Dodgersnotebook - Into The Grey.

The way you can only hear Folio is amazing

help asdghshahhahah

when you sit there acting like you know me

frozen, rock, starlight + werewolf!Ruffilo pls ♡

This was thrown together in one sitting (in maybe fifteen or thirty minutes?), so there are bound to be typos. I'm trying not to linger, though, so I hope you can still enjoy it! Here's something cute and sweet. No content/trigger warnings for this, just a gender neutral reader and a very cute werewolf.

On most full moons, you would have joined Nicholas outside for his time as a wolf. Tonight, though, it was far too cold for anyone without a thick coat of fur to risk stepping outside of the toasty heat of your home. He wasn’t upset that you wouldn’t be joining him; he’d been the one to bring up how impractical it would be to have you freeze outside just to toss some sticks and watch him roll around in the grass. So you sat inside, next to the heater you’d had to pull out earlier than expected this year, wrapped in a blanket with a hot mug of cocoa in your hands.

It was hard to keep track of time like this without staring at the clock on your phone, and you found that tracking it so closely made it drag on further. You didn’t begrudge Nicholas his time as a wolf — you knew how much he loved the time in that other, simpler form — but you were a bit restless for him to return, especially given he had tromped off shortly after you’d grabbed his clothes from the frostbitten grass. You didn’t expect him to wander far, but Nicholas had surprised you before.

Eventually, though, you heard the thumps of big, heavy paws on your front porch. The wood creaked under the weight of a form that seemed too impossibly large to fit inside Nicholas’s slight frame, and you jumped to your feet, nearly falling on your face for the way your legs ended up tangled in your blanket. You tried to make it to the door before Nicholas could but clearly failed, given the thump-thump-thump of a large head against it.

“You’re going to break the door with your hard head,” you chastised when you opened the door, stepping outside to meet the wolf staring at you with a cocked head. There was a shiver that shook its way up your spine as you glanced around, flashes of light on the frozen leaves that had yet to fall, caught in a cold snap no one had expected. “What is it? Do you want me to get your clothes?” It had felt odd the first time you’d talked to the wolf like he was a person, but Nicholas had explained (with a bit of amusement) that he understood you perfectly well regardless of the form he was in.

And it was clear Nicholas understood now. He huffed, the exhale visible, and sat abruptly, haunches hitting the porch with another faint protest from the surface. He made an odd noise with his muzzle, and you realized as he leaned in that there was something in his mouth.

You held out a hand without thinking too much about it. “It better not be a d—” What fell into your hands was not what you’d been expecting, though. It was small, smooth, and absolutely covered in wolf drool. “Gross,” you told him, lifting whatever it was up to the dim porch light to try and see what he’d brought back to you. 

The disgusted crinkle of your nose smoothed out a split second before delight lit your face. “You found me a rock?” you asked, biting back a pleased giggle. You saw Nicholas’s tail swish excitedly, and you used your shirt to wipe the rock off a bit. “It’s pretty. I thought I was the one who collected the rocks, though?” You weren’t upset, of course; far from it, you found yourself thrilled that Nicholas had returned the favor.

It had started as something goofy on your first date. You’d noticed a pretty rock as you’d been walking in the park, had stooped down to grab it; after a brief examination, you’d offered it to Nicholas. “A pretty rock for a pretty man,” you’d told him, beaming when he’d flushed and shyly accepted the gift. By the time you’d moved in together, Nicholas had a more than modest collection of them, different colors and textures and sizes. Now, the rocks lined almost every windowsill in the house, each one attached to a moment or a memory.

This was the first one Nicholas had contributed to what had grown to be your collection as much as his. You held it up further, glanced at Nicholas. “It looks like starlight,” you murmured, awed, and examined the way the light reflected off of the surface. You found the gleam in his gaze even more captivating, and you kept the rock clutched to your chest as you leaned down to press a kiss to his furry forehead. 

he looks SO SOFT help

do i go super self indulgent and pair each guy with a different oc? i feel like i go super indulgent with this.

me, an absolute fly by the seat of your pants writer, actually plotting out a fic? more likely then you think.

this is what happens when i let the brain worms do their thing.

jester here. don't gotta touch this blurb now/at all, but i've been having a Rough One and was wondering if you'd be up for something short and quick about our dear nicholas being a sweetheart with nonbinary!reader (if possible; gender neutral/not explicitly nonbinary is rad too, if that's more accessible) who's feeling touch-averse. is that enough to work with? who knows. anyways. no pressure. hope you're doing well <3

hello sweet bb jester!

you think that i, a nonbinary, would write more nb reader. i owe this one to us both 💗

cw: mental health issues — anxiety & depression, implied body insecurity, a very very sweet bf nicky <3

send asks!

It hurts you more than it does him, the way his touch makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

His face falls, only momentarily, when you cringe away from his hand on your leg. He doesn’t let it show for long, he never does — he keeps his distance and rests his head against the back of the couch, smiling in your direction.

