillows–none matching–leaned against the headboard like they’d been shoved there without much thought. On the nightstand beside the bed there was a mug of tea on a heating coaster that was turned off–probably from being used for too long.

You turned back to him with a softer look than before, taking all of the little details in.

”This is pretty cozy,” You offered. Bob rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks going a deeper red now, suddenly sheepish and nervous that you were standing in the middle of his room at this time of night.

“Sorry i-it’s a little m-messy, I wasn’t really expecting–”

”No, no, it’s okay I meant that in a nice way…I wasn’t judging your room or anything.” Bob blinked at you, lips parting slightly like his brain short-circuited for just a moment. You could practically see the mental reboot happening behind his eyes.

“I actually came to ask…” You trailed off as you turned back toward the bed, brushing your fingers along the edge of the blanket, still warm from where he’d been lying. “If you had another chapter left in you.” Bob’s head tilted just slightly, his eyes widening, “Kind of thought you could read to me…Or talk me to sleep. Y’know.” The realization hit him like a gust of warm air straight to the chest, and his face felt like it was going to burst from how hot his cheeks were starting to get.

”Y-You want me to…Read t-to you?” He echoed, as if he was trying the words out on his tongue just to make sure they weren’t just a hallucination. You gave him a small nod, looking down at your feet.

“Only if you want to of course,” You said quickly, your voice gentle, in a casual way that always came out when you were asking for something that you pretended not to care about, “I just figured…You are always into the book and everything…And your voice is…Soothing. I thought maybe hearing you read would help turn my brain off.” Bob swallowed hard at the way you complimented his voice, how you found it soothing. He didn’t think that way, but it sure made his heart seize when you said it.

He had to consciously remind himself to breathe as you stood there, soft and sleepless in the dim light of his room, asking him to read to you like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like it didn’t unravel something in him to have you standing here, in his space, barefoot and tired and trusting him with the last moments of your day. He cleared his throat too quickly and nodded.

”S-Sure. Yeah, o-of course. I mean–I’ve never really done that b-before, but I could…I-If that’s what you want.” Your eyes met his, and they crinkled a little at the corners.

”First time for everything, right?” Bob gave a nervous laugh and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, motioning to the bed awkwardly.

”D-Do you…Do you wanna sit? Or–or I could make tea or something if that would help, I can warm mine up too–“ You shook your head gently.

”No…This is perfect,” You said, lowering yourself onto the edge of the bed with a quiet, grateful sigh “No tea…I think I just want…” You paused, fingers brushing the comforter again before you looked up at him with a soft, bleary gaze, “The chapter.” He smiled at that–small, crooked, and bashful.

”O-Okay…” You pulled your legs up under you and moved towards the headboard, settling against the fort of pillows he had made against the hardwood, while Bob grabbed the paperback and climbed in beside you. There was a bit of shuffling at first–he wasn’t sure how close was too close, or where to angle his body, or how to sit without making it weird–but eventually you both found the perfect positioning. He left a bit of space between you and him, about an arm’s length, and just like you he rested himself against the headboard, only he cross-crossed his legs.

Bob cleared his throat–too loud in the silence of the room–and adjusted the book in his hands, fingers curling slightly around the spine like he needed something to hold onto. His thumb brushed the crease between chapters as he flicked his gaze over to you again, nestled against the headboard like you belonged there, half-draped in the worn comforter.

“Okay…Chapter twelve,” He murmured, and began.

His voice was soft at first–shy, uncertain, as if afraid the words might shatter the quiet between you. But a few lines in, he found his rhythm. He always did. The cadence of his voice fell into step with the prose, rising and dipping in the right places, drawing the imagery to life as his thumb ghosted along the edges of the page. When he would take in a breath all he would smell was worn paper and your bay leaf and blueberry shampoo, and that felt like it was all he needed to settle himself.

Then–around three pages in–he heard it.

A soft exhale.

A breathy, wheezing little sound that made his voice falter for just a second.

Bob glanced over at you instantly, almost to confirm the inevitable.

Your head had tilted down toward your chest, mouth slack in the most exhausted kind of sleep. Your lashes rested on your cheeks, breath coming slow and just a little uneven, like your whole body had simply…Powered down. The sentence he had been reading drifted off into silence.

”Oh,” He whispered, more to himself than to you, “…Wow…You’re o-out.” He stared at you for a long second, book still in hand, watching the way your fingers were curled into the fabric of the blanket near your knee. You didn’t stir–not even when he gently reached over to the end of the bed and grabbed the lonesome blanket from the corner to settle it over your bare legs. You were deeply, and blissfully asleep.

And now he didn’t know what to do.

He glanced at the book in his hands, back at you, then sighed softly and reached for the top corner of the page. He dog-eared it carefully–marking exactly where he noticed you were asleep. Just in case you wanted to pick it up again tomorrow.

If you came back.

He closed the book, resting it on the nightstand, and stood slowly–carefully–like he was trying not to make any sound at all. You didn’t move. Your breath stayed soft and steady, and there was something about that that made Bob’s chest tighten.

He didn’t want to wake you.

So, instead, he grabbed an extra blanket from his closet and quietly padded out of the room, heading for the couch in the living room. It wasn’t as comfortable as his bed, and the cushions were flat–but he didn’t mind. He wanted to make sure you got some rest, and that mattered more to him than his comfort.

Much to Bob’s surprise you came back the next night, and the night after that, and the night after that.

Every time, the both of you got a little closer–a little softer. You started bringing a pillow from your own room, just for routine. You’d press your cheek against his shoulder sometimes as he read, and he’d try not forget what words were. Sometimes you didn’t even wait for him to start–you’d curl up under his covers like it was normal, and let your breathing even out, but he read anyway. For himself. For you. For the comfort of it. He never stayed after you fell asleep, he took refuge on the couch every time, and he’d be careful and quiet about his escape to make sure you didn’t wake up.

It became your shared ritual.

And then one night, everything shifted into place.

You came in quietly, curling up beside him, adjusting your pillow near his. Bob had his book open on his chest, waiting for you to get yourself situated, smiling at you like it was muscle memory. And without saying a word, you stretched out beside him–much closer this time–and gently rested your head on his chest, right over his heart. It was almost like you were silently communicating to him you wanted him to stay this time around, so you made it harder for him to make his usual escape.

Bob froze immediately at the contact, and at the warmth of you settling against his chest, the crown of your head brushing just beneath his collarbone. One of your arms snuck around his waist like it was second nature, and one leg curled over his like it always belonged there.

When you pressed your ear to his chest, his heartbeat was soft, steady and loud–embarrassingly eager to be heard by you. He looked down at you slowly, book still resting on his chest, his free hand clutching the edge of the page he hadn’t yet turned. You didn’t look at him–you were too focused, nestled in against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

”Wh-What are you doing?” You smiled into his shirt, just faintly.

”Want to read along with you,” You said, your voice soft and sleepy. He knew that must’ve been a lie, but he didn’t protest.

”O-Oh…Okay.” He murmured, shifting a bit.

Then, without lifting your head, you mumbled, “You can put your arm around me, y’know?” Bob could feel his breath stilling in his chest, and you heard the way it halted in his throat. You couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, almost like he had to process your suggestion.

Then he very gently, very slowly slid his arm around your shoulders. His fingers brushed the curve of your upper arm, curling lightly around you until he held you snug against his side, cradled with just enough pressure to let you know he wouldn’t let go.

You exhaled through your nose–peaceful, like the tension had melted from your spine the moment he touched you.

Bob’s heart was racing.

But his hand stayed steady.

You shifted just slightly to get comfortable, your forehead now pressed to the center of his chest, your ear perfectly aligned with the rhythm of his heart.

