#and as I finally go to bed I go to get water and it's cracked open a bit

[thunderbolt-ing]

Three Roommates and a Loft [3]

PREVIOUS | NEXT The One Where You Get Romanoff'd: A lifestyle adjustment, a bed-rotting intervention, a surprise guest, and a rebound roster. Yeah, you'll probably regret this later. Warnings: none, just pure silliness and slight (stupid) sexual innuendo. I'm sleep deprived when I'm writing this, so this is just pure crack. Word count: 6.6K (sorry for the mistakes, i dont proofread as you already know)

You were jolted awake at exactly 6:30 a.m. on a Sunday by the unmistakable sound of an old-timey trumpet muffly blaring through the ceiling, specifically, a World War II-era jump blues song. 

🎵 He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way,

He had a boogie style that no one else could play,

He was the top man at his craft,

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft,

He’s in the army now, a blowin’ reveille, 

He’s the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B! 🎵

There was only one possible culprit: Steve Rogers. 

His room was directly above yours, and apparently so was his nostalgia-fueled alarm clock. The song continued at full volume for a solid two minutes before Steve finally got up and shut it off. 

Unfortunately for you, that wasn’t the end of it. 

Next came the footsteps. Then the light stomping. Then… counting… and grunting…? 

Was he doing pushups? At six-thirty-five in the morning? On a Sunday? 

You buried your head under a pillow and groaned. The realization settled slowly and painfully; the walls in this loft were way too thin. Adjusting to life here was going to take time and possibly noise-cancelling headphones. Or earplugs. Definitely earplugs. 

Eventually, you managed to fall asleep again, though it was more like drifting in and out of consciousness while dreaming about WWII-era trumpets. Still, your body naturally woke up at your usual weekend time of 9:00 a.m., groggy but functional. 

Noise was already filtering in from the living room—voices, at least two of them, mixed with the clatter of dishes and the unmistakable sound of someone being way too enthusiastic for a Sunday morning (suspects are either Steve or Sam. You’re leaning towards Steve). 

You stared at the ceiling and sighed. 

This was your life now.

With the weight of reluctant acceptance, you braced yourself for the horror of human interaction. You got up from your bed and mentally prepared yourself to walk out of your room looking like a witch who’d just crawled out of a bog. Your oversized t-shirt was twisted halfway around your torso, your hair was an unruly mess, and you were certain that your face bore the imprint of your pillowcase. 

You didn’t even bother to make yourself look presentable. What was the point? 

You needed caffeine. You needed breakfast. And most of all, you needed to not be spoken to until at least a cup of coffee had been fully consumed. 

You sluggishly dragged yourself out of your room, your first stop being the bathroom. You just wanted to splash some water on your face and pretend to be alive. Instead, you opened the door to find a near-naked Bucky Barnes hunched over the sink, towel slung low on his hips, mid-shave. 

Your brain short-circuited, but he didn’t flinch. He just met your stunned silence with a deadpan stare. 

“Do you know how to knock?” he asked coolly, eyes narrowing like you’d just ruined his entire day. 

You blinked, fighting the instinctive downward glance that, traitorously, happened anyway. It only made everything worse. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, slamming the door shut as your heart pounded loudly in your chest. Your face burned with the mix of rage and embarrassment, and now, thanks to him, you were fully and disturbingly awake. 

From inside the bathroom, you heard him mutter just loud enough to be heard: 

“Unbelievable.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” you snapped through the door, patience running thin with the lack of caffeine in your system.  

“No thanks,” he called back flatly without missing a beat. 

You were two seconds away from throwing the door open and escalating when Sam’s voice rang out from the kitchen: 

“I told y’all to come up with a bathroom system.” 

You huffed and stomped your way into the common area, still fuming. 

Sam was at the stove flipping pancakes that were definitely a little burnt, but pretending not to notice. Steve was already seated at the newly placed dining table (thanks to your charitable donation), sipping coffee like this was a perfectly normal, drama-free Sunday morning. 

“Hey, sunshine!” Steve greeted you as you stepped into the room, entirely too cheerful for someone who caused your 6:30 a.m. trumpet wake-up call. “How was your first night?” 

“What is wrong with him?” you shot back, completely ignoring Steve’s question. “Does he not believe in getting dressed after a shower? Is that not a thing for him?”

Sam’s laughter echoed through the loft. “Wait—did you see him butt-ass naked?” 

Steve choked on his coffee, but being Steve, he tried to play it off with a composed nod and a sip like nothing had happened. 

You gave Sam a withering glare. “Toweled, but barely. It was an assault on my morning.” 

Sam was practically doubled over now. “Man, you and Bucky are gonna kill each other before the month’s out.” 

“Yeah?” you muttered as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. “Well, I’ll make sure I get to him first.”

“Doubt it,” Bucky said unenthusiastically, stepping into the room fully clothed this time. 

“No one’s killing anyone,” Steve cut in with a chuckle. “We just need time to adjust. There are four of us now, it’s gonna take a little grace.” 

You and Bucky locked eyes over your mugs. Clearly, there was no grace, only war. 

——

After breakfast, the guys headed out for a Whole Foods run, arguing over oat milk versus almond milk as they disappeared out the door. You stayed behind, however, choosing to confront the disaster that the loft turned into from your move-in yesterday. So, with Japanese Breakfast on Sam’s speaker, you got to work. 

You hauled your boxes to the center of the living room, then tore through them with the determination of a woman who was about to perform a miracle. Blankets, candles, books, and years of collected knick-knacks found their homes. A patchwork quilt over the chaise. A vase of bodega flowers on the dining table. Your Princess Diaries poster now hung proudly beside Bruce Willis, which perfectly summarized the loft’s new look. 

In the kitchen, you replaced the single wooden spoon with actual utensils, alphabetized the spice rack (because who was stopping you?), and stuck a whiteboard on the fridge that read Weekly Chore Rotation — TBD in teacher handwriting. You almost changed your alphabet magnet message from HELLO ROOMIES to HELLO FUCKERS, but you figured you’d soft launch your personality and have them get used to the harmless kindergarten teacher first. 

Perhaps you were getting carried away, but you even cleaned the entryway. Now there was a shoe rack, jacket hooks, and a key bowl because you weren’t a barbarian. You felt very smug about your work… until you opened the hallway closet and discovered the mini-armory. 

Mounted neatly on the back wall was an array of throwing knives, each blade gleaming despite the dim light. Steve’s old, battered shield leaned against the corner, the once bright paint chipped and scratched raw to the vibranium. It looked like it had been through hell, probably had. Maybe he kept it for emergencies, or maybe out of sentiment. Above the shield, resting on a shelf, sat a worn military grade duffle bag with WILSON embroidered on the front. You didn’t dare to open it, something told you that it didn’t hold gym clothes. 

And then, there was the bundle. It was tucked in the far corner, hidden enough that it could be overlooked. Before you could even begin to think about unwrapping it, keys jingled outside, and the front door swung open with a dramatic slam. 

“Guess who survived Whole Foods!” Sam’s voice rang through the loft, followed by the telltale thud of grocery bags hitting the floor. 

You quickly shut the closet door, forcing a casual smile despite your heart hammering in your chest. “Hey! So, who won the milk debate? For the record, I was team oat—”

“Hold up,” Sam cut in, eyes widening as he entered the living room. He gasped, hand clutching his chest theatrically. “Is that Amelia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, Queen of Genovia next to John McClane?!”

You followed him into the living room with a shrug. “Don’t they look cute together?” 

“Who the hell is that?” Bucky asked, breezing past with grocery bags and heading straight for the kitchen. 

“Princess Diaries,” Sam and Steve answered in unison, though Steve was a beat slower and slightly more ashamed about knowing. 

Steve bent to pick up the remaining bags, but paused as he took in the living room. His eyes did a slow sweep across the space before he broke into a pleased, golden-retriever grin. “You redecorated.”

“Holy shit, you did,” Sam added, spinning in place to look around. “No more hostage bunker, frat house adjacent. This place has… character now.”

“There’s a key bowl,” Steve noted in delight, pointing to the entryway like you’d just placed a national treasure. 

“I’m ignoring this,” Bucky cut in from the kitchen. He scowled at the whiteboard magnetized to the fridge. “Weekly Chore Rotation? This is not elementary school.”

“Also, where are the tongs?” he asked, rummaging through the newly organized drawer with increasing irritation. 

“The rusty ones?” You asked, joining him in the kitchen. “I threw them out before it gave someone tetanus, but don’t worry, I replaced them with new ones.” You opened the other drawer and showed him the new tongs. 

Bucky turned to you, arms crossed. “So you’re in charge now?” 

You smiled sweetly. “Someone has to be a functional adult out of the four of us.” 

Steve chuckled as he dropped the last bag on the counter. “She’s not wrong.” 

Bucky muttered something about “whiteboard dictatorships” as he walked off, but not before you caught him glancing at the newly filled bookshelf. 

That was the closest thing to approval you were probably ever going to get. 

——

Adjusting to your new life at the loft with three superhero roommates was… messy at best. The only man you’ve ever lived with before was Adam, and while that came with its own set of issues, chaos had never been one of them. Adam had been neat, predictable, and quiet. The exact opposite of the three men you now shared a loft (and very thin walls) with. 

The loft wasn’t perfect. It was loud, unfiltered, and filled with clashing personalities. But oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed right now. You wouldn’t admit it out loud, not to them at least, but the chaos helped. It distracted you from thinking about Adam and from falling back into the life you’d walked away from. 

Monday started off strong. 

You were in the kitchen, half-asleep and clinging to your coffee before work, when Sam practically sprinted down the stairs looking like he’d already finished at least three marathons.

“Morning, miss girl,” he beamed, already reaching for your mug as if you didn’t need it to survive. “What’s your sign by the way? Wait—don’t tell me. You’re a Virgo aren’t you? You alphabetized the spices.” 

You stared at him. You didn’t even get a word in before he declared you his ‘platonic soulmate’ three times and tried to convince you to join him on a sunrise run. It was 5:07 a.m.

Later that day, after work, you found Steve in the living room, utterly absorbed in The Great British Bake Off. You expected him to switch to something more macho when you sat beside him, but instead he turned to you with a frown.

“I just think he could’ve decorated that cake better…” 

You blinked at him, unsure how to respond at first. “You know what, you’re right. It’s lacking something and the sponge looks dry.” 

“You wanna make something better?” 

“...Sure?” 

By the end of the hour, you were in the kitchen covered in flour, while Steve was making frosting. You two were making something completely unrelated to the show, and the smell of vanilla filled the loft. Steve wore an apron that said ‘Be Patriotic & Kiss the Captain’ with an arrow pointing toward himself. You didn’t question it, but you had a sneaky feeling that Sam was the one who gave it to him. 

Steve and Sam were surprisingly easy to get along with, but Bucky on the other hand, was the human equivalent of a locked door. 

On Tuesday, he glared at you for leaving your clothes in the dryer. 

On Wednesday, you got into a five-minute shouting match because he was using your shampoo. 

On Thursday, he accused you of “hogging the hot water” like you’ve just committed crimes against humanity. 

But on Friday, your shampoo was replaced with a fresh bottle, and when you walked into the living room later, he was reading your copy of Anne of Green Gables. You didn’t say a word. Instead, you just baked the cookies that Steve offhandedly mentioned Bucky liked. He didn’t say thank you, but the cookies didn’t last a day. 

Midweek, the boys left on an impromptu mission. It was a quick recon, nothing too dangerous according to Steve, but the silence in the loft was jarring. You wandered around in your fuzzy socks, grading math quizzes with background noise from a sitcom rerun just to fill the void. 

You actually missed the chaos. 

They came back home a day later, exhausted and grumpy. You didn’t say anything, but you had grilled cheese and tomato soup ready for them. Steve muttered something about being “blessed,” and Sam dramatically asked that you platonically marry him (whatever that meant). Bucky just gave you a curt nod, which, in his language, might as well be a hug. 

On Saturday, Steve and Sam insisted on helping you grade a stack of your kindergarteners’ spelling tests while eating cereal straight from the box. 

“Why does this kid spell ‘banana’ like ‘bunahnuh’?” Sam asked. 

“Gwen spells phonetically,” you replied, like it was obvious. 

Steve, squinting through his reading glasses with a red pen in his hand, held up a paper. “What’s turlul?”

“Turtle,” you replied with a grin.

Then Sam, looking deeply concerned, held up your lesson plan. “You’re teaching them Romeo and Juliet with puppets?” 

“What? They’re five and they love tragic romance.” 

Steve chuckled. “New York kids… gotta love ‘em.” 

The week ended with you, curled up on the couch, blanket over your legs, grading kindergarten science homework while Steve sat beside you, quietly sketching. Sam DJ’d badly from the kitchen while Bucky was silently fixing the crooked picture frame you meant to fix days ago. 

“You hung this badly,” he muttered.

“I’ll fix it later,” you replied without looking up. 

“It’s going to fall.” 

“Aw,” you looked up and smirked at him. “So you do care.” 

His lips twitched just a little, but you didn’t point it out. 

Living in the loft was a mess, but it was home. 

Your home.

——

Two months into living with the boys, a rhythm had settled in. It was morning coffees with Sam’s unsolicited astrology takes, quiet evenings grading assignments with Steve, and your usual snark-filled cold war with Bucky. Against all odds, the arrangement was working. And yet, even with all the laughter and distractions, the sinking feeling hadn’t gone away. If anything, the stillness between the noise made it even louder. 

You missed Adam. Terribly and painfully, in spite of the hell he put you through. Some wounds didn’t announce themselves with aching pain, they crept in during the quiet, slipping through the cracks when you were doing everything to keep moving forward. 

You thought you were hiding it well, smiling when you needed to, laughing when expected. But somewhere deep down, you had a feeling that the boys were starting to catch on. 

It started with Sam. One afternoon after work, he appeared at your door without knocking, flopping onto the edge of your bed with a bag of chips and zero introduction. He didn’t pry or asked how you were, he just talked about nothing. He complained about the subway system. He argued about why almond milk was better than oat milk. He recalled the dream he had where Steve ran for mayor and lost to RuPaul. 

Then Steve started stopping by too. He’d sit in the armchair in the corner, sketchbook in hand, half-listening to Sam’s ramblings and occasionally offering stories about old missions and silly anecdotes about his teammates. He talked about the Avengers often that you were starting to feel like you knew them, even though you hadn’t met any of them in person. Steve never asked what was wrong, he just stayed just like Sam did. 

Bucky never set foot in your room, but the arguments with him stalled. The sharpness between you dulled just a bit. He still glared, still muttered under his breath when you used the last of the coffee, but he didn’t pick fights the way he used to. It was as if he didn’t want to add more weight to what you were already carrying. 

At one point, the quiet sadness that had been simmering beneath the surface tipped into something heavier. A mini depressive episode, maybe. If you could even call it that. It crept in gradually at first and was barely noticeable, but soon your behavior shifted in ways the boys couldn’t ignore. 

You started locking your bedroom door after work, claiming you were just tired. You bailed on loft game night more than once, always with a vague excuse about lesson planning or needing to grade your students’ assignments. Even when you didn’t have a stack of spelling tests to get through, you stayed tucked away in your room, lights dim with Pride and Prejudice looping in your TV just to feel something. 

You stopped lounging on the couch. Stopped making dinner for the loft. Stopped bickering with Sam over his abhorrent snack combinations or baking with Steve for fun. You slipped in and out of the kitchen like a ghost, only entering when the coast was clear. You timed your showers to avoid Bucky, dodging eye contact in the hallway like it was a full-time job. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t care. You did. It was that everything suddenly felt unbearable. Every noise, every conversation, every mundane task, it all felt too much. 

The worst part? You didn’t even know how to explain it to yourself or the boys. 

By the time the weekend rolled around, you’d all but vanished into your room. The door stayed closed, the lights stayed off, and not even the smell of Steve’s buttermilk waffles managed to lure you out. 

Sam, in an attempt to get you to talk, slipped a piece of paper under your door:

Are u mad at me? Yes or no. Circle one pls <3. 

