#on the other hand ... you have been awake for hours and hours without sleep... please get some rest...

[brionnnne]

note that i will only ever call mithrun "stupid" jokingly. by "stupid", i only mean "frustrating behavior that i am immensely familar with". seeing him do something that makes me groan aloud, closing my eyes, sighing "stupid (affectionate, mournful)". like when he fucking... his dumbass "i don't want to [use the bathroom] right now, so it's fine." oughh. i know you! i know you! that's not how that works!!! and he's smart!!! he's so smart... but god, god... he's kind of an absent professor. he's kind of a cloudcuckoolander. i love him dearly. he gets called a dummy, a little idiot, and i flick his forehead, a little bonk of hard-heads, like "try again, idiot. that's not how bodies work." and "ooh, 'that's not going to work'. yes it is. shut up, stoopid. stubborn little man, my god." rolling my eyes forever.

[throttleheart]

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

Pillow Problems

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff, best friends to something more

Word Count: ~2.2k

Summary: You can’t fall asleep without hugging a pillow. Lando finds out.

⸻

It starts as a casual movie night.

Nothing fancy. Just you and Lando in sweats, too much popcorn, and a ridiculous action movie neither of you are really paying attention to. It’s late — past midnight — and you’re both curled up on the couch under a shared blanket like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Because with Lando, it kind of is.

You’ve been best friends for so long that sleepovers don’t even feel weird anymore. He’s crashed on your couch after race weekends more times than you can count, and you’ve stolen his guest bed on road trips whenever hotels were overbooked.

But this time��� there’s only one bed.

Your bed.

“You sure you’re okay with me sleeping in here?” he asks, leaning against the doorframe, toothbrush in hand and curls still damp from his shower.

You roll your eyes. “Lando, I’ve seen you wear flip flops with socks. You think I’m going to draw the line at you borrowing my bed?”

He snorts and throws a hand to his chest. “That was ONE TIME.”

You toss a pillow at him. “Brush your teeth, Norris.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are under the covers. You’re on one side, he’s on the other. very obvious pillow barrier stands between you, like a soft, cotton fortress of boundaries.

But there’s a problem.

You can’t sleep.

At all.

You stare at the ceiling. Then at the nightstand. Then at the outline of Lando’s face in the dark, just barely visible from the glow of your phone charger.

He’s still. Breathing slow. Definitely asleep.

And you’re… not.

Because — and this is ridiculous, so ridiculous — you can’t fall asleep unless you’re hugging something.

A pillow. A blanket. A stuffed animal. A person. Doesn’t matter. Your body just doesn’t shut off unless your arms are around something.

You try. You flip the pillow over. You bury your arms under it. You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself.

Nothing.

You’re one hour in when the whisper comes.

“Are you… okay?”

You flinch. “Jesus—you’re awake?”

Lando turns onto his side, blinking slowly. “You’ve been breathing like you’re trying to inflate a bouncy castle.”

You bury your face in your pillow. “I can’t sleep.”

“Why?”

You hesitate.

“Y/N.”

You groan. “It’s stupid.”

His voice lifts with amusement. “Now I definitely need to know.”

You sigh, dramatic. “I can’t fall asleep unless I’m hugging something, okay?”

Silence.

Then—

A loud, stifled laugh from the other side of the bed.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, “you’re like a human koala.”

You smack him with your pillow. “Shut up.”

“No, no, this is adorable. Do you need, like, a teddy bear? A weighted blanket? Should I draw a face on one of your pillows and pretend it’s me?”

“You’re the worst.”

He’s laughing, full and unfiltered now, twisting the sheets as he rolls away dramatically. “Y/N, my heart. All this time I thought you just liked cuddling me during movie nights, but you actually have a condition.”

You throw your hands over your face. “Please stop talking.”

Then—softly, after a pause—his voice shifts.

“…You could’ve just said something.”

You peek through your fingers. He’s looking at you now. Still teasing, but softer. Gentle.

“Wanna hug me?” he asks, cocking a brow like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

Your breath catches. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he says, already sliding an arm out, inviting. “C’mon, koala girl.”

You glare. “If you call me that again, I’ll smother you with this pillow.”

He grins. “I’ll take the risk.”

You hesitate. Just for a second. Then you scoot closer, cautiously curling against his side, arm draping lightly across his chest.

And god — it’s perfect. His body is warm, steady, and somehow smells like mint and laundry detergent. Your muscles sigh in relief.

“You’re like a human radiator,” you murmur.

He chuckles, voice close to your ear. “You’re welcome.”

You fall asleep faster than you have in weeks.

And the next morning, you wake up still tangled in him — his arm heavy around your waist, face buried in your hair, breath soft on your neck.

You try to move.

“Don’t,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “I’m your pillow now. Deal with it.”

And you kind of… do.

⸻

Sunlight spills through the half-closed blinds, catching dust motes in golden streaks as the room slowly warms with morning.

You’re awake.

Barely.

And very aware that you’re not alone in your bed.

Lando’s arm is still wrapped around your waist, heavy and warm and not even a little bit apologetic about being all up in your space. His chest rises and falls steadily against your back, his breath slow and even — he’s still asleep, or close to it.

You consider moving.

Really, you do.

But your limbs are lazy, your brain soft and sleepy, and honestly? He’s comfortable. Too comfortable. Like he was made to be a human-sized heating pad designed to be clung to.

His fingers twitch slightly at your hip.

You freeze.

“…You’re awake, aren’t you?” he murmurs against your neck, voice rough with sleep.

You sigh. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t move. Just hums. “Told you. Human pillow.”

You can hear the smugness in his voice, even through the sleep.

“I was desperate,” you mumble.

“Sure you were.” He yawns. “Could’ve hugged a pillow, but nooo. You went straight for me.”

You elbow him gently. “I tried the pillow.”

He just pulls you closer. “Mhm. Addicted now. No turning back.”

Your cheeks flush — and not just from the proximity.

You should pull away. You should. Friends don’t… do this. Or at least, you and Lando never have. You’ve always tiptoed the edge of this kind of closeness — flirty jokes, knee touches during movies, that weird moment last Christmas when you almost kissed but blamed it on mistletoe and wine.

But this?

This feels like something else.

You twist slightly to face him, only to find his eyes open, heavy-lidded and watching you.

“What?” you whisper.

He shrugs, smile lazy and lopsided. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

A pause.

Then, softly: “About how I could get used to waking up like this.”

Your heart stops. Completely.

He sees it. Feels it, probably. Because his smile shifts — less teasing, more vulnerable. More real.

“I’m not just saying that ‘cause you’re warm,” he adds.

You blink, the air suddenly too thick to breathe.

“Lando…”

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to say anything. I just— I think maybe this whole human pillow situation works both ways.”

Your fingers tighten in the sleeve of his t-shirt.

And just like that, the teasing melts away. The barrier between best friends and something else thins, bends, and threatens to break entirely.

“I liked waking up with you,” you admit, voice small.

He smiles again — that quiet, soft smile that doesn’t belong in interviews or podium photos. This one’s just for you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Neither of you move.

Not yet.

Because the line is still there, but now you’re both standing on the same side of it.

⸻

You eventually untangle from each other.

Sort of.

By which you mean Lando finally rolls away only to immediately steal your pillow, shove it under his head like it betrayed him, and mumble something about needing a ten-minute nap before coffee.

So you leave him there — hair messy, half-asleep, wearing your hoodie like it’s always belonged to him — and shuffle into the kitchen.

Your legs feel weird. Your chest feels… floaty.

You touch your lips once when you’re sure he’s not looking.

Nothing happened. Not really.

But it almost did.

And it’s enough to change everything.

⸻

You’re halfway through cracking eggs into a pan when you hear the soft shuffle of feet.

Lando appears in the doorway, stretching with a sleepy groan, his hair a disaster and his eyes still heavy with sleep.

He looks like a dream you forgot you had. Like something that’s always been yours but never belonged to you.

“You’re cooking?” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

You shrug. “Seemed fair. You donated your body to science last night.”

He smirks as he comes up behind you, not even pretending to keep distance. He leans over your shoulder, chin nearly brushing your temple.

“That was a very important cuddle study,” he says into your ear, voice low and teasing. “Purely scientific.”

You fight a shiver. “Well, congratulations. You’re now certified as a human-size emotional support plushie.”

He chuckles, arms brushing yours as he helps you reach for the salt.

Silence falls. The soft sizzle of eggs fills the space. His presence is everywhere — beside you, behind you, in you — and it’s like neither of you know where to put all the things you want to say.

Then—softly, like it escapes without permission:

“You meant it last night?”

You turn your head slightly. “Which part?”

He doesn’t look at you. Just keeps gently stirring the eggs. “That you liked waking up next to me.”

You hesitate. Then: “Yeah. I did.”

A beat passes.

He nods, silent, and grabs a plate. You watch him.

He places a serving of eggs onto the plate and hands it to you without meeting your eyes. “Me too.”

Your fingers brush when you take it. Neither of you pull away.

He finally looks up.

And there’s that moment again — the one that feels like you’re both standing at the edge of something huge. Something terrifying and beautiful.

“Lando…” you start.

But the words don’t come.

Because part of you is still afraid. Of ruining what you have. Of hoping too much. Of the way your heart has never felt this calm around anyone else.

He sees all of it. You know he does.

So he just smiles, soft and sure.

And says, “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

You eat breakfast shoulder to shoulder.

There are no declarations. No kisses.

But there’s a shared mug of coffee between you.

A soft look that lingers longer than it should.

And when he picks up your extra pillow later — the one you clung to for years before last night — and tosses it to the corner of the bed with a smirk, all he says is:

“You won’t need that anymore.”

⸻

You’re not sure why Lando doesn’t leave that night.

He doesn’t say he’s staying.

He just… doesn’t go.

You wash dishes together after dinner like it’s routine, like he’s done it a hundred times — and honestly, maybe he has. He scrolls through Netflix while you wipe down the kitchen counters, making dramatic sounds of disapproval at your movie suggestions. He disappears into your room at one point and comes back wearing one of your oversized sweatshirts like it’s his.

No mention of going home. No keys. No shoes. Just… him. Staying.

Again.

By the time you brush your teeth side by side — like you did last night, like it’s just what you do now — there’s a low buzz in the air. That awareness. That heaviness. Like the next thing might tip the whole thing into something neither of you can come back from.

You’re quiet as you climb into bed.

So is he.

The blanket settles over the both of you, and your hearts race a little too loud for a room that’s supposed to be quiet.

Then, softly—

“D’you still need something to hug?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah.”

He turns toward you in the dark. “Okay. C’mere.”

You hesitate only for a second this time.

You move closer. Not just tangled up like last time, but facing each other. His arm slides around your waist like muscle memory. Your hand finds the soft fabric of his sweatshirt near his chest.

You fit.

Better than you should.

You’re not even pretending to sleep yet when he whispers, “I didn’t leave because I wanted to stay.”

You blink slowly. “I know.”

“And I didn’t stay just because of you needing a pillow.”

You smile faintly. “I know that too.”

A beat.

He breathes in. “I don’t want this to be a thing we don’t talk about.”

Your heart flips. “Me either.”

“I don’t really know when it started,” he continues, voice low, “but I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now. It just always felt like… if I did, I might mess it up.”

Your hand curls into the fabric of his sweatshirt. “You wouldn’t.”

He moves closer.

You feel his breath against your skin, soft and cautious. One hand lifts to your cheek like he’s checking to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod.

And he kisses you.

It’s not rushed.

It’s not perfect, either — his nose bumps yours, your hand fumbles awkwardly as you find his jaw — but it’s real. It’s warm. And it means something.

You can feel it in the way his fingers tighten on your waist. In the soft sigh you let out against his mouth. In the quiet, trembling kind of relief that settles between you once you both pull back.

You stay close.

Foreheads pressed. Noses barely brushing.

You could say something. Make a joke. Ask what this means.

But you don’t.

Because he’s already whispering, “Okay. I’m definitely your pillow now.”

And all you can do is laugh — quietly, into the space between your mouths — before tugging him back down and whispering,

“Yeah. Mine.”

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

[whateveriwant]

The 141 getting you to stay in bed

It gets a little spicy towards the end so 18+ please

Soap

Waking up to the feeling of a numb arm is extremely unpleasant, but you suppose it comes with the territory when trying to cuddle 200+ pounds of rugged Scotsman

You manage to free your trapped limb and roll to the other side of the bed, but that space behind you remains empty for only about three seconds before Johnny's pressing himself flat to your back 

Now with his arms around your waist, he holds you tight to him, mumbling unintelligibly against the back of your head

He drifts back to sleep quickly enough, his grip on you starting to loosen, only for it to tighten again when he feels you try to wriggle out of his hold

The incoherent grumbles from his throat grow increasingly displeased the more you try to shift away from him, until finally he huffs a grumpy, “Quit it,” into your scalp, hooking his leg over yours 

If you still don't listen, he'll have no choice but to take drastic measures to keep you still. Fed up with your squirming, he simply rolls on top of you, pinning you to the mattress below him

You can try beating on his back, telling him that you can't breathe, but he just shrugs and says, “Use my breath.”

Don't even bother trying to explain how oxygen doesn't work like that, because he doesn't care. “Tough,” he mumbles into the crook of your neck. “‘Cause I'm no' movin’.” And by extension, neither are you

Gaz

Kyle is also a stage 5 clinger, but he's less boa constrictor and more baby koala

So when your alarm goes off at 8am precisely, it's no surprise that the man behind you grumbles in protest

“It's Saturday,” he bemoans. “Why you getting up so bloody early?” When you tell him you like to keep your routine even on the weekends, he just groans and mutters, “Five more minutes.”

You can try to squirm and wrestle out of his hold, but he'll just tighten his arm around your midsection, keeping his front firmly glued to your back

But you need to get up! You have to pee for goodness’ sake! 

“Use the empty bottle on your nightstand,” he mumbles into your hair, peeking an eye open as you crane to look back at him. The look you give him at such a horrid suggestion has him sighing. “Alright, fine,” he relents and releases you. “But be quick. Bed gets cold without you.”

Once you've answered the call of nature, don't be surprised to find Kyle waiting for you directly outside the bathroom. He's wrapped up in your comforter like an oversized burrito, only his face and feet visible as they peek out from under the plush cover

With a sleepy pout, he holds his hand out for you, tugging you back to bed with him. Oh, he’ll make sure you get those five more minutes alright. Even if he has to drag you kicking and screaming

Ghost

First of all, don't even kid yourself into thinking you'll stand a chance of waking up before him or sneaking out of bed without him knowing. This man is the epitome of a light sleeper, whenever he does sleep, that is

So when you do finally wake up, it comes as no surprise to see Simon already up too. But just because you're both awake now doesn't mean you have to immediately be productive; quite the opposite, in fact

With how busy and stressed he is all the time, Simon loves nothing more than to just lie in bed with you and do nothing for hours

If you try to get up, he's stopping you with a gentle hand on your wrist, his voice quiet but firm as he commands, “Stay.”

You'll lay back down for a bit to appease him, but it won't be long before you feel guilty since you have so many things you should be doing instead

But actually, no, you don't have  anything to worry about. He's already taken care of everything before you woke up, he humbly informs you

The cat's been fed, the bin’s been taken out to the curb, he's even gotten your breakfast typed up on his phone – just give him the word and he'll place the order

So now when he opens his arms for you, having you bury your face in his chest, you've got nothing to worry about except savoring this moment with him 

Price

John is also a very light sleeper, so it only takes .02 seconds of you trying to stand from the bed for his bear-like snores to cease and his eyes to flit wide open

He'll grab you by the shirt hem, mumbling, “Where’re y’ goin’?” But it doesn't really matter what your answer is because his response is always the same: “No y’r not.” And pulls you back down. “Y’r stayin’ right here.”