And God, the way you heard it–felt it. That low, thudding warmth beneath his ribs. Steady, slow, like a drumbeat underwater. A living lullaby. You could hear every flutter, every quiet catch of breath when he turned the page. It was stronger than the ventilation hum, stronger than the turn of the fan, stronger than the slow rasp of the blanket as you moved against him.

It was him.

The cadence of someone who had spent years trying to hold himself still–and was now unraveling just enough to let you rest against the places that hurt.

Bob picked up the book again, adjusting it slightly in his hand, but he didn’t start reading right away.

He was listening too.

To your breathing.

To the way your fingers gently fisted the fabric of his shirt like you wanted to keep him close.

To the stillness.

Then he began to read–low and careful. He didn’t project. Didn’t fill the room the way he did when you were sitting up and alert. He just read for you. For the closeness. For the moment.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t shift.

You just listened.

And slowly, your hand went slack against his side. Your body softened. Your lashes lowered, then fluttered still.

You fell asleep on him, breath warm against his chest, face half-pressed into the fabric of his shirt like it was a pillow. You looked peaceful. Safe.

Bob didn’t stop reading right away.

He finished the page.

Then the next.

Eventually, he dog-eared the corner, turned the lamp off, and sank back into the pillows behind him, adjusting just slightly so you were fully wrapped in his arms.

He stayed.

For the first time, he stayed.

And when sleep took him, his last thought was simple, small, and true:

Please come back tomorrow.

[sugussugar]

best friend! satoru who pinches you in public then blames it on someone who wasn't even close enough to have been able to do it. (he tried to trip you at first, but you caught him sticking his leg out and called him out.)

best friend! satoru who insists that your hangouts only take place at your house. he doesn't care if your house is big or small, he'd rather your house over his since yours feels more like a home.

best friend! satoru who, somehow, always manages to convince you to get fast food when you guys hang out.

best friend! satoru who loves baking with you. though, it's mostly you doing all of the baking while he opts to throw flour at you and lick the spoon once you're done mixing the batter.

best friend! satoru who's never had a girlfriend. well, okay, maybe he had one girlfriend during freshman year of highschool, but it only lasted a month. you still ask him why he refuses to go out with anyone despite the girls and boys who throw themselves at him. he shrugs it off.

best friend! satoru who is really really affectionate with you. he plays it off as a: “oh, no, it's not weird, we're just super close like that!”, type of thing. you've gotten used to it; him holding your hand in public, kissing your forehead, cuddling you 24/7, hugging you every time he sees you in the school hallways, ect.

best friend! satoru who doesn't deny it when people ask if you're a couple. and when you scold him later on, ranting about how now everyone is gonna get the ‘wrong idea’, he just smirks and says: “you never know.”, before walking away, leaving you totally dumbfounded.

best friend! satoru who, behind your back, never shuts up about you. it's comical how everyone but you knows how totally head-over-heals he is for his best friend.

best friend! satoru who hates all of your exes and crushes. every time you even mention having even the tiniest hint of romantic feelings for anyone, he loses his mind. he always has something to say, whether it be about their appearance or personality, he's never short of insults when it comes to your romantic partners. but of course you play it off with a simple: “oh, he's just being overprotective! all best friends are.”. oh, you. clueless you.

best friend! satoru who decides one random tuesday morning in the middle of january that he's gotta man up and confess to you.. but how?

best friend! satoru who decides since valentine's day is coming up, he'll confess then! i mean, that's what the whole holiday is for, no?

best friend! satoru who didn't take into consideration how long it'd be till valentine's day and what could happen in that time- till you get a boyfriend.

best friend! satoru whose heart is crushed. he hates how seriously this is affecting him, and he hates even more how perfect your boyfriend is. kento nanami. of course you'd fall for him, he's a total gentleman, a personification of the perfect man.

best friend! satoru whose heart is even more crushed when you tell him he needs to take a few steps back. apparently, nanami said he's uncomfortable with how close you and satoru are, and you totally understand. so you tell him no more cuddling, no more sleepovers, no more 4am taco bell drives, no more forehead kisses, no more “what if” questions involving you two being in a romantic relationship.

best friend! satoru who you stop talking to as much, too occupied with your new life, leading to a falling out in your friendship.

exbest friend! satoru who figures he should throw out the love note he wrote and all the gifts he bought. but he just can't.

exbest friend! satoru who, even twenty years later, still can't rid of his feelings for you.

exbest friend! satoru who, while you're happily married to nanami, stays your clingy exbest friend; a distant, blurry memory that swims deep in the back of your mind, though you can't be bothered to give it or him a second thought. even now, as a grown man, he looks through all the things he was supposed to give you that valentine's day. he rereads the love letter like somehow that'll make everything go the way he wanted it to.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Omg, I read and reread your fitness influencer x chubby cooking influencer like five or six times already! Would you consider writing more parts to it, please?

Omg i would love to, lemme cook for a sec sksksk

CW: chubby fem cooking influencer reader x fitness influencer fave, fluff, smut, mentions of internet trolls being mean, not proofread i am sorry sksksk

So, chubby cooking influencer reader and fitness influencer

A match made in heaven tbh sksksk

But it's very normal at first! Like i said in my original post, reader and fitness influencer (i.e. your fave) just start the relationship with simple conversation

Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, interests, you chat about it all on social media!

His instagram has a lot of tagged photos of your recipes that he tries, as well as photos of him at the gym

His youtube is mostly vlogs of his days as an influencer and workouts and all that

He's always very good about tagging you, even if he just mentions your channel in passing, he's tagging you in the description AND comments

And you always thank him in his dms for tagging you

He starts expecting it now, seeing your notification and it brightens his day

He plays it cool tho, always thanking you in return and asking how your day is going

Which of course leads to conversations about other things (what did you do today, what did you eat, what are you up to)

He likes you, he really likes you

But he tries to be suave, just being nice at first, but he's always thinking of you tbh

At the gym, at home, when he's eating, in the shower, in bed 😏

He ends up jerking off to you quite a bit, though he won't admit it, he's too shy for that sksksk

He does ask about the general area you live in and gets excited when he finds out how close you are

Takes a lot of guts but he ends up asking you on a date, offering to pay for a nice meal and a movie if you want

Does a fist bump and jump when you accept sksksk

He dresses nice for your date, opting to wear dress pants and a tight button up shirt to show off his muscles

BUT YOU?? OMG YOU LOOK SO CUTE

You've got on a yellow sundress with flowers and white heels and a sun hat and he is just UGH so obsessed with you

Date goes well. He's happy to see you eating freely and without a care about how he may think, plus you get dessert and you lick cream off your lips and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and calm himself down bc he got a boner 😔

Before the date ends, he asks you if you two can do this again, and you turn bashful

"You really want to hang out with me again??" you ask with big doe eyes

"Of course I do. I wanna date you, Y/N. And fuck you the way you deserve"

....is what he wishes he said sksksk

But instead he just nods, screaming inside bc you are honestly just so precious

You go on a second date, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth and honestly he is getting a little frustrated bc you have not even tried to hold his hand yet

He tried making the first move, but you're always just out of reach, just a little too far away from him to do anything

He agonizes over it a little bit, asking his gym bros what he should do

"Maybe she's just not into you dude"

"Just grab her and kiss her dude"

"I don't know man, i like men, not women"

They're no help tbh sksksk

He just decides to ask you on your next date and figure out why you won't initiate things with him

When he asks you, your eyes go wide and he thinks that if you could blush, your whole body would turn red

"What?! This whole time we've been going on dates?! I thought you just liked food as much as me and wanted to share it!"

He feels like he's gonna bang his head against a wall sksksk

TO BE FAIR! When he asks you out, he always refers to it as "hanging out" so you can't be blamed for getting confused

You decide to sit down with some ice cream and talk about how you both feel

He admits that he's been crushing on you for a while before you met and that he wanted to date you

You shyly admit that you find him very attractive but thought he was out of your league so you never considered that he could have feelings for you he's gonna crack his head open on the pavement omg sksksk

He reassures you that he genuinely likes you and is attracted to you and wants to have a romantic relationship with you

It's hard for you to believe, he's just so handsome and big and strong, is this real life or a dream??