You saw it, but you didn’t pick it up. 

Later that evening, the three boys were sprawled on the couch, half-watching a terrible action movie and working through their respective takeout containers. The dialogue on the screen was awful, the explosions louder than necessary, but no one bothered to change the channel. 

Then, casually, as if tossing in an afterthought, Bucky asked, “What’s going on with her?” 

He didn’t look up from his food, he just stabbed a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Last night, she had this song on repeat. Something about a girl sitting in a restaurant, waiting or something. Played it for hours. I didn’t say anything. Kinda liked it.” 

Sam froze mid-chew. Slowly, he lowered his chopsticks. “Wait. Was she playing Right Where You Left Me?” 

Bucky shugged. “How should I know? I wasn’t paying attention. Her room’s next to mine, I just heard it.” 

Sam immediately placed his food on the coffee table like it had become irrelevant. “Oh hell no. That’s the emotional paralysis anthem.” 

Steve frowned. “You got all that from a song about… a restaurant?” 

“It’s not about the restaurant, Steven, it’s about the metaphor,” Sam said, deadly serious. “It’s heartbreak, it’s what you play when you’re stuck. And she’s got it on loop? Oh, I’m gonna kill that Adam guy.” 

“Who the hell is Adam?” Bucky asked, brow furrowing. 

“Her ex,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “Steve and I met him briefly. Bad vibes, stank aura, absolutely zero stars.” 

“Not a pleasant man,” Steve added diplomatically. “Didn’t seem to appreciate her.” 

Bucky went quiet for a moment, then muttered. “Figures.” 

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Figures what, Barnes?” 

“Nothing,” Bucky replied, too quickly. He refocused on his takeout with exaggerated interest, stabbing the piece of beef in his plate half-heartedly. 

Steve sighed and looked toward your room, his features softening. “I should try checking in on her again.” 

Sam was already on his feet, grabbing the extra box of chow mein from table. “Nope. We’re doing this together. This is a group effort.” 

Bucky didn’t move. 

Steve glanced at him. “You coming?” 

Bucky groaned, dragging himself up with zero enthusiasm. “Do I have to?” 

“Yes.” Sam and Steve said in unison, leaving no room for argument.

Reluctantly, Bucky followed them down the hallway. Sam knocked first, rapping his knuckles gently against your door. 

“I know you’re alive in there,” he called. “I can hear Mr. Darcy monologuing through the wall.” 

No response. 

Bucky shifted awkwardly. “Wanna insult me? Could be therapeutic. I’m an easy target and I used up all your conditioner again.” 

Still nothing. 

Steve gave the door handle a patient turn, but it didn’t budge. “We just wanna check in. No pressure.” Steve said, his voice low and gentle.

Sam held up the box of food like you could see it through the door. “We brought noodles… and poor emotional boundaries.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered. 

Steve side-eyed him. “You offered yourself up for verbal abuse two seconds ago.”

“I’m just trying to help!” Bucky snapped, crossing his arms. 

Another beat of silence followed. Then, from inside the room, you spoke up, your voice muffled, “Is it chow mein or lo mein?” 

Sam grinned triumphantly. “Chow mein.”

You shuffled to the door and creaked it open an inch. 

“Fine,” you sighed. “But only because I’m hungry and you guys are loud.”

As you stepped back to let them in, Bucky was the last to follow, but not before glancing at your TV, the frozen frame of Pride and Prejudice paused on Darcy’s rain-soaked confession. He didn’t say anything, just slipped inside and quietly straightened the crooked calendar by your door as the others made themselves at home. 

Sam looked around your room, eyebrows raised at the unmade bed, scattered tissues, and the lopsided stack of grading papers on your desk. “I love you,” he said as he handed you the box of chow mein, “But this is just… a mess, and I will be cleaning while we talk.” 

You gave a weak laugh as he started picking up the empty cups on your nightstand like he lived in your room, too. 

Steve sat gently on the edge of your bed, his tone soft. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could talk to us.” His brows pulled together in concern. “I know we’re not… the best at this kind of thing, but we care and we want to help.” 

You looked down at the box in your hands, fingers digging into the paper. “It’s not that I didn’t feel comfortable with you guys,” you said, voice tight. “I just didn’t know how to explain it. And honestly, it’s stupid. I’ve been crying over Adam.” 

The words felt small and pathetic once they were out in the open. But the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental.

From the doorway, Bucky shifted his weight, arms still crossed tightly. His gaze stayed on the floor, then he mumbled, barely loud enough to hear. “It’s not… stupid.” 

You glanced up at him in surprise, but he refused to meet your eyes. 

Sam looked between the two of you with a knowing expression. “Well damn. If Barnes is offering moral support, then you’re officially at rock bottom.”

Bucky glowered at Sam while you flipped him off. “Whatever, Wilson,” you muttered in mock annoyance. 

Steve smiled, looking relieved that they were somehow helping. “Why don’t you go and spend a day with your own friends?” He suggested kindly, his tone gentle. “Not us, you know, like… women. People who get it more than we do.” 

“Sure! That’s cute,” You said dryly, bitterness bleeding into your voice. “Except all my friends were Adam’s friends, and when we broke up, he turned them all against me. They blocked me, every single one of them.”

“That motherf—“ 

“Okay,” Steve cut in quickly, shooting Sam a look before he could finish. “I’m calling Nat. She’ll know what to do.” 

“Nat?” You echoed, confused. “Who’s Nat?”

“Natasha,” Steve clarified, pulling out his phone.

“You know… Natasha Romanoff,” Sam clarified further, seeing your confused expression. “Black Widow…? Come on, keep up.”

“Oh no, no, no,” You sat up a little, alarmed. “I am not meeting her like this. She’s going to think I’m a loser. I mean, she kills men for sport, and I’m here sobbing into my pillow over one. I’m literally crying over someone who owns a mug that says ‘Rise and Grind’, I am beyond pathetic.” 

Steve raised his brow, but you kept going.

“It’s already embarrassing that you three know,” you muttered, tugging your blanket higher. “Just give me one more week of bed rotting and I swear I’ll bounce back.” 

“You’ve been rotting,” Sam said bluntly. “We’ve hit the compost stage.” 

“Advanced decay,” Bucky chimed in, arms still crossed. You shot him a glare. “Nat won’t judge.” Steve reassured, patting your shoulder gently. “She’ll understand more than we do.” 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “She’ll actually be gentle, like surprisingly gentle. You need someone who gets it, because if it were me? I’d just deck the guy and move on.” 

You groaned, flopping back onto your bed dramatically. “If I end up crying in front of Black Widow, I’m changing my name and I’m leaving the country.”

“She cried during Marley and Me, you’ll be fine,” Steve reassured as he pressed Natasha’s contact on his phone. 

——

The next morning, you shuffled out of your room in an oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks. Your only mission for the day: retrieve coffee without making eye contact with anyone. 

You failed instantly. 

All three of your roommates were seated around the dining table, and sitting casually among them, as if she hadn’t just completely caused your soul to leave your body, was her. 

Natasha. Romanoff.

The Black Widow. 

Former Assassin. Legendary Avenger. Threat to all men. 

She was drinking her coffee from one of your ridiculous mugs. She wore no tactical gear, no combat boots, just jeans and a fitted black top, with a posture so immaculate that it made you stand up a little straighter. 

Her red hair was braided loosely over one shoulder, and her gaze met yours the moment you entered. She didn’t smile, she didn’t frown, she just looked. It was as if she was quietly assessing whether you were dangerous or just a sad little mess Steve had guilted her into babysitting. 

You, of course, chose to freeze like a deer in headlights. 

Flattening your sleep-matted hair instinctively, you stood awkwardly in the doorway, wondering if you should apologize for daring to set foot in front of her presence. You didn’t understand why she was here. There was no way someone like Natasha Romanoff wasted time on strangers. She must’ve owed Steve big-time if she came to the loft immediately after he called yesterday. 

“Good morning,” Natasha said smoothly, voice low and unreadable. It was a statement, not a greeting. Like a poker player declaring her turn.  You stalled in real time, your brain shutting down in a panic. And then, you opened your mouth despite every survival instinct begging you not to embarrass yourself: 

“Hi. Wow. Is being hot a requirement to be an Avenger because… damn.” 

Silence. You could even hear the birds chirp outside. 

Sam snorted into his coffee. Steve blinked slowly like he was rebooting. Bucky coughed to hide what suspiciously sounded like a laugh. 

Natasha tilted her head, still expressionless. “Yes,” she said simply, and took another sip of her coffee. “That’s why Sam didn’t make the cut.” 

Your laugh came out before you could stop it. It was your first real laugh in weeks, and it caught everyone off guard. 

“Okay, first of all, I just didn’t sign the papers, Romanoff,” Sam shot back, pointing his fork at her like it was a weapon. “I was recruited! There were negotiations!” 

“Yeah,” she replied dryly. “Negotiations to keep you off the roster.” 

Steve hid a grin behind his coffee. Bucky didn’t bother hiding his smirk, though he kept eating like he wasn’t paying attention. 

Sam turned to you with a hand over his heart. “I’m being dragged in my own home. Do something,” he said, turning to you with pleading eyes. 

You dropped into an empty seat next to Bucky, grabbed a piece of toast, and casually stole a forkful of eggs from his plate. He shot you a look, brows knitting in mild disapproval, but he didn’t stop you. 

“Not too much on Sam,” you said with a grin. “He’s an emotional guy. He cried during Paddington 2.” 

“He went to prison!” Sam cried, throwing his hands in the air. “Why would you incarcerate a cute little bear who just wanted to make marmalade?!”

Steve nodded solemnly, like he was testifying in court. “It was deeply unfair.” 

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “You’re all unwell.” 

“This is my life now,” Bucky muttered, sliding the rest of his eggs your way with a resigned sigh. You beamed at the gesture. 

Natasha took a sip of her coffee, eyes scanning you like she was running a background check. Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay. I like you. You’ve got potential.” 

You blinked at her, your fork halfway to your mouth. “Potential for…?” 

Natasha stood up from her chair, already grabbing her keys off the counter like this was a done deal. “Not sure yet, but you’re coming with me today.” 

You choked on your eggs. “What—why?” 

“Does it matter?” she said, already halfway to the door. 

You looked around the table like someone might save you, but Steve just gave you a thumbs up and took another sip of his coffee. “You’ll be fine.” 

“Fine or maybe dead,” you muttered. ‘What’s her idea of fun anyway?” you asked in a small, horrified voice as Natasha opened the front door. 

“Get dressed,” Natasha called. “Ten minutes. I leave with or without you.” 

Sam leaned back in his chair, grinning. “Congratulations. You’ve been Romanoff’d.”

Bucky, now taking back his eggs, gave you a flat look and a lazy wave. Then, with zero sympathy, he nudged your chair with his foot. “Go. Now.” 

You groaned, already standing. “God help me,” you muttered, fast walking to your room like your life depended on it because with Natasha Romanoff waiting at the door, it just might. 

——

Spending the day with Natasha Romanoff was nothing like you’d expected, but exactly what you needed. She didn’t drag you to brunch to get bottomless mimosas or ask how you were feeling. Instead, she tossed you into the passenger seat of a black Corvette Stingray, drove like every red light was a suggestion, and took you to an underground boxing gym in Brooklyn where she taught you how to properly throw a punch. You expected sympathy, but she gave you bruised knuckles and a protein bar. 

Later, she made you walk through the city with her, mostly in comfortable silence, stopping only to grab overpriced lattes and people-watch like spies on a stakeout. At one point, she handed you a pair of sunglasses and muttered, “Put these on. We’re stalking your ex.” You tried to protest, but she was already leading the way, reciting tire-slashing tips like they were ancient wisdom. “Don’t worry,” she added coolly, “I’ll make sure there’s no trace.” You still don’t know how she found Adam’s car, but you did it, and oddly enough, it felt like therapy. 

By the time you got back to the loft, your head felt a little clearer, your shoulders a little lighter, and for the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest had eased. You didn’t feel fixed, but you finally didn’t feel like rotting for the foreseeable future. 

Now, the five of you were sprawled across the loft’s living room, half-watching The Princess Diaries play on the TV. It was Sam’s idea, of course. He insisted that Bucky had to be cultured, and no one else had any other suggestions. 

Steve sat on the floor with a bowl of popcorn, fully invested. Bucky was squinting at the screen like he was trying to solve a murder. Natasha, lounging in the armchair with her legs propped on the ottoman, glanced at you. You were pitifully curled up under a blanket with a bowl of ice cream. She gave you a once-over, then turned to Steve. 

“She needs a rebound.”

Steve opened his mouth to say something, maybe to disagree, but instead he gave Natasha a thoughtful look and decided to keep his mouth shut.

You choked on your spoon. “I’m sitting right here.” 

“Exactly,” Nat said coolly, not missing a beat. “You’re sitting, you’re sad, and you haven’t been laid in…?” 

“Do not answer that,” Sam interjected, hands raised. “Please, I beg.”

Unfazed, Natasha went on. “You need someone pretty who’ll tell you your hair looks good and you know… absolutely ruin you in the best way.” 

Your face flushed an alarming shade of red as you stared hard at the TV. “I need to get struck by lightning.” 

“Whatever you do,” Bucky said flatly from the opposite end of the couch, “Do it at his place. I’m not hearing that.” 

Sam gagged dramatically. “Can we not talk about her getting defiled during Princess Diaries?’ 

“Uh-uh,” Natasha cut in smoothly, already pulling out her phone. “No talking unless you’re volunteering, I need to focus.” 

Before anyone could argue, she cast her screen onto the TV, replacing The Princess Diaries entirely. Sam let out a horrified gasp as the screen flickered. 

“Nat! Princess Mia was about to give a speech!” 

“Shhh,” Natasha waved him off. “This is more important.” 

On the screen, three crisp photos appeared in a neat row. 

“These,” she said, gesturing toward the candidates like she was presenting a PowerPoint presentation, “are all people we know. Which means they’re not losers… not really. Low emotional investment, good hygiene, passably good-looking. All solid rebound options.” 

The screen displayed the following candidates: 

Johnny Storm — Shirtless in a bathroom mirror, abs flexed, sunglasses on indoors. There was a 99% chance this selfie had originally been sent to someone else, or possibly everyone else. He looked like the human embodiment of a “wyd?” text at 2 a.m. “This guy? Really?” Bucky sighed, genuinely disappointed. “Slim pickings, huh?” “I’d steer clear with this one,” Steve added with a grimace. 

Sébastien Noir — A S.H.I.E.L.D agent with a sleek black-and-white headshot, clearly pulled from a classified S.H.I.E.L.D file (because, of course, Nat had access to that). Dark hair and a darker smirk. Very French, very suave. “Could be the next James Bond,” Natasha said casually. “Or a complete poser,” Bucky muttered under his breath.

Matt Murdock — The Avengers’ lawyer. Crisp navy suit, tousled hair, holding a cane and leaning casually against a brownstone like he walked out of a Jane Austen adaptation if it was directed by Scorsese. “I like this one,” Sam said with a thoughtful nod, “Lawyers have money.” 

After much deliberation and a fair amount of peer pressure, you begrudgingly settled on Sébastien Noir. Johnny had given you nothing but red flags, and you didn’t hate yourself enough to fall for a walking thirst trap with the romantic depth of a frat boy.. 

Matt Murdock, on the other hand, was too much. Too handsome, too smart, and too put together. You weren’t emotionally stable enough to be perceived by someone that kind, and to be honest, it felt borderline disrespectful to label him a rebound. 

So… Sébastien it was. 

Tall, French, and suspiciously charming, he felt like the safest terrible decision. There was a certain relief in choosing someone who came with low expectations and virtually no risk of actual feelings. If it all went up in flames, you could just blame it on ‘cultural misunderstanding’... or Natasha. 

“Are you sure about this…?” Steve asked cautiously, like he might step in and offer a better alternative if you gave him even a hint of hesitation. 

