Someone requested this but I lost the message. I hope this is what you were looking for! :(
Sorry it’s short! My brain was strugglingg
▷ No one outright says it, but there’s an unspoken understanding that this is the ONE time of year they actually try to make the house look… nice. Lights get strung, decorations suddenly appear, and somehow the living room is slightly more organized than usual. It is by no mean perfect, but the effort is visible.
▷ You all do a secret santa. Gifts are chaotic, last minute, or super thoughtful, but that’s part of the fun. The only real “rule” is a budget but that’s it.
▷ You’ve learned over the years Tanner’s gifts are absurd, almost useless, but always hilarious
Isaac’s gifts tend to be more practical but personal. They’re useful items that still feel thoughtful.
Nick leans more sentimental, referencing shared jokes, conversations, and memories.
Larry’s gifts are definitely silly but still functional. Like a goofy mug or ugly socks.
Your gifts are a perfect mix of every element, it all depends on who the recipient is.
▷ Late-night drives to look at Christmas lights become a weekly tradition. Shotgun is almost always yours if you want it. Nick almost always drives. Everyone else piles in the back with blankets, snacks, and arguments about which house is better.
▷ Target runs for “one thing” turn into multi-hour adventures. Somehow, everyone comes home with at least three unnecessary holiday items. A novelty snow globe, a pack of festive socks, or a questionable candle. You end up being pushed in the cart by Isaac because you’re too tired to walk.
▷ You all spend December nights watching the worst Christmas movies you can find. Everyone is sprawled across the couch, limbs tangled together. Someone inevitably falls asleep halfway through (usually you), while someone else provides loud, unnecessary commentary the entire time.
▷ Nick definitely uses the holiday season to his advantage. He’ll come home with matching pajamas for everyone, “for content.” He also manages to haul an entire Christmas tree into the house at midnight. You groan but help decorate it anyway, anything for your friends
▷ Everyone has a stocking. You’re not really sure who bought them or where they even came from, but they’re perfect. Each stocking represents its owner perfectly.
Ted and the reader loooove starting projects but they never finish them. They have a whole closet of every phase and hobby they’ve tried together (sewing equipment, cook books, half done puzzles/lego sets… you name it, they’ve tried it)
STOP OMH I LOVE THIS !! THIS IS SO ME (my room is basically filled with unfinished hobbies, mainly art) 😭😭😭😭
Ted Nivison || Unfinished Hobbies (HC)
▷ Ted is the idea guy. He’ll burst into the room at 1:37 a.m. “Okay hear me out—pottery.” You’re already grabbing your wallet.
▷ You’re the logistics person. You research supplies, prices, tutorials… neither of you finishes the project, but the preparation stage is elite.
▷ Being completely honest you get distracted by the fun part of a hobby… Researching, buying supplies, planning… finishing is always optional.
▷ Ted starts calling every abandoned hobby a “soft launch.”
▷ You’re the voice of reason… sometimes. You try to finish things occasionally, but mostly you go along with Ted’s chaos.
▷ He’s very touchy while working on projects. leaning into you, resting his chin on your shoulder, absentmindedly holding your wrist while you work.
▷ You have at least three notebooks that are just “ideas for future things” with zero follow-through.
▷ Ted insists that starting a project is half the fun. “The end is overrated anyway.”
▷ You both get weirdly sentimental about unfinished things. “We can’t throw this away, this was during our bread era.”
▷ Without fail every project starts with Ted saying, “This one’s different. I can feel it.” It never is
▷ You catch him taking pictures of you concentrating. He says it’s “for memories,” but he keeps them in a favorites folder.
▷ You both once tried to make a “project schedule” for you two. It lasted one day.
▷ Ted gets genuinely excited when you pull something old out of the closet. “WAIT! we could actually finish this.” You never do, but the hope is nice.
▷ You encourage Ted when he’s frustrated, and he does the same for you
▷ Ted is shockingly confident at the start of every project and equally unbothered when it gets abandoned.