You decide to let him prove it to you with more dates uwu

You start getting closer to him, letting him put his arm around around you, holding your hand

You're very anxious when he tries to kiss you, but once it happens it feels like fireworks are going off in your brain

You really like kissing him, just because he's always so gentle and he's so close and he's warm

You really, really like him 🥺

But don't worry sweet love, he likes you just as much if not more sksksk

He's so obsessed with you it's honestly kind of silly sksksk

He thinks about you all the time! And he wants to be with you all the time! He feels like he's gonna explode every time you show up to a date in a cute outfit!

He wants to make the relationship official and exclusive, so he asks to make a vlog with you

You agree! Not only do you think it would be good traction for your channel, but it would be nice to spend the day with him :)

You both bring your cameras on the day of the vlog!

You start by getting breakfast, showing off your coffees

He gets annoyed that you JUST have a coffee, but you swear it fills you up and he lets it slide as long as you eat a good lunch

Then you go to the gym together! You just hang out on the treadmill while he does his weight lifting

Tbh he's very distracted by your outfit, your leggings make your ass look so fucking good, and he would've been fucked if he didn't have a spotter

Then you go to lunch and you gush about the food and the restaurant and he's infatuated with you 💕

You turn the camera towards him and he's just got a lovesick look on his face

Then you go to a movie and then you go to his apartment for dinner!

You cook dinner together, making a meal that the both of you can enjoy, one that is nutritious AND delicious

You finish the vlog by showing off your finished plates and talking about what a fun day you had :)

You're ready to pack up your stuff and go home, but he asks if you'd like to stay and hang out a bit more

You oblige. You're dating now so it makes sense for yall to spend more time together

You decide to cuddle up and watch a movie, but 20 minutes in, you guys are making out on his couch sksksk

Things get hot and heavy pretty quick, and now his hand is going up your shirt and he's squeezing your waist and you start getting shy 😔

Does he really want you? Is he really interested in you? Is he sure that he wants you and your body?

But then your leg moves and rubs against his crotch and good lordy you can feel his boner 😳

Ok, goodbye insecurities, he's def into you and you're gonna get your man 😏

You go to the bedroom, undress, and oh boy he is enamored by you

Your breasts, your thighs, your BELLY?? You're gorg and he's obsessed

But he's not the only one drooling sksksk has he seen himself lately? He's sculpted like a god, you can't believe you scored a guy like him

AND NOT TO MENTION HIS COCK SKSKSK like that thing is long and thick, you're genuinely wondering if it's gonna fot

The two of you spend a good five minutes just staring at each other and complimenting each others' physiques

Eventually you get to the sex part sksksk but there's a lot of praise along the way

He's so cute the way he kisses down your body and spreads your legs and nuzzles into your mound

He's not too bad at giving head. You have to give him a little direction but he gets the hang of it and makes you cum

You admit that you're a little scared of sucking his dick so he doesn't make you, you just go to the main event

You're not sure if you should let him hit it raw but you're too impatient to let him get a condom, you're on birth control and you need that dick NOW

He slides in very easily, you are unbelievably wet and oh my god, if he doesn't focus then he'll cum so easily

He fits inside you so well, filling you up just right without any pain

It's such a good fit, his cock feels soooooo good inside you

And then he starts thrusting and all bets are off

The sex is so fucking good, oh my GOD

He just keeps hitting your sweet spots and rubbing your clit and oh god you're cumming already

Your cunt squeezes him so deliciously and you're so pretty and cute when you cum and holy fuck the noises you make are just sinful and he needs to slow down bc if he doesnt he's not gonna last long

He makes you cum three times before he pulls out and cums all over your tummy

Thinks you look so cute covered in his cum 🥴

He ends up cleaning you off with his tongue which just makes you needy again and you ask him oh so sweetly if he can fuck you one more time and whoops now his cock is hard again, guess he's gotta fuck you 🤷‍♀️

You guys go at it all night, eventually showering and going to bed around 4am

Of course you sleep over, ain't no way in hell he's letting you leave after all that

You sleep in together and when you wake up he makes you breakfast 🥺💕

He uploads his vlog after editing it the next day, and you upload yours

Your comments are very sweet at first, congratulating you on your new relationship with this other influencer

But then they turn mean :( people start to say that you're not good enough for him, why is he even with you, he should be with this other fitness influencer instead :(

He is pissed. His fans are attacking you on your page 😡

He makes a video the next day and posts it where he explains that he loves you and is happy with you and that until the hate comments stop, he will not be posting on his page

He helps you delete and mute and block and filter comments and users

He's very upset about this entire experience

"I guess you don't want to be with me anymore, huh?" you ask

He's offended and hurt!

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you saw what they said. Maybe you should be with someone better..."

"What are you talking about? I love you, Y/N. You're perfect for me and I don't want anyone else. Do you just not want to be with me?"

"No! I do! I just... worry that I'm not good enough for you..."

He grabs your hands and makes you look at him

"Y/N, you are perfect to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better. I love you and I want to be with you. Please don't let these trolls dictate your life."

You're still hurt by the comments, but your feelings for him overpower the negative things you're feeling

You keep dating, and as time goes on, you care less and less about the comments that were made about your relationship

You continue with your channel and vlogs with him and enjoy your life

You still get backlash every now and then from obsessed friends, but when that happens, you just turn your computer off and go on about your day

Negativity can really affect your life, but he's always there to cheer you up and fuck you stupid so you forget all those mean comments sksksk

You become the "it" couple in the fitness and cooking communities, everyone thinks you're so so cute together and such a good match, so fuck those online trolls! Your cooking besties and his gym bros love you two together and that's all that matters 💕

I imagine he proposes after a year of dating, not wanting to waste any more time without you

He proposes at your favorite restaurant, but you say no :(

To be fair, your reasons are justified. You guys have rarely had arguments, you haven't gone through many trials in your life, you don't even live together! How can you be sure that he's the one when you haven't truly struggled with him yet?

He understands, although he's diappointed 😔

On the bright side, you suggest moving in to an apartment together once your leases are up! And he's very happy about that :)

You guys adopt some kitty cats after you move in together! You adopt two kittens from the same litter and you love them so so much, they often appear in your vlogs and sometimes you do cat reviews like on cat trees and toys and stuff

He encourages you to go to the gym for health reasons, but he doesn't push it. He just wants you to take care of yourself so you can be around for as long as possible 💕

He's gained a little bit of pudge! He's still strong as hell, but he's got a little layer of fat over some of his muscles like his abs, he's just not as sculpted now

It's bc he can't resist your food sksksk

But you're still very attracted to him so he doesn't care so much

Overall, beautiful love story, match made in heaven 💕

[nereidprinc3ss]

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you. 

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better. 

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either. 

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.  

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.  

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring. 

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there. 

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?” 

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows. 

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?” 

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.” 

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside. 

“Nice, nice. What else?” 

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.” 

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening. 

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.” 

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself. 

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.” 

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.” 

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice. 

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.” 

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice. 

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.” 

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better. 

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.” 

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry. 

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.” 

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless. 

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.” 

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart. 

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.” 

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again. 

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle. 

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life. 

“Then I’m on my way.” 

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.  

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime. 

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.  

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?” 

You shake your head and gasp a small sob. 

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders. 

His hand smooths over the back of your hair. 

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.” 

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.  

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear. 

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.” 

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight. 

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?” 

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.” 

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.” 

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea. 

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave. 

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.  

At least, until he goes home. 

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up. 

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.  

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you. 

“That among other things.” 

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?” 

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does. 

“Okay.” 

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.  

“Thanks,” you murmur.  

His lips pull into a melancholy smile. 