He'll lie on his stomach, face smushed in the pillow, a big, warm hand tucked under your shirt resting against your belly

With nothing better to do, you scroll through your phone, catching up on your socials, the news, etc., but it's not long before you hear him grumble, “Put that away, will ya? ‘S too early to be meltin’ your brain with that thing.”

Well, what does he expect you to do? Lie there and stare at the ceiling for an hour? “Expect you to be good,” he tells you. “Don't make me get the handcuffs out again.”

Now that you have to laugh at. If he thinks it's too early to be on your phone, it's definitely too early for that

He smirks, opening his eye just a sliver, and the hand on your stomach begins to rub soft circles. “Is that so?” he taunts, his touch sneakily edging downwards. And when he slips beneath the band of your shorts, well…

Let's just say you're not leaving that bed anytime soon

[keiscorner]

2:53 am

"kei." no response. you know tsukishima has to get up early for work, but the window across from your bed is open, allowing the night breeze to creep in and sting your face. you could get up yourself, but that's what husbands are for, right?

you twist around, trying to wiggle out of your husband's grasp so you can take a better look at his sleeping face. he has an arm wrapped firmly around your waist, the other supporting your neck to, in his words, 'protect his ears from your constant complaints about your sore neck in the morning'.

"honey?" you poke his cheek, smiling to yourself when he grunts in response. tsukishima has always been a light sleeper. you lay in silence for a few seconds before he finally lets out a sigh, opening his eyes to look at you.

"what do you want?"

you muster up your biggest doe eyes, knowing that he hates getting out of bed just as much as you do. "close the window for me?"

"no. you do it."

you sigh dramatically, gesturing at his arms wrapped firmly around you. "i would love to, but someone is holding me hostage, so i think you're going to have to do it."

tsukishima rolls his eyes, untangling his arms from your body. "problem solved." he holds back a smile when you frown and pull the blankets away from him, turning your back towards him. you're so cute. tsukishima would do anything you ask of him without hesitation, but he can't help but tease you a bit first. he'll never get tired of your reactions, and he loves that he can be a little snarky with you.

you sigh again, this time louder and more pointed, pretending to shiver just to show your husband how cold you really are, and how cruel he is for not helping. "if only someone could hold me right now...", you trailed off.

"ok, do you want me to help you or not?" he finally gives in, getting up to reach for his glasses. you win, as usual. you turn back to face him again with a smile as bright as sunshine, and despite all of the years you've been together, his heart still stops for a second. wow. okay, maybe he is obsessed with you, but he can't help it. you've clearly worked your magic on him, considering the fact that he's getting out of the bed for you when he has to be awake in a few hours. he goes to close the windows with a firm click, walking back to his side of bed.

"kei...since you're already up...", he looks back to see your guilty smile, an empty mug in your hands. "please? last thing, i swear." he give you a look that reads, "you're lucky i love you." (you know you're the luckiest person in the world.)

he takes your mug and you hear his quiet footsteps making their way to the kitchen. he comes back, handing you a mug full of warm water. once you take a sip, he takes the mug from you again, placing it on your nightstand.

"i poisoned that," he quips, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before finally lying down and snaking his arms around your waist, pulling you in closer to him. the only reason he hates getting out of bed is that he has to let go of you, but he doesn't need to say that. he's sure you already know.

[lemonmaid]

A snip i need to get out of my head before bed. (Warnings pregnant reader, not proofed read, I'm so fucking tired)

Poly 141 x pregnant reader.

When you told the boys that you were pregnant, many many emotions but not one was negative towards you.

Johnny was excited, immediately thinking of names and happy that they almost have enough people for a football team (john thinks rugby would be a better sport but who is asking).

Simon who is immediately nervous due to his own family issues, he knows therapy can help with this but he'll be damn if he is ever like his father.

Kyle who is immediately thinking why it is important to know who the father is, even if he isn't the bio dad he is still gonna buy the proper hair products just in case.

John who is already crying, he is a big papa bear now and he couldn't be more happy.

Over the course of your pregnancy, the boys are literally waiting hand and foot for you.

Simon refuses to let you do anything on your own. You want to help with the nursery? No sit down and rest. You need to bend down and grab something you dropped? Nah call him even if he is at work.

John is up your ass about you doing exercises and taking your prenatal vitamins. He wakes you up at eight in the morning to do a light work out for your core muscle then makes you wind down for bed by 9 pm.

Johnny is always ready to make a snack run, even if John is against it, hell he even got back up emergency snacks in the car. Even though you all share an Alaskan king bed, reach over and shove him awake so he can do a quick errand.

Kyle is always with you when you are shopping, 100% he will agree with you on any clothing for the baby, you want the cutest expensive baby towel that is good for eczema? No problem. You think we should do cloth diapers? You're absolutely right, save nature.

When you have to get a body pillow/pregnancy pillow to support your stomach the boys are upset that they can't cuddle you without the pillow being in the way (or the little shit kicks them and it hurts you).

The boys love, LOVE it when you wear tight shirts, I mean look at that adorable bump and Jesus christ your breast have gotten so big.

Speaking of breast, Johnny is always looking at you like a kicked dog when you don't let him "help" you pump.

Please tell them when something hurts. Because these boys take everything too serious. When you started having braksion hicks, they were so paranoid. It got to a point where when you were in labor you didn't tell them untill they were 5 minutes apart. Which freaked them out, rushing you to the hospital.

The boys are 100% supportive of your birth plan, they really are.

But as soon as the contractions hit and they see your pained expression, they are immediately second guessing.

John is bluntly telling you to take the epidural.

Simon is rubbing your back telling you that there is no reward for having a natural birth.

But, you progress, practicing your breathing exercises, you've been training for this moment. You decided to bounce and roll on the yoga ball that was offered in the room, it help with the pressure.

Johnny is the one who has been trying to sneak you food, happy wife (or partner) happy life. But Kyle is nagging him how you cannot have food when you are close to labor (you're only 2 cm and it's been four hours).

Simon is encouraging you to sleep and rest, when you obviously can't Johnny is helping you recheck the diaper bag for the tenth time that night.

Kyle who is walking with you up and down the hall, purposely walking down the hall with the window where you can see the other newborns.

John who is now having panic attack, 'oh god I'm going to be a father'.

When it's finally time to start pushing, one of the nurses tries pushing out the others, thinking that John is the father. It wasn't untill your midwife told them to leave them be and that they can stay.

Simon and John who are holding your hands as you pushed, Johnny is playing with your hair to help distract you from the pain and Kyle is wiping your forehead.

When everyone hears the sharp cry that echoes in the room, the gasp is heard, when the newborn is placed on your chest, they can't help but shed a tear.

Simon and Johnny are telling you that you did an amazing job. Kyle is kissing your head, comforting your cries, John is watching the nurses every move with the newborn.

They all couldn't be more happier.

[sevsevteen]

Is there anyway you could write about the 14 th members struggle with sleep during comeback season? Maybe also they have a tight grip on caffeine which had been surprising their apatite, making filming more difficult ? The amount of nausea I’ve been having cause of this recently is mental

OMG get well soon girl 😭 this is so relatable, but please remember to take care of yourself too!!🤞 i hope this will make you feel a little better - i made it a little joshua-focused by accident BAHAHA prepare for the angst

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The waiting room was colder than usual.

Or maybe it was just you.

Sat curled up on the floor between takes, your knees were drawn to your chest as the chatter of the staff and members buzzed distantly in the background. Your head throbbed with a dull, rhythmic ache that echoed behind your eyes - not painful enough to cry out, but sharp enough to disorient.

“Five minutes till next cue!” someone called.

You didn’t move.

For the past three weeks, your body had been running on caffeine and fumes. The combination of pre-dawn call times, demanding choreo and practice days, interviews, and rehearsals hadn’t let up - and as always during comeback season, your chronic insomnia decided to rear its head again. Every night, you’d lie awake for hours on end, scrolling endlessly or staring at the ceiling, unable to get a wink of sleep.

Three weeks. Barely any sleep. And now, barely any food either.

Breakfast was skipped because you didn't have any appetite after lying awake all night. Lunch was missed because the group had a last-minute schedule. Dinner…you couldn’t even remember the last time you ate a full one.

Only iced Americanos, hot Lattes, anything that contained at least two shots of espresso in them. Bottles of water. An energy bar once, maybe.

And now, your body was starting to turn against you.

Your vision swam for a second as you leaned your head against the wall behind. Your limbs felt unusually cold, stomach hollow and churning. There was a faint buzzing in your ears, like a warning siren your body was trying to sound.

You tried to breathe. Focus.

Just one more segment.

Smile for the fans. Laugh a little. Hold it together.

"You okay?"

You blinked, startled by Seungkwan’s voice. He had crouched in front of you without you noticing, brows furrowed.

“You look really pale.”

You forced a smile. “I’m okay, just a little tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. But it wasn't the truth either.

“You sure? You’ve been quiet all morning…”

Before you could answer, staff called for positions again. The members moved instinctively, stretching and walking toward the filming area.

You stood up on legs that immediately protested - the moment you pushed yourself off the wall, your balance tilted, and you nearly stumbled into the makeup table. Your vision whited out for a second as nausea surged from your empty stomach.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, heart pounding.

No. Not now. Just one more scene.

Someone gently touched your elbow.

“Hey.”

It was Joshua, his voice softer than usual, his eyes scanning your expression. You hadn’t even realized you were swaying on your feet.

“You okay?”

“I-” you opened your mouth, then froze.

Because the world tilted again.

And this time, it didn’t stop.

Your knees buckled as you felt your body give way, but before you could hit the floor, arms caught you - firm and warm. You gasped, trying to steady yourself, only to feel the panic in Joshua’s hold as he pulled you to sit down again.

“Someone get water—quick!”

The others were gathering fast, voices overlapping. The set blurred behind the haze in your eyes, sounds muffled.

You hated this.

Hated that it took this for someone to notice.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled weakly, “I just - I skipped breakfast.”

Joshua crouched in front of you again, worry laced in his usually calm expression. “You skipped all your meals yesterday too,” he said quietly. “You think we don’t notice when you’re only running on coffee?”

Your eyes widened slightly, guilt catching in your throat.

Wonwoo had already come with a bottle of water, pressing it gently into your hand. Jihoon stood nearby, frowning deeply as he talked to one of the managers in low, serious tones.

“We’re delaying the shoot,” he said firmly. “She’s not continuing like this.”

“No, I can-”

“No.” His tone was final. “We can always film it later. You’re more important than a damn shoot.”

You bit your lip hard, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes - not from pain, but frustration. Embarrassment. Relief.

So many things you couldn’t name.

Joshua took the bottle from your trembling fingers and opened it himself, holding it up gently. “Just sip for now, okay?”

“…Okay,” you whispered.

And when the bottle touched your lips, you let yourself accept it.

Your lips parted, and you took the water, letting the cool liquid trickle into your dry mouth. At first, it felt like relief.

But then-

Your stomach twisted. Violently.

It was too much.

The taste of metal rose in your throat, and your body jerked with a sudden, nauseating reflex.

“I-!” you gagged, hand shooting up to push Joshua away, water splashing onto your knees. You scrambled up on unsteady legs and stumbled toward the corner of the room where a trash bin stood, knocking over a stool.

The next moment, you were on your knees, bent over the bin as your body gave in.

The sound of you retching cut through the backstage chatter. The room fell into a shocked silence.

Behind you, Joshua immediately knelt to help but paused, respecting the space as you gripped the edge of the bin, gasping between each wave. Everyone's chest tightened helplessly at the sight of your shoulders shaking - not just from nausea, but shame.

No idol ever wanted to be seen like this.

Seungcheol muttered something curt to staff before walking over, immediately motioning to a manager to assist. “Get her jacket. And another water bottle,” he ordered lowly.

Seungkwan hovered near Joshua, jaw tight. “She’s really not okay,” he said under his breath, chest rising with stress. “She’s been running herself to the ground.”

When you finally stopped, you stayed hunched over, breathing in shallow, shaking breaths. Your throat burned, tears had spilled down your cheeks without noticing.

You didn’t dare look back.

You hated crying in front of them. Hated the worry it sparked in their eyes - eyes that saw you as strong, independent, unshakeable.

But right now, you were none of that.

A soft touch broke through on your back.

It was Joshua again, closer now, a tissue in his hand and worry etched so deeply into his features it almost hurt to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” you croaked, wiping at your mouth with a trembling hand, trying to regain some sense of dignity. “I didn’t mean to- I just-”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, crouching in front of you now. “Not for this. Not for any of it.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his.

And for once, you didn’t hide the exhaustion in them.

Just behind him, Seungcheol nodded once. “You have nothing to prove.”

You could only muster a small grateful smile as your eyes burned.

Because this time, someone caught you before you could fall.

--

[ilianasbruce]

“Something in the air.”

word count: 5,400

summary: it was either an illness or love in the air — and maybe both in your husband.

warning: +18 content with a plot. minors do not interact, please.

notes: well, hello, hello!!! ♡ i’m back with a piece that I hope i could contribute to Bruce’s early husband years with a little bit of adventures of his. i’ve been re-watching Batman: Caped Crusader (2024) since yesterday and maybe, maybe, i’d write my next piece based on the series. don’t know, but thank you so much for you support!!! see ya’, guys later!!! ♡♡ if you’ve any prompts or ideas, please be my guest and come to my ask-aways!! ♡ ♡

“What are you doing?”

You murmured as you pressed your cheek to his upper back, arms circling his waist. He had been busy for the whole day in the cave, working on a case about nauseous people in Gotham for the last two weeks. Few people got infected with some cells from the air during Christmas Eve at first, with bizarre symptoms and with the incredibly petrifying results. Then, suddenly it spread like a wildfire and the pus-covered bodies and yellow-like skin color on the poor people of Gotham started to multiply day by day. There was no indicator of what or who had caused that but Bruce couldn't let his city suffer like that.

“Working.” he muttered as his contemplative blue eyes stayed on the screen of Batcomputer. “Why are you still awake?” he continued.

“Wanted to see you.” you retorted with a small sigh through your lips. It had been a few times during the day that you’d seen him throughout the whole two weeks.

It was either a morning kiss before he left the warm bed of yours or an afternoon glimpse bypassing each other or a whisper of his ‘Go to sleep.’ when you were trying to stay awake to see him a little bit of time. Nothing more than those.

You and Alfred were trying to have an effect on the process — his day and night working schedule since the infection had started. Keep him at least sleeping or eating since Bruce was too concentrated on his city to think or care about. Poor Gordon was sending his Bat-Signal for him to appear as much as he could. Constant patrolling and the first week of investigation led Batman to be busy with the enigma about the cells that caused the sickness all over Gotham.

He was constantly telling you not to come down the cave. The main reason was that he did not want you to catch something from him. Maybe some amount of partitions would be on his suit and he couldn't risk it. As a man of science, before he slipped into bed, Bruce had to take a double shower — with water and alcohol to prevent any cell. Thus, he was taking extra caution for you.

“I told you not to come down here.” he said matter-of-factly.

“I missed you.”

He smirked but not out of amusement. “I’m at home all the time.”

That husband of yours had a habit of accepting that being at home meant you shouldn't miss him. You huffed, still pressing your cheek to his black shirt. “That isn’t a reason for not missing you.”

His eyes found the curved numbers of the clock on the screen. “I’ll be in bed after a few hours. Go to bed.”

Liar.

Alfred had to drag him to bed every single night — technically every morning. Since Bruce was prohibiting you from coming to see him, you were always bound to sleep the night without him. And Alfred was good at his job, with years of experience in knowing his son to take the reins into his hands. You’d usually find Bruce’s form nuzzling you as he slept when you woke up.