▷ You and ted have a shared Pinterest board full of hobbies you’ll probably never try.
▷ Even when things go completely wrong, he somehow makes it romantic
▷ “We may never finish this, but I definitely love doing it with you.”
Can you do an Isaac why x reader but the reader is one of the gc members and lives with all the guys, her and Isaac become friends with benefits and start sneaking around maybe they get caught maybe they don’t. I’ll leave it up to you how they first start hooking up, thank you! Have fun with it 💜
Ooooo wait I love this!! I ended up having yall get together at the end if that’s ok! Feel free to msg me). This is my first time writing any “spice” so everyone be nice plz 😭
Isaacwhy || Friends With Benefits
Living in the GC house was chaotic, loud, and frankly unpredictable, but it had become home. You loved being part of the into the late-night calls, pranks, inside jokes, the constant energy that buzzed through the halls, and everything in between.
And Isaac… he had always been close. He was easy to joke with, easy to talk to, someone you leaned on without thinking. Lately though, that closeness had started to shift. Every look, every brush of a hand, every laugh carried a weight neither of you had named.
It started small. Your knees brushing under the table, a hand lingering a second too long on the back of the couch, the tension was there. You both felt it, and it was impossible to ignore.
One night after the others had gone out to do who knows what, you found yourself curled up on the couch under a blanket. You scrolled through your phone, head resting against Isaac’s shoulder. Movie nights always ended like this: someone half-asleep on someone else, heads leaning together, legs thrown over laps. You’d stopped thinking twice about it long ago. But tonight, it felt different.
Your knee brushed his thigh, small and accidental. He didn’t move. Instead, his arm slid from the back of the couch around your shoulders, casual and easy but your heart jumped.
His other hand found yours under the blanket, thumb tracing circles over your skin. Your fingers twined instinctively with his
“Cold?” he murmured.
“A little,” you replied, barely aware of your racing pulse.
He pulled you closer, pressing his chest against yours. The movie faded into background noise. You could feel his heartbeat, steady but faster than usual, the tension in his jaw as he looked down at you. You tilted your head up. Bad idea.
He was already looking at you.
“Everything… okay?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Slowly his lips found yours, soft and tentative at first. But you kissed back, and it didn’t stay soft for long. His hands slid over your back and waist, pulling you flush against him.
Your lips parted instinctively, and he deepened the kiss, letting his hands explore your back, tangling in your hair.
A soft moan slipped past your lips when his hand slid lower, grazing the curve of your hip, drawing him closer. You ground slightly against him, the motion innocent but charged with need. Isaac’s grip tightened, and he whispered against your lips,
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this…”
“Me too.” you softly breathed.
You tilted your head, letting him kiss the side of your neck, leaving a trail of heat that made you arch into him. Your hands roamed his chest, feeling the hard muscles under his shirt, every movement igniting something fierce between you.
The kisses grew desperate, hungry, and the couch became your private world. Every brush of skin, every lingering touch, sent jolts of electricity through both of you. Your hands and his tangled together, pulling, exploring, testing boundaries that felt dangerously exciting.
Slowly, he slid your shirt over your head, tossing it aside. His hands lingered on your hips, memorizing every curve.
“You… you look even better than I imagined undressed… you’re… wow. So damn pretty. I can’t stop looking at you.”
It wasn’t careful anymore. No uncertainty. The couch, the movie, the quiet night they all disappeared. It was just you and him, pressed together, touching, tasting, the tension of months of stolen glances and quiet longing exploding into heat and hunger.
After that night, everything changed. Moments between you two cropped up everywhere, electric and unmissable. Leaning against the counter in the kitchen while grabbing snacks, hands brushing over hips. Quick kisses in the hallway when someone passed, hearts hammering as you scrambled apart. Leaning over him while he streamed, teasing touches beneath blankets when the camera wasn’t on. And the shower- the hot water, low moans, whispered praise, his hands memorizing every inch of you.