“Anytime.” 

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.  

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close. 

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist. 

“I can’t do that, honey.” 

“Why not?” 

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently. 

“Because we’re not together anymore.” 

“Why not?” 

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is. 

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down. 

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.” 

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.” 

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke. 

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.” 

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again. 

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.” 

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales. 

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.” 

When he kisses you, it feels like home. 

[nishayuro]

How do you feel a little angst but fluff with both Stanely and Xeno. Both them and reader have been friends since childhood, before the petrification reader got really hurt or terminally ill. They don't revive them till after the truces with Senku, he tells them about the healing property of the revival fluid. They went to go find them who they place in a secure place, hoping to see the one other person they cared about. I'm a sucker of both of them, either loving them as a romantic parther (all three) or just love for a very close friend/family. :D

Dr Stone Being StanXeno’s Terminally Ill lover 

A/N: I am a sucker for this trope omg thank you for this. I reread the whole america arc to the end again just to remember the detailsss

Genre: Angst, Fluff

GN! Reader, Poly!Stanley x Xeno x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of cancer

(Dr.Stone manga spoilers ahead, but y’all have probably read it by now if y’all know who stanxeno are)

Date posted: 07/09/2024

Pre-Petrification: 

You met Stanley and Xeno in your elementary school, you three got along well and started being inseparable. 

You three grew up together, always being with each other and being present in each other’s achievements.

Whenever Xeno competed in contests, you and Stanley were there to support him. Whenever Stanley had a game, you and Xeno would be there to cheer on him. Whenever you had any performances, contests, or whatever you did, Stanley and Xeno would be there to support and cheer on you. 

Fast forward to your teenage years when you realised that you fell in love with not just one, but both of your best friends. 

Having the two just balanced each other out, it was impossible to not fall for them both.

Stanley and Xeno realised their feelings for you and each other after you attempted to date another person in order to get over them. 

That relationship made the two jealous, feeling as though your new partner stole you from them. They had more time alone together and fell for each other as well, but you were still the missing one in the equation.

When your partner ended up being a douchebag, they finally decided to confess their love for you at the same time, also confessing to each other. 

You three became a throuple since then. 

You three all reached your dream careers together, with Stanley becoming a Marine commander, Xeno a NASA Scientist, you a Biologist.

You and Xeno would comfort each other whenever Stanley gets deployed on dangerous missions. 

You and Stanley would often plan dates for the three of you whenever Xeno got too busy in his projects.

One day, you noticed a few symptoms, but decided to ignore them because you thought it was nothing serious. 

It wasn’t until you passed out and Xeno checked on you to realise that something was wrong.

They went with you to the doctor, and when you found out that you had cancer, it was as if your whole world crashed. 

Stanley and Xeno were no better, Stanley asked to be exempted from deployment for a while. Xeno then began doing extensive research to help you. 

It got to the point where you were confined and basically lived in the hospital.

Stanley and Xeno were always there with you, giving you words of security. 

You knew how much this hurts for the both of them, seeing you losing your life to your illness.

The day of the DARPA expo, both of them were called into work, leaving you alone at the hospital. 

You noticed a green light from your window, and the next thing you realised was you couldn't move. You thought you died then and there, mentally saying sorry and goodbye to the two loves of your life before your consciousness faded.

Meanwhile at the expo, when Stanley saw the green light, he immediately ordered everyone to get low and to not let their minds fade. 

During the 3,700 years, the two men thought about you a lot, how you were, where you are, or if they’ll ever see you and the other ever again. 

“Xeno…Y/N, I hope you both are alright…” Stanley thought as he busied his mind to not fade. He doesn’t know how long it's been, nor how long until he will be free again. Ever since the green light, he’s been thinking of ways to potentially get freed from his paralysis. His mind would sometimes wander to you, his last memory of you was when he and Xeno visited a day before the expo. You were getting weaker, he didn’t know how long you had left. If only he knew that that day could potentially be the last time he saw you, he would have stayed for longer. 

“7, 8, 9, 10. Y/N, Stan… I’ll find a way to get out of here and save you both. Y/N, even if it’s been over centuries, if there’s a chance of you still being alive, I’ll do all I can to cure you.” Xeno thought as he counted the seconds. That’s all he did, count to keep track of time and think of how he could survive in what will be a new era when he gets out. He’s recalling every piece of information he’s even known, forcing himself to never forget any. With all of the research wiped out, the knowledge will only live in his mind until he can write them down again. He’s keen on remembering the research for your cure, that could be his last hope.

Post-Petrification:

When Xeno woke up from his petrification, he immediately did things to ensure his survival as he waited for the other people to get freed. 

When Stanley and the others woke up, they immediately built a base and gathered all the resources to survive, slowly building up the American colony. 

It took years for them to go from the stone tools to the upgrades that would help them live more comfortably. 

Each hunt for food and resources, Stanley would scour the statues, hoping to maybe find yours. 

One night, Stanley asked Xeno how they’ll go about finding your statue, or if your statue is even intact. 

That was one of the few times Stanley got vulnerable, the last time was when your cancer got worse. 

Xeno then pulled out a map of all the possible locations, taking into consideration where you were, how many years it's been, how the topography changed, and all of that.

It was at times like this when Stanley was glad to have Xeno’s scary intelligence.

When they successfully made vehicles and aircrafts, they sent out the squad to go look for you which was led by Stanley, they took a few weeks to retrieve you. 

“Alright, this is location no.10. Let’s go.” Stanley commanded, each of his people looked at each statue closely, looking for you. Stanley himself meticulously looked around for you, it was hard to remain calm when he was so desperate to find you. He was anxious, didn’t know what state he’d find you in, or if you could be revived.  “Commander! Take a look!” one of them shouted, alerting him. He rushed towards her and looked down at the hole. His eyes widened when he realised it really was you. “Y/N… we finally found you.” He spoke. 

He dug the dirt more to reveal that your statue was in pieces. His heart sank at the realisation that you can’t wake up on your own, that you were gone for good. He still decided to gather all pieces of you, in case Xeno would be able to magically heal you. He was silent the whole ride back to the base, his crew has never seen him this depressed. They knew him as a resilient commander who was afraid of almost nothing. When he got back, he brought your statue directly to Xeno.

“I’m back, I found Y/N.” Stanley stated, entering the lab. “Welcome back, how are they-” Xeno stopped as he saw the way Stanley looked, it was a negative look. “Their statue is in pieces… I… how will they revive…” Stanley sat, emotions pooling, tears threatening to leave his eyes. “I…” for once, Xeno was at a loss for words. His mind couldn’t think straight.  He expected this outcome, but a part of him hoped that a miracle could have happened and kept your stone body safe. Xeno went to hug Stanley as they sobbed together for the loss of their lover. They decided to keep your statue somewhere safe, arranged and put you back into your form. This was their last way of having something to remember you by. When days get tough, they’d visit your statue and just talk as if you were really still there.

When Senku and the Kingdom of Science fought against the American colony and kidnapped Xeno, Stanley was furious. He already lost you, he couldn’t afford to lose Xeno as well. 

The whole chase happened, and in order to defeat Stanley, they had to petrify the whole globe again. 

After the 7 years of Petrification, Suika was able to revive Senku who in turn revived the others and Xeno, forming a truce with him. 

When Senku told Xeno about the healing properties of the revival fluid, as well as how they revived a lot of the statues that Tsukasa smashed, Xeno was amazed. 

He realised that you had another chance at life. 

“Hello, sorry for the intrusion. Yuzuriha, correct?” Xeno walked into Yuzuriha’s tent where she was making cloth. “Oh, Xeno. Can I help you with anything?” Yuzuriha answered. “Yes, actually. Senku told me that you were able to piece back together smashed statues and were able to revive them, is that correct?” Xeno asked, eyeing the woman. “Oh, yes. I spent a lot of time glueing pieces back together before. Why is that?” She asked, curious as to where this is going. “I have a job for you, if you wouldn’t mind. Follow me.” Xeno said, leading the way with Yuzuriha following after. 