You wished you could stay in the cave but you knew better. You reluctantly kissed the part you pressed your cheek on and unwrapped your arms from him. He could’ve sensed your distaste (as he always did when you were upset), turned his head to you.

“I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

“Alright.”

But before you moved, he grabbed your hand to pull you to him. He placed one hand on your waist, the other palm on your neck as he pulled you in for a kiss. He kissed you lovingly, in a way of saying he meant his words.

He would see you later truthfully.

A few seconds of kissing you ended up with his “Go to bed, baby.” murmur. You nodded your head, marked by his lips, and unwillingly left the cave for your room. You knew his responsibilities and you supported him no matter what, but when Gotham had him more than you did, as if he belonged to her, (not to you) it upset you. She had all of his mind and body as if he was not a human being. That was what worried you also.

The next few weeks passed in chaos. Gotham was inflicted. Even the criminals were infected with to do something, thus the crime rate was significantly below. Nevertheless, the city was a nest of pus-covered illness. You did see them on TV or when you had permission to be in the cave for fifteen minutes. You were horrified as well as the whole of Gotham. It was obvious that this was planned by whoever released them into the city, but Bruce had other thoughts about that.

The freezing January days weren’t helping, either — not to the city or Batman. The heavy snow-covered streets of the city and on some days snowstorms had you apprehensive and tense about Bruce. Alfred made sure to feed him with the nutritional foods to keep him intact as he promised but you were scared.

“Come to bed early.” you, on one night, said to him. He was searching for an article on the Batcomputer.

“I can't.” he said, his focus on the screen.

“I am scared that you’ll catch the disease. Either the infection or the cold.” you reasoned. He did not make any remark on your words.

“I am scared, Bruce.”

And your fears became true, unfortunately. Well, he just caught a cold but still; it made you apprehensive. You were trying to keep him in bed at least for a few more hours after his usual short sleep schedule, but to no avail. He was just headstrong about the situation of Gotham, running to the cave as soon as he was awake. That led to an argument between you. You two quarreled and he gave you a cold shoulder from then on.

Bruce had a habit of staying silent instead of arguing with you. He knew his potential — knew his quarrels with Alfred and how he sometimes left him speechless with his harshness. And he knew all too well to shut his mouth before saying any word to you. He loved you and he wasn’t stupid enough to hurt you.

As you were irritated with him, he just gave you a nonchalant stare and then continued with his daily sickness-covered activities. No lie, you were annoyed with his action but you did not push more, because you loved him, too. It was almost a terrible month in Gotham that left everything in chaos, including your home.

You were watching him as much as you could, sometimes waking up earlier than him to see his condition. The first few days of his cold-catching passed with a light fever but he was good. Then, it affected his throat. He did not have a fever anymore — after one week of his sickness — but his throat was sore. Other than that his immune system response was expectedly good. You’d sleep in your bed naturally, even though he was sick. It was your anger that compelled him to the bed of yours, because you couldn't let him get out of your sight. You did not care about catching a cold, you didn’t want to play by his rules anymore.

You needed to switch on the bedside lamp, since the curtains were drawn every night, lighting up the room. He was sometimes disheveled in his slumber, sometimes comfortable; it was different every morning. You’d press your warm hand to his forehead to see if he had an extra warmth. When you were sure that he was good, you’d switch off the light and cuddle him until he woke up. It did not matter that he was still quiet with you, you still missed your husband. He was probably being quiet for not to push your worries about Gotham and Batman up and keep you safe until everything was promising. After everything was normal again, he’d gladly come back to you with his zeal.

You’d sleepily count the mintues, knew the exact time when he woke up before leaving the bed in silence. Sometimes, he’d catch your sleep-filled but longing eyes, looking up at him from your pillow. He’d keep his composure, grab his robe, and head to the bathroom while you'd watch his form. Sometimes, you were asleep after counting the minutes, unaware of his lips on your temple — a softest kiss — and him leaving the bed. You’d wake up to the empty bed. Either way, you were counting the days of the misery to end.

Well, it did end on the earliest week of February. A few days ago before January ended, you were informed by the news that the city was safe to leave the Manor. You were stunned by the things you heard from Alfred but you could finally breathe in peace.

Three of you.

None of you were allowed to leave the Manor — it was decided by Bruce after the early weeks of infection. Only on the vital conditions Alfred or Bruce himself was the exception — for grocery shopping, for instance. You knew every point and curve of the Manor now, after wandering its halls.

The chaos must have ceased completely so that you were now allowed to leave the Manor. You were elated by the news, but you would be more elated if you saw your husband.

“Where is he then?” you asked Alfred, as you followed him. “Master Bruce has left for a few hours to check the city, madam. Would you like some tea?”

That husband of yours.

That night you tried to stay awake in your bed because you were withered without him. Almost one and a half month passed in the dreadful slowness; the foolish tension between you and him addition to that. You missed your Bruce overly.

Unfortunately, your usual bedtime hour and warm quilts were enough to put you to sleep before Bruce came. The last thing you remembered was that your eyelids were heavy under the dim light of your bedside lamp.

When you woke up the next morning, your bed was empty again. He must have woken early as his habit. You left your bed with great excitement to see your husband after all the days and tension. You were sure that he was in the cave or a little chance of eating breakfast in the dining room (he usually ate with you there or he ate in the cave alone). But when you heard the news that he left for Wayne Tech, you were disappointed.

Truly.

Alfred saw the expression on you and he was dissatisfied with the scene, too. He tried to lighten your mood, but to no avail. Your zeal was smudged. You spent the day in the Manor, reading or playing chess against yourself, counting the hours until he would be at home. You did not just miss him, that was not the whole reason why you were disappointed, but you were also worried about his health. He was still sick with a sore throat and he was refusing you to give you a word about his health for the past weeks after the quarrel. Just the small words of “I’m fine.” or “I can handle that.” were on his lips and a nonchalant look was in his eyes. You did not know what was going on in his head, but you did not like it.

So, when you woke up from the nap you took on the sofa in the reading room, your feet took you to the kitchen. Your mind was still filled with sleep as you walked through the corridors. But you walked into the scene of Bruce’s back towards you as he listened to Alfred. He must have sensed your presence so he looked back at you from his shoulder, his blue eyes finding yours.

You two stared at each other for a few seconds, before he turned his attention to Alfred. And you… well, you were silent when you walked to one of the chairs.

“Oh, I see you’re awake, madam. Would you like to eat dinner?”

Alfred was always kind to acknowledge you and your daily routine — and the tension between you and Bruce.

“No, Alfred, thank you.” you answered in a quiet tone of voice but your eyes stared daggers at Bruce as you were sitting. He seemed to be aware of your gaze, but he did not cast you a single glance. You were now both irritated and hurt by his act, unaware of his reason. A few minutes of Alfred’s dialogue about something trivial for you and the sound of a dish clinking, Bruce finally murmured something in return to him. Then added a “I’ll be at the cave.” as he turned to leave.

A silence took over the kitchen, except for the sound of the plates. You knew exactly why he was speaking in a low tone since his voice was altered slightly by his throat. Oh, you knew you should go and make a hell out of his ridiculous sore throat, but you knew better. You just gave Alfred a knowing stare of your anger and he immediately nodded.

“Do not worry, madam. We are making progress on that.”

A few days later, Alfred really did make progress on Bruce’s damaged throat but the tension between you two was still piercing. You were either seeing each other in the silent and glacial February mornings — two of you still under the quilts, catching each other’s eyes blurred by sleep. But before you made a motion, he was already leaving the bed. That would leave you quiet through the whole day around him. You did not understand why he was still doing that; the damned city was almost cured after the infection, and it was absurd that he was still giving you a headache. So, he kept being quiet and you kept being quiet, too. It continued until the earliest hours of one morning after a few days.

You woke up to the darkness of your shared bedroom. It was too dark, both from the winter season and Alfred’s curtain-drawing habit. It must be early, you thought because you were still sleepy and nuzzled to your pillow. However, you were not the only one who was nuzzled.

You felt Bruce’s sturdy body pressed against yours from behind as he slept in peace. His arms were on either side of your body, his face against your temple. He was asleep, you could tell from his steady breathing and softest snores, on you. You sighed at the sensation of the moment, savoring the sweetness of it because you did miss him and your mornings together. You tried to prolong the feeling, bask in the feeling of him. Who would know when you’d gone back to your normal days again? But the warmth of his body was too much for you at the moment, scorching you under the quilts you two shared which was the reason why you were awake in the first place.

You tried to get some space from his body, at least some air to hit your skin. But it was futile. He was holding you as if you could be a dream, wrapped around you with his arms and legs that were tangled up with you. You were drowsy already; unable to have the power to gain some space. Yet, you tried to do something under him.

“What are you doing?” he muttered sleepily. Before waking him up or maybe he was slightly awake, you never knew, you attempted to unwrap him from yourself. It was unsuccessful. You tried to utter something before he tightened his arms around you.

“It is too warm..” you murmured to your pillow. He kissed your temple before saying anything. “Is it?” he breathed out to your skin. Then he drew a few warm kisses on your skin, from your temple to your left cheek, your jaw, and the skin of your throat before pressing his nose to your neck. He stayed there for a few minutes, breathing your scent.

“Bruce,” you sighed in need of some fresh air on your skin.

“Hm?”

“You are so warm.” you said. “You are, too.” he replied with a yawn. You smiled sheepishly on your pillow.

“I did not mean that way.” you retorted. But you understood he knew what you meant since he sighed as he let you go. He loosened his arms around you and lay on his back, one arm still on your waist. You sighed in pleasure as you finally found some air after his resignation, whispering a ‘thank you.’ to the dark covered room.

You two stayed quiet for a long period of time. You thought he was asleep again since he was breathing steadily as he did when he slept peacefully. You were saddened by the thought since you thought you had his attention again. But it was silent again. You did not blame him since he needed sleep and rest. Thus, you turned to his side and did what you always did — pressed your face against his shoulder. But to your wonder, you found him tightening his arm around your waist.

“Hi,” you murmured barely. He got his face closer to yours before kissing your hair.

“Hi.” he whispered back. Your hand went up to his face, trying to find his cheek in the dark. But it instead found his messy hair. You dived your fingers through them, started to slightly playing with them. You two were quiet for a few minutes before you spoke.

“Why are you awake?” you murmured to the darkness and his warm skin. “Why are you awake?” he muttered back.

“Couldn’t sleep.” you said in honesty. His earliest morning — hell, you did not even know if it was morning or still night. You just woke up to the suffocating warmth of his body. — nuzzling made you miss your usual, sweet Bruce in your sleep-blurred mind and heart. He just hummed to your words.

You did not know what to speak about and your fingers were curling the lock of his hair, causing your eyes to close. But Bruce must have sensed that he took your hand into his and started to kiss your fingers. That made you puzzled but you knew what his motives were in the next mintues.

“I missed you,” he muttered to your knuckles. You murmured back without any hesitation. “I missed you, too.”

That must encourage him well enough to let your hand go on his shoulder and incline you back against the sheets. When his lips found yours in a sweet kiss, you were so glad that he was not asleep.

You two kissed for quite a while — some of them left you breathless, some of them were light with his hand on your bare thighs. You pulled him by his hair to your lips again and again, sighing in pleasure on his lips. He had made your wishes true by kissing you more to the point you were drunk on him.

When he pressed his lazy kisses to your cheeks or your jaw next while his fingers played with the waistband of your panties, you were quiet. The only sounds heard by you two were his lips on your skin or the soft ruffling of the sheets. Bruce made sure to wake you up more with his soft bites on your throat, which made you tug his dark hair between your fingers to the back to halt his teeth. That made him laugh with a ‘Too much?’ of his baritone, morning (or whatever time of the night) voice.

He kissed the skin where he bit and came back to your lips. “Do you want to take the lead?” he asked you. You answered him with your kisses. You had missed him dearly and you did not even hesitate when the words left his lips. Your kisses were rushed and needy compared to his. You kissed him as much as you wanted which led you to feel his action of altering the position of yours.

You found yourself on him, him on his back and your face hovering over his with your hips in his hands. You couldn't see his gorgeous blue eyes until his hand suddenly went from your hip to the bedside lamp. The sudden flicker of light made you close your eyes and then open them with a few flutters of your lashes. When your eyes adjusted to the light with your creased brows, you saw his face finally. He was looking up at you with his exhausted but focused gaze. When he realized that you adjusted to the light, he gave you a small curve of a smile and a whisper of “Something got your tongue?”.

You stared at him for a few seconds before your eyes found the digital alarm clock. It was 04:13. It all made sense why you were tired when you woke up. When your eyes found his again, he wasn't smiling anymore but gazing up at you in an unreadable expression (he was actually adoring you but you were dazzled to notice it).

“Do you want me to take over?” he asked you. You shook your head as a ‘no’ and leaned on to kiss him. God, why was he inclined to the idea of having sex as soon as he woke up, you never knew. But the fact that it was the first thing he had in his mind in the darkness was enough for you.

As you kissed him with idleness and neediness, one of his hands found your soft things, covered with your cotton, white panties. He grazed his fingertips on your skin with great pleasure, slightly guiding them to open for his next move as you were breathless from kissing him. His other hand was already in your hair, his fingers threading through it. You broke the kiss with a soft moan when he pressed you to his bulge — he pulled you back to his lips through your hair, causing you to melt into him. But it was slightly challenging when he was hard and you were sensitive in your morning body.

You did not wish to stop kissing him, but you were weakly balancing yourself in his arms. You sighed in pleasure as you withdrew your kisses. He looked into your eyes with a hazy look, questioning you silently.

“I want to kiss you but,” you told him in a complaining tone, not even finishing your sentence. That earned you a smile on his handsome face. “Can't be in the position?” he asked you as he pulled you slightly to himself.

“Yes.”

He kissed you one more time and then, he whispered. “Let me, baby.” he said as he pushed his body with his elbows to the headboard with you on him. He fixed his part, got himself in a sitting position as you ended up straddling him. He pulled you back to his lips with a “Good enough?”.

You answered him by kissing him as your hands found his shoulders. You two made out until it was breathless for you. He broke the fervent kisses of yours by slipping his fingers through your panties, earning a soft moan from you. He pecked your lips with his words.

“Will you-”

“No,” you answered him, interrupting him quietly. “I just want you.”

He was not expecting that honestly, and after your yearning, he did not have any other question. When you started to catch his lips again, you let him slip your panties from your legs, letting them fall on the floor. Then your camisole afterwards followed by his deft fingers, leaving your bare chest for his eyes. In exchange, you let your fingers free his throbbing cock from his boxers. When Bruce had you where you two wanted to be, he helped you to straddle his hips to take him fully.

You gripped his shoulders when you started to take him. But without a good stretch, it took some time for you. Your soft moans were against Bruce’s mouth as he kissed you while you had him to yourself.

“Shit,” he muttered to your lips when you took him fully, your viscous walls wrapping him utterly. You just pressed your face to his throat at the feeling, the rich thickness of his cock. He kissed your hair before muttering to you.

“Are you alright, baby?”

“Mhm.” you hummed. He dipped his face close to your ear while his hands found your thighs.

“Yeah?” he kissed the sweet spot below your ear. “Do you want me to help?” he went on with his words. You just shook your head as a ‘yes’, pressing your cheek to the crook of his neck. He muttered an ‘Okay.’ and helped you to move. The first few thrusts were overwhelming and left you with moans and creased brows against his skin. But his groan against your ear and words of desperation eased the whole process.

“Fuck, can we do this until morning?”

Oh, when you got used to his thickness in you? It felt so good. So sweet, perfect, and left you yearning for more. As if you were made just right for him as he was made for you.