“God, you’re perfect,” he’d murmur, voice rough as he pressed you against the tiles. “I can’t get enough of you.”
You’d melt into him, letting yourself want him in ways you hadn’t admitted even to yourself. And you could see it in his eyes, too: the way he lingered a second too long when you brushed past, the soft smiles when your fingers touched, the quiet protective gestures he didn’t even realize he did.
The teasing escalated. One afternoon, you were perched on the counter grabbing a snack when he appeared behind you. His hand slid down your waist, pressing you to him lightly.
“You’re distracting,” he whispered in your ear.
You smirked. “Am I?”
He chuckled, brushing his lips against your neck. “Always.”
Sometimes, the near-misses made it worse like the time Tanner nearly walked in while you two were tangled on the couch under a blanket. You froze, him holding you protectively, hearts hammering until the footsteps faded. Or the hallway presses, walls keeping your bodies close while your hands roamed surreptitiously. Every stolen moment made the desire intensely grow. Every shared laugh and tease deepened the connection between the two of you.
It was a Thursday morning when the universe decided the secrecy was over. You had stayed over again, tangled in Isaac’s sheets, head on his chest. His arm draped over you, protective and warm. You were too comfortable to move, too safe to care.
Then CRASH!
“Yo! Isaac?” Nick’s voice shouted from the hallway, followed by Larry and Tanner.
Before you could react, the door swung open.
And there you were curled up in Isaac’s bed, hair messy, half-asleep, completely exposed.
Nick froze. “Uh… what the—”
Larry couldn’t help but, hands on his knees. “Dude… are you serious? She’s in your bed?”
Tanner leaned against the doorway, smirking. “Oh man… I cannot believe we just walked in on this.”
You bolted upright, fumbling with the sheets. “Shit! Don’t look!”
Isaac reacted instantly. He grabbed you and pulled you back down, rolling with you so his body turned fully between you and the doorway. His back blocked everything. Now all anyone could see was him.
Nick blinked, voice incredulous. “Wait… she’s… are you two-?”
Isaac didn’t even hesitate. He tightened his arm around you, pressing a firm hand against your hip, and said bluntly, “Yes. She’s mine.”
Larry laughed nervously. “Okay… Wow. Damn, dude. Didn’t expect that.”
Tanner shook his head without another word, still smirking.
You buried your face in Isaac’s chest, mortified. “Please… just leave…”
Isaac pressed a quick kiss to your temple. “Out. Now. Close the door,” he said, voice low, protective, and final.
It shut.
The room fell quiet.
Isaac stayed there for a second longer, hovering protectively until he was sure you were okay. Then he eased back just enough to give you space.
You swallowed, heart still racing, and slipped out from under his arm. “I—I should get dressed.”
You swung your legs over the side of the bed.
Isaac stiffened.
“Hey,” he said quickly.
You paused.
He reached out, fingers catching your wrist. Not rough, just sure. He hesitated, jaw tightening like he was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he sounded.
“Come back,” he said. Softer now. “Please.”
You looked at him.
He didn’t pull you down. Didn’t assume. He just watched you, hand still there, eyes searching your face.
“I’m not done… talking to you,” he added quietly. “And I don’t want you thinking you have to run.”
Something in his voice made your chest tighten.
You nodded and climbed back onto the bed. He shifted immediately, turning toward you, one arm settling around your back like it belonged there.
“You okay?” he asked.
You nodded. Then, after a beat, “I’m… yours?”
He went still.
For the first time since all this started, Isaac looked nervous. His thumb brushed once against your side, a small, unconscious movement. He exhaled.
“I want to be,” he said honestly. “If you want that. I don’t want to assume anything.”
He hesitated. “So… do you want to make this official?”
He waited.
“Yes,” you happily answered.
Relief washed over his face. He let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, forehead dropping gently to yours.
“Good,” he murmured. “Because I’ve wanted that for a long time.”