“Not really,” you admitted with a frown. “I feel like I’m setting feminism back a few decades.” 

“That’s how you know you chose the right rebound,” Natasha nodded while typing something on her phone, probably texting Sébastien himself. 

Bucky didn’t even bother commenting. He just sat there, slowly shaking his head like a man watching a car crash. 

“What? No notes?” you asked him, raising an eyebrow. 

“This is just… unbelievable,” He simply muttered, shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth like he was trying to eat away his disapproval. 

“To your slut era, I guess,” Sam said half-heartedly, raising his beer before switching the TV back to Princess Diaries like nothing life-altering had just occurred. 

——

Later that evening, on your way out of your room to brush your teeth, you caught a glimpse of Bucky standing by the hallway closet you jokingly dubbed the mini armory. The door was open, and dim light spilled out over the floor. He was unraveling a black bundle you vaguely remembered seeing months ago, back when you were just trying to store your cleaning supplies. 

You paused in your room’s doorway, unsure if he’d want company. 

The cloth slipped from his hands to reveal a silver prosthetic arm with a red star near the shoulder area. 

“So that’s what it was,” you said softly, stepping out just enough for him to hear. 

Bucky froze. His head turned slightly, shoulders tense. “You were looking around here?” 

“I just thought it was a normal closet, okay?” you said quickly, holding your hands up. “I was just looking for somewhere to stash my Swiffer and boom… murder closet.”

That earned the smallest twitch of his lips. Barely. 

“I should throw this thing out. Make room for your junk.” 

You smiled just a little at the jab. “I don’t know…” You said, tilting your head. “I kinda think you should keep it.”

He gave you a look. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because it’s good to have a reminder of how far you’ve come,” you said, meeting his eyes. Then, with a wry twist of your lips, you added, “And also, maybe we can use it as a talking stick. In my class, we pass around this glittery baseball bat to stop the kids from yelling over each other. This could be our version.” 

That earned you a real smirk this time, brief but genuine. “You’re weird.” 

“Not the worst thing I’ve been called,” you said with a shrug, just as your phone buzzed. 

You glanced down at your phone to see a text from Sébastien. Bucky noticed, and his smirk immediately faded. 

“You’re going through with Romanoff’s idea?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Why not?” You replied, shrugging your shoulders. “It could be fun.” 

“You’re going to regret it,” he warned, putting his old prosthetic back inside the closet like he was wrapping up the conversation. 

“Probably,” you called over your shoulder as you turned to the bathroom, “But at least I won’t be looping Pride and Prejudice in my room anymore.” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just gave you one last unreadable look before retreating to his room and closing the door with a soft click.

—————————————————————————————————— End Notes: this was so dumb i cracked myself up writing this one. oh and for some reason, when i was writing this i kept imagining Sébastien (original character) as Sebastian Stan when he was the mad hatter in ONCE hashsdhasdhahdfh i need to sleep oh and i will be changing the summaries to look like friends episode titles because why not

tags: @projectjuvia @vibraniumavenger @mommymilkers0526 @iyskgd @pllwprincess @hiraethmae @b1pan1cg1rly @starstruckfirecat @soupiemeowmeow @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @cherrypieyourface @lasnych @okbutiambabygorl @herejustforbuckybarnes @ilistentotayswifttocope @s-sh-ne @ficmeiguess @alagalaska

[linoskitty]

Until You Fall Asleep

idol!bangchan x f!reader

word count: 0,7k

genre: fluff/comfort

warnings: some people might not like the petname "Babygirl"

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Bang Chan was on his way home after a long day at the studio, finally he could come back to his beautiful girlfriend that he missed all day. When he finally entered their shared home, the smell of something being cooked filler his nostrils. He peeked into the kitchen and there he saw his angel working on something delicious by the stove. The idol sneaked up the you, wrapping his arms around your waist. "Hi babygirl" he murmured into your neck "What'cha making there?" You continued stirring the food not looking up from the pan. "Just some Kimchi Bokkeumbap." (i'm obsessed it's SO good🙏) You responded trying to sound normal but your voice cracking a little.

Chan ofc being the observant person he is, noticed the way your voice missed it's usual cheerful tone. He turned you around and looked into your tired eyes. "Oh Angel what happened?" He gently asked, pressing little kisses on your forehead. You burried your face into his chest before murmuring, "Idk Channie nothing really happened i just feel so lazy today, i don't even wanna smile."

Bangchan hummed at your response, "How about you take a relaxing bath while i finish cooking and when you get back we can have a lazy evening, hm? Sounds good Babygirl?" He asked running his hands up and down your back. You pulled away suddenly, "Nonono baby, you just came back from work, YOU go take a bath and I finish cooking." Your boyfriend pouted at your words, "Pleasee Angel, let me take care of you tonight, pleaseee." He looked at you with begging eyes, a move you couldn't resist. You rolled your eyes "Ugh fine fine i'll go wash up." Chan kissed your cheek before he took over the pan and continued adding more ingredients and stiring food.

Meanwhile, you entered the bathroom grabbing some bath salts and oils to make it more relaxing, you You turned on the water and while you waited, you put on some cozy songs. When you exited the bathroom the smell of Kimchi Bokkeumbap instntly filled the air. The idol pulled your chair back in a fancy way. Both of you sat down and started eating. "So? Wanna tell me a bit more bout your day, Babygirl?" He asked between bites. You looked up at him smiling before answering, "Not really Channie, nothing happened today, but i wanna hear about your day." "Hmm well you know, the usual day at the studio, we're working on a few new songs with Hannie and Binnie, ordered food, we decided to leave early today tho cause we were all really tired." He desribed his day.

You finish eating while sharing random things that happened recently. Bangchan put the dirty dishes in the sink before picking you up and walking to the bathroom with you in his arms to set you down on the marbel counter. "Mkay so we have your cozy pj's" He started while helping you change into them, "And now we're gonna do your skin care okay sweetheart?" He kissed your cheek. You nodded already getting sleepy. "Babygirl don't fall asleep on me yet", he reacted with a chuckle.

First he removed all your makeup before using a gentle tonic, then he put your moisturiser and night serum on. "Now that my Angel is all done, let's get her into bed, shall we?" Chan picked you up again and made his way to your bedroom and tucked you into bed. Before you had a chance to pull him beside, he got up and was about to walk out but you grabbed his hand making him look at you.

"Channieee don't leave please." You whined drowsily, "Baby i need to wash the dishes" he insisted. "We can do that tommorow please, you know it's hard for me to sleep without you." You looked up at him with puppy eyes and Chan melted at the spot, he sighed "Okay I guess i can make an exeption for my love." He finally got under the covers with you and wrapped you in his arms with your head on his chest. "Now my beautiful Babygirl can fall asleep peacefully." You hummed in approval before drifting into slumber.

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Hi again kittens!!! A huge thank you to the person who requested this, i hope i did a good job on this and y'all enjoy this short ff

~Kitty

[itzpookiepooh]

Hello beautiful goddess. So I recently took my prom dress outta the closet 🙃 and it took me back to the day where I was more glittery than usual. My request us for LADS with an MC who likes to wear a ton of glitter like I'm talking 4 bottles of body glitter lol. Thank you so much and keep up the amazing work 😘😘😘

Gonna take some inspiration from Arianna from TikTok

Glitter!

Xavier was watching as both of you were covered in glitter. All because Jenna left you both in charge of a colleague’s going away party. The banner was glitter and you guys made glitter poppers. Xavier’s eyes were nearly seeing everything as glitter.

“I feel like everything is glitter.” Xavier mumbles tiredly as he brushes off his clothes.

“Yeah I got glitter everywhere.” You shake your head watching all the glitter fall off.

“Let’s shower. I hope that helps a little.” Xavier suggested. You wish it were that easy. You guys were stuck cleaning glitter for 2 weeks. It was in the cracks of the floors and in the walls.

“You look like a unicorn threw up all over you.” Rafayel grimaced. You guys were painting and you decided glitter would make this amazing piece of art look extravagant.

“Just say you’re jealous of my creative skills.” You cross your arms with a smirk.

“I absolutely will not do that.” He answers immediately as he puts a hand on his hip. You wait til he turns around to attack him with glitter. He screamed so loud the seagulls started to sing.

“How do I look?” You asked Sylus. You acquired another accessory that contained glitter. It was hard being a boss when glitter was everywhere.

“Mildly infuriating.” He answered without missing a beat. Your jaw dropped immediately.

“It’s not that bad!” You try to convince him but he just stares at you. You did look like a bunch of trolls tried to turn you into Lady Glittersparkles

“You glitter bombed Mephisto.” He added as the bird sat in the corner shimmering in pink. You give him a yikes expression before shaking it away.

“Well he was just an experiment.” You counter as Mephisto squawked at you making you glare. “Luke and Kieran like it right?” You turn to them as they nod with a thumbs up.

But as soon as you turned around they whispered “Help us.” To Sylus, to which he chuckled and you gave them the evil eye.

Caleb was all for it. You did stuff like this as kids! Glitter use to decorate Josephines home though she was irritated you’d do it again. You painted both of you in glitter. He was orange and you were red. A weird combo but it worked for you guys. He checked himself out in the mirror before nodding.

“We look great!” He complimented as he flexed. You laugh, “I know right?”

Caleb was trailing glitter all over the living room. It was in the couch and everything and then he did the worst thing he could ever do.

Sneeze.

Glitter flew everywhere making you cover your eyes as you tried to lead him to the shower to wash it all off.

Zayne loves you he truly does but don’t come near him with that. It’s hard to get out of his things and it even sheds at work. It gets in the bed and food with how much stuff you have with glitter. It nearly drove him insane. He was outside enjoying the sunset when you came to bother him.

“Come on! Glitter won’t kill you.” You whined to him as he pulls his sunglasses down to look at you clearly.

“Physically? No. Mentally? Yes.” He told you before putting his glasses back on.

“Zayne you’re not being fair.” You whine as he stays silent still watching the sunset. You took that as a sign to step closer but when you did he sprayed you with water.

“It seems my love needed a bath.” He teases spraying you down with the water hose making the glitter fall off.

“Zayne enough!” You dodge him as he moves closer. You tried your best to dodge but there was no escaping him as he smiled watching the glitter disappear.

Finally some peace.

Would you believe me if I told you I use to eat glitter and sequins down? I’m talking that was a daily fit back then

[chaeuvy]

Hiya!! I love your wbk works!!! May I request nsfw umi with inexperienced anxious reader!! I know he would be the sweetest

Don’t forget to drink water and take breaks!!

- 💫anon

⸝⸝ ＃┆ 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐄! ⎯ 𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐉𝐈𝐌𝐄

summary: After his friends make a joke about their sex life, [Name] can’t stop overthinking. She and Hajime have been together for a while, but they’ve never gone further than kissing — and now, self-conscious and anxious, she starts to wonder if he’s getting tired of waiting. That night, when he stays over, she finally decides to be honest about what she wants… even if it scares her.

warnings: first Time, fem!reader is Nervous, soft dom Umemiya Hajime, Gentle Sex, emotional comfort, aftercare, oral (m → f), fingering, virgin Reader, Anxiety, Reassuring Partner, soft dirty talk, penetration (m → f), (Established Relationship, crying during sex (not negative).

wc: 5.9k words.

💫 anon: thank you so much for the request ! It was my first time in ages writing a request, I hope I did okay and it turned out like you imagined it ! <3

It was one of those lazy golden evenings, the kind that made the cracked pavement glow and turned even the loudest engine roars into background noise. The Bofurin boys were gathered outside the usual convenience store, sprawled across their bikes and stacked milk crates, trash-talking each other over cans of soda and half-eaten snacks.

You were tucked under Umemiya Hajime’s arm, legs curled up on the curb, sipping a melon soda and trying not to overthink how his fingers occasionally rubbed slow circles into your shoulder. He always touched you like that — casual, comforting. Familiar.

“Oi, Umemiya!” Suo shouted through a mouthful of chips, grinning like a devil. “Don’t think we didn’t notice [Name] looking all dazed earlier. What, you finally put those pretty-boy muscles to use?”

Laughter broke out instantly. Togame whistled low, while Toma choked on his drink. You stiffened slightly, your heart lurching, but tried to keep your face neutral.

Umemiya laughed — that loud, slightly nasal cackle of his — and tilted his head back.

“Oi oi,” he said with a grin, tightening his arm around your shoulder. “I’m a gentleman, ya know. I ain’t some wild dog.”

Someone muttered something about “liar,” and Umemiya just kept chuckling, shaking his head like it didn’t matter. He didn’t seem embarrassed. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t… correct them.

You forced a smile, but your fingers tightened around the soda can. Your stomach was twisting.

Because the truth was… you hadn’t done anything. Not really. Kissing, sure. And once or twice, things had gotten a little heated — wandering hands, breathless moments where you thought maybe it would go further — but you always pulled back. And he never pushed. Not once.

Still, something about how easily he’d brushed the comment off, how natural he looked laughing with the guys like it wasn’t a big deal, made something sink in your chest.

When the sun finally dipped below the skyline and everyone started peeling off, you tugged at his sleeve as he swung a leg over his bike.

“Hey,” you murmured, forcing your voice to sound light. “Wanna stay over tonight?”

He paused for half a second, eyes flicking to your face. There was a beat — not suspicion, but something close. Something quietly attentive. But he just gave a crooked smile.

“Yeah,” he said, like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Course I do.”

The door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing a little too loud in the quiet apartment.

You padded toward your room without saying much, tugging your hoodie sleeves over your hands like they could muffle the pounding in your chest. Umemiya followed at a slower pace, always letting you lead — not just physically. Emotionally, too. That was the thing about him. He was easy to be around… but sometimes that made it harder.

You sat on the edge of your bed, legs drawn up, arms around your knees. The silence in the room wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was… fragile.

Umemiya was still by the door, pulling off his jacket, then his hoodie — loose tank top underneath. Muscles flexing naturally. You watched him from the corner of your eye, heart thudding. You wanted him. That was never the issue. You wanted him so badly it made your hands shake sometimes. But— wanting didn’t make the fear go away.

You turned your eyes down to your lap, staring at your fingers twisted in the fabric of your sleeves. Why couldn’t you just do something? Say something? Reach for him, pull him down to the bed and kiss him until you both forgot how long it had been. How far you hadn’t gone.

You bit your lip, hard.

Maybe he was tired of it. Of you. The thought twisted sharp in your gut. He laughed when the guys made that joke. Didn’t even correct them. Didn’t say, “Nah, we haven’t done that yet.” Just smiled like it didn’t matter. Like it was easier to let them think you had.

God, what if he was only waiting to be polite? What if he was bored of waiting? What if he was getting tired of you?

Your chest tightened, breath hitching without warning. You didn’t mean to sniffle, but it happened, and you quickly wiped your face on your sleeve, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But of course, he had.

You felt the shift in the bed before you saw him — the dip of the mattress beside you as he sat down, careful, like he didn’t want to startle you.

“…Hey,” Umemiya said softly, voice losing that lazy, teasing edge he used with everyone else. It was just him now. Just Hajime.

You still didn’t look up.

He waited a beat, then nudged your knee gently with his fingers.

“[Name]. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

You wanted to answer — really, you did — but the words were all stuck behind a dam of anxiety and self-doubt.

You felt his hand slip over your knee again, this time staying there. Just a warm, steady weight. No pressure.

Just… waiting.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted quietly, voice breaking despite your best effort.

Umemiya blinked. “What?” He leaned in a little. “Sorry for what?”

You finally looked at him — and the concern in his eyes nearly undid you completely. Not judgment. Not frustration. Just open, focused attention. The kind he gave you when you were unraveling, but he still made you feel like the center of his universe.

“For not…” You trailed off, breath shaking. “For not being able to do more. With you.”

He froze. Not in a bad way — not like you said something wrong. Just… like he was processing it fully.

“…You think I’m mad about that?” he asked quietly.

Your silence said everything.

Umemiya exhaled slowly and scooted a little closer, legs turning toward you. His fingers brushed yours where they rested between your knees.