When it started to feel good enough, you withdrew your face from the curve of his neck. He caught your lips immediately. But it was not easy to kiss when you were almost breathless with soft moans against him. His hands were gripping your thighs slightly as you rode him. It could be easy if you let him stretch you out first, but you missed him so much that you wanted only him.

Bruce could see the clumsy attempts of you and he nuzzled to your face before speaking. “Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded at him with your sweet “Yes, p-please.”

He kissed your lips briefly, then helped you to take him out of your cunt. You sighed at the emptiness in disappointment, but as soon as you lay down, he was on you in seconds. But before he slipped where he belonged, he opened the drawer of bedstand. He took the usual condom packet out of it, then opened it hastily for not to waste any time.

“I don't want to come out of you,” he told you before capturing your lips when he was between your thighs. When he entered you again, the feeling was so sweet for both of you. He hooked your legs around his waist and your hands were around his neck, started to thrust your scorching pussy. She was wrapped around him too perfectly that his thick brows were creased in pleasure.

“Damn,” he muttered against your lips. “It had been one fucking month since I touched you.”

It really had been and you had no idea how he was pent up. That was the reason why he was throbbing just by kissing you and your warm body against his. Bruce started with his usual steady and gentle pace for not to overwhelm you. Then, he found his pace slightly faster.

You were a breathtaking mess under him. Your hair was slightly messy, cheeks flushed by your earlier position, and your eyes were closed, preventing Bruce from seeing your gorgeous eyes as he thrust into you. He was too good at fucking you so right. Never missing any spot, any angle you wanted to see the stars. Just against your expensive sheets, under the quilts in the slightly dim bedroom.

He was balancing his body with his elbows on either side of your ribs, one hand on your hip and the other under your pillow, caging you in. You were always touch-starved of each other and you managed to fix the issue during the sex. That was the reason why you were always wishing to stay close to each other.

You felt Bruce’s wet kisses on your neck, nestling after every thrust he gave to you. He had missed you very much, as much as you missed him. After that tension and the case in Gotham had him starved for you and your pussy. He pressed and sucked whatever skin he could reach on your bare shoulders or chest, with the equal pleasure he was having from your tight walls around his cock.

He fucked you so perfectly at the five in the morning — as if either of you cared the hour, hitting every single spot with an effortless skill.

When you told him with broken sentence that it was too much for you, his hand on your hip went to your clit for the stimulate you. Oh, it felt too overwhelming for you that you couldn't fully remember where you let go and see the stars. But after your first-ever climax, you thought he could be coming, too. But, no.

Bruce continued with his thrusts, solemnly focused on you. He did not care about starting all over and getting you to the finishing point one more time. A few more fervent kisses, and his sped up pace made your toes curl again. Your forehead was against his neck, nails digging into his skin on the back of his shoulders as he dived into you again and again, until you called him with a broken voice.

He kissed your ear before having you finish again. You were so relished in the feeling of your orgasm and he saw it with his bare, hazy eyes. The delight on your face was the reason he tried to try something again but he couldn't do it anymore. He was already holding himself back with great effort since the beginning. You just remembered from your heavy-lidded gaze that he came with gritted teeth between your arms.

You two were breathless, gasping from the pressure and sweetness. You just held him right in your arms, while he was nuzzling your neck. For a long time, you stayed like that, catching your breath. You were playing with his dark, sweaty locks curled on the ends of his neck while he was snuggled to you.

He kissed your neck before raising his head and looking at you with his yearning eyes. “I missed you.” he muttered to your lips before stealing a kiss from you. Then, pressed his forehead against yours with his closed eyes.

“Missed you more.” you murmured back. You wanted to guide him to sleep. But he did not want to sleep; not for now. He sweetly caught your lips in a kiss, hovering over you again. He kissed you until you pushed him slightly to breathe. He smiled down at you sheepishly, his blue eyes filled with a lovely glint.

“Your throat,” you muttered to him the words that had been running through your head for day and night. “How is it?” you asked more.

Your flustered cheeks and worry in your eyes made him laugh. He leaned on to kiss your cheek or the skin of your face as he resumed his genuine delight.

“Baby, we just,” he murmured to your cheek, “We just had sex and I thought we could have it again, but you are worried about my throat?”

He saw your furrowed brows and stopped laughing. “I am good,” he said truthfully, with a kiss on your temple. “I’ve said that to you earlier.”

But you both knew he was just telling a white lie earlier. Well, it was your turn to create a fuss to make him learn but he pressed an apology to your lips. “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again.”

“You worried me-”

“I’m sorry, baby, so sorry.” he pressed another kiss to intoxicate you with him. “Won’t do it again.”

Truthfully, Bruce was not good with vulnerability or apologizing. Maybe he could be good, if he wasn't stabbed in the back in his younger years for letting his guard down, or gave his care unconditionally. But, you weren’t a renegade to him and it still struggled him to realize that. So, when you looked at him with a pang in your eyes to tell him he did no good, he only did what he was good at.

Loving you with his lips and body.

He sealed your lips with his needy kisses, getting you drunk on him as he was between your thighs. Because he couldn't handle the thought of wounding you or letting you down when you were the rarest thing in his hands. Thus, when he had your attention again, you just let him.

thank you so much for reading! ♡

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

Hey my darling. Hope you're doing well xx

Please disregard this if you're no longer taking requests.

However, could I please request an Oscar fic? The first time he calls reader "baby" he sees their reaction and how much they love it (think butterflies and major grinning) and makes it a habbit to use baby as a go to nickname for reader.

Love your work darling. Speak soon

🇦🇺💜 anon xx

Unexpected Pet Name (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader {major fluff!}

A/N: OMG hi anon! I absolutely loved this idea, i hope i did it justice.

P.s i love you 🫶🇦🇺

Masterlist

🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍🍂🤍

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it was early when Oscar finally made it home. Bordering delirium as he approaches the thirty-sixth hour of being awake.

Race weekends were always brutal, and without you by his side (a luxury he has come to depend on it seems) he just couldn’t sleep.

His heavy footsteps shuffled through the entryway, each muscle twisting and tightening as he walked. His shoulder screamed as his backpack and duffel bag thump to the ground.

Oscar breathes deep, the welcoming smells of home flooding his senses. A satisfying crack of his back as he stretched high. Eyes closed as he settled into the quiet, a small smile forming on his lips.

The golden rays of sunrise threatened to breach the curtains as Oscar quietly opened the door to your shared bedroom. Leaning heavy on the wooden door frame as his strained eyes fell on you, for the first time in forever it seemed.

Your body curled deep in the mattress. The large comforter of your king bed swallows your relaxed frame. Oscar counted six pillows on the bed, with a further three lying forgotten on the floor. Your hair lay tucked under the hood of your his hoodie.

Oscar felt his cheats tighten, blinking away a stinging tear. His watch announced with a splitting beat that his heart rate had spiked past resting. His fingers twitch at his sides as he fights to hold himself in place.

You just looked so peaceful. Like an angel he compared silently.

He stood like that for a moment, slightly creeping himself out as he watched you sleep. The steady rise and fall of your body with each breath. The slight twitch in your face muscles as you dream.

His stare breaking only to look up, thanking whatever god or dead guy who was watching over him. A silent prey of ‘what did i do to deserve such a wonder?’

He made his way silently around the bed, coming to sit by your side. His large hand reaching out for your cheek, the rough skin of his fingers sinking into the warmth.

He cursed silently as your eyes flutter open, a deep breath escaping you. Your hand coming to rest atop his as you blinked up at him.

Oscar swears he felt his mind fuzz to a stop as a crooked smile stretched onto your face. Your voice thick with sleep as you whisper

“Your home.”

You scanned his face, your sleep heavy eyes burning deep. He looked tired, a little worn. His eyes squinted and a smile that didn't quite reach to where it should. A dark shadow staining under each blood shot eye.

You sat up slow, maneuvering on the bed to give Oscar more space. You raise the blanket as Oscar slips under the sheets. One arm slipping under your head, the other winding itself around your waist. Coming to rest heavily as Oscar’s body relaxes into the mattress.

You two lay in silence for a moment, holding each other close as you both revel in each others presence. Your fingers tracing slow, delicate patterns over the decal of his McLaren tee, exploring the heated skin of his neck.

He spoke first, his voice gone gruff with fatigue. Hooded eyes trailing your face

”I missed you so much baby, never gonna let you go again.”

You felt your skin flush, attempting to hide your heating cheeks and quickly forming smile in the crook of his neck.

Oscar wasn’t one for pet names, at least in the six months you have been dating he hasn’t been.

But the way it rolled off his tongue, his accent thickened by sleep. You felt your tummy tightened, swallowing back an embarrassing giggle as your toes wiggled. And his voice, god his voice. Strung out from post race celebrations, gravely and torn. Laced with a thick layer of exhaustion, dropping lower with each word.

you had tried to hide it, your body betraying you as your muscles tensed. Wriggling against your boyfriend like a content worm.

Never would you think Oscar would call you that.

And you definitely didn't expect the effects of it.

But the thing about Oscar, he didn't miss anything when it comes to you. He could read you like an open book, you had even gone as far as accusing him of being a mind reader. He knew your every tell, and you sometimes hated that.

His body protested as he pulled you away from him, straining at your fleeting attempt to stay in place. He held you at an arm's distance, a glint now shining in his eyes. His hair falling onto the pillow as he tilted his head, studying your reaction to his words. A devilish grin slowly creeping onto his face.

You had gone red, your skin emanating a new kind of heat. Your eyes cast down, refusing to meet him. You lip pulled hard between your teeth as you desperately bite back a grin.

”what’s wrong, baby? Your looking a little flustered over there.”

Oscar captures your wrist, blocking your bashful attempt to strike his cheats. A laugh bubbling at your actions. His blunt call out of your behaviour had a new wave of butterflies straining your insides. Your smile now shining bright as you met his eyes, the deep brown orbs swirling with adoration and love.

Putting you out of your misery he pulls you close. Entwining your body once more, his larger frame holding you flush.

Your name quickly fell out of Oscar’s vocabulary.

The new nicknames taking its place over the course of a short nap. Oscar couldn’t help it. He was floored with your reaction, and would do anything to keep that glowing smile on your face. A perminate red tinge flushing your heated skin.

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Tags list

@wherethezoes-at @fangirlmusicbiashoe @landosbabe4

(If you would like to be added please comment on my master list and let me know!)

[captain-bubble-wrap]

Sorry Im really in a request mood right now so heres another idea if you have time.

24.. "I'm sorry I woke you up."

Reader having sleeping problems and cant sleep. Quinn wakes up after she left the bed and went to the living room so she wouldnt disturb him.

It's 2am...guess who can't sleep?

It had been one of /those/ nights. 

One where no matter what you did, you couldn't stay asleep for more than an hour at a time. You had tossed and turned the whole night, shocked you hadn't woken Quinn even once. He was sound asleep on his side, his back to you and seemingly unphased by all of the restless episodes you were having. Annoyed with the constant pursuit of sleep that always seemed to allude you, you slipped out of bed and tiptoed from the room.

By this point, you were wide awake, but it was two-thirty in the morning. Too early to decide to just stay up and start the day and too late at night to do anything, not that wouldn't disturb Quinn in the other room. Back when you lived alone, you would have baked some cookies, or had a hot bath and watched a movie, but since moving in with Quinn, all of those insomnia fixes were harder to do now. 

Dragging your feet to the living room, you'd pull a couple of blankets from the back of the sofa, and try to make your self comfortable. However, like in the bedroom, you simply couldn't get that level of comfort you so desperately craved. Your back was beginning to bother you now, only adding to your inability to get any adequate rest. 

Looking up at the ceiling, you'd give one of your best signature Quinn sighs but it would fall on deaf ears. All you wanted to do was curl up against him and finally drift off to sleep, but you didn't like being the big  spoon and also didn't want to wake him. You had been lucky enough to get out of bed without disturbing him, so it seemed silly to go back in there now. You'd just have to settle for a solo night on the sofa instead. 

Being lost in your own thoughts, and not of counting sheep, you'd flip on the television and try to find something to watch that might finally coax you to sleep. Not that you were surprised, but there was absolutely nothing on at near three o'clock in the morning. You'd settle for some old Forensic Files episodes, as it was one of the few shows always on at all hours of the day. You were convinced that there were ten-thousand episodes of that show, as you never seemed to catch a re-run. You wouldn't find your eyes getting heavy --quite the opposite-- you found yourself engaged and eager for the justice outcome at the end. And because you were engrossed in the show, you wouldn't notice that Quinn was up and out of bed.

"Baby, what are you doing up? It's three," he said with the biggest yawn that made the tail-end of his statement hard to understand. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, Quinny-- I'm sorry I woke you up."

"I rolled over to find you and you weren't there, then I heard the TV." He shuffled over to you, looking down with a concerned expression on his face, faintly illuminated by the glow coming from the LCD "Come back to bed."

"I can't sleep," you replied, as he sat down beside you on the sliver of left-over cushion. 

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I just can't stay asleep."

He yawned again slightly concerned as he questioned you, "Did I do something to keep you up?"

"No, baby. It's just a bad night." 

"Is there anything I can do?"

You shook your head, giving his back a slight scratch as he sat next to you. "I don't think so, but thank you. You should really go back to bed, baby. You need your rest."

"Come with me" he pleaded, giving a pout.

"Quinn, don't you dare pout!" You teased. "That's not fair. I'll just keep you awake."

"I have an idea, please?"

You huffed, knowing you had already lost when that bottom lip of his made its appearance. "If I can't get back to sleep, Quinn, I'm just going to come back out here."

"You won't need to," he mumbled, pulling himself to his feet, extending his hand to you. "Hand-- please."

Hand-in-hand, Quinn would guide you back to the bedroom. He was first under the covers, getting himself nestled back in though the bed had grown cold having been empty. "Come on, my cute little spoon," he said, smiling in the darkness. 

That was all you needed to hear to know where he wanted you. Once you got into bed, Quinn wasted no time engulfing you in his arms and pulling you close to his body. There wasn't a gap between the two of you and his warmth transferred to you within a few seconds. His left arm locked you in to his embrace his breath hot against your neck. 

"Comfortable?" He asked, eyes already closed, nose buried in your hair.

"Yes, thank you." 

"What else do you need?"

"Nothing, Quinn. I'm okay."

He didn't say much after that and just let the feeling of you up against him reassure you that you were safe and being looked out for. He'd give you all of the stars if it were possible and he would always admit that he slept best with you. It hurt him when you decided to sleep on the sofa instead of his bed, but he understood you had your reasons, most having to do with not disturbing him and that he remained asleep. 

"Good night, babe," he whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart," you said to him, your eyes finally finding the desire to fall closed. "Wake me up when you get up in the morning, please?"

He giggled, "No chance. I'll get you up at noon." 

[writeriguess]

hi sweetie, I hope you are well ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡). I came to request katsuki Bakugou x female reader. They are married but due to Bakugou hero's busy schedule they have few moments together, I would like the plot to be based on the reader discovering Bakugou's infidelity (I want to suffer) (˃ ⌑ ˂ഃ ) following the appearance of a pregnant woman (or some crazy stuff like that?) If it's too much, don't worry! I just want that kind of anguish. tysm .ᐟ.ᐟ

author's note: Thank you, I am well <3 The upcoming work trip stresses me out a little though! I'm likely on it when this publishes.

A House Built on Ashes

The apartment is silent when you wake up, the other side of the bed cold. Again.