Hi! First of all, love your blog 🫶🏻 I saw your post about holiday fic requests... if it's not too much, could you do something fluff with Isaac and his family for the holidays? 👀 idc what format, ik it'll be good either way 💚
Uhm YES OF COURSE!!!! That’s not too much at all, I loooove this!!! I went more the fic route. I hope this is alright! Idk why I get like a struggled so hard writing this 😭💙
Isaacwhy || Christmas with his family
Snow fell softly as Isaac pulled into the driveway, the house ahead glowing with warm lights that spilled onto the snow like something out of a movie. Before he even turned the engine off, he reached over and gently took your hand, thumb brushing slow, reassuring circles over your knuckles.
“Hey,” he said quietly, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. “You okay?”
You nodded, even though your heart was fluttering. “Just a little nervous.”
He smiled soft and affectionate, the kind of smile he only ever gave you. “You don’t have to be. They’re already obsessed with you.” Then, a little more serious, “And I am too, so you’re completely stuck.”
That made you laugh, and he looked relieved. He leaned over the center console and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual, like he needed the moment to ground himself. He didn’t let go of your hand as you walked up the path, matching his pace to yours, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.
The porch light flicked on before you even opened the door.
“Oh my goodness, they’re here!” his mom’s voice carried through the cold, and the front door swung open before you’d made it halfway up the path.
She barely gave Isaac time to set the bags down before she hugged him, then turned immediately to you, pulling you into a warm, cinnamon-scented embrace that felt like it had been practiced for years. “You must be exhausted, sweetheart. Traveling on Christmas Eve? Come in, come in.”
Inside was instant warmth. The kind that wrapped around your chest and stayed there. The house smelled like sugar cookies and pine, soft music playing from somewhere down the hall. His dad appeared from the kitchen with a grin that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
“There they are,” he said. “How was the drive?”
“Long,” Isaac said, slipping an arm around your shoulders without even thinking about it. “But worth it.”
His dad noticed. He always noticed. His smile widened just a bit.
Coats were taken, bags carried upstairs before you could protest, and within minutes you had a mug of hot cocoa in your hands—made exactly how you liked it, marshmallows and all.
Then you noticed it. A stocking hung on the mantle, the same style as the rest of the family’s, with your name neatly written on it. You hadn’t expected it, and you froze for a second, taking it in.
His mom came over, noticing your wide-eyed stare. “I made it for you,” she said softly, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “You’re family, and I hope that’s okay.”
You blinked, touched. “It’s… perfect. Thank you.”
Isaac pretended not to look at your reaction but he clocked every second of it, a small, proud smile tugging at his lips.
The evening unfolded slowly, comfortably. You helped his mom finish decorating cookies at the kitchen counter while Isaac was stuck with his dad learning to carve the turkey. Every time he struggled, his dad sighed dramatically.
“Isaac! You’re going to kill somebody if you do it like that!” his dad exclaimed, holding the knife a little too carefully.
“I—no, I can handle it!” Isaac protested, trying to steady the knife.
You and his mom giggled from across the room, earning a wink from Isaac. His dad added with mock seriousness, “I’m just saying, if anyone dies tonight, it better not be me.”
Isaac groaned, muttering under his breath, while you laughed, sipping your cocoa. Somehow, despite the chaos, the moment was perfect. Isaac’s flustered expression, his dad’s dramatic commentary, and you quietly enjoying every second.
His siblings teased him less this year and decided you were fair game, too. You were officially upgraded from guest to target, in a loving, sibling-style way. They poked fun at both of you as a pair, and you laughed so hard your sides ached. Isaac muttered little protests under his breath, but his teasing smirk said he was enjoying it.
Dinner was cozy and loud, full of overlapping conversation, laughter, and gentle teasing. His parents shared stories of Isaac’s childhood—some embarrassing, some tender.
“You really lit the mailbox on fire?” you asked, trying not to laugh.
“It was an accident,” Isaac said defensively.
His dad shook his head. “He was very confident for someone holding matches.”
You laughed, and Isaac groaned, covering his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“I am,” you said sweetly. “Emotionally.”