“I’m not mad, [Name],” he said. “I’m not tired of you. Not waiting for you to hurry up or do anything you’re not ready for.”

Your eyes were burning. You hated crying in front of people. Even him.

“But it’s been so long,” you whispered. “And I want to, Hajime. I really do. I just don’t know how to… start. Or say it. And then I think maybe you’re bored or regretting waiting this long and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” he cut in gently, squeezing your hand. “Bored? Regretting? Pretty, I’m not some asshole who just wants that.”

You blinked, surprised by the firmness in his voice.

He looked at you straight-on now, gaze unwavering. “I like waiting. Because it means I get more time with you like this. Holding your hand. Making you laugh. Walking you home. Falling asleep next to you. And yeah, I want you. Of course I do. But only when you want it. And not a second before.”

You stared at him, lips parted, something warm and aching rising in your chest.

His hand to your cheek, brushing your hair back. “You’re not Weird. Or slow. Or anything to apologize for. You’re just… you. And I’m crazy about you. Okay?”

Your breath hitched again, but this time for a different reason.

You wanted to be close. You wanted to stop thinking and start feeling.

You didn’t remember leaning into him — not really — but suddenly your forehead was resting against his shoulder, and his arms were around you. Gentle. Warm. He always held you like you were something breakable, but never fragile.

His lips brushed the top of your head. “We don’t have to do anything, y’know,” he murmured. “I meant that.”

“I…” Your voice caught. “I want to, Hajime. I just…”

Your fingers clutched at the front of his shirt, trembling. Your heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of your chest. He didn’t rush you. Just rubbed slow circles into your lower back with his thumb.

You took a breath, then another. “I want you to.. to touch me.”

You felt him exhale slowly, chest rising under your cheek. His hand moved to cup your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone as he gently tilted your head up.

His voice was a mumble, “Okay.”

He kissed you — not rushed or greedy. Just slow and warm and full of patience. You leaned into it, lips parting when his tongue brushed yours. It made something tighten deep in your belly. Need. Want. Still wrapped in nerves, but no longer drowning in them.

When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours. “Still okay?”

You nodded. “Y-Yeah. Just… r-really nervous.”

He smiled, and it was so soft it made your heart ache. “S’okay to be nervous. You’re safe, [Name]. I got you.”

You swallowed, fingers twisting in his shirt. “I don’t really… know what to do.”

“You don’t gotta do anything,” he whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Just let me take care of you.”

He helped you ease back on the bed, crawling over you with slow, careful movements, like you were made of glass. You gasped a little when his lips trailed down your throat, warm and patient, sucking just enough to leave a trace. Your hands clutched at his shoulders.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against your skin, then kissed your collarbone. “Tell me if anything’s too much. If you need to stop, even for a second—just say the word, yeah?”

You nodded quickly, then whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

That was all it took.

His hand slipped beneath your shirt, fingers trailing feather-light touches along your ribs, then down, until he reached the waistband of your shorts.

He paused. “Can I?”

Your breath hitched. “Y-Yeah.”

He tugged them down gently, helping you get out of them. His eyes stayed on yours the whole time—like he was making sure you never felt exposed, only seen.

And then his hand was between your thighs.

You whimpered when his fingers brushed you—softly at first, then with more intent as he found you already wet. Your thighs tried to close on instinct, but he was there, murmuring soft praise into your skin.

“So good, love,” he whispered, lips at your neck. “So pretty like this. You feel amazing.”

Your head dropped back onto the pillow, chest rising and falling rapidly. His finger slid between your folds, slow and teasing, not quite pressing in. You bucked a little without meaning to.

“Shhh,” he soothed, kissing your jaw. “I got you. Gonna go slow.”

When he slid a single finger inside, you gasped — it wasn’t painful, just foreign, new.

“Still okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, “It feels… weird. But g-good.”

“Gonna add another, ‘kay?”

You nodded, hips shifting just the tiniest bit toward him. And then you felt two fingers stretching you open, a pressure building as he worked you gently, curling against something inside you that made you moan, shaky and breathless.

“Fuck, you sound so good,” he murmured, kissing you.

Before you could even form words, he was moving lower. His fingers pulled back just enough for his mouth to replace them, tongue teasing gently over your clit. You gasped — a sharp, trembling sound — your hips twitching as your hands flew to his hair.

“H-Haji—wait, I—!” you stuttered, overwhelmed.

He looked up for just a second, lips slick. “Too much?”

“N-No! Just—feels really good—!”

He smiled, tongue dipping again, flicking and circling with such slow speed you could feel your stomach coiling tighter and tighter. His fingers slid back inside you, syncing with the rhythm of his mouth —

“Good girl,” he murmured into you. “Let it happen. Just feel me. You’re doing so good, sugar.”

That broke something open.

You arched against the bed with a strangled cry, thighs trembling around his head as your orgasm hit you in waves. Your hands gripped his shoulders like you were falling — but he was already holding you, grounding you, kissing you through every second of it.

When you finally came down, panting and dazed, he was already back at your side, wiping your tears away — you hadn’t even realized you were crying again.

Not from fear this time. From relief.

From being wanted — and seen.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered again, tucking you into his chest as you curled into him. “Always.

“I want to… I want to go further,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper.

His brows lifted slightly — not from surprise, but from caution. “Yeah?”

You nodded, already shaking a little. “I… I want you to be my first. I’m just— I’m r-really scared.”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t smirk. He just shifted upright a little, leaning closer to cup your cheek with one warm, calloused hand.

“I’d be honored,” he said quietly. “But only if you’re really sure, baby. Not just ‘I want to make him happy.’ Not just to get it over with. You. Are you sure?”

You swallowed hard. “I want you. I’m scared, but I trust you.”

His breath hitched — almost like you’d just punched all the air out of his lungs. “Okay,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you slow and deep. “Then I’m gonna make it good for you. Gonna go slow. Real slow. You tell me to stop, even once? I stop. No questions.”

You nodded again, heart rattling against your ribs. “O-Okay.”

He kissed you again — not rushed, not hungry. Just careful. His hands moved over your body like he was learning you all over again, pausing when you gasped or tensed, murmuring soft praise into your skin with every touch.

“You’re so beautiful, [Name]. You’re perfect like this.”

He took his time undressing too, letting you see all of him, letting you touch. Just quiet closeness, layer by layer.

When he laid you back, he kissed down your chest, hands stroking your thighs to ease the tension there. lips brushing your skin.

“I’m gonna go real slow. Gonna feel a little stretch at first, yeah? Just breathe with me, okay?”

You nodded frantically, eyes wide. “I-I’m ready.”

“Okay,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours. “I’m right here.”

You felt the press of him — the tip nudging gently between your folds. You tensed automatically, and his hand immediately found yours, fingers weaving tight.

“Shhh, love. I got you,” he whispered. “We’ll stop if it’s too much.”

You shook your head quickly. “N-No. Just… just need a second.”

He kissed your knuckles. “Take your time.”

With your breathing slow and guided by his soft words, he began to push in — just a little at a time. You gasped, eyes fluttering, thighs trembling under his steady touch. It didn’t hurt, not really. It was just… intense. Full. New.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “You feel incredible. So warm. So soft.”

You whimpered again, face burying into his shoulder as he bottomed out with a low, shaky breath.

“That’s it. You took all of me, baby,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “You okay?”

“I-I think so,” you breathed, still trembling. “J-Just… stay like this. Just for a second.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He held you there, letting you adjust, his hand stroking your side while he whispered soft, silly nothings — how proud he was, how beautiful you looked, how much he adored you.

When you finally nodded, he started to move — just a slow, careful rock of his hips. You gasped again, overwhelmed, but this time there was more pleasure than fear.

Each roll of his body made something flutter deep inside you, and you clung to him like he was the only real thing in the world. His breath stuttered against your neck, but he never went faster, never chased his own pleasure. He was all you.

“I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking as your body trembled again.

He looked at you like the words broke him open. “I love you too, [Name],” he said. “So much. You’re doing amazing.”

The warmth building inside you wasn’t just physical — it was emotional, too. Every soft thrust, every whispered praise, every slow, touch brought you closer. When you finally came again, it was with tears in your eyes and his name on your lips, your whole body tightening around him.

„fuck.. im close Sugar… need you a little longer.“

After more soft thrusts, He followed soon after, burying his face in your neck with a low, desperate sound, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

He didn’t pull away right away. Just stayed there, breathing with you, stroking your hair, kissing your cheeks and forehead, whispering how proud he was. How much he loved you. How grateful he was you trusted him like this.

You were still shaking — but not from fear this time.

From being full. Of love. Of him. Of something that felt safe and unforgettable.

You blinked up at the ceiling, your body buzzing with a thousand sensations you didn’t know how to sort through.

And then — reality hit you like a cold breeze.

You were naked.

Next to him.

You yelped softly and yanked the blanket up to your chest in one frantic motion, curling onto your side and pulling the covers tightly around you like they could erase the memory of how bare you’d just been.

Umemiya — still sprawled on his back beside you, breathing heavy but completely relaxed — turned his head with a lazy grin.

“…You serious?” he said with a low chuckle. “You’re really gonna get shy on me now?”

You squeaked, hiding half your face under the blanket. “D-Don’t look!“

His laugh came louder this time, boyish and full of warmth, and he flopped dramatically onto his side to face you. “Babe, I just had you. You think there’s anything left I haven’t seen?”

“That’s exactly why!” you said, face burning. “It’s different now!”

He grinned, eyes soft even through the teasing. “God, you’re cute.”

“I’m not cute,” you grumbled, voice muffled behind the fabric. “I’m— I’m—nervous.”

“I know, baby.” His voice dropped into something softer now, less teasing. His fingers reached beneath the blanket to find yours and squeeze them gently. “But you don’t have to be. Not with me.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just clutched the sheets tighter and peeked at him over the edge.

“You’re not… disappointed?” you asked softly. “That I was so nervous? That I didn’t know anything?”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then your nose, then the corner of your mouth. Each one slow. Sure.

“[Name],” he said, like he needed you to hear it, “I’m proud of you. That took so much trust. And you gave that to me. I don’t care how nervous you were. You were perfect.”

Your eyes welled again — because he meant it. Not just to soothe you. Not to win points.

Just the truth.

He tugged gently at the blanket, lowering it an inch. “Let me hold you properly, yeah? I miss your skin.”

You hesitated — then slowly let him tug the covers down enough to slide his arms around your waist, pulling you in close, your chest pressed to his.

His skin was warm, his heartbeat steady. Everything about him said safe.

“You were perfect,” he repeated into your hair, breath soft against your scalp. “And you’re still cute, even if you’re hiding like a little shrimp under the covers.”

You groaned into his chest, face still red.

But you smiled, too.

Because he was right here. And you didn’t have to be afraid anymore.

← WBK ┆ NAVI →

a/n : thanks for reading.. my first English smut…

© 2025 chaeuvy ; ━━ do not copy or translate my work !

[not-well-not-wholesomely]

warning graphic jackingoff talk in the tags. tumbler dot com is a public diary.

[youremyonlyhope]

Apparently I left my fridge cracked open. The whole day and evening. For over 14 total hours.

Great.

[holeforzenin]

THAT GIRL IS...POISON!!!

Tw - Overstimulation, slight somno, Not proofread

A/n - hello! I know I haven’t been posting that much recently because I’m on a small tumblr break but I still decided to schedule this post so I hope everyone enjoys it!

˖ ⊹ ﾟ｡ ✧

Sweetheart—hahh fuck! Don’t you think you’re going too ngh-fast, Ohh fuckkk!” His moans escaped in a mixture of desperation and pleasure, his voice husky and filled with desire as he struggled to maintain his hold on your waist in an attempt to steady himself properly—Fuck, Satoru felt so lightheaded and dizzy, his thighs trembled as he weakly tried to recover from his pasting orgasms which was the…third one?? In a row.

It wasn’t really your intention for it to be this way. Dealing with difficult coworkers all day was challenging enough, but having to cover a shift last minute because of someone else's absence made things even tougher for you. So least to say when you finally came home from work you were sooo frustrated and had to let off some steam and you don’t know what, but something came over you seeing your pretty boyfriend, shirtless with his grey sweatpants hanging low by his hips, revealing a glimpse of his mouth-watering happy trail and v line in the kitchen cooking dinner for the two of you. It’s like it triggered something inside of your brain.

And that's how you found yourself on top of him on the living room couch, his snowy-white hair tickling his forehead, damped with sweat as he gazed up at you with half-lidden eyes in a mixture of exhaustion and desire. His sticky cum from the last three rounds marinating inside your cunt as you continued milking him for the forth, sure your thighs were quivering and aching but it’s nothing compared to the overwhelming amount of pleasure you got from fucking your boyfriend like this. Your feet gently rested on his toned thighs as you bounced up and down on his cock, trying to cum once again and get him as stimulated as possible.

His jaw fell slack and his eyes rolled back repeatedly in sheer ecstasy at the lewd sight of you fucking down at him like this—sure Satoru loved being in control and fucking you absolutely stupid as you drooled and cried into his expensive bed sheets while he pounds your sloppy little cunt from behind but there’s just something about seeing his feisty, persistent little girlfriend being so demanding and treating him like your personal toy to fuck yourself on made him lose his mind. He loved it so so much.

He enjoys being your dildo to cream on—even if he’s on the verge of literal tears right now from the overstimulation of you bouncing your ass on his twitching, overused cock. he didn’t even had the power to try and get you off from his oversensitive dick—all he could do is lie there and take it. You won’t lie, you carried a lot of pride in having the strongest a whimpering and moaning mess alll because of you.

“Babyyy, Goddd! you’re so fucking crazy” his voice cracked as he flashed a fucked out smile at you as you ran your fingertips along the defined ridges of his abs before trailing them upwards to his chest—feeling every bit of muscle from his body that you could possibly reach. “You look so shit!- fucking beautiful”.

“Yeahhh? Oh you look so pretty like this too toruuu” you cooed, his cock was filling you up so well, just the way you wanted. You raked your hand over his chest, groping it before you accidentally did something. Which made his cock jump inside of you, throbbing and pulsating—you felt it and it made you questioned, why you never thought about it before?

“Whatthefuck—Holy shitt nghh” he groaned out, a lump forming in his throat.

You pinched both of his nipples, twisting and toying with the hardened bud before he lets out a high-pitched whine, his ragged breaths quickening as he came, spilling whatever bit of cum was left inside his balls into your already stuffed and leaking pussy, the action catching you off guard, causing your back arched slightly, the overwhelming pleasure consumed you as your rhythm got sloppy. You quickly chased your high following him—his gooey cum coating your sensitive clit and dripping down all over his balls and sheets as his balls throbbed with his release, his seed getting fucked so deep inside you as you continued bouncing on him.

His pretty pathetic whimpers and moans were like music to your ears, you were actually starting to feel bad but you were soo desperate to cum, you had to—even if you already did it about four times. It felt so fucking good and seeing Satoru like this made you even hornier.

You moved your hand down to rub your clit, feeling the intense pleasure building up as three of your fingers carefully circled the sensitive bundle of nerves as Satoru weakly looked up at you, if it wasn’t for his bright ass blue eyes peaking out faintly, you wouldn’t have even noticed. He had no power or energy to do anything, it’s like your pussy snatched his soul from his body and he’s just laying there lifeless but with his cock still throbbing with need and joy.

“Mmm fuck baby, M’ gonna cum on your cock again, gonna make a creamy little mess on you toru” you moaned out, your head falling back as you squeezed a handful of your bouncing tits, he whines eagerly at your exclamations. The pit of your stomach flutters as you came undone on your boyfriend's cock once again, your juices leaking all around his shaft as your pussy squeezes around him like a vice, at this point, Satoru’s cheeks were so flushed and feverish.

Your body collapsed onto his with his cock still nested and marinating in your warm, cum-filled pussy as you brushed the stands of stray hairs that veiled his eyes before planting a sweet, gentle kiss on his forehead. There for no doubt that Satoru wasn’t asleep right now, you could just tell from his breathing patterns and it was sooo adorable to you.