He brought her to where you were kept. He was glad to find out that nothing much changed in the 7 years that passed. “Oh, a broken statue?” Yuzuriha asked, kneeling down to inspect the pieces. They weren't as bad as the ones broken by Tsukasa, yours was much easier. “Yes, they were someone very special to both Stan and I.” Xeno answered, looking at your stone face. 

Yuzuriha looked back at Xeno and saw the soft gaze he held. “So, you want me to put them back together and get Senku to revive them?” She asked. “Just put back together for now. I think Stanley would like to be here when they get revived.” Xeno answered. “Ok, you can count on me, Xeno!” Yuzuriha cheered, running to get her supplies. It took her no less than 2 hours to get you all pieced back together. 

Xeno felt alone, despite having everyone around him, the two people he cherished were still in stone. He could revive you, but he’d want Stanley to witness it as well, he knew how much pain Stanley kept when he thought you were unrevivable. So he waited for an opportunity, maybe in the soon future, to negotiate Stanley’s revival and then yours. 

When the astronaut selection happened, they decided to revive Stanley. Bringing the idea to Xeno, his eyes widened and he turned around, not wanting the others to see his emotional state. “If we’re reviving Stanley, may I ask for another one to get revived?” Xeno asked after the agreement, to which Senku agreed after learning that it wasn’t someone harmful and it was someone who could be useful. 

When Stanley got revived, his only thought was that it was an important mission, and he was assigned to pilot the manned rocket. When that was set, he and Xeno were left alone. “Stan… let’s go see Y/N’s statue.” Xeno said, to which Stanley immediately agreed to. Part of him hoped that he’d see you in the flesh, but he was also scared to hope. When they got there, Stanley was surprised to see that your statue was intact and dressed, the lines the only evidence of the shatter. “That petrification device is one of a kind, you know. Its mysterious science is quite elegant. Who knew that the reason for humanity’s collapse can also be the cure we’ve looked for.” Xeno said, looking at you. 

“Wait… you mean…?” Stanley stuttered, eyes wide looking at Xeno. “See for yourself.” Xeno said, handing him a bottle which the other assumed to be revival fluid. Stanley slowly uncapped the bottle and poured the liquid over you. Soon enough, your stone cracked and revealed you, alive. “What… where am I… huh?” You spoke as you blinked, eyes getting used to the sudden light. “Y/N… you’re actually alive…” Stanley whispered, afraid that this was an illusion. “Stan…Xeno…” you muttered. Stanley immediately brought you into a hug, his emotions spilling out. He didn’t need to be stoic when it was only you three. 

“The petrification from the medusa has healing properties. Senku shared to me that it was able to revive one of their comrades after you had a run in with them. It also healed the injuries from the war.” Xeno shared, “what? What’s going on…?” you asked. “That’s a story to tell for later, what I’m trying to say is that due to the petrification’s healing properties, the cancer in your body is no more.” Xeno replied, shocking both Stanley and yourself. “Really?!” you exclaimed, getting up to hug Xeno. “I do feel more energised than before. That’s amazing!” You added.

They ended up bringing you to Xeno’s place, filling you in with what you’ve missed for the years you’ve been petrified, and what they’re up to now. You learned that Stanley was revived to be the pilot of the rocket, while that scared you, you had trust in Xeno and Stanley that they will make sure that this mission is successful.

“Everyone, this is Dr. L/N, one of the renowned biologists of the old world.” Xeno introduced you to the crew. “Great! We have a biologist to help out with the agricultural cultivation! I desire all the different kinds of plants!” The guy who’s name you learned was Ryusui shouted. You helped them cultivate crops and helped with the agriculture in the Kingdom. Partnering up with Francios and making the food more nutritious and more easy to obtain. 

It wasn’t a secret that Stanley, Xeno, and you had something going on, but it wasn’t announced either. The others would just see how the other two were so much more different when with you. You were the “light” of the three, making them trust the other two more. With you there, it feels as if the other two were tamer. That however was put to test when someone decided it would be a good idea to flirt with you despite your protest and obvious uncomfort. “Back off from our partner.” Stanley’s commanding voice boomed, “lest you want to become one of the testing dummies in an experiment I’m working on.” Xeno added. making the other person cower in fear, that was when they found out that you three were in fact official. 

When everything was settled and humanity was slowly rising back up and with the legal rules of old age gone, the three of you decided to get married and live as how you’ve wanted to in your old lives. You thought that your life back in the old days would end easily, with you succumbing to your illness and leaving behind your two lovers, but thanks to the phenomenon, you were able to restart and live a new life with the two loves of your life. 

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[httpsdana]

hey love x

can you write something about reader not feeling like anybody cares about her anymore like pau has been distant and her friends have been excluding her and stuff? just a lot of angst as im dealing with some friendship problems rn.

it’s okay if you don’t! love you and your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Mirrorball~Pau Cubarsi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: part 2?

It had been there for a while, that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t particularly one thing that made her feel like that. It was everything.

After her semester was over and she had a break for a few months, she expected herself to go out and enjoy herself. But now halfway through this vacation all she did was sit at home, away from everyone.

Not on purpose though, all she wanted to do was be around her loved ones. But it seemed like the feeling wasn’t mutual. Her friends, who had been there with her through her whole life, almost seem like a distant memory now.

All she sees is pictures of them all together, hangouts that are hidden from her, an invitation never sent her way.

And Pau. Oh Pau. He was always her person, even before they started dating, he was the only person who was with her all the way.

But something changed. The phone calls started getting shorter and the messages she sent were left with no replies. She didn’t understand what had happened. It was like he was slowly pulling away and she didn’t even have the courage to ask him about it, afraid she might lose him for good.

The day everything went down began like every other day. She always had that little glimpse of hope that she’d wake up to one of Pau’s ‘good morning’ messages, that were a part of her old routine, but again all that hope shattered when she stared at the picture of her and Pau on her lockscreen, no messages, nothing.

The picture now mocked her; how she kept all this foolish hope even after everyone made it clear they didn’t want her around anymore. But she didn’t want to believe it, not now.

She sat on her bed, the house quiet after her parents left for a while, something about a family funeral all the way across Spain.

Usually she loved some quiet, but now it was suffocating. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand, opening her messages app.

She hesitated before opening her friends’ group chat, the one that had been silent for a while, which made her realize that another one exists; one she wasn’t a part of.

Her fingers typed out the message, and before she could reread it, she hit send.

y/n Hey, does anyone maybe wanna go to the mall?

The message was left with no reply for about an hour, with most of the girls seeing it but not replying. She let out a sigh, the hole in her chest deepening as she once again felt invisible to everyone. The hope in her came back when one of the girls started typing.

Isabela I'll go if Gabriela goes

Her heart dropped once again as she read the message. She didn't wanna go for her, she wanted to go if Gabriela went.

Her phone buzzed once again, more messages from the group chat

Gabriela fine I'll go

y/n swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, forcing herself to type out a response.

y/n cool. let's meet there at 2

She dropped her phone on the bed, already regretting it, but she needed the air outside the house.

It was 2:30, they were late. She had been sitting there just scrolling through Instagram, seeing the recent pictures of Pau in training.

His carefree smile, how he didn't seem to focus on anything besides training, not even her.

“Sorry we're late, we had more important things before,” a voice said, making her look up at the two girls. Though her voice lacked any sign of guilt, y/n smiled and stood up.

“It's fine. where should we go first?” she asked, clutching her bag tighter.

“Isa?” Gabriela turned to the girl who thought for a second before answering.

“We should go to Zara. I've seen some things online that are perfect for tonight's party” she said, before Gabriela nudged her quickly.

y/n's smile faltered, before forcing it back again. Another party she wasn't invited to.