“Do you wanna watch something?” he asks, knows a distraction always helps you when you’re feeling rough, too in your head, but outside of yourself all at once. “We can watch anything you want.”

You nod, but don’t move to turn anything on. But it’s okay, because he always knows. He turns on something you’ve seen a million times over, makes you laugh every time. He shifts a little closer to you, but no part of you touches. It’s just close enough to comfort you, not smother you.

The only thing you want is to fall into his arms. Normally, it helps, having him act as a human weighted blanket, feel the anxiety drain out of you, the sadness dissipate like it was never even there.

You wish his touch, ordinarily your favorite thing, didn’t feel as if it could burn through your skin.

But it does start to fade, the badness — just being next to him, in his space with his eyes on you, helps.

After a few episodes, he sits up on the couch.

“I’ll make us some lunch,” he offers. “Are you in the mood for grilled cheese like I am?”

It feels a little better. You feel so thankful for him.

“Yes, please,” you offer, smaller than normal, but at least you’re talking. It’s an improvement. Your hand moves to graze your pinky against his, another improvement. His smile spreads just slightly — he’s trying to hide it, doesn’t want to let go of it. He links his finger with yours and you don’t cringe away. “Thank you, Nicky.”

He lets you see his smile now, turning to you but not moving closer, still moving at your pace.

“No need to thank me,” he offers. “I only want you happy.”

Imagine Noah and reader having a baby girl who just started talking and saying “hi” to everyone she sees

You can write a quick one shot, but it’s fine if you don’t want to.

Anygay

I love you💕🎀

Anygay, that's me 🥰 I hope that you like this anon ily 💕

At some point, your bundle of joy, who once did little more than burp and gurgle in your arms, turned into a ball of sunshine, ready to take on the world and say ‘hi’ to every person she meets.

It’s become her new favourite word, right after Dada—even though you and Noah still argue over how it actually sounded.

“She’s not saying Dada,” you insist one night, huffy at the thought that your daughter would choose that word first over any for you.

“Are you sure about that?” Noah smirks. He’s been gloating ever since she uttered that first wobbly attempt, and he doesn’t even try to hide it.

Now it’s ‘hi’—not just to you or family or friends, but to complete strangers on the street. You barely make it a block with her toddling along beside you before she’s stopping in front of someone, grinning up at them with her whole face, and chirping, “Hi!”

No matter how many times you try to enforce ‘stranger danger,’ she just looks back at you with wide, curious eyes, blowing bubbles, clearly too young to understand, and completely indifferent unless your warning comes in the same honey-smooth voice as her Dada.

She also doesn’t care that just because her dad is behind a closed door, it means he’s working.

Now she sits outside the door to his home studio, stuffed animal in hand, peering up at it like it might magically open if she stares hard enough. It’s been hours since Noah slipped inside with the rest of the band to work on the upcoming album, and you’ve been trying everything to distract her.

“Come on, bug! Let’s go watch Peppa Pig!” you sing, upping your cadence to coax some excitement out of her.

Nothing. Just your baby girl sitting on the floor, pouting for her favourite person in the entire world.

With a sigh, you flop down beside her, only lifting your head when the door creaks open and Jolly’s deep chuckle fills the hallway, along with the sound of your name.

“Noah thought he heard you out here,” Jolly says, smiling as he towers over the both of you.

Your daughter stretches her arms up to him and lets her favourite word slip out. “Hi.”

Jolly gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “Hi?! You’re talking now? No way!”

She tries to push up onto her legs, wobbles, and lands right back on her bum. Jolly chuckles and gently lifts her by the arms, placing her steady on her feet. That’s all it takes for her to stumble forward between his legs and waddle right into the studio.

From where you sit, you hear the chorus erupt, her enthusiastic ‘hi!’ met with laughter and echoing greetings from the guys inside.

It’s Folio who scoops her up next, her tiny hands grabbing his face as she giggles and repeats, “Hi.”

Folio makes a strangled noise, as if she’s just pierced his heart clean through. You know the feeling all too well, she’s a weapon of pure cuteness.

“She’s obsessed with attention,” Noah teases from somewhere inside.

“Gee, I wonder where she got that from,” you mutter, rolling your eyes as you push off the floor and step into the room.

Noah spins around in his chair, that boyish grin already spreading across his face. “No idea,” he says softly, reaching out for you like you’re gravity.

He looks at you the way your daughter looks at him—with something bigger than words could ever convey. He’s practically glowing, especially when Folio steps closer and your daughter spots her dad again. Her arms stretch toward him, and she sings, “Hi, Dada!” Noah doesn’t even try to act cool and you see the way he melts.

The second she says those words, he takes her back into his arms like it’s the only thing he ever wants to do. His heart is wide open, his smile pure and he looks between the two of you like he can’t believe this is real—like he’s never been happier in his life, and has no intention of hiding it.