He leaned over and whispered, “Traitor,” but his smile ruined the word.
After dinner, the family gathered around the tree for gifts. “You get first dibs,” Isaac’s mom said, handing you the first package. “You’re the guest of honor.”
As you opened them, you realized they’d all gotten you something thoughtful—Isaac’s dad gave you a cozy sweater he’d made sure matched your favorite color, his mom had given you a beautiful necklace, and his siblings each gave small, silly gifts that made you laugh out loud.
Isaac watched quietly, smiling softly as you reacted to each present, clearly happy to see you cherished by the people he loved most.
Later that night you curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, travel exhaustion finally settling in. Isaac adjusted it carefully around you, tucking the edge under your arm, his movements slow and thoughtful.
“You comfortable?” he asked quietly.
“Very.”
“Good.” He rested his arm around you, thumb brushing small, absent circles against your sleeve. “I wanted this to feel good for you. Being here.”
From across the room, his mom watched with a soft, knowing smile. “You two look perfect,” she said gently.
Isaac didn’t even pretend to joke this time. He just leaned his head slightly toward yours and said, “Yeah. We do.”
Later, as snow continued to fall outside and Christmas Eve settled into something calm and glowing, it felt unmistakably clear you weren’t just visiting his family.
Jschlatt and Reader are in denial, but it’s obvious to everyone else that they like each other. So, at a Christmas party, they plot to try and get the two under the mistletoe together.
But…Jschlatt and Reader are actively trying to avoid mistletoe at all costs, because they don’t want to ruin their friendship or whatever reason it is that they’re in denial.
You got it!! I hope you enjoy!
Jschlatt || Mistletoe and Other Things We Avoided
The Christmas party doesn’t start loud. It becomes loud.
It begins civil enough with coats piled by the door, low music, glasses clinking politely. But as the hours stretch on, the drinks get stronger, the playlists worse, and the laughter less controlled. Someone spills red wine on the rug and decides it “adds character.” Someone else is arguing passionately about whether Die Hard counts as a Christmas movie.
You’re nursing your second drink when you hear Ted laugh sharply, delighted, and already a little drunk before you hear him say your name. You don’t catch the rest, but you don’t need to. When you look over, he’s leaning toward Tucker, both of them angled just slightly away from Schlatt, who’s across the room pouring himself something to drink.
You already know what they’re talking about.
They always do this.
It’s not subtle anymore, the way you talk about Schlatt when he’s not there. How you complain about him with a fondness that gives you away. How you mention his name in stories where he doesn’t even matter. Ted’s called you out on it more than once.
And Schlatt—well, unbeknownst to you he does the same thing.
Your mind does a quick replay of something Tucker had said earlier rust night.
“He asked if you were coming,”
Ted and Tucker are watching you like gamblers with money on the table.
You take another sip and deliberately don’t look at Schlatt. Across the room, Schlatt clocks your avoidance immediately and mirrors it with the same practiced ease. Every time your paths threaten to cross, one of you detours. It’s unconscious, almost impressive, like you’ve been rehearsing this denial for years.
Mistletoe appears sometime after the third round. You notice it because Ted is suddenly far too invested in where people are standing. He pauses near doorways, redirects traffic, compliments decorations that weren’t there an hour ago.
You spot the first sprig hanging above the kitchen threshold and pivot so fast you nearly collide with Tucker.
“Oh sorry,” you say.
He grins. “All good. Kitchen’s overrated anyway.”
You glance back. Schlatt has noticed too. He stops mid-step, then casually turns around and pretends he forgot his drink.
Neither of you comment.
You don’t acknowledge the pattern forming, but everyone else does.
Ted downs his drink and claps his hands. “Alright. Last call. Anyone staying longer than ten minutes is sleeping on the couch.”
People start to peel off. Jackets are pulled on. Goodbyes stretch longer than necessary. The party thins until it’s mostly debris. Empty bottles, low music, and the stubborn few who don’t want the night to end.