“Let's go,” she mumbled, though the girls had already started to make their way to the shop.

In the store, she felt like a ghost again. The girls were going through the shelves, suggesting clothes for each other, helping each other choose the perfect outfit for tonight.

“I think this color looks good on you” she tried joining the conversation, smiling at Isabela.

The girl gave her a look, before turning to her friend, making y/n's smile fade again.

“Gabriela? What do you think?” she asked, giving her a spin.

Gabriela inspected her dress for a second before shaking her head.

“No, I liked the one before better,” she said. Isabela nodded and went back to the changing room.

y/n opened the door of the house, dropping the keys on the nearby table and rushing to her room.

She thought a day out would make her feel better, but all she felt now was worse, and all she wanted to do was talk to Pau.

He was always the one to make her feel better, and she hoped, just slightly, that he'd answer her and listen to her.

She opened her phone, hesitantly typing a message to Pau before pressing send.

Hey Pau, I had a really bad day and I just wanna talk to you, please 

She stared at the message for what felt like an hour, just waiting for something. anything.

After about an hour, she opened her phone again, only for her to see that Pau had seen her message. no reply

That was the last straw. Tears welled up in her eyes quickly, and before she could stop them, they were already falling down her cheeks.

She just wanted to feel visible for someone. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t alone; that someone cared. Her family. Her friends. Pau.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[cherryrikis]

ONE LESS LONELY GIRL - 008 ! accidental but pretty intentional

PAIRING idols riki x fem reader

SYNOPSIS fans always point out the chemistry between you and riki, and it only continues to grow after you become mc’s together on music bank. but as your feelings rise, so does the tension. and people begin to notice, so you try not to let riki know how you feel. but unbeknownst to you, he feels entirely the same way.

authors note halfway point! i love this smau w my heart but i rlly wanna start a new one ☹️ this ep tho was so rushed bc i have hella hw uh oh

previous <> masterlist <> next

‘can we talk? meet me at the rooftop garden’

hanni reread out loud, constantly going over the text displayed on your phone as you stared blankly at danielle.

“what am i supposed to do?” you let out a groan, falling down to lay flat on the floor of the practice room.

“finish practice then meet him. duh. easy as that.” hyein replied as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

“yeah, no shit. but i mean, what am i supposed to say to him? we haven’t spoken in over a week since it happened. plus we have music bank tomorrow.” you mumble in response.

“then you have to figure it out before tomorrow.” danielle encouraged as she pulled you up off the floor. she straightened out a few loose strands of your hair, before cupping your cheeks. “come one. one more hour!”

65 minutes had passed, and you found yourself taking the stairs up to the rooftop. when you stepped out onto the concrete, riki was already sitting on a bench, waiting.

“riki?” you softly called out to get his attention. “hey y/n.” he smiled, before gesturing to the spot next to him.

“so.. what’s going on?” you asked, reaching out for his hand. riki gently intertwined your fingers as he turned to face you.

“i’m sorry. for everything. the cafe was my idea. we shouldn’t have gone somewhere public, and now i’ve dragged you into this whole controversy.” he let out all at once, running a hand through his hair.

his face was just as tired as yours, but his eyes remained puffier than ever. you noticed it as you examined his face when you first sat down. the dating scandal had a huge impact. clearly, the feeling was mutual.

“oh, my poor riki..” you pouted. “hey, it’s not your fault. i’m just as involved as you are. none of this is on you. if anything, it’s that barista’s fault for exposing us.” you grimaced as you thought back to her post.

“i guess youre right. yn, you always know how to make me feel better.” he joked, lightly nudging your shoulder.

“guess it’s my specialty. i wish we could go out again though.”

“next time. when you’re officially mine and we can tell the world, that’s when i’ll take you out to a nice restaurant.” riki smiled widely.

“can’t take me out if your laces are untied.” you chuckled, gesturing to his sneakers.

“oh? i didn’t realize. i’ll tie it later.” he waved it off.

the two of you stayed up there for about two more hours, talking and catching up on everything you missed out on before, riki decided it was time to go back.

“let’s go? we can drive back together.” he suggested.

“i think we should go separately, just to be safe, since it’s not over yet. besides, i brought my car, so i cant leave it here.” you replied, feeling slightly guilty.

“yeah, no problem.” riki nodded, but you could tell he was still disappointed.

you stood up, walking towards the stairwell as riki followed from behind. you stepped about 20 paces before you felt yourself crashing down onto the concrete.

riki had ‘tripped’ over his shoelaces, before he ‘accidentally’ fell onto you. you felt him grip onto your waist before you both rolled over onto the floor, which just so happened to end up with his lips on top of yours.

you gently pushed him off with a groan due to the impact from the fall (and the uncomfortable position).

he let out a pathetic apology as you winced once he realized his left elbow was digging into your stomach. there was definitely going to be a bruise. or so you thought. but it was still quite painful.

“sorry.” riki said with a smug look. you squinted at him as you read his expression. he was sorry, for hurting you. not for kissing you.

you stared blankly at him, before standing back up, to grab your fallen belongings. “i’m just.. i have to go.” you muttered, not looking back at him as you hurried down the stairs.

he remained on the floor where you left him, thinking about whether he went too far or not.

TAGLIST (italics = couldnt be tagged) @hannicorpse @luvvhaerin @chaevibes @en-verse @ren2jay @choppedballoondetective @heartheejake @imanalien143 @istglevi-gotmesimping @yndairy @eleanorheartschishiya @lonelylandofan @gweoriz @jaemified @onlyhyunjin @softpia @frecklesbrownies @riksaes @wensurr @rikifordmiami @brideslit @ant-onie @yumilovesloona @aeminju @hoonics @catecita @clampclover @rei4sunoo @addictedtohobi @rikidaze @baekxo07 @xotyla @melancholy-z @rikisgeef @jung1w0n @tocupid @onlyseung @i03jae @iheartshopping @istphanie @queenriki7 @academiq @1117promises @nctislifue @haechansbbg @rairaiblog @nabia-bia @pkjay @lixiebokie @hiekoo @r1kizerr @d-dilemma @kingofthekards @iilwji @hoonatic @woorcve @enhaz1

[pearlywritings]

A slip of the tongue

synopsis: as smart as Alhaitham is, sometimes he blurts out things without thinking twice. It's good, however, that your husband knows when an apology is due, even though it doesn't mean you (and your friend) won't come up with something to pay him back with~

pairing and characters: Alhaitham x fem!reader

tw: established relationship (marriage), little hurt/instant comfort, a bit suggestive, Kaveh is lowkey couple's marriage counselor

word count: 3.7k+ words

a/n: wow, finally releasing this one out of the basement!

Here is the second part btw

Your cheek starts hurting from how long the knuckles of your fist have been digging into it. Fingertips drum on your knee, as legs stay crossed and stare fixed on the figure before you, sitting on the chair across the table and not taking the eyes off of the book pages. The most infuriating part of it? The figure is talking.

"...and so you should be prepared for Rajkumar's endless questions. He might not have any relation to Haravatat or languages at all, but he has a bone to pick with me, so being my wife puts you in a position to attack. And you know how annoying it is to converse with an idiot."

Yeah, probably as much as hearing what you are already aware of. You love your husband, you truly do, but sometimes the urge to smack the back of his head and tell him to shut up is too tempting.

All you said was that you were a little nervous and mentioned that tomorrow is indeed one of the most important days for you. After all, you are going to defend your second thesis, one you spent years to complete and pass all sorts of verification, reviews and censorship. Having the Scribe as your husband had both its perks and drawbacks in the process - he could easily push your work forward to the necessary people in charge of all the mentioned above stages of approbation, but then the fact he was your spouse put a label on you for those who were aware, and it said “Needs to be examined more thoroughly”. Though come to think of it, it’s pretty illogical.