Maybe you’ll give him some time to wake up before round five orrr was it six? starts again.

[littlelamy]

this was the final straw. just off the edge of the vanity, a soft clink as your vs lip gloss tube rolled under your stool. you could see it peeking out, glittery cap sparkling against the tile, but when you bent down to get it, your hair caught on your lashes, and your sleeve got twisted, making you finally crack.

“fuck,” you sniffled, sitting up way too fast. “fuck this stupid fucking day.”

from the bed, rafe raised an eyebrow, clicking the mute button on the remote in his hand. he watched as you clenched your fists in your lap, chest rising fast.

“what happened now?” he asked, not unkind. but also not exactly kind either.

you glared at the lip gloss. “everything is ruined.”

rafe sat up a little. “babe..it’s lip gloss.”

“i know it’s lip gloss, rafe,” you snapped. “but it’s not about the lip gloss.”

he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “okay..so what’s it about?”

you blinked; your vision blurred with tears. “i don’t know. my boobs hurt. i’m bloated. i cried at a fucking dog food commercial this morning. you used the last of the milk and didn’t say anything. and now my lip gloss is under the stool, and i hate everything.”

rafe blinked at you. then stood up and crossed the room, crouched, and retrieved the gloss without a word. handed it to you like he was defusing a bomb.

you took it in silence, stared at it, and then you sniffled again.

“you’re mad at me,” you mumbled.

“i’m not mad at you,” he said flatly.

“you are..you think i’m annoying and crazy.”

“i do not think you’re crazy.” he paused. “i think your hormones are currently committing war crimes inside your body.”

you looked at him, your lower lip trembling. “i can’t tell if that was mean or sweet.”

“maybe both.”

you let out a shaky laugh, then a sob. your hands covered your face. “i just want to feel soft and hot and normal and i feel like a hot air balloon full of rage.”

he sat next to you on the vanity stool, which was really not made for his size, but he made it work. and wrapped an arm around your shoulder and kissed your temple.

“you are soft,” he said. “and you’re always hot. and honestly? a little rage balloon version of you is still my favorite thing on earth.”

you wiped your nose on your sleeve. “i hate that you’re good at this.”

“i’ve had practice,” he said. “remember last month? you cried because the sushi guy forgot your extra soy sauce.”

“because it’s not the same without the extra soy sauce.”

“i know, baby.” he nodded solemnly. “i know.”

you leaned into him, his chest warm, the loud steady thump of his heart grounding you. “i want chocolate,” you mumbled. “and maybe to cry more.”

“both can be arranged.”

“and i want you to scratch my back, but not too hard. and rub my tummy, but don’t comment on it. and tell me i’m pretty but don’t make it about how i look, just about like…my energy.”

rafe stood. “done.”

“what?”

“lie down, woman. you’re getting the full treatment.”

you blinked, and crawled into bed. he followed, bringing a heating pad, a bottle of water, and a handful hershey’s kisses he dug out of his lunch bag sitting in the corner. “you are a treasure,” you whispered.

“i know.”

he got behind you, one hand sliding up your back, nails scratching lightly. the other rested on your stomach. “your energy’s soft,” he murmured. “even when you’re being a little nightmare. still feels like home.”

you choked on a sob. “shit, you’re good at this.”

“i know,” he said again, kissing your hair. “now eat your chocolate, cry into my chest, and remember: when luteal phase rages, rafe will always remains.” you laughed through your tears, melting against him. it was going to be a sweeter night than expected.

❤︎‬ tags below

taglist𑄽𑄺: @rafesbabygirlx @namelesslosers @drewsephrry @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafedaddy01 @rafesangelita @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @@ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lil-sparklqueen @rafessweetgirl @esquivelbianca @p45510n4f4shi0n @palomavz @cokewithcameron @donaldsonsgirl @yncoded @lilbunnysfics @solaceluna @icaqttt @alphabetically-deranged @wintercrows @st8rkey

[tedmustache]

Doctor’s Orders

Pairing: Michael "Robbie" Robinavitch x Reader

Summary: Between long shifts, late-night triage, and the chaos of The Pitt, something quiet has been building between Dr. Robbie and Y/N. When one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface and maybe neither of them is ready to pretend anymore.

Warnings: Mild medical content (ER setting, mentions of injuries, fever, collapse), Brief strong language

a/n: pure fluff with mutual pining, hope you like it

Requests are open | AO3 Link | Main Masterlist

[...]

The first time he hears you cough, he brushes it off.

The second time, during triage, while you’re elbow-deep in a gunshot wound and still somehow calm, he notices the hitch in your breath, the slight sheen on your forehead, and the way your voice cracks when you call for more gauze.

By the third time, he’s watching you too closely, and Collins catches him.

“You’re staring,” she mutters, handing him a chart. “Again.”

“I’m observing the technic” he replies, too quickly.

She smirks. “Uh-huh. Observing her technic of trying to sounds good even when she looks like she’s about to pass out?”

He tries not to react, but he’s already scanning the ER. You’re at the meds cabinet, hand braced against the wall like the world’s tilting.

Shit.

He crosses the floor before he realizes he’s moving, brushing past two residents and nearly knocking over a med student.

He reaches you just as your knees buckle slightly, nothing dramatic, just enough for concern and his hand catches your elbow.

“Whoa,” he says, a little breathless.

You blink up at him, eyes glassy.

“I’m fine,” you say, clearly lying.

He ignores that. “You’re flushed. And swaying.”

“I’m tired. Rough shift today”

“You’re burning up.”

Your mouth curls into a crooked smile. “Maybe it’s because you’re holding my arm.”

He really shouldn’t smile back.

But you’re you, and you say shit like that without realizing it drives him up the wall.

“Sit,” he says.

“Robbie—”

“That wasn’t a suggestion.”

He hears snickering behind him — Collins, probably — but he’s too focused on getting you to the empty gurney in the corner of the ER. He pulls the curtain shut. If anyone has something to say, they can say it later.

“You’re running a fever,” he says, snapping a thermometer under your tongue before you can argue again.

You roll your eyes, but let him work. He grabs a blanket, a bottle of water, and puts together a makeshift rest station like you’re one of his patients, which, technically, you are now.

He’s trying very hard not to look at how tired you are. Or how soft your expression gets when you realize he’s fussing over you.

“You’re off shift,” he says finally. “Doctor’s orders.”

You blink. “I’m not a patient.”

“You are today.”

“Are you going to tuck me in next?” you tease, smirking.

He pauses. “Do you want me to?”

There’s a beat of silence. Your eyes go wide. Behind the curtain, someone stifles a laugh — definitely Collins this time.

You swallow. “I think I can handle it.”

He nods, steps back.

His pulse is a mess.

“Hydrate. Sleep. If I catch you working before that fever breaks, I’m chaining you to the bed.”

“You’re very bossy when you care.”

That one knocks the air out of him for a second

“Just rest,” he says, and leaves before his expression gives anything away.

He doesn’t mean to hover.

Okay, maybe he does.

He checks on you twice. Three times. Maybe four. Brings you water, adjusts the blanket, shushes the interns when they get too loud.

You’re sleeping peacefully, curled on your side, cheeks flushed and hair falling across your face. You look… soft. Vulnerable.

Human, in a way people rarely get to be in The Pitt.

One of the drunk patients watching the whole thing apparently had enough and screams “You gonna sing her a lullaby, too?”

“Shut up” he mutters, not looking away "Someone discharge him, for god's sake"

He leaves a tray of food by your cot before he finishes his shift. Stale bread, mystery stew, and a single perfect pear. He was going to keep it. But then again, he was also going to not fall for the most competent, infuriating, stubborn doctor in the entire ER.

Too late now.

He scribbles a note on a scrap of paper and tucks it under the tray.

You forgot to eat. Again. - R

He doesn’t sign it with his full name. Doesn’t need to. You’ll know.

When you’re back on shift the next day, fever gone, voice rough but steady, he’s relieved. More than he should be.

You meet him in the hallway, lean casually against the wall.

“Thanks,” you say.

He raises an eyebrow. “For what?”

“The pear. The blanket. The whole, you know, aggressively caring thing.”

He shrugs. “I told you. Doctor’s orders.”

You smile. Slow and warm and devastating. “I think you care even when you���re off-duty.”

The same drunk patient snorts from down the hall. “Oh my God, just kiss already!”

You both freeze.

You open your mouth. Close it. Turn pink.

Robbie, somehow, stays composed. Barely.

“Don’t mind him” he mumbles annoyed

“I don’t.”

You glance up at him. Eyes soft, hopeful. For half a second, he thinks maybe, maybe, you’ll say something else.

Then an intern shouts about a bleeding patient in Bay 2, and the moment breaks.

You straighten, professionalism sliding back into place, but before you can walk off, Robbie reaches out, gently catching your wrist.

"Hey," he says, quietly. Just for you.

You stop. Look at him.

He hesitates. The hallway around you buzzes with footsteps, shouting, chaos. The usual.

But right here, with you, it's still.

"I do care when I’m off-duty," he says, voice low. “More than I probably should.”

Your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away. His fingers brush yours but not enough for anyone to see, but enough for you to feel it.

You smile, softer now. “You think I don’t?”

He huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh. “You’re impossible to read sometimes.”

“You’re impossible, period.”

You’re both smiling now. It’s ridiculous, almost in the middle of an ER, a trauma case probably seconds from crashing, but he doesn’t want to let the moment go.

"Look," you say suddenly, voice quieter, “I’ve been trying really hard to be professional about this, whatever this is, but the thing is…”

You trail off, shaking your head with a breathless laugh. “I think I’ve been falling for you since the shift with the twin stab wounds and the vending machine fire.”

He blinks. “That was—”

“—Four months ago,” you say. “I know.”

There’s a pause. Long enough for him to step just a little closer. His hand finding yours properly this time.

“I’ve been falling for you since you yelled at the trauma surgeon for calling you ‘nurse girl’” he says.

You laugh — really laugh — and he’s never been more gone.

“You gonna kiss me now?” you ask.

He does.

Right there in the hallway. Not dramatic, not performative. Just real.

Warm. A little rushed. A little messy. But exactly right.

You break apart a few seconds later, and your grin is pure sunlight. “Doctor’s orders?”

“Doctor’s orders,” he echoes.

The ER shouts around you. Someone yells something about a crash cart. Collins swears loudly in the distance.

You both glance toward Bay 2.

“Back to work?” you ask.

“For now.”

But as you both head back into the chaos, shoulders brushing, it’s clear something shifted.

Not just a moment anymore.

Something real. Finally said out loud.

And maybe, just maybe, the next time someone yells "just kiss already!", Robbie’ll just shrug and say:

“We already did.”

[mochinomnoms]

April Fools: Telling them you're pregnant as a joke

It's April's Fools! And you want to pull a harmless little prank on your boyfriend! Hmm, there's pretending to break up...no that's mean. There's moving all of the furniture in the house 2 inches slightly to the right...but that'd be too much effort. Oh, you got it! Get a fake pregnancy test and tell him you're pregnant!

Yes, this will be extremely funny and you can think of no ways that this can go wrong! But if you did it on the first, he probably wouldn't take you seriously, so instead you opted to do it the night before as you two were getting ready for bed.

"Hey sweetheart? I have something really important to tell you..." You took a deep breath, presenting the joke pregnancy test you got from the store and said, "I'm pregnant."

multi (randomly chosen) x gn!reader

[tw/cw} - sexual humor, crack, dumbassery afoot, some softer vibes, takes place post-graduation

[note] - technically you could consider this to be implied afab reader, but it's a lot funnier if we want to imagine mpreg instead loool. I thought it would be funny to write something for April Fool's and this is kinda sorta related to what I'm currently writing in the next chapter for 2-3-6? anyways enjoy this was funny!

Also the seven guys were chosen by a wheel spinner so yaaaay

Deuce

Glass shattered against the wood floors, Deuce dropping his cup of water, making you jump. Your eyes flitted to the glass and puddle on the ground, before footsteps made you look back up and yelp in surprise.

Deuce was right up in your face, hands grasping tightly at your biceps and squeezing.

"Really?" Deuce looked like he was about to cry, a trembling smile on his lips. "We're gonna be parents? Oh...we're gonna be parents, I'm gonna be a dad!"

You immediately felt your heart clench in guilt. He looked so happy, his hands cradling your face and fluttering it with soft kisses. You didn't want to disappoint him and tell him it was a prank, but you had to as he climbed over the bed to grab his phone.

"I gotta tell Mom!"

"No wait!"

Launching yourself on top of him, you swatted his hands away from the phone, though he managed to grab it. You two then wrestled in the bed, hands pulling at the phone as Deuce looked at you in confusion.

"Why aren't you letting me call her?" Deuce managed to one up you as he finally pinned you on your back, though your hands still tightly clenched to his phone like a lifeline. "Don't you want to tell her?"

"Cause it was a prank! For April Fool's" Deuce froze, letting go of the phone and staring down at you in distraught.

"We're not having a baby then?"

"Oh baby...no Deuce I'm not pregnant, I'm sorry." You finally managed to wiggle your way up to throw your arms around him, giving him a tight hug. "I thought you might have a funny reaction, I didn't realize you'd be so happy, I wouldn't've pulled this prank if I did."

"Oh...okay." Deuce returned the hug, hiding his face into the crook of your neck as he mumbled. "So...do you want to have a baby?"

"Only if it's yours." Pressing a kiss to his temple, you tilted Deuce up by his chin and gave him a smile.

"Let's go to bed, and talk more in the morning, yeah? I love you."

"Ha, okay." Deuce gave you a tender kiss in return. "I love you too."

Ruggie

"Oh gods help me." Ruggie looked as if he wanted to both kiss you, and puke his guts out. "I don't have baby money."

You took a deep breath and bit the inside of you cheek to keep you from laughing. This was a little mean. Okay actually this was really mean, but Ruggie was giving you some very funny reactions. So you decided to keep the prank going.

"It's okay Rugs, I have a little bit saved up, we can—"

"I think I have that bracelet set from graduation that I can sell. It's from Leona so it should give us good money." Ruggie rushed pass you in your small apartment to dig under the bed and grab a lockbox.

"Oh my—Ruggie you don't need to get our emergency—"

"We should start looking at thrift shops and the nearby market for baby clothes. I can ask Nana if she has any of my old stuff, I think she might still have my crib and bassinet."

You couldn't help the snort that left your mouth as Ruggie smacked his head on the bedframe, making him turn around to glare at you.

"Hey! No laughing, this is your fault!"

"What!" You scoffed, though giggles still escaped you as he tossed the lockbox on the bed and grabbed his laptop. "It takes two to tango dumbass."

"Yeah yeah! Look we gotta get prepared, they give you free stuff at a baby shower right? We should make a registry—oooooh, make sure Kalim gets it. He'll by everything and then some."

You were now full on laughing, watching as Ruggie concentrated on some website on his laptop. Looking closure, you noticed that he already was bringing up three different websites for registries.

"Pfft! Ruggie, babe, wait—"

"You're real close with Malleus, think if we make him the godfather, he'll hook us up with a bunch of stuff from the treasury—"

"Ruggie! Stop!" Cackles were escaping your mouth as you finally managed to slam the laptop shut. Ruggie looked on in exasperation and confusion as you threw yourself on his lap.

"Ha—snrrk—It was a prank! Oooh, you should've seen the look on your face—pppft! Ahaha!"

Ruggie relaxed, collapsing backwards into the bed, and rubbed his face.

"Oh thank the heavens. I mean, I would've stepped up no matter what. But I really mean it when i say I don't got baby money."

Jade

You think you got him this time. After years of trying to pull on on him every April, you think you actually got him this time!

You thought so, until Jade had smiled and brought out a second test from under the bathroom sink. Since when did he start keeping pregnancy tests?! When he handed you the test, telling you to take another, "Just to be sure".

You were backed into a corner now, you're positive Jade knew that this was a prank. And he was going to catch you red-handed when this test came back as negative.