That’s when Ted makes his move.
“Hey,” he says to you, lightly blocking your path. “Schlatt left his coat in the back room. Can you grab it? He’s… busy.”
You narrow your eyes. “Busy doing what?”
Ted smiles. “Ya know, existing.”
Before you can argue, Tucker appears behind you, gently steering you forward. “I’ll help clean. Go.”
The back room is quiet, dimly lit by a single lamp. Coats are draped over a chair, familiar ones you recognize. Schlatt’s jacket is unmistakable.
He’s already there, clearly looking for the coat neither of you actually forgot. When his eyes meet yours, you realize they played you both.
The door shuts behind you with a soft, final click.
Silence.
You both notice the mistletoe at the same time.
It hangs above the doorframe, deliberate and unavoidable. No laughter erupts outside. No one bursts in. The party has moved on without you.
Schlatt exhales through his nose. “They’re assholes.”
You smile despite yourself. “The worst.”
Neither of you moves to leave.
The alcohol hums pleasantly in your veins, loosening edges but not dulling awareness. You’re acutely conscious of how close he is, how quiet it’s gotten, how long this has been coming.
Schlatt shifts his weight. His voice is lower now, steady. “Hey. Just—before anything stupid happens.”
You look at him.
“We don’t have to,” he says. “If you don’t want to. I’m not… assuming anything.”
Something in your chest softens at that.
“I know,” you say. After a beat, fueled by the liquid courage, you add, “But I want to.”
His jaw tightens briefly, like he’s holding something back. Then he nods once. “Me too.”
He steps closer, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to change your mind.
You don’t.
The kiss is immediate but controlled. Warm, deep, intentional. His hand settles at your waist, softly grabbing, familiar in a way that makes your stomach flip. You respond without hesitation, fingers threading into his sweater while your other hand tangles in his hair, pulling him closer as if that’s exactly where you belong.
It’s not sloppy despite the drinks. It’s confident. Earned. Months of restraint finally giving way.
When you break apart, it’s with a quiet laugh, breath mingling.
“…Shit,” Schlatt murmurs, forehead resting against yours.
You softly smile, tongue seeming to trip over itself before you let out a simple “Yeah.”
Outside the room, someone whoops. Ted, probably.
Schlatt groans. “I’m gonna kill him.”
You laugh, “He’ll never let us forget this.”
He huffs a laugh, then sobers slightly. Looks at you properly.
“So,” he says, a little hesitant now, “would you wanna… go out sometime? Like—actually official. Not just this weird almost thing we’ve been doing.”
Your answer comes easily. “I’d like that.”
His grin is immediate, genuine, a little stunned. “Yeah? Okay. Good.”
When you step back into the main room hand in hand, Ted raises his glass in victory. Tucker bows theatrically.
Schlatt flips them off without moving from your side.
Outside, the cold air sobers you just enough to make the moment feel real. Schlatt reaches to squeeze your hand, leaning in, his voice low.
“Guess we were never fooling anyone.”
You smirk nudging his shoulder, “Except ourselves.”
hi!!! i was wondering if you could write something for tgc‼️‼️
are u able to write so the reader is in like a ltlvc or ylyl or something and the reader says “hey can i step away from the computer for a while im getting a really bad nose bleed” (in the group house) and isaac (or someone) kind of drops everything and helps them?
Awwww of course!!! I love this! I’ll do Isaac for this one but if you’d like to see it as a HC for everyone let me know! I made it like the reader and him are not quite official yet but there is clearly mutual feelings. If you’d like any changes lmk!
Bloody Nose || Isaacwhy
The video on the was already halfway through another completely unhinged meme edit, echoing through everyone’s laptops and PCs across the house. You were in your room, lights dim, curled up in your desk chair with the call open. Every one else was scattered in their own rooms doing the same. It was peak LTLVC energy: laughing until you couldn’t breathe, ongoing bits, and don’t forget the screaming.