You stare at the ceiling, blinking away the sleep that threatens to pull you back under. Katsuki’s been working late. Too late. Always too late. Your hands glide across the empty sheets, searching for warmth that hasn’t been there in weeks. The clock on your nightstand reads 3:14 AM. A part of you wonders if he’ll even come home tonight.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you wrap his hoodie around your frame and pad barefoot into the kitchen. Your heart sinks when you see the untouched dinner, still wrapped and waiting for him. The weight in your chest grows heavier as you unwrap the food, staring at the cold meal you made hours ago. It’s stupid, really. You should be used to this by now.

The sound of the front door unlocking makes you flinch. You turn, breath caught in your throat, as Katsuki steps inside. His ash-blond hair is disheveled, his hero uniform half undone, revealing the black compression shirt underneath. He looks tired—exhausted even—but not in the way he should be. Not in the way of a man who’s just been fighting villains all day.

His crimson eyes meet yours, widening slightly as if he wasn’t expecting you to be awake.

“Yer still up?” His voice is rough, like he’s been screaming. Or lying.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Your fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. “Where were you?”

He hesitates. It’s barely a second, but it’s enough.

“Work ran late.”

A simple answer. A practiced one. But something is off. His uniform smells like detergent—freshly washed. His scent is there, but it’s muted. As if someone else’s perfume had been scrubbed away. A cold tendril of doubt coils around your heart.

“I called,” you say, watching his expression carefully. “Three times.”

His jaw tightens. “Phone died.”

Lies.

You want to believe him. Gods, you want to. You want to be the supportive wife, the one who understands that being the Number Two Pro Hero means sacrifices. But you know Katsuki. You know how meticulous he is about keeping his gear—and his phone—charged.

You know when he’s lying.

A week passes, and the distance between you both grows like a festering wound. He kisses you still, but there’s something different. Guilt, maybe. Or obligation. And then it happens. The moment everything unravels.

It’s a grocery run. A normal, mindless errand. Until you see her.

She’s beautiful. Dark hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing an oversized sweater that hides the curve of her stomach—almost. But you see it. The subtle swell of a life growing inside her. And more than that, you see the way her hands hover protectively over her belly.

You might have walked past her without a second glance if it weren’t for the conversation you overheard.

“Oh, please,” the woman scoffs, rolling her eyes as she adjusts the shopping basket on her arm. “Like she really thinks he’s still faithful to her? She’s pathetic.”

You freeze.

Her friend giggles, covering her mouth. “I mean, Y/N is stupidly naive if she thinks a man like Katsuki would actually stick around forever.”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins.

The woman—this stranger—laughs, a bitter, knowing sound. “Right? He knocked me up, and she’s still playing house like nothing’s wrong. I mean, come on, he spends more nights with me than her at this point.”

Your stomach churns. It feels like the ground is swallowing you whole.

Her friend nudges her playfully. “So, when’s Bakugou finally ditching her and stepping up?”

The woman sighs, rubbing a hand over her stomach. “Soon, hopefully. I mean, we all know he’s just staying out of guilt. But once this baby’s here?” She grins. “She’ll just be the embarrassing ex-wife.”

You don’t remember walking out of the store. You don’t remember the drive home. You don’t remember anything except the way your heart beats so violently against your ribs that it hurts.

By the time Katsuki comes home that night, you’re sitting on the couch, his hoodie pulled tight around you, your hands clenched into fists in your lap.

He doesn’t get the chance to speak before you ask, voice hollow—“Do you love her?”

The silence that follows is the worst part. Because it’s not immediate denial. It’s not outrage at the accusation. It’s nothing. Just quiet, suffocating nothingness.

Your whole world burns.

The silence stretches between you like a yawning abyss. Your heart pounds so violently that you can hear the blood rushing in your ears. Katsuki stares at you, crimson eyes unreadable, but his lips part like he’s searching for something to say—an excuse, a reason, a lie that will make this all go away.

But nothing comes.

Nothing.

And that is the final straw.

Your hands tremble as you push yourself to your feet, and suddenly, all the pain that’s been simmering inside you—festering, growing, poisoning every quiet moment you spent waiting for him—boils over.

“You bastard,” you whisper, but it’s more than that. It’s not just an insult. It’s a curse, a condemnation, a blade forged from every night you spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t try to defend himself.

Coward.

“Say something, Katsuki!” you shout, and your voice cracks on his name. His name—the one you’ve whispered in love, in devotion, in trust. Now it tastes like ash on your tongue.

But he doesn’t say anything.

The quiet shatters something inside you. You shove past the coffee table, hands shaking as you grab the untouched dinner you left wrapped for him hours ago. The plate crashes into the sink with a sharp, ringing clatter, the sound echoing through the suffocating apartment. “You could’ve just told me,” you say, voice shaking. “You could’ve told me that you didn’t love me anymore instead of—”

Instead of this.

Instead of letting you rot away in this lie.

Instead of making you look like a fucking fool.

You press a hand against your forehead, breathing hard, fighting against the sob that threatens to rip itself from your chest. Your vision is blurry with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall—not yet. Not in front of him.

Katsuki finally moves, stepping forward, hands raised as if he can fix this—as if he has the right to touch you after everything. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” you snap, voice like glass shards. He flinches, and good. Let him feel just a fraction of what you feel. Let it fucking hurt.

You let out a bitter laugh, though it tastes more like grief than amusement. “I cooked for you. I waited up for you. I defended you every single time someone said you wouldn’t settle down. And you—” You shake your head, chest heaving. “You weren’t even fucking careful. You didn’t even have the decency to make sure I didn’t find out like this.”

His eyes darken, but there’s shame there, too. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, sure. You just tripped and fell into another woman? And now she’s having your kid?”

His lips press into a thin line, and for the first time, you see it. The guilt. The regret. But it’s too late for that now. Too fucking late.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging into your palms until you’re sure they’ll leave crescent-shaped marks. You’re shaking, your whole body vibrating with rage, with devastation, with betrayal so deep it makes you sick to your stomach.

“You don’t get to do this to me,” you whisper, voice raw. “You don’t get to make me love you, to promise me forever, and then throw me away like I meant nothing.”

His hands tighten at his sides. “You didn’t mean nothing.”

But it’s not enough. It will never be enough.

Your breath catches, the dam finally breaking as a sob rips through your throat. “Then why wasn’t I enough?”

And for the first time, Katsuki has no answer.

You nod, wiping at your face furiously before turning on your heel, heading straight for the bedroom. Your mind is racing, already thinking about packing, about leaving, about never looking back. About how much it’s going to hurt.

He calls your name—soft, desperate.

But you don’t stop.

You don’t look back.

Because if you do, you might break completely.

[rori-is-writing]

While You Were Sleeping

⟪ ⟨ Ch 1: A Helping Hand ⟩ ⟫

A The Pitt Reader X Fic.

Two-Shot | Explicit | Dr. Robby x Fem!Reader | 642 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: You and Michael discover you both really like doing things while the other is asleep. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Somnophilia, Female Reader

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

[ For @chasing-will-o-the-wisps 💙 ]

He’s hard. 

It’s your first thought upon groggily waking up at 2 am. You could feel the length of his cock stiff and hot against the curve of your spine, seeking out that slippery warmth between your thighs it loved so much. 

You roll to face him, thinking perhaps he is awake…but no. His face is still slack, eyes fluttering underneath his eyelids. Michael had always been a heavy sleeper. His shifts at work certainly lent themselves to knocking him out cold every night…which really should’ve been a sign for you to roll over and go back to sleep. 

But that’s not what you do. 

In any other circumstance, you would absolutely never touch someone without their consent. Without knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was something they wanted. Encouraged even. 

But you weren’t exactly in your right mind were you? Still caught in that cloudy dream-like space between sleep and the waking world. And in that place, things like consent and morals are murky at best. 

All you know is that your lover’s cock is hard for you. Yearning for you. And you just want to…comfort it a bit. Let it know you’re there. That you care. 

Did you miss me? You think fondly, as your fingers slip underneath the waistband of his pants and meet the burning flesh beneath. You just need a little attention that’s all. 

Michael’s cheek twitches and his cock pulses in your hand—greedy for your touch—but otherwise he remains blissfully asleep, unaware of your attentions. It’s so easy, so simple, to grip and stroke in that comfortingly familiar way of yours. Like you’ve done this a thousand times.

(And you have.)

He shudders and you hear him let out a little breath—so quiet you almost don’t catch it—but still he somehow remains asleep. His body knows you’re there. It wants this. It needs it. But his mind clearly hasn’t caught up with it. So you continue your touches—your hurried little strokes.  You are so sleepy and yet so desperate to see him to the end of this. Bring him that sweet release his body wants so badly so he can wake up in a few hours, happy and refreshed and none the wiser. 

You don’t even think about it before you do it. It just comes so naturally. It takes barely more than a few movements—pulling down the waistband of his pants to free that hungry cock—and then you’re swallowing him down. 

He tastes like salt. Like sleep and home. 

He makes a real noise then. An audible grunt, deep in his chest, and you feel his hips jerk gently upwards. But when you flick your eyes upwards all you see is the face of a man still slumbering away. 

Giddy, you continue. Sucking and licking and squeezing like his cock is your own personal plaything. Sex with him is always good. Great, in fact. But there’s just something about him being so vulnerable, so…helpless that has you feeling almost feral. 

You don’t even realize he’s finally awoken until you feel fingers threading through your hair. 

“Now what did I do,” Michael’s voice hitches as you suck a little harder along the crown of his cock. “…To deserve this?” 

You smile, lips curving upward as your tongue continues lapping along that pulsing vein underneath the head. It takes no time at all to finish him off. He’s already so close. So worked up from your previous attentions. A little extra suction, a little squeeze on his balls and he’s gone. He swears, hips and fingers trembling as you feel hot cum pulse down your throat. 

You lick your lips like a pleased cat with a bowl of cream before finally replying to his earlier question. 

“Oh, you know. Just for being you.” 

Next Chapter

If you enjoyed this fic, please check out my fanfiction masterlist.

Thanks for reading! 🫶

[seokminfilm]

positions | lee seokmin

🪄 pairing, lee seokmin x reader

🪄 warnings, newlyweds au, baby fever, sweet seokmin, pet names (seokmin uses baby, reader uses sweetheart), mentions of children, mentions of baby fever, reader is called a pretty mother, lots of kissing and loving on each other, seokmin soft hours

🪄 summary, seokmin had to have this conversation with you at one point, but he didn't think it would be this soon and this desperate, either.

🪄 author's note, this was suggested by a lyrnon (lyr + anon = lyrnon btw)! i saw this and knew i had to do it because my life would not be complete without this fic in it....anyways, enjoy!! (dad seokmin ftw)

🪄 now playing, positions, ariana grande

🪄 word count, 1004 (omg jeonghan's birthday i'm going insane...) | for @kstrucknet

"They kept telling us congratulations over and over and over again," Seokmin laughs lightly, and you nod, blushing as you settle into bed. No matter how long you and Seokmin are married, you'll never get tired of this giddy feeling you get in your stomach when you get ready to sleep.

"They were all so cute though. I love your nieces and nephews." You sigh, and Seokmin nods as he lays on your chest. You curl his soft, brown strands between your fingers, humming a tune as Seokmin strips himself of his black frames, revealing his pretty eyes and even prettier beauty mark.

Your husband, Seokmin (wow, that was still really weird to even think), had finally taken you to meet his extended side of the family today.

The joy-filled wedding had taken a toll on you, and you had been stuck at home for the past week, sick with a surprise cold (to which Seokmin quickly stepped into his husbandly duties and took care of you to the best of his ability).

Even now, he was still so tender with you, kissing you with little force and always asking to hold your hand wherever and whenever he wanted to. His touch felt different─it was sure and stable, and you loved the feeling of his fingers encasing yours at the most intimate times you think you've ever had with him.

"Seokmin?" You ask softly, scared he's fallen asleep. He's been quiet for the past five minutes, still, warm body against yours.

"I'm still awake, baby, I'm sorry. I'm just thinking." Seokmin's voice is soft, hushed in the sweetest way you think you've ever heard it be. Smiling, you press a kiss to Seokmin's scalp, breathing in his lavender-scented shampoo.

"Thinking?" You repeat, and Seokmin nods, slowly sitting up and taking his head off of your chest as he turns to look at you.

"Thinking about what, sweetheart?" You ask, and Seokmin studies you for a second, his dark brown eyes raking over your figure dwarfed in his windbreaker. It sends him spiraling, feeling like a teenager in high school with the way he's staring at you.

"I'm thinking about you," Seokmin answers, and you smile, grabbing a decorative pillow as you place it in your lap. "What about me?" Teasing, you tilt your head to the side a bit, reveling in the way Seokmin smiles at you.

"It may be too soon though." Seokmin frowns just slightly, pretty face falling just a bit as you shake your head, nervousness building in your chest nevertheless as you shake your head.

"Don't say that, Min. You haven't even told me what it is yet." You smile simply, patting the top of Seokmin's hand as you twist the ring on his finger─your vow and promise to him.

"What if you're not saying that when I actually tell you what I'm thinking about?" Seokmin pouts, lips jutted out as you lean in, giving them a quick peck as you smile.

"No way," You whisper, fingertips grazing Seokmin's jawline as you sigh dreamily, obviously in love with him. "Tell me, Seokmin. Please?"

The question at the end of your confirmation breaks Seokmin even more, and he can't stop himself, finally opening his mouth as he glances away for a split second, as if to try to recollect himself. After a few seconds of silence, Seokmin looks back to you, trying not to shudder when you lean your head on his shoulder, warm breath tickling his neck.

"You'd be such a pretty mother, baby. I just...I feel it in my soul." Seokmin's statement makes your face heat up faster than you thought it would, and you inhale sharply, holding your breath.

"Me? A pretty mother?" You ask in disbelief, and Seokmin smiles, nodding as he shyly looks at the ground.

"When you were taking care of my sister's newborn daughter, I─" Seokmin sighs, eyes locked on yours as he chews at your lip. "I thought of you with my baby in your arms."

You fall silent, unable to really form proper words. You had never seen this side of Seokmin before─it was new, seeing him so flustered and so hushed about one of his many thoughts. He always was one to voice his ideas and voice them loudly, but this...this was different from anything he's ever told you.

"It's really weird, I know. I just..." Seokmin trails off, face heating up as he swallows. "I just really want us to start a family. It would be nice."

Eyes falling to the sheets, your cheeks start to hurt from how wide you're smiling, and you look back up at Seokmin, nearly flinging yourself on him as you hug him tightly. He's obviously surprised, gasp escaping him as you kiss his neck, and he giggles just seconds later, obviously enamored with your reaction.

"How would this be too soon, Seokkie?" You ask, and Seokmin shakes his head, looking down bashfully as he huffs.

"I don't know, I just...I didn't think you would want to take it that far just yet." Seokmin's voice is soft and innocent, and it makes you smile, taking his chin in your hand as you tilt his face up to look at it. His big brown eyes are sparkling with the light of the bedroom, and you can see the sparkles in it as you shake your head.

"I'm ready for anything you are. I love you so much I'd do anything you ask me without thought." You say softly, leaning in as your lips softly graze Seokmin's. His eyes flutter shut, and he sighs under you, hands placed in your lap as he brushes his hands over your thighs.

"Anything?" He asks quietly, voice a low rumble as his thick eyebrows raise into his bangs. You nod, smiling as you kiss the tip of his pointed nose.

"Absolutely anything, Seokmin."

The smile that comes on your husband's face suddenly makes your will to live for him a little bit longer (as if it wasn't already infinitely long).

[bombsonboard]

metal arm brrr

Summary: Every problem needs a solution. Bucky just isn't the biggest fan of yours.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Tags: Fluff in the highest degree, old married couple, Swearing (It's Bucky, duh)

A/N: I just needed to give you guys something, it's been too long since i've written on here and you guys are the best :) I've barely checked this over so I apologize for any typos.