Fortunately you never had troubles with that - after all your brain was in place, and both topics of your first and now current papers were innovative. Moreso, many of your Haravatat professors agree on your academic success and some of them expressed their hope to see you in the role of their colleague in the future.

But it’s for the future. First you need to become the Dastur, and for that you need to defend your thesis in the present. You have absolutely everything ready, no one knows your topic better than you are (maybe only Alhaitham can come close, since he read and reread it multiple times, helping with editing and providing impartial perspective), and years at the Akademyia taught you how to withstand the piercing eyes and prickling words of the jury. You will be fine.

Or you thought so, before just one phrase of yours started this whole exchange that is now happening in your kitchen.

“...and remember the part in the third chapter we discussed with you. This will be the one they’ll claw at, since it’s a turning point in a whole theory and I heard some of them already criticizing it,” the male hums, turning another page, eyes scanning the words written on a yellowed from time piece of paper. This seems the last comment of his, as he falls silent, reaching for the cup of coffee you’ve made him - in the process of which you were short-sighted to voice your concern.

When a minute passes and you do not answer anyhow to any of the valuable advice he’s just given you, Alhaitham lowers his book and stares at you. You keep drumming your fingers on your knee, eyes boring into him and almost unblinking, and it’s not hard for such an observant man to notice a barely-veiled displeasure in your tired eyes and a scowl.

"You know you could've just said you are worried about tomorrow too, and leave it at that?"

Alhaitham blinks, hand frozen in the middle of lowering the mug back on the table. He is holding your gaze and you can practically see the thoughts running through his mind, he is clearly contemplating how to answer your bold statement.

“Why would I be worried?” He finally answers with a question on your own, putting the mug on the flat surface. “It’s just a thesis defense, and if you get rid of your nervousness you’ll see that you already have the Dastur title in your pocket. Tomorrow is just a formality for you.”

“So you are not coming to watch me tomorrow?” Your scowl and frown deepens, fingers stopping abusing your knee and curling in a fist instead. Your husband sighs, marking the page with a bookmark you’ve made for him and closing the volume he’s been on for the past week. Then his captivating eyes are back on you.

“Scribe isn’t required to attend. Besides-”

“Yeah, yeah, you know my work enough to not hear anything new in my presentation,” you interrupt him and he can clearly hear rising anger in your voice that wasn’t there before. It actually manages to shut him up. “As my husband, as my support, are you going to come?”

The man feels a twinge of guilt in his heart. He always prided himself of his intelligence and attentiveness, yet just now he failed to assume what exactly you expected of his presence. Of course he’d want to give you a peace of mind by being there, but it seems he is too used to uttering the same phrase every single time someone asks him to come, that it was out faster than he had a moment to think it over properly.

He sees a bit too late how your face drops when he doesn’t give you an answer immediately - it looks like his pause appeared to be hesitance to you. He slightly panics when you lower your gaze and move to uncross your legs to stand up, having an almost iron grip on the back of the chair.

“Wait- Dear, I will come,” at that your eyes flicker at him, with doubt on display in your beautiful orbs. “I promise, I’ll be there.”

“I thought you didn’t like to be around idiots the whole day,” you huff, crossing your arms, reminding him of how unflattering his words towards some of his colleagues were. You do not mean to act childish, but tomorrow is really important to you, and obviously you’d want to have your husband be there to share it with you.

Alhaitham puts the book aside and stands up as well, rounding the table and coming closer to you. His fingers deftly touch your elbow, and you will yourself not to jerk it, some annoyance still bubbling in your system.

“That is correct. However, you are not one of them,” he murmurs, caressing your arm. You huff again, but this time your posture is more relaxed. “Besides, all you need is to be confident, and if my presence can assure you that, then I’ll be more than happy to be there for you.”

You give him a long stare. Your drilling eyes to his bewitching ones, searching for the truth in the greenish depths, while he stands still, waiting patiently, expecting your verdict silently. It’s as your frown softens, he knows you’ve found what you’ve been looking for in this kind of staring contest.

“Oh Archons, Alhaitham…” You shake your head with a small smile and the man feels relief washing over him. You are no longer mad at him. At least, it seems so. That is definitely good. “We’ve been married for years and it still surprises me how you can be a jerk - affectionately - one moment, and a completely sweet guy another.”

“Maybe just as quick you are switching from fuming to forgiving,” his palms are warm as they slide up your arms, featherly resting on your shoulders. Your smile widens a little and you meet him in the middle when he leans to press his forehead to yours.

“Yeah, yeah… But to your credit you were quick to fix your attitude, and as long as it’s sincere, I am grateful.”

“It is sincere,” he says with emphasis. “You know I am not the one to change my mind lightly.

Or rather realizing when an apology is due.

You hum, content with his answer. Yet, a mischievous glint finds its place in your eyes.

“Even though you are forgiven, I am still complaining to Kaveh about the mean and heartless husband of mine.”

“Of course you are,” he rolls his eyes, but you know it’s playful. He knows it too, and the shift in the mood is apparent, and he is thankful for its course to the positive destination. “I guess it’s deserved.”

“Don’t worry, he won’t be glaring at you murderously. Much.”

Alhaitham only sighs at your giggles. He could care less of what the blond architect would say about him, so he’ll survive some annoyed buzzing from the senior, and if the little exchange which is about to occur makes you happy - he doesn’t mind. Plus it will be good for you to take your mind off of tomorrow.

“I’ll trust you on that,” he finally says, slowly leaning back. You smile, patting the back of his hand still resting on your shoulder in reassurance. With a promise to collect you from your ‘girlish talk’ (you swat his shoulder at that) in a couple of hours, your husband helps you to make a new pot of tea. It’s quite ironic that this one is gonna be emptied while he’s the main focus of the conversation.

Minutes later, when you leave the kitchen with a tray, Alhaitham can faintly hear the knocks on the other end of the house, and the door opening not a minute later, the voice of the man you two have been housing for months coming clear and concerned. Kaveh remained your friend even when he and Alhaitham got in a horrible fight over their beliefs and you were partially the reason why the Haravatat graduate was convinced to let the blonde stay. Though loud, flamboyant and snarky, there is some perks of having him around - even if the architect always complains how he didn’t sign up to be a marriage counselor, he’s never let you or your husband be in a conflict for long (fortunately it happened really rarely), being your shoulder to tear up on or begrudgingly becoming an ear to be talked of by the other man and the foot that would kick Alhaitham into action or the hand that would gently nudge you in the right direction.

Or, just like tonight, simply be ‘your girl’ to chat with.

Alhaitham, as promised, lets you be for a couple of hours, meanwhile busying himself with his book. To outsiders this scene may appear weird and paint the Scribe in an awful light as a husband - but it is just like that with this man. And the strange dynamic the three of you have while staying under one roof: a wife, a husband and their… loquacious canary-like-therapist.

Only when it’s close to the time you usually go to sleep, does he also end up before the door of Kaveh’s temporary room, and firmly knocks three times.

“What?” Unsurprisingly it's the blonde’s voice, and by the tone of it he is pissed. The ash-haired male chooses to ignore him.

“Darling, let’s go to bed,” he calls for you softly. 

Alhaitham hears shuffling and muffled curses the architect surely prepared for him and some short, but incomprehensible conversation happening between you two. Not a moment later though, the door opens revealing your face, and your husband can’t help but feel extra weight lifted off his shoulders. No line reappeared between your eyebrows, no pout and no distress is written on your face. Quite the contrary, when your eyes meet, you give him the same warm smile you graced him with back in the kitchen.

“Sure, let’s go. It’s quite late already and we need to wake up early tomorrow,” you hum, exiting the room. Through the gap Alhaitham spots Kaveh sitting over some blueprints with two mugs on the table and a chair placed on the opposite side of the fine piece of furniture. When the architect lifts his eyes to glare at him, the Scribe slams the door closed. To your bedroom you returned with arms linked.