Which is why you were now staring down at the second test, with two red lines indicating a positive result, in utter confusion. You were positive you weren't actually pregnant, but here you were. One fake, and one real test, telling you the same thing.

And Jade? He was just hugging you from behind, you sitting in his lap on the bed, smiling into your skin as he fluttered kisses down your neck.

"How exciting, don't you think so my pearl? What a surprise, it's a good thing we double checked with two tests, yes?"

"Yeah...sure..." You mumbled, still dazed as Jade's hands wandered under your shirt and kissed up to your cheeks.

"Yes, it's unfortunate..." Jade let out a wistful sigh as he squeezed you tight against him and murmured into your ears. "That they're both fake tests, hmm?"

"Huh? Hmm...aaaaaaaaaAAAAAHHH! YOU ASS!"

Jade couldn't help but let out a laugh as you started thrashing in his hold, your arms reaching behind to grab at him.

"Oooh? I thought you'd be excited, unless you were hoping to see me disappointed? My, my, how cruel you are to me, your love!"

Letting out a sniffle, Jade looked up at you from his eyelashes with a coy, sweet look.

"Such a cruel human..."

You groaned, turning your head to kiss his cheek and murmur, "I'm sorry Jade, I'll make it up to you, okay? Whatever you want."

Honestly, you should know better than you say things like that, as Jade quickly had you pinned underneath him, a manic grin on his face.

"Whatever I want? How generous of you my pearl!" Jade brought you up to be flush against him, pressing his lips against yours in a passionate kiss, a string of saliva breaking as you separated.

"Aaah~ Sure, sure, yeah. Whatever you want..." You replied in a daze, wincing as his hands grabbed at your stomach and squeezed.

"Then let's make sure we can get a real positive and let me fill you up, yes?"

"Yeah~"

Jamil

"Uh-huh."

You stood awkwardly behind Jamil as he continued writing in his journal, as he always did for the end of the day.

"Jami...did you hear me?"

"Yep."

He put his pen down, stretching until his back gave a satisying pop, and getting up to head to the bathroom. You followed in confusion and frustration as he just reached in the drawer for a brush and started loosening his braids.

"Sooo...you heard me say I was pregnant...right?"

You crossed your arms and started tapping your foot. Is this how he's reacting to the (fake) news? You just told him you two were having a baby, and he's just...brushing his hair? Ignoring you standing there, very obviously annoyed??

"I did."

Jamil paused, looking at your through the mirror, to which you gave him an expectant look. You're pretty sure you saw him smirk as he resumed, following through on his nighttime routine, all with you glaring daggers into him.

You stood there the entire time, watching as he finally finished, rubbing lotion into his hands as he turned to you, giving you an amused smile.

"Oh, were you expecting a bigger reaction?"

Scoffing, you put your hands on your hips and hissed. "Uh, yeah? I just told you we're having a baby, and you're acting like I just told you it's gonna rain tomorrow!''

Yeah, this might be a prank, but damn it! If this is how he was going to react to such big news, maybe you two needed to have a sit down and talk about—

Jamil grabbed you by your cheeks and squeezed, making you purse your lips as he grinned down at you. He clearly found your building rage cute and amusing.

"Yeah, well, word to the wise habibi, next time you want to pull a prank on me, make sure it's not through our shared shopping accounts. I got the delivery email for your fake test yesterday."

"Oh, fuck me!"

"Oh? If you insist. Practice for when we want the real thin—ow!"

Jamil started laughing as you pinched and poked at him, face furiously warm in both embarrassment and anger.

Vil

You swallowed nervously, giving Vil a small, shy smile as he stared down at you with displeased look. He'd just finished his routine for the evening, removing his gloves after letting his creams absorb into his skin.

"Darling."

"Yes Vil?"

"If you truly wanted to pull such a tasteless prank on me," Vil reached into his vanity, where he pulled out a opened box that looked very familiar "I would expect that you'd be smarter about hiding the evidence."

"WHAT!" You flew over to Vil and reached for the pregnancy test box, which he held just out of your reach. "I threw that away! How'd you even get that?"

"The housekeeper was taking out the trash and noticed the box, though she didn't read the back which clearly states that it's perfect for pranks. Poor thing was so excited that she called both myself and my father."

Vil smacked the top of your head with the box, clicking his tongue at you as you made a sound of understanding.

"Ooooh, she told Eric?"

"Yes she did, imagine both his and my own disappointment when she called back again to tell us that it was a joke toy." Vil sighed, though he relaxed into your touch as you wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his cheek.

"Sorry sweetie, I just wanted to pull an April Fool's prank on you, I guess I didn't think—"

You gasped, startling Vil as you pulled his face down close to yours, despite his protest.

"Hey! My face cream is still—"

"You were disappointed?! Awwww, Vil that's so sweet! We can make a baby right now, come on sweetie~"

"What?! Nonononono, I just finished my entire routine, I'll have to start over—ACK!"

Vil was swiftly silenced as you both fell into bed.

Idia

With the way Idia was staring at you, you weren't sure if he actually heard you. He was just boring into you with those bright yellow eyes of his, you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

"Ah." HIs voice was meek, squeaky, and barely audible. So he did hear you!

Idia's eyes flickered down to the test in your hands, then back to your face, then back to the test, then back to your face.

Then he fainted.

Thankfully he fainted next to your bed, so after dropping the joke test in a panic, you scrambled to drag him onto the bed, reaching for Idia's phone to text Ortho to come check on him.

Though he was in the room not even a few seconds later, his eyebrows furrowed as he spotted Idia limp in your arms.

"Idia! What happened (Name)? I noticed that his blood-pressure dropped suddenly—"

Ortho's eyes dropped to the pregnancy test on the ground, though he narrowed them and stared at you. You could make out his eyes going blank as he scanned you.

"You're not pregnant! So why do you have—oooooooh! April 1st is in an hour!" Ortho gasped in realization, as you nodded sagely.

"Yep."

"And you're trying to prank him!"

"Uh-huh."

"And then he fainted!"

"I see!" You both remind silent, eyes flickering down to Idia who'd begun shifting awake in your lap.

"...Want to keep it going?"

"Oh absolutely Ortho! Wakey-wakey Idia~"

Silver

"Oh...how'd you get one of those in Briar Valley?"

Silver looked more confused that you had a pregnancy test at all than that it was a positive one. You faltered, popping you lips as you eyed him for a hint that he knew what was actually going on.

"These...aren't common here?"

"No, though perhaps that makes sense." Silver had a gentle smile as he took you into his arms and pressed your foreheads together. "Fae are able to sense these things rather quickly, Lilia told me that it's due to their scents changing."

"Oh! I forget that fae have more sensitive senses, I guess it makes sense."

You almost forgot the original question asked, as you brought back up and showed it to Silver.

"So what do you think?"

"Hmm? Oh about the baby." Silver's smile grew as he wrapped his arms around you, eyes closed in bliss. "It's wonderful, Father will be very happy, though I'm surprised that he didn't mention anything earlier at dinner."

You cursed in your head. Of course fae can sense these things, and it was starting to click for Silver.

"Love, what's tomorrow again?"

"...April 1st."

"As in April Fool's."

"Mmmmmaaaaaybe?"

A sigh escaped his lips as he looked at you in disappointment, though you also make out small laugh under his breath.

"Did Father put you up to this?"

"Surprisingly, no. Though I'm sure he'd be pleased that I'm putting thoughts of kids into your brain."

You laughed nervously, though relaxed as Silver pressed a kiss to your forehead and guided you to bed. You both slipped under the sheets facing each other to wrap your arms and legs together in an embrace.

"Hmm...I wouldn't be opposed." He murmured, your breaths mingling as he was quickly falling asleep. "I think it would be...nice...if it's with you."

You hummed in content, letting Silver tuck his head under your chin and pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"I think it would be nice with you too."

[jiwuu]

𓈒 ㅤ⭐️୨୧ ㅤ𓈒 sunghoon when your on your period

0.7k ── fmr x prk sunghoon, est. relationship, fluff

Sunghoon’s voice filters through his headset, low and focused as he clicks away at his keyboard. “Jake, left—no, your other left—”

You don’t care about his game. You don’t care about Heeseung and Jake yelling through his speakers. Right now, all you care about is the way your stomach is twisting painfully, the dull ache spreading through your lower back, the exhaustion settling deep in your bones.

So you do the only thing that makes sense—you climb into his lap.

Sunghoon stiffens immediately, his fingers pausing over his keyboard as he glances down at you, eyes wide. “Whoa, baby—”

“Sunghoon, what the hell are you doing?” Heeseung’s voice crackles through the headset.

Sunghoon exhales, wrapping an arm around your waist as you nuzzle into his neck. “Uh—”

Jake snickers. “Dude, are you getting cuddled mid-game?”

Sunghoon groans, already reaching for the keyboard with one hand, but you shift slightly in his lap, and he falters. Your warmth, the way your arms curl around him, the way you press a soft, barely-there kiss against his skin, it all makes him forget about his stupid game in an instant.

“Guys, I gotta go,” he mutters, ripping his headset off before they can protest.

He tilts his head down, nudging your cheek with his nose. “What’s up, princess?”

You don’t answer, your face buried against his throat. His fingers tighten around your waist, thumb stroking circles against the fabric of his hoodie. He lets you stay like that, soaking in the way you sigh against his skin, pressing another featherlight kiss to the base of his jaw.

His chest tightens. “Baby,” he murmurs, petting your hair now. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

When you finally look up at him, he swears his heart cracks right down the middle. Your eyes are glossy, your lips slightly parted, your entire expression one of pure vulnerability.

“Do you love me?” you whisper.

For a second, he just stares. He doesn’t answer, not because he doesn’t know what to say, but because he hates that you even have to ask.

Instead of responding, he stands, lifting you into his arms and carrying you across the room. You make a small noise of protest, but he hushes you, setting you down gently on his bed before disappearing out the door.

When he returns, he’s holding a heating pack, a bottle of water, and your favorite snacks.

He kneels beside the bed, placing the heating pack on your stomach before brushing his fingers through your hair.

You blink up at him, “How did you know?”

“Because you asked me that dumb question.”

Your breath catches.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin as he leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t ever ask me that again, okay?” he murmurs against your skin. “You already know the answer.”

© jiwuu, all rights reserved.

letters from author ୨୧ sry this is rushed i hope the storyline isnt too random

[maskedbyghost]

where you left me

cw: angst, memory loss, heartbreak

There’s too much white. That’s the first thing you notice when your eyes peel open, your lashes sticky. The ceiling is too clean and too bright, and the air feels heavy and sterile. Everything feels distant, sounds muffled like the room is underwater, and the steady beeping near your head drills into your skull. Your throat burns, raw and dry, probably because it hasn’t tasted water in days.

When you blink slowly, testing the weight of your eyelids, there’s a shape at the edge of the bed. First, you see his boots, black and scuffed, planted like they’ve been there for a long time. You drag your gaze upward, you don't see a mask, just a man with sharp lines, sunken eyes, and tension drawn tight through his shoulders.

“Simon,” you whisper before you know why. The name comes easily. Like it was waiting for you.

His jaw tightens, and thhat small shift says too much. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and too familiar. “You’re awake.”

You nod, barely. The effort makes the room spin. “Where am I?”

“Medical. You were injured on a mission.”

Something twists inside you. A cold ache that doesn’t feel like it came from the wound.

“What mission?”

He doesn’t answer.

You lick your cracked lips. “How bad is it?”

“You hit your head,” he says. “Memory might be patchy. Or gone. Depends.”

You study his face. His voice is all wrong, and worst of all, he won’t meet your eyes. “Do I know you?”

“We’re teammates,” he replies quickly. “That’s it.”

But your chest aches in a way that doesn’t feel new. His voice doesn’t sound like a stranger���s. And your heart doesn’t listen to what your brain is being told. It presses harder against your ribs, like it’s trying to get to him.

He turns before you can ask more and walks out without a glance back.

Recovery is slow and boring, mostly. The days blur together in a way that makes it hard to keep track, and everything in the medical wing feels the same with those bright lights, stiff sheets, and walls that don’t let in any noise or air.

You sleep too much, but you’re always tired. Your body hurts in places you don’t fully understand, and even though the doctors say you’re healing, you don’t feel like you’re getting better. It’s not just your head—it’s something else. Something sitting in your chest that won’t go away.

People visit, but not all at once. Soap shows up the most, always with some stupid story or joke that feels like it’s meant to distract you. He talks fast, laughs too loud, and leans back in the chair like he’s been there a hundred times before. You think he’s trying to keep things light, but there’s something about the way he looks at you when you’re not speaking that makes it obvious he’s worried.

Gaz is more subtle. He doesn’t try to talk your ear off, he just sits nearby and asks if you need anything. You get the sense he knows what not to say. Price calls in once from wherever he is. His smile looks strained on the screen, like he’s trying too hard to stay positive. You appreciate it anyway.

You ask about Simon more than once. You try to keep it casual, but everyone seems to notice. But the answers don’t change. “He’s busy,” Soap says. Or, “He’s not one for hospital visits.” Sometimes they just shrug and move on. It starts to feel like you’re not supposed to ask. Like bringing him up is some kind of mistake.

You don’t remember why it matters so much, but it does. It bothers you, the way they all talk around it. The way no one really looks you in the eye when you mention his name.

“Was I close to him?” you ask Soap during one of his visits.

He shifts in the chair beside your bed, one leg bouncing slightly. “Everyone’s close in the field. Life and death does that.”

But that’s not the question. You can tell he knows it too, by the way he doesn’t meet your eyes.

You start dreaming again after a few weeks, and it’s never the same twice. Most of the time, it’s just flashes—quick, messy bits that don’t always make sense.

Sometimes it’s simple stuff: the feeling of a hand on your back, steady and reassuring, or someone laughing close to your ear. The weight of someone next to you in bed, the way your body relaxed without even thinking about it. The sound of a voice, very deep, quiet, and familiar, but the words never come through clearly. You wake up with the feeling that someone was talking to you, but you can’t remember what they said.

Other nights are worse. Loud and violent. You hear shouting—your own, maybe. Or his. There’s gunfire, smoke, and people running. The pressure of fear sits heavy in your chest even after you’re awake.

Sometimes you feel pain, too, like your body is remembering something your brain can’t. You’ll sit up in bed gasping, sweating, with no real memory of what happened, just this overwhelming feeling that something went wrong.

And no matter what kind of dream it is, it always ends the same way. With that name stuck in your throat. You never say it out loud in the dream, but you wake up with it on your tongue, like you were trying to call out to him even in your sleep.

Simon.

Coming back to base is harder than you thought it would be. It’s like you’re stepping into a life that’s not really yours anymore. There are so many things around you that feel familiar but at the same time completely strange.

You see your name on your ID badge, the photo looking back at you from the plastic, but it feels like it belongs to someone else. Your locker is right where it’s supposed to be, and your fingers know the code by muscle memory, opening it without you even thinking. But even with all those little things working like they should, nothing inside feels like it fits.

You keep waiting for something to click, for a part of you to catch up and say, “Yes, this is home.” But it doesn’t. It feels like you’re trapped in someone else’s skin, like your body belongs to another person.

Simon is everywhere and nowhere. You catch glimpses of him from time to time, just a shadow moving down the hall or slipping through a doorway before you can reach out.

Whenever you actually see him, he’s always in a rush, like he’s trying to get away from something, or from you. He doesn’t stop or talk. His face is cold when you do manage to look at him, and he moves too fast for you to say anything before he disappears again. It’s like he’s avoiding you on purpose, and that hurts more than you expected.

After days of catching only quick glimpses, you finally see him clearly. He’s coming out of the briefing room, no mask on this time, and the sharp line of his jaw is so familiar now that you don’t even have to think twice. It’s him—Simon.

Your voice slips out before you can stop it. “Simon.”

He freezes for a moment. Just a brief pause, like he’s trying to decide what to do next. Then he turns his head just a little, not fully facing you. “Can’t talk. I’m late.”