*****

“Can you stop moving, please?” 

Bucky Barnes half asleep is not someone you want to mess with. The first time you shuffled he had hardly made a sound, the second you were met with a low grumble (a warning you knew well) and the third strike, he was thirty seconds from kicking you out of the bed. 

When Bucky had finally learnt to sleep in a bed again, mostly thanks to you, he steadily became a big fan of his beauty sleep and god help anyone who ended up disturbing him. He had a lot to catch up on. Once, you had violently shaken him awake because his phone was ringing and when he heard Sam on the other line, you were deemed a ‘sleep thief’ for a week and a half after. Bucky Barnes was a bitch when it came to his sleep. 

You usually wouldn't have any complaints about being in his vice grip but it was January and the nights were still cold and having a boyfriend with a metal arm meant that you were held to him with an ice cold grip around your waist. When the Summer came, it was a life saver, your own personal refrigerator but you still had a good few months to go before you were hanging off his arm everyday. 

“Sorry.” You mumbled and tried to convince yourself you were comfortable without another word.

Nope, can’t do it. You shift again. 

“You’re kidding- what is it?” He pulls away from you and sits up on his elbow, glaring, he dares you. “Go on.”

With the most innocent doe eyes you could muster you slip your bottom lip between your teeth and debate the argument you could spark when your gaze slips to his vibranium arm in the semi darkness.

He doesn’t miss a thing, you’ve come to realize.

“I swear if you say-”

“-It’s cold! I’m cold! It’s just too much cold!” You burst, arms flailing in desperation. 

“It’s my arm! You said you wanted to sleep on my left, this is my left arm, nothing I can do. Okay?”

“There has to be something.” You search the room for solutions, briefly lingering on the sock drawer. 

“Oh yeah, sorry, let me just take it off.” Bucky grunts, dripping with sarcasm. 

“...If you could?”

“Seriously, fuck you.” 

Bucky falls back into his beloved pillow, eyes shut and wishing he has chosen a partner that let him sleep peacefully, then again, why would he want that when you exist?

“Look, either come to the other side or deal with it.” 

Silence finally reaches your bedroom and Bucky is deeply in dreamland while you lie awake, scheming away. 

In the early hours, you slip out of bed without a sound and make a beeline for the sock drawer, knowing you had some old pairs of slipper socks stuffed at the back. Scissors in hand, you snipped off the toes and smiled at the D.I.Y leg warmers. Oh, he was gonna be mad. 

With nearly medical precision, you held out the slumbering Bucky’s arm in front of you and one by one, slid the fluffy socks up the freezing metal until it was sufficiently covered. Thanking the universe, he was a pretty heavy sleeper, you shuffled back under the covers and happily wrapped the soft arm back around your waist. 

You slept like a lamb after that.

*****

When the morning came, you woke up before him like usual and briefly left him to his own devices as you made coffee, two mugs sitting on the counter beside each other. 

Through the wall, you faintly hear the rising of the soldier before heavy footsteps quickly storm in your direction.

“The fuck is this?”

You look up to see him in the doorway, and find yourself the subject of a stare that would send millions running. Not you. The multicolored socks lined up his arm kind of softened his hoped effect and you had to stifle your laughter. 

“A solution?” You shrug.

“No.” He points at you with his flesh arm accusingly “Nu-uh. This? This is not how we solve things.”

“Is it not? I’m really digging the rainbow on you.” The giggle you had tried to push down had spilled over.

“You’re a fucking menace.” 

The giggle now a full bodied laugh that had you clutching at your chest as you were overcome with the image of your big, scary, ‘world’s most deadly assassin’ boyfriend glaring daggers at you while donning the most fluffy and most colorful socks up his arm.

Bucky was fighting a grin with all his might, your laughter was like an ugly disease, incredibly contagious, hard to avoid, and annoying.

Something soft hits you in the face and you halt your hysterics as you peer at the slipper sock now at your feet. Lifting your gaze, Bucky is smiling smugly, and working a second sock off his arm. 

“Bucky!” You yelp and duck under the counter as the rainbow sock flies in slow motion over your head. 

You probably shouldn’t poke the bear but-

“Y’know, for the best shot the United States army had ever seen you sure do miss a lot.” You taunt from your hiding spot.

When there's no response, you make a break for the couch and get shot squarely in the forehead.

“Say that again.” He dares with narrowed eyes.

“Okay, truce. Truce!” You raise your hands in surrender. 

“Say sorry for last night.” The pink ball of fluff in his hands, a deadly fate, and you’re consigned to concede

“I apologize for last night.” You sigh, approaching him with caution “Now, it’s been ten whole minutes and you still haven’t subjected me to your obscene morning breath.”

He beckons you with his head and you happily plod over, throwing your arms around his neck. The kiss is sweet, and full of promised mornings to come.

It’s welcomed by you. Until you feel the coldest thing known to man, his left arm, writhing under your shirt and sending immediate shivers down your back. 

“Bucky!” You screech and his strong laughter descends on your morning with malice.

Desperately wiggling out of his hold, you escape to the bedroom and yell from your stronghold:

“That was an act of war James Buchanan Barnes!”

[dollarbils]

focused | j.ortega

jenna ortega x fem!reader

context. your girlfriend’s been busy all day. all you’re craving is for her focus to be on you.

warnings. angst, smut, degrading words.

masterlist

she’d been glued to her laptop all day. consumed in this new script she’d received. of course you were excited for her, you’d seen the way her face lit up. but she’d been at it for hours, days.

“jenna, when are you going to give yourself a break, how long is this script?” she wasn’t fully listening, still engrossed by the letters on the white screen.

“hm?” she barely looked over at you, registering thad you’d said something, but nothing more.

“jenna please. i feel like i haven’t seen you in days even though we live together.” she seemed to have had picked up on your tone because this time she turned around, facing you.

“sorry, what did you say?” she asked you to repeat yourself for the second time.

“i miss you, love. it’s been ages since we’ve talked or spent time together.” she furrowed her brows in confusion.

“what do you mean? we see each other all day.” she chuckled, not taking the conversation seriously.

“i’m serious jenna, you’ve been glued to that screen for the past two days, i’ve barely heard your voice. it’s been keeping you up at night too.” instead of self reflecting, she went on the defensive immediately.

“that’s not true. i just really need to get this script looked over. i was told i could comment on anything id like to possibly get changed. do you understand how rare it is for an actor to get that opportunity?” she got up from the desk chair, waving her hands around as she yelled.

“no, of course i do. but that doesn’t mean you can’t at least take a break.” she rolled her eyes.

“i have taken breaks, it’s not my problem you’re so needy all the time.” the insult was misplaced and you felt embarrassed.

“i’m needy? jenna i haven’t had a conversation that’s lasted more than a minute in the last 48 hours. wanting more than that is not needy.” you couldn’t shake the feeling that had settled in, the fact that maybe you were too needy.

“oh my god, you’re so dramatic. just wait for me to finish and then i’m all yours.” her tone was condescending, and you soon found it ridiculous that you were fighting over this.

“it’s not only about me, you need a break too.” she didn’t seem to care.

“just give me five minutes.” you knew five minutes would turn into five hours but it didn’t matter anymore. and once five minutes had passed, you closed your eyes and drifted to sleep, no longer having the energy to fight her.

-

after some time, she came through the door, to find you sleeping. it’s not as if she’d wanted to upset you, but this script was really exciting to her. she hadn’t meant to ignore you.

“baby,” she shook you awake, not wanting to go to sleep without fixing this.

“jenna, i’m not in the mood.” she was slightly taken aback by your cold words.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart.” she sat upright on the bed, caressing your arm gently, coaxing you into forgiveness.

“please.” she repeated, and even without elaboration it was clear what she was asking for.

“okay.” you folded as the soft words left your lips. you pushed the covers back and let her take you in her arms. she kissed your forehead earning a sigh, as you relaxed in her warm embrace.

“what can i do to make it better?” she asked with genuine concern, however your response was a mischievous grin. she raised her eyebrows as she questioned the look you were giving her.

“i could use some head.” she laughed at your reply and kissing your smiling lips.

“i can arrange that.” she whispered in your ear, her hands burning the skin at your waist.

“my poor angel’s touch starved. tell me what you need, baby.” her voice was sick with power. she loved having you so desperately begging for her. although she did feel bad.

“fuck, jenna. i just need you to t-touch me.” her smile widened and she fumbled with your shorts, not planning on wasting any time with you.

“mm, can’t get off on your own huh? need my help.” she urged you to reply and when you didn’t she pulled your chin in order to face her.

“y-yeah, need you to help m-me.” her fingertips were brushing against your clothed clit, causing your words to break up in a stutter. she enjoyed how desperate you sounded beneath her touch, her words rendering you more and more flustered.

“so pathetic aren’t you.” her words were harsh because she knew it turned you on. you were nodding without realising what you were agreeing to, too focused on the filthy words leaving her mouth to ponder on their meaning. she chuckled into your neck, her warm tongue soothing the bruises she’d created.

“jen-jenna, please.” her hands pulled down your panties before she began to play with your wetness, spreading it around and earning choked whines from your throat.

“hm, who are you so wet for baby?” she teased but you didn’t have the strength to reply as she lowered her head between your thighs. her tongue laid flat against your clit, tasting your arousal while her fingers toyed with your entrance.

“f-fuck.” instinctively, your thighs shut around her head, making her hiss.

“open wide for me.” she instructed, looking up to see you fisting the sheets with your head thrown back. however when you had relaxed, you’d managed to comply with her request.

“that’s it.” she affirmed, her mouth latching onto your heat once again. you were soon returned to your previous state, your mouth an exit for all sorts of pornographic noises. you physically couldn’t keep quiet. and when you began grinding against her tongue, she groaned into you, the pleasure of devouring you finally expressed.

“oh my god, jenna please- please keep going.” she smirked into your pussy, flicking her tongue over your clit, and darting it in and out of your entrance. it felt so good. she was too good.

“fuck, jenna. so close, can i-i.” your eyes were shut as the pleasure built up, so close to your release.

“mhm.” she nodded, her face still buried in your arousal, bringing you to the edge and helping you ride it out once that chord has snapped. you felt yourself grow warm as the pleasure consumed you, clenching around her tongue. she came up to kiss you, her tongue sure to penetrate your lips so that you could taste yourself.

“am i forgiven?” she smiled and you couldn’t help shoving her playfully at the look she was giving you.

“yeah, i’d say so.”

[yelenasbraid]

the view between villages pt.1 — joe burrow

mini series summary — it’s been years since you’ve seen your high school & college best friend, joe burrow. you went to high school together, went to ohio state together, but separated when joe transferred. distance wasn’t kind to you, and the total difference in careers stretched you further apart. when you reunite with him unexpectedly, you’re not sure you have an explanation. you’re not sure if he’ll take your explanation. little do you know he’s been ready and he’s been willing.

chapter summary — your sister asks for a pickup from a bar. little did you know you’d step back in time.

warnings — fem!reader, best friends to strangers to lovers, angst

songs that inspired this part — please don’t go home yet by stephen sanchez + the view between villages by noah kahan

note — i’ve had this done for a while and idk how much longer i could have gatekept this from you guys lol. i also have a request i’m working on AND I WILL GET TO IT!! it’s halfway done lol

part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

YOU SET YOURSELF UP FOR FAILURE, you’ve realized. your living room is set at the perfect temperature, allowing for a blanket to be the only thing keeping you warm. a show played softly in the background and a warm-scented candle was lit on the coffee table. your laptop was perched on your lap, an attempt being made to study for an upcoming exam for your masters degree.

your eyes threatened to close, attempting to pull you into a light sleep.

your phone was the next thing you heard, the incessant buzzing against your thigh shaking you awake. you rubbed your eyes, grabbing your phone to see who was calling you. you groaned, answering the call.

“what?” a hand ran down your face as you annoyance slid off your single word.

“i need a pick up,” the slurred voice of your younger sister, kelsey, was on the other end. she decided to go out with some friends to a bar in downtown cincinnati. they picked her up without plans on who was to take her home.

so that left you.

“which bar are you at?” you grumbled, shutting your laptop and placing it on the coffee table. you blew out the candle while you were at it.

“uh,” there was a pause, and you cursed under your breath as you stood up to grab some shoes.

“kelsey, do you know where you are?” you didn’t mean to snap, but it was 12:30 in the morning; you weren’t in the mood for your sister’s incompetence.

“yes yes i do, geez,” kelsey groaned, “somerset,” she replied. you’ve only been there a handful of times, only because someone invited you. you didn’t go to bars with your own free will. you had too much work to do.

“i’ll be there in 10 minutes,” you told her, grabbing your keys and your wallet. you definitely weren’t dressed to be stepping foot in a bar, sweats and an ohio state crew neck keeping you warm.

“thank youuuuu,” kelsey sang, a hiccup interrupting her. you rolled your eyes as you locked the door to your shared apartment with kelsey.

“just don’t do anything stupid, alright? and no more drinks, drink some water,” you instructed as you got into your car.

“you’re no fun,”

“that’s what older sisters are for, kels,” you reminded her. ever since you were small you looked out for kelsey. your parents weren’t very present; both of them worked long hours. as the oldest, you looked out for kelsey. you often babysat her, fed her, and made sure she stayed out of trouble. you were still that person for her, and you often wondered if it would ever stop.

—

you parked outside of the bar, somehow managing snag a parallel parking spot. as much as you hated parallel parking, you weren’t going to drive around for 20 minutes trying to find a parking spot.

not when it was this late.

you stepped out, locking your car and quickly crossed the street. it wasn’t as crowded as you thought, the lights casting a warm glow on the street. it was peaceful, for the most part. the lights of the skyscrapers casting a beautiful glow onto the streets below them. the moon was out too, making the stars around it sparkle. the air was cool, ushering you into a comforting embrace. you opened the door to the bar, breaking the hold the cool wind and peaceful night had on you.

there were too many people here. every table was occupied, the bar was full, and there were even people standing, well, swaying. your eyes scanned the crowd, picking apart faces and bodies as you tried to find your sister. your fingers absently fiddled with your keys, your anxiety building. was she here? did she lie to you? were you in the right bar? your eyes moved to the sign behind you, and you were in the right place. so, where was kelsey?

you flipped over your phone in your hand, your eyes still searching the crowds. your eyes did find someone, a blonde who’s face was rosy from the warmth of the room. his smile was radiant, laughing along with the guys next to him. he was familiar, his presence filling the room and the hole in your chest. your breath hitched, watching as joe burrow sat a few tables from you. he didn’t notice you, but you noticed him.

he’d changed. his hair was shorter, his arms were fuller, he even looked taller in his seat. he’d grown up, gotten older, and moved on from the things of college. as he should. your heart clenched in your chest, remembering the simpler days when you and joe were close. the days where you couldn’t imagine being apart from each other.

flashback

the door to your car opened as you opened a granola bar. you look over, mid bite, as a shaggy-haired joe burrow gets into your car. morning tea sessions before school were a usual for you, and if you were honest, you liked it. you never admitted it to him and had a hard time admitting it to yourself, but you were starting to like joe. he paid attention to your interests, he geeked out with you over the simplest of things, and he made you laugh. all the time.

joe, on the other hand, felt safe in your car. he wouldn’t admit that to anyone, but he liked sitting in your car with you, talking about everything and anything. he liked how he could joke with you, how he could geek out about something and you’d join right in. he felt safe with you, and being with you was the best part of his day besides football practice.

“well good morning,” you spoke as you swallowed your piece of granola.

“have you seen the new marvel lego set?” he asked you, a boyish sparkle in his eyes.