Your eyes were starting to sting from staring too long, and your head felt a little heavy.
Something warm slid from your nostril down to your lip and onto your keyboard.
Blood.
“…Oh.” You muttered, wiping at your upper lip. You swallowed and quickly unmuted your mic.
“Hey, guys? Uh—can I step away for a minute? My nose is bleeding really bad.”
There was a flurry of surprised reactions through the call
“Are you serious?”
“Wait, from what?”
“Dude, are you okay?”
“Should we pause the video?”
But Isaac’s reaction cut sharply through the speakers.
“Wait, for real?”
You barely had time to say, “Yeah,” before you heard him move. Not just a chair scrape. This was fast, sudden, decisive.
“Hold on.”
You could hear him taking off his headphones roughly from your speakers: the thump of it hitting his desk, his door opening, and then his footsteps in the hallway.
“Okay, let me see,” he said immediately, opening your door and crossing the room to you without hesitation.
He kneeled beside your chair and gently tilted your chin forward with two careful fingers. Then looked at the droplets that covered your keyboard and desk.
“Oh sweetheart, that’s a lot of blood,” he murmured, voice soft but edged with panic he was trying to hide.
He placed the tissue box he has brought onto your desk. He tore out a thick stack before pressing it into your hands, guiding your fingers into the right position on the bridge of your nose.
“You didn’t have to run,” you mumbled , pinching the tissue tightly on your nose.
He huffed a shaky laugh, brushing a stray hair from your forehead.
“Yes, I did. You said you were bleeding.”
His thumb lingered on your cheekbone just a second too long for it to be platonic. He sat on the edge of your bed, close enough that his knee touched yours.
“You scared me,” he admitted softly. “Next time, don’t ask if you can step away. Just tell me, and I’ll come.”
You felt your face warm at the tenderness in his voice. Isaac looked at you, eyes softening when he noticed your blush.
“Hey,” he whispered, “keep your head forward. And keep your eyes on me, okay?”
Hi i saw you wanted to get back into writing some and wanted to request a schlatt imagine or hcs either are appreciated of reader who works taking care of elderly people like not a nurse but an assistant in a nursing home and basically just reader is stressed out or something happens and he comforts them -🐺 (if this emoji isnt taken can i be this?)
Awww of course!! And you can absolutely be that emoji 💙💙💙
“Let Me Take Care Of You” || Jschlatt
The moment you step inside your apartment, you collapse against the door, dropping your bag with a heavy thud. Your feet ache, your shoulders are stiff, and your brain is running in a loop of every little mistake, every argument with a resident, every time you felt like you weren’t enough today.
You hear the faint clatter of a can from the kitchen and then Schlatt’s voice, teasing but gentle. “Whoa, what happened to you?”
Already exhausted you couldn’t find the energy to respond. Noticing your silence he comes into view, leaning casually against the counter with his arms crossed.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
“It’s just… today was awful. Mrs. Kline fell again, Mr. Jensen screamed about his lunch, and I feel like I didn’t do anything right.”
Schlatt’s expression softens.
He promptly strides over, crouching so his face is level with yours. “Hey, hey. Stop. Look at me.”
You glance up reluctantly, and he reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You think that makes you a failure? No. It makes you human. You care so much, you burn yourself out. That’s not weakness, that’s… strength. It’s impressive.”
You shake your head, sniffling a little. “I just… I wish I could do more.”
“And you do more than most people ever could,” Schlatt insists, pulling you into his arms. You cling to him like it’s the safest place in the world. You feel his chin rest lightly on top of your head, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through his chest as he speaks.
“You’ve gotta stop beating yourself up, sweetheart. You spend your whole day taking care of everyone else. You think I don’t see how hard that is? You come home dead on your feet because you give people everything you’ve got.”
You press your face into his hoodie, mumbling against the fabric, “It just feels like it’s never enough.”
Schlatt leans back just enough to see your face, his thumb brushing the corner of your eye. “You being there is enough. You showing up, smiling at them, helping them feel safe. That’s what matters. Nobody else could do it like you do.”