The silence of your shared space is comforting and is only disturbed by your light steps and rustle of changed clothes. The Scribe glances at you every two minutes, still a tiny bit concerned about that animatic exchange you had back in the kitchen.

“You know I will come, right?” The man suddenly asks you, as you’re fluffing the pillows. Your eyes slightly widen for a brief moment, so quickly that he almost misses it, but then they soften again as you chuckle.

“Yes, I know, dear. Sorry I reacted the way I did initially. It seems I really was pent up after all.”

“I could tell. You looked like you could bite my head o- ow!” He gasps when you throw your pillow into his face, which he catches at the last second.

“Oh, shut it, or I might get mad again,” but there is no anger in your eyes, only hardly veiled mischief. He drops your weapon of choice back onto bed and raises his hands in defense.

“Okay, okay, point taken. Any way I can make it up to you?”

At that your eyes strangely glint, and the scholar can’t place his finger on what exactly feels off about it. But it does.

“Actually you can. I’d like you to wake me up when you do, and let me use the shower first.”

And that’s it? Well, odd, but not disturbingly odd. Surely you wouldn’t go as far as to play some pranks on him by mixing something in his shampoo - you are way too intelligent for that. Also not one for revenge. 

“Of course. I will wake you when I do so myself, and let you use the bathroom first.”

Even if the mornings are not Alhaitham’s forte, he still opens his eyes disgustingly early, so sleeping for a bit more while you are at your morning routine sounds nice. Not as nice as doing it with you in his arms, but still quite nice.

“Thank you, dear. Now, if you are going to read-”

“Not tonight. You need sleep,” to that you smile warmly, crawling under the blankets, which he is quick to follow. You do not deny his embrace, and willingly scoot closer, extending an arm to put around his waist, as he does the same. Nor you turn away from a kiss he places on your forehead, pecking his chin in response.

“Good night, Alhaitham.”

“Good night, Y/n.”

True to his word, your husband pulls you out of the dreamland just moments later after exiting it himself. Cerulean eyes drink in your sleepy face contorting in displeasure, arms reaching over your head, and body arching in a morning stretch. He can’t help himself, leaning close and pressing a kiss just above the hem of your chemise, relishing the feeling of your heart thumping against his lips. You yawn, reaching a hand into his hair, but your breath hitches, when his mouth is suddenly on your throat, peppering it with soft pecks.

“Mmm… If you are trying to make up for yesterday you are a bit late,” your groggy voice is so adorable to the man. With you he tends to forget how to rationalize things. Yesterday was one of the times when his ‘Alhaitham for anyone else but his wife’ slipped into his interaction with you, the behavior he’s been trying for years to suppress when it comes to you. Now he knows he should’ve acted differently, and regrets his unique way of trying to give you reassurance. If only he-

“Are you overthinking again?” 

Your question makes him emerge back to reality. Eyes meet, and his heart skips a beat when you smile at him. Archons, you are beautiful.

“You know I am joking? Yesterday was yesterday, and you are already making it up to me, right?”

Words can’t describe how much he loves you, and at this moment he feels like he’ll never be able to express it fully.

“Right. Shower is all yours. Also,” he leans in again, placing a kiss on the corner of your mouth, “good morning.”

Your smile gets wider and you wrap your arms around his frame to kiss his cheek.

“Morning, Haitham.”

With you gone to the shower, the man buries himself in your pillow, inhaling the lingering scent. Sometimes he thinks he doesn’t deserve you. Your husband is intelligent enough to evaluate his own deeds and behavior, so he knows he is far from perfect to be someone’s partner. Yet, here you are, loving and accepting all his flaws - not without some complaint, but you are trying.

He might come off as arrogant to some people, but in arguments with you, he can tell when it’s his fault and not blame you for giving him a cold shoulder and requesting some space. He might look like he doesn’t care, but he cares for you, for your well-being, for your likes and dislikes, for your opinion, carefully storing all this valuable information in his brain, to show how much you mean to him. He is aware he has a long road ahead of him to get rid of all of his annoying conversing habits, but he is willing to keep trying for you. He seems to not show gratitude to anyone, but he is so grateful that you remain by his side, going as far as telling him you are proud to be his wife.

He wants you to know that it’s mutual.

That being said, Alhaitham is a smart man, but when he himself exits the bathroom after his shower time, his brain is reduced to just one thought.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

His gaze is chained to your pretty fingers, rolling the long, dark green stocking up your left leg. His throat bobs, when the elastic hem of it snaps against your skin, squeezing the flesh of your thigh a little. Then you take the second one, elegantly lifting the other leg and repeating the taunting process, but this time he is here to watch it from the beginning to the very end.

You happily hum, observing your work, and, satisfied, get on your feet, adjusting the band of your panties a little. Archons, you are wearing a matching set of the richest green shade. Lace leaves little to imagination, as his eyes flicker up to your chest, noting the pretty, natural swell of it and the outline of your nipples, and then down, as you turn around and bend to grab the shirt from the bed, demonstrating to him your ass and thighs.

His hand almost reaches out to touch you, to get a hold of the round globe, to sink his lithe fingers in your flesh. After all, your husband is not above earthly pleasures.

But your voice snaps him out of it.

"My love, if you keep standing like this in the middle of the room with just a towel on and no intention to dress, you might be late for breakfast," you chide him not even turning around and throw on the shirt, hiding the bra and some of the lower half, yet still leaving a bit of an appetizing view for an eye.

Alhaitham wills himself to tear the almost burning gaze away from you and redirect it to his own clothes, already prepared and neatly hanging on a chair. You mischievously smile as he takes a step to move past your figure. He's kept alarmingly silent and you are dying to know what reaction he has for your little plan. 

The man has just a second to react when you abruptly turn around and stumble into him. Big palms instantly grab your hips to steady you against his chest, and the heart quickens at the feeling of soft lace under his fingertips, peeking from beneath the hem of the shirt he accidentally crumpled in the process. Your hands on his chest are so warm, put out just in time to catch yourself, and Alhaitham finds himself thinking of how would've it felt if your chests collided - maybe the thin material of the only layer of clothes you have on paired with some flimsy bra would not make any difference from direct skin to skin contact?

"Ah, sorry, 'haithy," you sheepishly smile up at him, eyes soft and staring innocently, "Are you alright? I haven't heard you speak ever since you left for the shower…"

Archons, please, don't let his voice betray him.

"I'm," he quickly clears his throat, "alright. Was just about to start dressing."

You hum, pushing onto his pectorals to move away and continue with your own - though slightly changed - routine, but strong fingers flex, keeping you in place by the sheer hold on your hips. You look at him inquiringly, ignoring how the very tips of his thumbs just barely slip under the thin material of your panties to caress your hip bones. It's almost an absentminded action.

"What's with this lingerie?" He finally drops the question swirling on his tongue ever since he first laid his eyes on the tantalizing sight. It's hard to hold back a smirk - you admit you were a bit doubtful if it'd actually grab your husband's attention. Who knew the stoic man was into it…

"Oh, this?" Nonchalantly you tug on the collar of your shirt and Alhaitham sharply inhales upon catching a glimpse of your barely covered breast again. "Do not worry, habibi, it is not to seduce you," he is not that sure about it. 

Taking his hands in yours, you pry them off of your body and put them back to his sides, gracing his waist just above the towel with your touch. He shivers.

"I know it's different from what I usually wear, especially to work," you admit, turning around again, to grab the robes of the Akademyia's scholar. "But I really-really loved this one I purchased a couple of weeks ago on that outing with the girls. I feel so beautiful in it," fuck, you are. "And today is a special day. Want to have some confidence, you know?"

And as the rest of your body disappears under the long article of clothing, Alhaitham is finally aware of what this whole thing is about.

It's going to be an agonizingly endless day, where the only thing he can do is watch.