“i haven’t,”

“dude, look,” he turned his phone to show you, almost as if he’d been waiting to show you. it was a set with your favorite character in it, bucky barnes. you gasped, pointing at his figure.

“it’s got bucky?” you grinned, and he nodded his head eagerly.

“i know! i think i’m gonna buy it, but i just want the captain america mini figure. so i’ll give you bucky,” he shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal.

“wait, really?”

“yeah, he’s your favorite, right?”

end of flashback

your head was in a daze, fogged over with memories. you had to snap out of it, but god you couldn’t. you inhaled deeply, feeling tears sting your eyes. you still had that lego figure, planted in a small display case on your desk. you yearned for the simpler times, but those were past. you didn’t live there anymore.

“hello?” a hand being waved in front of your face interrupted your trance, shocking your bones with embarrassment. you rapidly blinked your eyes, clearing your eyes from tears. your cheeks turned a rosy red color as you focused on your sister.

“where were you?” you scolded, crossing your arms, trying to regain the little composure you had left.

“in the bathroom, wasn’t gonna pee in your car,” she giggled. you rolled your eyes, and instinctively you flicked your eyes over to joe again, except you met his eyes this time. it made your heart skip a beat, shocking you down to your very core. you felt your chest tighten, a prickly feeling spreading across your skin. why did he still do that to you? you quickly flicked your eyes away, focusing again on your sister.

“i’m glad,” you gave a fake smile as you ushered her in front of you and out of the bar. you wanted so badly to cast one, last lonely look at joe, but you didn’t. you sneered to yourself, scolding yourself for allowing a memory to resurface, one that was painfully sweet. it killed you, and even though you lived in the same city, it didn’t mean you wanted to see him yet. you couldn’t.

you didn’t see joe watch you leave. you didn’t see joe inhale, his chest constricting with a newfound urgency. you didn’t see him stand, wanting to go after you. he almost left, wanting to catch you, but you left too quickly. he swallowed, blinking away the memories as he sat down again. his evening wouldn’t be the same, not after he saw you, not after he heard your voice above everyone else’s.

flashback

he’d lost. bad. it was his fault too. if his hands weren’t shaking so bad, he’d have caught the snap. but no, he didn’t. his hands slipped, which derailed him for the rest of the night.

‘butterfingers burrow’ was chanted on the visitors side of the stadium, and he couldn’t have felt worse in that moment. he walked off the field, the heavy feeling in his chest not getting any better. he lifted his head, trying to put on a brave face, when he saw you. you were waiting for him, wrapped up in a puffer and a hat. he allowed himself to smile, just a little.

“hey,” you gently smiled, watching him walk towards you.

“hi,” his voice was hoarse, as it sometimes was after a game. it was even worse considering it was cold and he felt tears stinging his eyes. he stopped short of you, his breath hitching. you weren’t much of a hugger, and he always respected that. always.

“come here,” you opened your arms, and joe just fell into them. you wrapped your arms around him, feeling the eyes on you. you knew this would be talked about tomorrow in the hallways, in classes. joe knew it too, but all he could think about was you. the feeling of your arms around him and your sweet perfume that consoled him.

he parted from you, exhaling a shaky breath.

“you ok?” you asked, and he knew you knew he was far from it. joe swallowed, picking at his cuticles. your hands gently topped his, getting him to stop.

“it’s just high school, i’ll be ok,” he assured you. he watched you, getting lost in the feeling of your warm hands on his. he ducked his head, feeling his cheeks warm with a blush. he wished you both were something more.

“i know you will, but your feelings are important too, joey,” you reminded him. he nodded his head, and offered you to walk with him.

“for the record,” you continued, “you did well. i’m proud of you, and i don’t care what people say at school tomorrow. they’re a bunch of hormonal teenagers,” you joked, and it got a laugh out of him.

“we’re apart of that too, ya know,”

“yeah well, whatever makes you laugh, joey,”

end of flashback

you always had this tendency to make him feel better. you could make the most out of a bad situation, a bad game, anything. you did a lot for him, and he didn’t realize what the emptiness in his chest was until now. until he saw you.

he took out his phone, an idea popping into his head. it’s been a while, he knew that, but he’d try it. he typed in your name into his text messages, and found you. he didn’t delete your conversations, even if it’s been years since you’ve seen or talked to each other. he couldn’t bring himself to remove the last tangible thing he had of you. he opened the messages and typed a message.

you felt your phone buzz as you situated your sister in the passenger seat of the car. you looked at it, seeing a text from none other than joe burrow himself.

‘does this number still work?’

oh this is gonna be an angsty one. it’s part one baby!! i’m hoping i can commit to this series since i’m actually excited about it. if there’s anything you want to see, please let me know! i’ve got a rough outline but of course will hear you out lol.

[fgojous]

love wins all | chapter one ( satoru g. )

from childhood summers and petty high school banters, to the endless college lectures—med school and the chaos of residency, you've been through it all. you've built everything together. you're each other's home—everything. but what if your relationship breaks beyond repair? what if the one thing you couldn't save was each other? can your love still win it all?

neurosurgeon!gojo x trauma surgeon!reader

warnings. romance, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, hurt no comfort, fluff, medical au, established relationships, high school sweethearts, unresolved feelings, unresolved issues, grief, emotional repression, mutual pining, emotional trauma, childhood trauma, explicit sexual content | eighteen plus only!

word count. 5.5k

masterlist.

note. hi, here's chapter one. please ignore the errors (or some inaccuracies lol). i hope you enjoy! reblogs are appreciated <3

CHAPTER ONE: MEET THE GOJOS!

You stare at the mug in front of you. Carefully watching the steam curl up lazily, blending in the atmosphere along with the sterile smell of the hospital lounge. You have been awake for what—eighteen hours? Maybe nineteen or twenty. You’ve lost count somewhere between stitching a ruptured artery and watching one of your patients almost code in front of you.  

You could feel everything. Your eyes burn, the ache just below your brows, the tightness of your back but despite it all, one thing was running through your mind—your husband, or soon-to-be ex-husband, if he could just sign the papers. But he wouldn’t give you that satisfaction, right? He just couldn’t let you go.

But why? Why is he dragging this out when he knows this is far that you can go. This relationship is already flatlined. He knows it, you know it. You both know it.

The door opens, and without even looking at it you recognize the person who just came in. You know it by his scent, the way he moved, the way he could just take over a room,  you know it all too well.

“You did good today.” he says gently, too familiar, too comfortable. “My shift just ended. We should go—”

“Sign the papers.”

He stops, and you look his way. He’s staring at you with that face again—like he couldn’t believe that you were saying it that easily when you’ve been with him for what—nineteen years? You stare at him, his hands stopping midway from unbuttoning his coat. 

“You need to sleep.”

“Did you hear me?” you say once again, too brave to stare right in his eyes, but too cowardly to acknowledge the ache growing inside your chest.

“I did.” he looked away, opening his locker, methodically shoving his white coat inside. His hand lingers on the edge, “We should go home.”

Ah. Home. Home where all the floors are neatly polished, where dishes are barely used anymore.

Home where you sit across each other in complete silence, barely looking at each other. Home where you sleep in the same bed but your backs facing each other, like there’s a cliff in between your bodies.

Where you pretend that this is something that you could fix. Believing that this was just a phase in your marriage even though you filed for divorce three weeks ago.

You don’t even know if you could call that home anymore when you have been sleeping in the on-call room for God knows how long.

You push the chair back, the wood screeching on the tiled floor, “I’m going to sleep in the on-call room. I need to monitor my patient anyway.”

You almost sprinted out of the break room, your freshly made coffee discarded on the table. You couldn’t get out of there fast enough. 

Not because you’re angry. But because you couldn’t fathom this feeling where he doesn’t try enough but doesn’t want to let you go. And you hate it, you hate all of it.

You were tired of arguing. 

The door clicked behind you. 

It hit that you were alone, that no matter what you did, you still felt alone. No matter how he says that he was there, you still felt alone. You gripped your coat, letting your tears silently fall down your cheeks as you toss your coat on the chair. 

You kick your shoes off, letting them land wherever, you let your body fall on the cot. You stare at the ceiling and you just breathe.

You press your face to your hands, letting your feelings catch up to you. Maybe he’s right, you were just tired. Maybe you just needed sleep because when was the last time you slept? You don’t even know. You don’t remember. 

When was the last time you let yourself feel something? When was the last time you didn’t push something down? You wanted to scream, you wanted to throw things.

But instead, you bury your face on the worn out cotton of the pillow. Nothing like the one you have at home. Nothing like you have with him.

You reach for your phone, the screen is bright, no new messages. 

Your patient is stable, post-op vitals are holding and you aren’t on-call. You could message him. You could go home with him.

Maybe he’s still here, still waiting. But you stop yourself because once you do—once you let yourself give in, you might take it all back and you can’t afford to do that.

Not when you’re the one who wanted to end it. Not when you’re the one who messed it up. 

You hear the door open and you immediately turn to the other side, you tuck your arms under your chest. 

You could feel the cot sink. Confusion washes over you when he nudged you to move but you did anyway. He lays beside you, hands gripping your waist gently to pull you close to him. 

The contact made you shudder. It has been months— three months, since you’ve been this close.

“What are you doing?”

“If you want to sleep here, then we’ll sleep here.” he says, his voice steady.  His hand slides under your scrubs—to hold you, to feel you. His palms press against the skin of your stomach, the contact making your spine shiver.

“Satoru.” you breathe, gripping his wrist as a warning. 

You have no idea what’s running on your husband’s mind. Why? Why is he doing this now?

“I just want to hold you.” he murmurs against your shoulder, his lips brushing on the soft of your skin, “Please, just let me hold you.”

His thumb strokes the curve of your waist and you almost break, you almost falter. Everything he does, everything he does could break you in a way that nothing else could. 

You missed this. You missed him more than you could admit. 

You could push him when he pressed a soft kiss on your neck. You could pull away when he turns you around to face him. You could look away when he stares into your eyes.

But you don’t. You just let him. You just let him take the gap between the two of you, until your lips are inches away from each other—then none at all. 

You gasp, like he’s taking your breath from you. He looks at you with worry, he always does. Like you’re going to break if he utters just one word. 

You didn’t know who moved first, but all you knew at this moment was to cling to him, press your lips against him like your life depended on it. 

“We shouldn’t.” you whisper in between.

“Then tell me to go. Tell me, and I’ll leave.” he says softly, leaning his forehead against yours.

But you don’t answer, you kiss him again, slowly—hesitantly. Your lips quiver as you did, your body was tearing down the part of you that still wanted to be strong. His white strands slipping in between your fingers as you pull him in, he bites your lip tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to do so. 

But you deepen the kiss, pulling him a little bit more closely as if there’s still space left in between, and suddenly, he wasn’t hesitating anymore. He was kissing you with certainty—earnestly, you could feel the ache with every move his lips make.

You clutched onto him desperately, like you’ve been deprived of touch for so long. And you… have. For too long.

Your trembling hands reach for the hem of his shirt and he helps you, pulling it up until it’s teared away from him, his hands lifting your shirt over your head in return. 

He pulls your pants down along with your underwear, allowing him to see the skin that he has touched for years, the skin that he has adored and worshipped.

His lips find their way to yours again, his hands slid on your back unclasping your bra. Your hands travelling down to the waistband of his pants, pushing it down eminently, more than you intend to.

His kisses went to your face, to your jaw, down to your collarbone. You’re becoming too sensible in the way your bodies are close. You could feel his weight pinning down on you and all you could think about was how you love him. How you’d give him everything without a second thought.

Even if he didn’t ask you to. 

All you could think about is how he’s touching you, how he’s making you feel like you’re his whole universe. 

His breath hitches. All that’s running through his mind was he’s touching you again—like he has been starved, like feeling you against his skin would make him whole again.

He kisses your skin like he has never seen it before. His hands palms your waist, his thumbs pressing gently on your skin. “You’re so beautiful. You’re so… fuck. I..” he murmurs against your skin.

His hands slide in between your legs, coaxing it open. You gasp, arching your body into him as he slid his fingers inside you—curling up, just enough to make your hips jerk. You felt your thighs twitch, you grasp on his wrist, letting yourself unravel in the safest place you knew. He watches your face, how your eyes flutter. How your lips tremble, he listens to you breathe.

“Satoru.” you gripped his hair, “I need you. Please.”

He almost loses his mind when you beg him. It has been months since you’ve been like this to him, it’s driving him crazy. It’s so infuriating how much he wants you—how much he loves you.

How much he’d give you all of him. 

He kisses you again like it’d kill him if he doesn’t, he groans into your mouth when you pull him, your hands gripping his waist as you push him closer. You’re so desperate, hopelessly desperate.

“Please,” you gasp, almost whispering, out of breath, “Please.”

Without saying anything, he positioned himself into you, both gasping as he pushed inside, you bit your lip as you felt the abrupt stretch—neither of you moved for a bit, savoring every second he filled you in. 

You gripped his shoulder, your nails digging a bit on his skin. You should stop him, you shouldn’t let him. But, it felt like home. Yes, fuck, it felt like home.

Because he is your home. What were you thinking? What are you doing?

“God.” he whispers, pressing his forehead against yours, “I miss you.”

Tears prick from the corner of your eyes because of this overwhelming ache of needing him, of him needing you—and how it terrified you.

You wanted to say it back. 

You really did.

Instead, you reeled him in. You kiss him, and he sinks into you more. Slowly moving his hips, driving himself deeper—harder. All your sane thoughts vanished into thin air as he abandoned all his restraint, slamming you into oblivion. 

You wanted to curse him, for making your chest ache, for making you feel good. For fucking you too good. 

The cot creaks, and you were biting down your lip to keep yourself quiet—but all that went out the window when he was hitting all the right spots in you because he knows it all. He knows your body like no one else.

He knew every inch of you, he knew how to make you fall apart. He knew where to touch you like he owns all of you.

His fingers find yours again, intertwining them as he buries them on the cushion atop your head. Then you feel it, that familiar sensation building up on your stomach, fast. 

“Satoru.” you heave, your legs losing all its strength, you tighten around him. “I’m going to…”

You were breathless, uncontrolled—like a string waiting to snap. Your whole body tightens. Your mind was spiraling—you didn’t deserve him, you didn’t deserve to experience his love like this but your body didn’t care, because you craved him. You needed him. 

It was—is, selfish but you’re letting him down with you again.

“Fuuuck.” You heard him groan, his face burying on your neck as his breath ghosts over your ears. “You feel so good.”

He doesn’t stop, his pace quickens—your breathing was sharp, stuttered. You close your eyes. “No, baby. Look at me.”

His voice was ragged, “Look at me, please. I need to see your face.”

And it hits you hard, you grasp his arm as you hold onto the piece of sanity that’s left of you. Pleasure coursing through your whole body, you gripped him as if he’s the only one anchoring you to the surface. 

Then you felt the tremble in his arms, the way his hips slowed down, his voice shattering as he let himself go. 

His body collapsed on top of yours. You didn’t speak, you didn’t move. You just listened to him trying to catch air, you felt the warmth of his breath on your neck—your fingers gently stroking his hair. 

You didn’t know if this is something you’d regret. You didn’t know if this would fix things or become another wound that you would carelessly patch up.

But you didn’t let go.

—

The shrill sound of the alarm woke you up, you tapped the side of the cot where your phone is, desperately trying to turn it off. Then you see his message, 

Satoru | 8:56 AM

I got pulled into a surgery. Didn’t wake you up. I’ll see you later.

Then you see the second message.

Satoru | 8:58 AM

I love you.

Your chest aches.

Then you look down, you see a blanket carefully wrapped around you. You pulled it up to your face, his perfume still etched on the cotton, remembering the thing that happened this morning.