And just like that, he’s gone. Moving away fast, disappearing down the hallway like he always does—just out of reach, like everything else you thought you knew about him and about this place.

You start writing things down, those small details that come back to you, or things you notice around you. Like how Soap has this way of calling you by a nickname that somehow makes your stomach flip every time you hear it, even though you don’t really understand why. Or how Gaz keeps offering you his coffee every morning, even though you never drink it.

It’s like a quiet gesture, one of the few constants you can hold on to. And sometimes, when it’s late and the hall is almost empty, you catch a shadow lingering just outside your door. It stays there just long enough for you to think it’s real.

Then there’s a photo you find tucked away in your file, something no one ever talked about. It’s you and Simon, both covered in mud, standing close together. Closer than what teammates usually are. His hand is resting on your waist like it belongs there. You’re smiling in that photo, and not the forced kind, but a real smile, easy and natural. You look at it for so long that your eyes start to blur.

Eventually, you tape that photo inside your locker. Every morning, before you go out, you find yourself staring at it a little longer than the day before, like you’re trying to remember what it felt like to be that close to him, and maybe hoping that one day it’ll mean something again.

You finally catch him alone in weapons storage. He’s there restocking gear, moving with the precision that makes it clear his mind is somewhere else, probably somewhere he doesn’t want to be. His hands are steady, but every motion feels tight, like he’s trying hard not to think too much.

You clear your throat and say his name. “Simon.”

He doesn’t turn to look at you. His back stays to you, his shoulders rigid.

You take a step closer. “Can we talk?”

He shakes his head without facing you. “Not now.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated breath. “You always say that.”

He freezes for a moment, his hands pausing in mid-air as if trying to decide whether to keep working or to answer you. Finally, he puts the box down on the table slowly. His whole body stiffens, and you can tell whatever he’s holding back is about to come out.

He still doesn’t look at you, but his voice drops low, rough around the edges. “Because it’s always true.”

You don’t believe him, so you take another step closer. “You’re lying.”

That’s when something in him shifts—just a quick flicker in his eyes, a tightening of his jaw. Maybe it’s anger or regret, or maybe it’s all tangled together. He swallows hard, then finally meets your gaze for a brief second. It’s raw and unguarded, even if he tries to hide it.

His voice softens, but there’s an edge you can’t ignore before he repeats himself. “Not now.”

You swallow past the lump in your throat, the tightness in your chest growing.

He looks away again, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to keep himself together. The silence stretches between you, but neither of you says anything more. You can feel the weight of everything left unsaid hanging in the air.

You stand there, waiting for something—an explanation, a sign, anything—but it never comes. Finally, you turn and walk away, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

At first, the memories don’t come all at once. It’s slow, almost like they’re buried under a heavy weight you can’t quite lift. They come in tiny flashes, little pieces that catch your attention for just a second before disappearing again. You don’t even notice it happening at first.

Maybe it’s the smell—something about the way his jacket smells when he’s nearby. It’s faint but familiar, like a mix of smoke and leather, something that sticks in your mind without you meaning to remember it.

Or maybe it’s the sound he makes when he’s thinking, almost like a soft humming sound that you’d swear no one else would notice. You remember the way your hand fits perfectly in his, like it was meant to be there, how heavy it felt when he finally took it.

And then, more comes. Not all at once, but slowly, piece by piece.

You see yourself in a hotel room, nothing fancy, just bare walls and a bed pushed against the corner. You remember how quiet it was, how the air seemed still except for the sound of his breath, warm against your neck, close enough to make your skin prickle.

You remember talking quietly, voices low enough so no one else could hear, words that mattered more than you realized at the time. You can almost feel his lips brushing gently over a scar on your shoulder, the touch light but somehow full of meaning.

You remember the day you told him you’d follow him anywhere—even into hell. It wasn’t just words; you meant it. And when it came down to it, you did.

Then the mission comes back. The chaos. The explosion. You hear him yelling your name, sharp and urgent, just before the grenade lands too close to you. Your body moves before your brain can catch up—throwing yourself to the ground, the impact hitting hard, pain burning through you.

After that, there’s nothing. Just the silence, the dark, the emptiness.

Then this—right here, right now.

The next day, you stand by the garage, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You don’t know how long you’ve been there. The sky changes slowly above you, colors fading from blue to soft pinks, then darkening to evening shades. The air cools against your skin. The hum of the generators is the only sound, filling the quiet around you. You try to steady your breathing, but your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat.

Time stretches. You watch the empty street, waiting. You don’t know exactly what you’re waiting for, only that you have to be here. Somewhere deep down, you believe he’ll come. Maybe he already knows you’ll be waiting. Maybe he always knows more than you think.

Finally, he appears. He rounds the corner, walking slower than usual, like he’s unsure. Maybe he’s been thinking about this moment for a while. Maybe he’s been dreading it. His eyes don’t meet yours at first; they’re focused on the ground just ahead.

You gather yourself and say the words you’ve kept inside, the ones you’ve said a hundred times in your head but never out loud. “I remember.”

He stops, but he doesn’t say anything, just stands there.

“I remember everything,” you say again, louder this time, trying to push past the silence.

His shoulders rise slightly, like he’s holding his breath, then drop as if the weight of it all is too much. He still won’t meet your eyes. “Then you know why I didn’t tell you,” he finally says, his voice low.

“No,” you reply, stepping closer, your chest open but your throat tight like you’re about to cry. “Tell me. Explain it.”

He looks away again. “I didn’t want you to remember.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to be with you anymore.”

His words hit harder than you expected. The quiet after feels too loud, almost unbearable. You laugh, but it sounds wrong, too forced. “That’s not true.”

This time, his eyes flick up, locking with yours for the briefest moment. There’s no softness there, no warmth. Just cold steel, hard and unbreakable. “You think I’d lie just to protect your feelings?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice shaking. “That’s exactly what I thought you’d do.”

He looks away again. “It was a mistake.”

Your stomach twists into knots. “Say that again.”

Without hesitation, he says it clearly. “Being with you was a mistake.”

It feels like your whole body freezes. Your breath catches, and your hands shake with a mix of anger and hurt. “I risked everything for you.”

His voice is sharp, cutting. “And I never asked you to. You think that means I owe you something?”

“I thought it meant something more. I thought it meant you cared.”

He laughs, low and bitter. “I thought I did, too. But it’s different now. I can’t keep pretending.”

The cold spreads inside you, and you swallow hard. “You don’t mean that.”

He stays quiet.

“Simon,” you say softly, almost pleading.

“I don’t want to do this,” he says, voice softer but still distant.

“Then don’t,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “But please, don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying,” he says firmly. “I’m doing the only thing I can. I’m letting you go.”

You look at him, willing him to crack, to reach out, to show some part of the man you once knew.

But he doesn’t.

So you turn and walk away.

He simply watches you disappear into the dark.

PART 2

-------------------------------------------

@nightunite hope you enjoyed babes

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @xiisblogs @mad-die45 @readingthingy @actualpoppy @amongthe141 @whore4romance @thatghostlykid @syofrelief @avgdestitute @sheepdogchick3 @echo9821 @imalapdog

[illbegottenfaith]

stutter (a puzzle pieces by saint motel inspired fic)

something about you and your features reawakens theo's stutter (theo nott x reader)

a/n - LOVE how I usually naturally write in British English (for the most part) but the title of this fic is apparently the American English variant?? sorry but stammar just doesn't have the same sound as stutter and it rlly messes with the flow of my sentences lmao

tropes/warnings - fluff, theo has a stutter, tw alcohol, slightlyy mean reader? very mild tho lmao

word count - 3.2k

taglist - @allie-sturns @hzdhrtss @friedfreyfries @bushnellswife @rose-of-the-grave @thaliashifts @pariahsparadise @babene-e @fratbrochrisgf

Theo’s stutter had never been bad exactly - just bad enough to be noticed. Bad enough to make him hesitate before speaking, bad enough to make his father sigh whenever he tripped over a word at the dinner table.

"Think before you speak," his father would say, voice clipped, disapproving. "There's no point in opening your mouth if you don't know what you're going to say."

As if Theo didn’t already try.

So he adapted. He learned to pick his words carefully, to stay quiet unless absolutely necessary, to keep his voice even and deliberate. The less he spoke, the less he had to risk tripping over his own tongue. He stopped rushing and started living his life at a careful, highly controlled pace.

Over time, with extensive help from the best speech therapists his father could find, he grew out of his stutter. By the time he was old enough to be surrounded by classmates who would’ve torn him apart for it, it was already buried beneath layers of indifference. He built himself a reputation on cool control - on quiet, dry wit and the ability to cut someone down with a single unimpressed look. He spoke when he wanted to, not when people expected him to, and that was enough to keep it from ever being a problem.

Until you.

Because for some infuriating reason, with you, it found a way to slip through the cracks.

You and Theo were like two puzzle pieces that never quite fit right.

You didn’t hate each other - not really - but it seemed like a stretch to call yourselves friends. Try as you might, your personalities seemed fundamentally disconnected. He had little patience for your sense of humour, or lack thereof in his opinion. On the bad days, you had a snarky quip ready for even his most innocent comments. It was the most maddening thing for your friends - just as seemed that the two of you had finally learned to get along, Theo would take the mickey out of you, or you would turn your nose up at his boorish antics, and the cycle would repeat.

Unfortunately (or fortunately), all of that changed two weeks ago. It had happened on a brisk Wednesday night. His dorm was fresh out of bottled water and it was too late and too cold to sneak down to the Kitchens to get some. Mattheo was keeping everyone up fretting about what-if-someone-gets-extra-thirsty-in-the-middle-of-the-night-then-what and no one could get him to shut up. Naturally, Theo had been rather unceremoniously evicted from his cosy, dry bed to fetch water from the girls’ dormitory, after a unanimous (and unfair) vote.

So there he had stood outside the girls’ dormitory, shivering, waiting for one of your friends to bring out some water. He had glared at the distorted view of the moon through the common room walls, fuming about how it already was the middle of the night and none of his roommates seemed the least bit thirsty, not that Mattheo would listen to reason.

Finally, the door had swung open, and out of the shadows peered your wan, tired face.

Maybe it was something in the way your lips twisted in displeasure as your droopy eyes struggled to stay open. For some odd, inexplicable reason, he felt a pang of regret over having woken you.

If you were slightly more awake, you might have noticed the glazed look in his eyes. But as it were, all you had done was shove a small jug into his lax hands, manually curling his fingers around the handle when his grip refused to tighten. Of course, you and your roommates were too environmentally conscious to be entertaining single-use plastic.

“Hold still,” you had muttered as you tipped your room’s jug into the smaller one, filling it up. In the pale moonlight, it had been as though he was seeing you in a completely different light for the first time, both figuratively and otherwise. You hair looked unbearably soft from the way it cascaded down your shoulders. Almost as soft as your pillowy lips, which were now parting to release a sigh. And did your skin always smell this sweet, he wondered, as you stepped closer?

“You want a cookie?” you had asked waspishly when he had kept staring at you once his jug was full. That had snapped him out of his trance. After bidding you a hasty, clipped goodnight, he had crept back down to the boy’s dormitories, head reeling, heart thudding. Before finally nodding off in the wee hours of the morning, he had put the whole thing down to sleep deprivation.

But when you looked just as adorable in your 9 am Charms lesson the next day, bags under your eyes as you poorly stifled your yawns, he knew he was well and truly fucked.

That had been two weeks ago. Now, he’d be hard pressed to muster up any real sort of annoyance over the reactions you elicited from him, knowingly or otherwise.

You were all in the Great Hall, having breakfast. Your friends were talking about some book they had read recently. Mattheo and Draco were having an arm wrestling match right over their eggs. Enzo was yammering in Theo’s ear, not that he was listening. Theo had long since learned to tune out Enzo’s chatter until lunch, when he was sufficiently awake to actually process it.

No, what he was doing was watching you - watching the way you chewed on your bottom lip instead of your breakfast, a faint crease between your eyebrows as your eyes flitted across the parchment. He cast his eyes around the table listlessly, desperately wishing for a change in topic, preferably one that had to do with you.

His prayers were soon answered. Ivy turned away from her conversation to look at you.

“How’s the essay coming along, Y/N?”

You finally peeled your eyes away from the essay you were proofreading, sliding your gaze disinterestedly to Theo and the rest of your friends. He watched your sleepy, downturned eyes momentarily rest on his, a familiar electric jolt twinging in his chest. There was no denying it - what had previously seemed uninteresting or unimaginative was now hopelessly irresistible to him.

You scowled, flipping back to the first page. “Terrible. Awful. I don’t know what possessed McGonagall to let me take N.E.W.T level Transfiguration.”

Because you’re brilliant at it, Theo wanted to say, just like how you’re brilliant at everything else.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Ivy said reasonably as you haphazardly started gathering your things.

“It is, it really is. Even worse, my guinea pig escaped so now everyone has something to practice on except me.”

“I can be your Guinea pig,” Theo murmured. Mattheo gave him a hard shove in the shoulder blade.

“What?” You distractedly pushed a lock of hair out of your face.

He grimaced, a throbbing pain now settling in his upper back. “I said,” he forced out, “serves you right. Losing your guinea pig.”

You rolled your eyes. “Charming as ever, Nott.”

You hurriedly placed a kiss on Ivy’s cheek, glowering at Theo as you walked off. Just as he opened his mouth to ask (yell) where his kiss was, Mattheo shoved a bun into his mouth.

"Real subtle, mate," he said sarcastically.

Theo shot him a glare, but the delicate flush dusting his face betrayed him. "Shut up."

Mattheo only smirked, taking a bite of his own toast. "Whatever you say."

Some nights, trouble had a face. Tonight, it was yours.

He saw you before you saw him - tucked inside an alcove at the far end of the corridor, bathed in the flickering glow of a lone torch. It was the late kind of hour when nothing good was bound to happen. A half-empty bottle of firewhiskey dangled loosely from your fingers, the deep amber liquid catching the dim light as you swirled it absentmindedly.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen you like this - pushing limits just for the sake of it. It wasn't immediately apparent, but anyone who paid close enough attention would see you had a habit of toeing the line between reckless and untouchable.

He should have walked away. Should’ve let you self-destruct in peace.

But Theo was never that smart when it came to you.

"You’re not exactly being subtle," he said, stepping out of the shadows.

You didn’t jump, didn’t startle. Instead, you turned to face him with a slow, deliberate ease, like you’d been expecting him all along.

"Wasn’t trying to be."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Could’ve fooled me."

You smirked, raising the bottle in a lazy toast before taking another sip.

"What, you gonna tell on me?"

Theo scoffed. "If I wanted to get you in trouble, you'd know."

"Mm. So you’re just here to nag, then?"

"Not nagging," Theo said. "Just pointing out that if you’re going to break the rules, you should at least be smart about it."

You hummed, swaying the bottle between your fingers, humming poorly. You were definitely well past tipsy. "Smart’s overrated."

"Yeah? So’s liver failure."

That made you laugh, short and sharp, like you hadn’t expected him to be funny.

He shouldn’t have cared about that. Shouldn’t have cared that his words - his stupid, judgemental, throwaway words - had gotten a laugh out of you.

But he did. And that was the problem.

You studied him for a moment before holding out the bottle. "Want some?"

He looked at it disdainfully. "Generous."

"Hardly," you said. "Figured it might loosen you up a bit. You’re wound tight, Nott."

Theo exhaled, crossing his arms. He knew all about being tightly wound when it came to you. "Right. Because getting pissed in a dark corridor is the key to inner peace."

"You should try it sometime."

"Hard pass."

You shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Then, just to be a menace, you took another slow swill, letting your lips linger at the rim of the bottle before licking a stray drop off the corner of your mouth.

Theo didn’t react. Wouldn’t react. You weren’t doing anything special. Just drinking. Just looking at him with that same lazy amusement, like you had him all figured out.

And maybe you did. Maybe that was what rattled him.

"You’re - " He started, but his tongue tripped over the word, catching slightly before he forced it out. "You’re d-drunk."