Your eyes begin to sting from the quiet sincerity in his tone. He catches it immediately and smiles a little, soft and teasing, just enough to make your heart loosen. “Okay, okay, no tears. I can’t have you cryin’ on me or I’ll start cryin’ too, and then we’ll both be a mess.”
You laugh, sniffing as you swipe at your cheeks. “You? Cry? Yeah, right.”
He grins, eyes lighting up. “Hey, I can be sensitive. I teared up during that dog commercial last week, didn’t I?”
You can’t help but giggle, leaning back into him. “That was different. It was sad!”
“Exactly,” he says, voice semi serious. “And seeing you upset is worse than any sad dog commercial, so we’re stoppin’ the waterworks right here.”
Keeping an arm around your waist as he guides you toward the couch. “C’mere. I made something for dinner. It’s not fancy, but I figured you’d be starving.”
You blink, surprised, as he sets a plate in front of you — grilled cheese and tomato soup, simple and perfect. “You made this?”
Schlatt shrugs, a shy little smirk on his face. “Yeah, well… figured you’d need something warm and nice to eat. I guess it’s a good thing I did.”
The first bite is heaven, but it’s the quiet way he watches you — relaxed, patient, his hand resting on your knee. That’s what really fills you up.
After a few minutes, you set the bowl aside and lean into him again. “You know, I don’t think I tell you enough how much I appreciate you.”
Schlatt snorts softly, pressing a kiss into your hair. “You don’t have to. I can tell. You just bein’ here is enough for me.”
He pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over both of you, tugging you close until you’re half in his lap. “Now,” he says, his voice low and warm, “you’re gonna sit here, relax, and let me be the big softie I can be.”
After a while, you whisper, “Thank you… for tonight. For everything.”
Schlatt hums, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your hip. “You don’t have to thank me. I like takin’ care of you. Especially when you let me see this side of you—the tired, real you.”
You smile against his chest. “You make it easy to let my guard down.”
He laughs softly, brushing his lips against your hair. “Good. That’s all I want. You spend your days takin’ care of everybody else… I just want you to know you’ve got someone who’s always gonna take care of you too.”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you slide your hand up to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I love you,” you whisper, barely audible over the rain.
He freezes for a second—then his breath catches in a small, genuine laugh. “Yeah?”
You nod against him. “Yeah.”
His arm tightens around you, his voice quiet and certain. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
hi guys. my entire time of being on this app all i’ve seen is people complain that “all anyone writes is smut,” same plot, different foreplay, blah blah blah. but the thing is y’all don’t actually read angst or fluff.
I went through the tags. people are posting fluff. people are posting angst. either the tags are full of unrelated junk or those posts sit for days with 2 notes. maybe 160 if they are lucky. i’ve literally seen week old posts with three notes. y’all rotate between the same six writers and then complain everything feels the same. but when someone tries something different, nobody reads it, nobody reblogs, nobody interacts.
i know everyone says “notes don’t matter, write for yourself,” but if we are being honest, they do. interaction matters. it keeps people want to keep going.
this is coming from someone who does get a good amount of notes on their stuff, and i’m beyond grateful for every single one. i do my absolute best to keep my shit original and creative for the most part and i’ve said it before but if something gets three notes, i’m still thankful someone liked it. but when a post gets 20+ replies telling me they loved it? of course i fucking eat that shit up. hell it basically lights a fire under me and i will burn myself out writing 4+ pieces in a day when i usually take a week to two just to drop one chapter. that is what interaction does. it fuels people to keep creating new shit.
if we’re being real, y’all are not in as high of a demand for angst or fluff as you claim. most requests are for smut. if you want angst or fluff, ask for it, boost it, reblog it. even write it yourselves!! this space is supposed to be fun and full of creative minds but people keep falling into the trend of just doing whatever is popular at the moment and then if it doesn’t compare well to another persons fic + the interactions they got, it’s not enough.