The one where you shouldn’t have let happen. Because, you’re divorcing him—no, you’re saving him. 

Right? From you?

You pushed the blanket hastily and  looked at the time, it’s already 1 pm. No one has paged you or anything. And you really need to take a bath. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, tossing your phone onto the side to pick your clothes up from the floor, clutching the blanket close to your chest. Hoping that no one came in while you were sleeping in here—naked.

You got dressed and looked at your reflection in the mirror. What have you done?

You sighed, picking up your white coat along with your hospital badge from the chair.

Dr. YN Gojo, RPT, MD, FACS | Chief of Trauma Surgery | Cardiothoracic Surgery Fellow

You went out of the on-call room, some of the nurses greeted you and you greeted them back with a smile. But of course, one of them looked at you knowingly—like she’s not buying that crap you call a smile, she knows you too well.

“Go home.” she walks with you, you looked at her and chuckled. “Don’t you laugh at me, young lady. You need some rest.”

“I will.” you say, “In fact, I’m going now.”

Nurse Tanaka pats your back, “Good. How’s things?”

You paused for a while, inserting your hands into your pocket. “Things are okay.”

“And you?”

“Fine.” you simply answered, trying to avoid the upcoming question. You pretend to  look at the time, clearly avoiding whatever it is that she wanted to ask you. “I’ll get going, I’ll see you later.”

She just nodded, the frown on her forehead visible because the way you dodge her question is as if you’re dodging a bullet. You weren’t ready to talk about whatever it is she wanted to talk about. And you don’t know if you’ll ever be ready.

You should be going home now, maybe take a shower, or eat—then sleep a little bit more, but your feet have carried you somewhere else. 

There in the gallery of OR 3. Where your husband stood—calm, precise. 

You watch him in silence, sitting at the back in the hopes that he wouldn’t notice that you’re there. You watch his every move, every flick of his finger, every tilt of his head.

He is in his element—he’s living up to his name, he’s continuing his father’s legacy. He’s right there, where he should be. Brilliant. Shining.

He looked like nothing had happened. Like you haven’t given him another piece of hope that you’re not sure if you’d shot down again.

You lean on the wall, just for a second and you’ll leave. Just for a second before you take back everything that you’ve said—before you regret everything that you have decided. 

But you stay. You always stay.

—

Your keys clattered on the side table, your bag discarded on the couch. You looked around, the apartment was too clean. No dishes in the sink, no pillows scattered—like there’s no one living here.

Well, between your shifts and your preference to sleep in the on-call room instead of your own bed, nobody really has been living here. You know Satoru isn’t coming home either. 

Because there’s no half-drunk coffee cups randomly placed here on the counter or on the table in the balcony. 

Because his scent is nowhere to be found. You forced yourself to move, walking through the hallway when you passed by the shelf where that photograph is seated.

You stop. Your hands tremble as you pick up the frame. You stare at the picture, your eyes slowly burning.

Satoru’s arm draped around your shoulders, his lips pressed against your temple—you, smiling, your cheekbones almost taking over your eyes—your friends, pointing their fingers in your direction with smiles on their faces, like you’re the star of the show. 

You hated this picture right now because you looked so happy, so genuinely, stupidly happy. 

You couldn’t believe that this was taken just three months ago. It’s funny—how things could change in a glimpse. 

Your fingers ghost over the glass, over his image. Over your figure. You could back away, you could throw it in the trash, smash it. But instead you put it back, facing it down.

Instead, you stepped back—strip off all your clothes and let the steam consume you. You let the water hit your body, chest heaving, tears falling silently.

You sobbed quietly until your body decided to betray you, until your body decided to stop protecting you against yourself. 

You just let yourself falter because here—you weren’t Dr. YN Gojo, you were just a woman who’s grieving, who’s mourning the version of herself who wasn’t here anymore.

—

You were drying your hair the moment your phone buzzed. You looked at it, even though you didn’t want to—it’s your job, it’s not like you have a choice, right?

The moment you read the page you were already heading out the door—slipping on your shoes like you have got no time to lose, well you really don’t.

The moment you stepped into the hospital, you weren’t the woman who cried in the shower like her life was hanging on a balance. No, you were Dr. Gojo again, Chief of Trauma. 

“Okay, what do we got?” you asked while tying your wet hair up, you grabbed the chart from the nurse without stopping. 

“Male, 33. MVC, multiple left-sided rib fractures. Suspected flail chest. Sats dropped to 89% en route. His chest x-ray confirmed hemothorax.” 

You scanned the image quickly, “Prep an OR for a left thoracotomy. Start large-bore IVs and have two units of O-neg on standby. Page anaesthesia, now.”

Your voice was dominating—sharp but calm. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Even though the whole room buzzed with chaos, you remained focused.  

You tied your cap, walking towards the scrub room when he walked out of OR 3. And for a minute, you stopped, locking eyes with him.

He looked so tired. His white strands falling carelessly on his forehead. You know he wanted to say something to you by the way his mouth slightly opened, you know him.

He’d want you to talk about what happened this morning. He’d want you to open up again. 

But you won’t. You couldn’t.

You didn’t give him a chance when you pushed towards the scrub room. 

You have no time to lose, you can’t think of anything else besides your patient. 

The surgery had gone well. All of it was textbook save.  But you didn’t escape the way your back aches, how your arm was sore from holding all those surgical tools for hours. 

You just wanted to collapse on the floor and stay there if it’s possible. 

Everyone was doing their part and you’d done yours, so you took your mask off, slipped off your cap and gown. You walked towards the nurses lounge, typing something on the tablet when a cup of coffee was placed in front of you.

“Dr. Gojo—I mean, the other Dr. Gojo left this for you.” you almost smiled, because how many times have Satoru been referred to as the ‘other’ Dr. Gojo? Barely. 

You look at the cup for a second too long—he left you coffee, just the way you like it.

You snapped back, your hands moving as your fingers hesitantly wrapped around it. “Thanks.”

You were about to walk away when you remembered something, you turned to the new nurse, “By the way, don’t let him hear you say that.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t call him, the ‘other’ Dr. Gojo. He’ll wreak havoc.” you said jokingly, giving her a faint smile before walking away while sipping on your coffee.

—

“Listen up!” Maki—the Chief Resident—started, the chatter died down, a smile almost slipping past her lips as she watched her intern’s faces.

She cleared her throat and looked around the shiny new interns, fresh scrubs, new badges—it’s a good day for her, and for the attendings too. “You’ve all made it through med school, big deal. Welcome to the real world. Where you’ll learn and fail and hopefully, not kill anyone.”

The door creaked open as she orientated the interns, the attendings going in one by one to observe the fresh batch of interns. And silently hoping that the ones assigned to them aren't a dud. 

And then he came in, Dr. Satoru Gojo, the whispers started again. There he was effortlessly tall—they never thought that a white coat would look that good on someone. It just… fits. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face looked so pretty even though it was obvious that he hadn't had any decent sleep in years. 

“That’s him, right?”

“Fuck, this is getting real. I heard he made a resident cry once.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he just said ‘try again’ and she cried.”

“We’re so fucked.”

Satoru almost laughs when he sees the interns sitting in a row with eyes wide open. He knows that some are looking his way—maybe some of them even applied to this hospital’s program just because of him, and he’s not surprised, not everyday you get to see and work with a brilliant neurosurgeon such as himself. 

He leaned on the wall, sipping on his coffee while scrolling on his phone—looking bored already.  Suguru leans, “That one looks like he might faint.”

“God, I hope he’s mine.” he mumbles with sarcasm.

He looked around, searching for you, and you weren’t here. Probably caught up again in some emergency. Or a consult? He doesn’t know. How would he when you barely talk to him?

“Now, you’d be assigned under the supervision of an attending. You’ll follow them, do what they want. You will breathe if they say so and hope to God that they don’t hate you. Each of your performances are evaluated, so don’t mess up.” Maki says and starts calling the interns one by one. 

“Itadori.” Maki looks up, she sees the young intern with his hands up, nervously and enthusiastically. “And… Fushiguro.”

“You’re with Dr. Gojo.” and just by saying that, Itadori got pale in the face. Some of the interns are already consoling the two of them in their minds. 

“Miwa and Kugisaki. You’re with Dr. Gojo.”

Nobara  blinks, almost stutters. She subtly points at Satoru at the back, who raises his eyebrows in amusement without saying something.  “Also? Him?”

“No. Dr. YN Gojo.” and as if on cue, you enter. The interns exchanged glances. There you were with a soft look on your face, the one where the interns gave hope that not all attendings are you know… evil.

Their eyes followed you as you sat beside Ieiri. “There she is.”

You smiled and gave them a wave, a bit confused as to why they were looking at you. Maki pointed at the girls, “They’re yours.”

“Wait, she’s also a Gojo?” Nobara whispers to Miwa, glancing a bit in your direction. “Is she like his sister?”

Miwa shrugs, “Maybe just a coincidence? Or maybe it’s a common last name?”

“I don’t think so.” Nobara says.

“She’s his wife. They’re married.” Megumi says, and their eyes widen.

“He’s married?!” she says a little bit loud, but covers her mouth when she realizes how loud she was. She turned to Megumi, “How did you know?”

And the young man just shrugged his shoulders, Nobara pouts, dissatisfied with his answer. Maki finishes assigning and the interns go with their attendings. 

“She looks nice. Thank God we weren’t assigned to him.” Miwa whispers to Nobara, and she excitedly nods. They watched as you walked towards the door, frowning when you realized they weren’t following you.

The look on your face says they celebrated too early.

“Are you going to follow me or are you going to waste my time?” you say, that angelic smile adorned on your face earlier was now gone. “Let’s go. First round starts in ten minutes. I hope you had your breakfast. Walk fast, don’t expect me to slow down for you.”

Nobara stops, her face turns white and Miwa scrambles to walk towards you. 

“Now!”

And you were gone before they could answer you. Satoru finally speaks in soft sing-song voice with a big smile plastered on his face as he walks past Nobara, “Good luck~”

He walks out with his interns following him, but before Megumi could walk out the door he says something to her. “By the way, she’s the Dr. Gojo who made the resident cry. Not him. If I were you, I’d be running by now.”

“Wait… what?!”

—

“Dilated cardiomyopathy.” you murmured, tapping your foot on the carpeted floor as you stare at the tablet in your hand.

She has a history of repaired congenital heart defect. Your eyes stroll down through the numbers, the chart, her whole history.

And… you stopped. Your hands stiffen, gripping on the tablet too hard. You read it, once—twice, maybe even a hundred times.

You blinked, staring at that one line like it is going to change anything. “No.”

“No?” the Chief of Surgery repeated—a little shocked, because how could you say no to him? 

“Are you saying ‘no’ to me, Dr. Gojo? Do you know how much time we have? You’ve seen her chart. I think you’re in no position to say no.”

“I am.” you slammed the tablet on his table, not too hard, but enough to tell him that you aren’t doing this one. No, not this one. It hits too close. “Not me. I won’t touch this. Not this.”

You’ve tried hard enough not to react. Not let your emotions get the best of you, but that isn’t easy in this situation.  “YN.”

“What?!”

“You’re the only one I trust.” his voice was calm, and it unnerves you. “You’re the only one who could do this.”

He stands up and goes in your direction, you take a step back. “You’ve seen her numbers. She’s unstable, her oxygen is dropping.”

You were frustrated. Because it’s true. 

All of it was true, her condition is worsening but you’re not the only one who could do it. You’re a cardiothoracic fellow for pete’s sake—granted you’re already in the final year of your fellowship but still.

“That’s why we need to max everything, her medications—”

“We already have. She’s not responding.” he pauses, “You know Dr. Yamada is not here right now. This is an urgent case, you’ve worked under her. I’m sure you’ve learned a lot from her.”

But that’s not the point. That’s not why you would do it. And it baffled you—you could feel it, the breath you unraveled. Your vision blurs and everything feels like it’s closing in on you. 

“Dad—” it had slipped before you could stop it. The vulnerability you’ve tried so hard to conceal.

Tears fall from your eyes, and he sees it. “Please. What if she coded into the table? What if I can’t save t—”

You’re frustrated. Because you’re not just his surgeon now. You’re his daughter.

And hurt, because never did your father put your feelings into consideration. You’re a doctor, you’re not supposed to let your feelings take over you. 

But one thing just ran through your mind repeatedly, you’re his daughter. 

For once, just this once, you hoped he’d think about what you feel. You’d just wish he’d think about what this means to you.

“You can!” he pushed, “You’re my daughter. You’re your mother’s daughter, if anyone could, it’s you! Do not give me this crap.” you flinched, tears falling endlessly but he doesn’t stop there. “She’s young, she has no prior comorbidities. You’ve seen it, she already has decompensated heart failure, she won’t make it another 24 hours without intervention.”

You bite your lip, harshly wiping your cheeks but the tears come anyway, “She may not make it in surgery either.” you say, voice quiet, defeated. 

“I know, but you’re the only surgeon I trust to try.”

—

Your breathing was heavy—sharp, you could barely hear your footsteps as you descended the emergency stairwell. You couldn’t hear anything beside the storm roaring in your head.

The papers clutched in your hand, your knuckles had gone white along with the shaking of your arms. 

“Fuck!” Without any second thoughts, you slam the papers on the floor, it had scattered like leaves falling down. The sound of your voice bounces through the walls, but there wasn’t any care in your body right now.

You stopped, your world spinning as your back slides on the cold wall, your body hitting the concrete on your feet. You pressed your palms on your face, trying to calm yourself down. 

Breathe. Just… breathe.

You can do this, right? You’ve done this countless times before. You are Dr. YN Gojo, you were trained for this, you are the best. If anyone could do it, it would be you. 

You’ve put yourself together a thousand times, like you’ve never been hurt, been broken apart. But why can’t you do it now? Why can’t you pull yourself together?

A sob escaped you, like a traitor. Too loud, too painful. You’ve opened a can of worms that you couldn’t contain. It all came bursting out. You had no control. 

It all hit too close because you’ve been here before. You’ve watched life slip from you. You know what it’s like to gamble, and they’re asking you to do it again.

Your sobs echoed, it was raw. Helpless. Your shoulders shake with every breath you take. 

You don’t even notice the door slip open, you don’t even hear the hurry behind his steps—he moved fast, just to get to you.

“Hey,” and just like that, he cuts through the noise in your head.

He kneels almost immediately, arms wrapping around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. “I’m here, baby. It’s okay. I’m here.”

You clutched on his shirt, like he’s the only thing keeping you afloat. Small whimpers escaping your lips,  “Satoru.”

“I’m here.” he pressed his lips on your head, “I won’t leave.”

“I can’t.” you were choking on your words, you bury your face on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat in contrast to yours. “I can’t do this. She’s going to lose it too, Satoru. She’s…”

You feel his body stiff, but his hold tightens and he presses a gentle kiss on the side of your head once again. You know this was affecting him too. This is why you couldn’t do it. This is why you’d rather feel this alone.

“She’s… I’m going to lose her. I’m going to lose them.” 

Because you’ll pull him down with you and you would never forgive yourself for that.

“I’m going to…” you were spiraling—right in front of him and you know it will break him. All these walls that you’ve spent a long time building just to protect him came crumbling down and you hate it. 

You hate yourself for this. You hated everything. But never him. God, no, never him. 

There’s a throe in his chest but he held you, keeping you close as if he’s putting you back together. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” he whispers, it’s as if he knew what you were thinking, “Even if it breaks me—I’m not going anywhere.”

And for the first time in a long time. You let him in. You didn’t want him to see you like this but you needed him.

You know you need him.

“I’ll stay, YN. I’ll always stay.”