Your drooping eyes widened fractionally. Your lips parted in your efforts to concentrate as a slight frown creased your forehead, not all that different from the one at breakfast a few days ago,

Theo felt the heat crawl up his neck before he could stop it. His mind scrambled for damage control, but the way you were watching him - head tilted, intrigued, like you were piecing something together - made it worse.

"You good?" you asked, something teasing yet concerned in your tone.

Theo cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to regain control of his rogue tongue. "Obviously," he muttered, shifting his weight.

You let the silence stretch a beat too long before raising an eyebrow.

"You sure? ‘Cause for a second there, you almost sounded - "

"Drop it," he cut in, swiping the bottle from your hands before you could protest. He took a slow sip, letting the firewhiskey burn its way down, using it as an excuse to steady himself.

You watched him succumb to the buzz of the drink. "You’re changing the subject," you noted, smirking.

"Yeah?" He felt less wired, less sober. "You’re still an idiot for doing this in the open."

You watched him lean against the wall opposite yours, eyes gleaming in the dim alcove. You let him have that one. But just as he thought you were letting it go, your gaze flicked up, sharp and knowing.

"Don’t act like you’re any better," you mused.

Theo frowned. "What?"

You nodded toward his pocket, where a cigarette pack was sticking out slightly. "Don’t you go through, like, three packs a day?"

He pressed his lips into a thin line. You had him there. "That’s not the same."

You widened your eyes mockingly. "No, you’re right. I might get liver failure in thirty years. You’re aiming for lung failure by, what - next week?"

Theo clicked his tongue, tucking the pack deeper into his pocket. "Cute."

"Not as cute as you stuttering over your words a minute ago."

Theo groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"Sure you do," you murmured, grinning as you took back the firewhiskey.

The Slytherin common room was empty when you both stepped inside, drenched from head to toe. The fire crackled in the hearth, but the warmth did nothing to dry the water you trailed in as you stalked toward it.

Theo watched you try to wring out your sleeves with an air of great suffering, muttering something about "bloody weather conspiracies" under your breath as you peeled off some of your outer layers.

"This is all your fault," you grumbled.

Theo exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his wet hair. "Yeah? How’s that?"

"You control everything else," you shot back, flicking a few stray drops of water at him. "Figured you had a deal with the bloody sky, too."

He smirked. "Don't give me ideas."

You rolled your eyes, crouching slightly to warm your frozen hands by the fire. Your clothes clung to your frame, and Theo forced himself to look away before his thoughts could wander into dangerous territory. Instead, he shrugged off his soaked sweater and tossed it over the back of the nearest couch.

"Relax. You’ll live," he said idly.

"You better hope so," you threatened. "If I don’t, I’m haunting you forever."

Theo snorted, undoing the cuffs of his shirt.

"I don't think you have the attention span for that."

You shot him a look. "I'd find a way," you said darkly.

"Sure," he agreed sarcastically.

You huffed, standing up straight again.

"And here I was, thinking you actually liked me."

The words were meant to be teasing, flippant, meaningless. But something about them made his pulse stutter.

Maybe it was the way you said it, light and careless, like the idea was so ridiculous it wasn’t even worth entertaining. Maybe it was the way the firelight flickered against your golden skin. Maybe it was the way a stray droplet trickled down your throat, inch by agonising inch, before disappearing beneath the collar of your shirt.

Maybe it was the fact that he did actually like you.

Theo didn’t know what made him say it - either the warmth from the fire or the cold still clinging to his skin or the fact that he could feel the exhaustion of restraint pressing against his ribs. But before he could stop himself, he was opening his mouth, lips forming words he had barely formulated.

"You look - " he started, then faltered.

Shit.

His tongue tripped, his brain suddenly too slow to catch up. He could feel the syllable stuck in his throat, unable to escape, the word stuttering into nothing.

"Y-you l - l -"

Silence.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, slow and smug, realisation dawning on your face.

Theo exhaled sharply, his stomach twisting as he tried to force his expression into something impassive, something cool, something...unaffected. In short, he tried attempting what was an impossible feat when your very features were enough to leave him dizzy.

A wicked smile unfurled across your face. He wasn’t getting out of this alive, was he?

"Do you not know how to talk?" you demanded, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth. "Is this your first day on planet Earth?"

Theo clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in a futile attempt to feign indifference. "Shut up."

You refused to let up. "No, really. What was that? You looked - what? What do I look like, Theo? Enlighten me."

He forced himself to roll his eyes as his fingers curled into his sleeves. "You’re insufferable."

"J-j-j-j - " You stuttered mockingly, eyes alight with mischief. "What are you, an idiot? Does your tongue need rewiring?"

Theo should’ve turned away, should’ve thrown himself onto the couch and forced himself to think about literally anything else. But he couldn’t help it.

He watched you - watched the way you grinned to yourself, watched the way your fingers twisted in the fabric of your damp clothes, watched the way you were so completely and utterly oblivious to the way you made his mind unravel.

It wasn’t just attraction. It wasn’t just the heat in his chest or the feeling in his bones or the fact that his name sounded so damn good dripping off your honeyed lips while you teased him.

It was everything.

It was the way you filled every empty space like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there. It was the way your laughter lived in his head rent-free, the way you made even the most infuriating drivel you spouted feel like something he couldn't bear to go without. It was the fact that no matter how much you poked and prodded, no matter how ruthlessly or relentlessly you mocked him - he still wanted you. Desperately.

He should be embarrassed. The Theo of a few years ago would have been - would’ve burned with the humiliation, would’ve clenched his fists at the reminder of all the times he’d stood in front of his father, struggling to string together a coherent sentence under the weight of that unimpressed gaze.

But you were different. He could hear it in your voice, buried beneath the teasing - the unmistakable warmth, the absolute delight you took in making fun of him. Not because you wanted to humiliate him, but because it amused you. It endeared him to you. Because you liked getting under his skin.

And, Merlin help him, he liked that you liked it.

"Go on," you continued mockingly, roughly drying your hair with a towel, still oblivious to Theo watching you like you hung the stars and moon. "Careful with the big words, now."

Theo just stood there, staring at you, utterly gone. He wasn’t even trying to school his expression anymore.

When you finally looked up from drying yourself, your teasing faltered ever so slightly at the look in his eyes.

You blinked. “What?”

Theo shook his head, leaning against the wall thoughtfully.

“Nothing.”

You stilled. Because for the first time, you actually noticed. Theo wasn’t scowling. He wasn’t enduring your teasing with quiet exasperation.

He was watching you with something softer - something warmer, something dangerously close to adoration. It lingered in the lines of his face, in the almost-smile playing at his lips, in the flicker of fondness he couldn’t quite suppress fast enough before your eyes met his.

You stared back, speechless. Theo swallowed, tearing his gaze away, turning sharply as if shaking himself out of it.

"You should dry off before you actually get sick," he muttered, forcing his voice into something steady.

You stared at him for half a second longer, something unreadable in your expression.

"Right," you finally said, clearing your throat.

Neither of you acknowledged the moment for what it was. But the resurgence of Theo's stutter remained a secret kept only between the two of you.

[florihaei]

• ౨ৎ ────────── 𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍 ₊ ˖ ་.

엔시티 드림 ꒰ 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮

• ( 1010 ) est.relationship 𓂃 bf dreamies! + kissing, pet names, suggestive / ( FLORIHAEI VALUT )

reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated!, phtots are not mine!!, credits to the rightful owner!!( there’s a rich joke in”haechans” and I don’t like it that much so sorry in advance!! florihaei taglist ୨ৎ

MARK LEE !

mark insisted on carrying everything, even your tiny purse. “babe i got it” you say reaching for your bag. he pulls it away with a grin, easily slipping the strap over his shoulder. “nope, to heavy for my baby girl”

you narrow your eyes at him, placing your hands on your hips. “mark baby.. it’s literally lighter than your phone”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “hmm, it doesn’t matter, what if your body gets sore?, what if you get tired baby?” his voice was laced with amusement, but the way he tucks you under his arm and pulls you close has you smiling

“you’re ridiculous..” you muttered, though you don’t pull away.

“ridiculously in love with you” he corrects you, as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “now let me be a good boyfriend and spoil my baby yeah?”

you sigh dramatically but you end up smiling even wider when he gives your cheek a squeeze.

-

HUANG RENJUN !

you reach for a cup on the top shelf, standing on your tippy toes and stretching as far as you could. beofre you could even get close, renjun appears behind you , easily grabbing the cup and placing it in your hands.

“what would you do without me?” he teases, resting his chin on your shoulder

“survive” you reply, turning to glare at him playfully

he scoffed, looping his arm around your waist. “doubt it baby, you’re too small and fragile”

“im not fragile” you argued, but he just hums, clearly he was unconvinced.

“mhm sure , but i would rather not risk my pretty girl struggling” his voice is soft as he titled her chin up. his thumb grazing over your jaw before pressing a lingering kiss to your nose. “besides, it’s cute when you try”

you swat at his chest, but the warmth spreading through you was impossible to ignore.

-

LEE JENO !

jeno watches as you struggle to open a bottle of water, your hands twisted at the cap, but with no success. before you can even consider asking for help, he grabs it from your grasp effortlessly, cracking it open with one hand

“jeno.. baby..” you huffed, reaching for it. “i could’ve done it”

he lifted the bottle higher, out of your reach, a playful smirk on his lips. “mm, but why should i when i can just do it for you baby?”

you pout, the smirk softened as he takes your chin between his fingers. “pretty.. i like taking care of you” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your lips before finally handing the bottle to you. “so let me, okay?”

you take a sip, trying to hide your smile, but he sees right through you.

-

LEE HAECHAN !

your standing in the kitchen, trying to wash the dishes, when haechan suddenly wraps his arms around your waist and lifts you off the ground

“you shouldn’t be doing this sunshine” he whines, carrying you away from the sink and placing you gently on the couch. “my pretty baby doesn’t need to be doing chores”

you cross your arms. “and who’s going to do them then?, you?”

“uh no?, that’s why rich people hire maids for” he says. “and since im not rich, ill do it because i love you”

you blink “wait did you just…?”

“shh” he cuts you off, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before rushing to the kitchen. “no more questions sunshine, just sit here and look pretty for me”

your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, but you’ll just pretend you didn’t hear the way his voice cracked

-

NA JAEMIN !

you’re in bed half asleep, when you feel jaemin shift beside you. he carefully tucks the blanket around your shoulders, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

“nana… where are you going?” you mumble, reaching for his hand before he can move.

jaemin chuckles softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “i was just gonna get some water baby”

you let out a sleepy whine, tugging at his hoodie. “no… stay”

he smiles, lying back down and wrapping his arms around you. “you’re too cute you know that?” his voice is a whisper against your ear warm and comforting.

you nuzzle into his chest as he kisses the top of your head. “okay, okay i’m staying” he murmurs. “not like i’d ever leave my pretty girl alone anyway”

-

ZHONG CHENLE !

you’re running around the house, trying to grab something from the other room, when chenle calls out from the couch. “slow down baby, you’re gonna trip”

“i won-” your foot catches on the rug, and before you know it you’re stumbling forward.

chenle is up in an instant, catching you before you can hit the ground. he steadies you as his hands firm on your waist. “what did i just say baby?” he sighs, shaking his head before pulling you into his arms.

you groan. “okay okay.. you were right”

he smirks, rubbing circles onto your back. “of course i was, my baby is too clumsy for her own good”

you pout up at him, and he kisses your forehead with a chuckle. “from now on just let me do everything baby okay?”

you roll your eyes, but you don’t complain when he picks you up bridal style just to take you back to the couch.

-

PARK JISUNG !

you’re sitting on the floor, playing a video game when jisung suddenly scoots closer and pulls you into his lap.

“jisung baby?” you say, looking at him in confusion.

he wraps his arms around you, resting his chin on your shoulder. “just let me hold you for a bit”

your heart melts. “you’re so clingy” you tease, but you lean into him anyway.

“yeah, yeah” he mumbles, tightening his grip. “you’re my baby so deal with it”

you smile, placing your hands over his. “okay but you better not complain when i call you baby back”

he groans, but you catch the way his ears turn pink.

[soapysoapysoapysoapy]

Soap was out for the weekend — something about visiting family, though you suspected it had more to do with getting away from the shared apartment before one of you killed the other over dishes or laundry. Which left you and Ghost.

You’d fully planned to spend the entire weekend bed rotting: snacks, shitty TV, no pants. And for most of Saturday, that dream lived.

Until Ghost texted.

Need a favor. Bringing a bird back. Keep her entertained while I sort my room? Won’t be long.

You stared at the message, squinting (you groaned out loud) but you knew you were not about to leave him hanging. You hit him with a reluctant “fine.” Simon Riley asking you for help with his latest one-night stand? That was new. He usually kept his personal business separate.

But whatever. You owed him for covering your ass on last week’s op. And you were bored. So you sighed, peeled yourself off the couch, and tried to make yourself look slightly less feral before they arrived.

Door opens and in comes Ghost with his date. She’s cute. Really cute, actually. A little overdressed for your disaster of a living room but she doesn't seem fazed. Ghost gives you both an awkward nod before disappearing down the hall, leaving you two sitting there with the tv quietly playing some nonsense reality show you left on.

Bubbly, a little flirty — the total opposite of Ghost’s usual cold, dead-eyed energy. And when you offered her a drink while Ghost disappeared down the hall, she plopped down next to you on the couch, all easy smiles and sparkling eyes.

It started with harmless small talk. Then she complimented your shirt. Then your hair. Then her hand was on your thigh, and she’s laughing at something stupid you said, leaning in a little too close, and then—it just happens. You’re kissing her, your brain going oh shit oh shit oh shit the whole time.

So now here you were. Making out with Ghost’s date on the couch. In your shared apartment. While wearing pajamas. On a random Saturday.

Cue Ghost walking back in mid-moment, stopping dead in the doorway. His eyes narrow behind the mask, you can feel the betrayal radiating off him. Like you just snatched his last protein bar. His date pulls back, breathless and giggly, and Ghost just grumbles something like, "Right. Brilliant." before motioning for her to follow him to his room.

You don’t say anything. You just sink deeper into the couch, cheeks burning, cursing whatever magnetic chaos field you must emit.

An hour later, you’re finally knocked out in your room when there’s a soft knock at your door. You crack it open, and there she is. Disheveled, mischievous smirk on her lips.

“Thought I’d come spend more time with you…” she purrs.

You just stare at her, sleep-addled and brain-buffering like a dial-up connection. Because now you’ve officially entered roommate hell.

You wake up feeling like you’ve been hit by a truck. Mostly because you barely slept. The girl—Ghost's girl—ended up staying way longer than you meant for her to. Things got...a bit intense. Now it’s morning, your head’s pounding, and you can already feel the awkward tension waiting for you out there like a landmine.

You shuffle out of your room in a hoodie and joggers, trying to pretend you’re just going to get a glass of water and not about to face the consequences of your crimes. But the second you step into the kitchen, he’s there.

Ghost. Sitting at the table, arms crossed, mask still on, staring at you like you personally set fire to his car.

You both just stand there in silence for a beat.

Then he speaks, voice flat as a goddamn pancake: "Sleep well? Or...too busy for that?"

You blink. Your brain offers no defense. None. "Si—" "Nah," he cuts you off, shaking his head, scoffing under his breath. "Pied off. In my own fuckin’ flat."

You wince. Because, yeah, he’s not wrong.

You go for the fridge just to do something and he keeps going, muttering like he’s talking more to himself than to you: "Bring a bird back, and she’s in your room by midnight. Unreal. Soap leaves for one weekend and the place turns into Love Island."

You choke on your sip of water, trying not to laugh because that’ll only make it worse.

"Don’t know why I even bother," Ghost grumbles, getting up from the table with heavy steps. "Tell you what—next time, you pull, I’ll keep her entertained for you, yeah? See how you like it."

You try to apologize, but he’s already halfway down the hall, muttering: "Never trusting you with a favor again. Bloody traitor."

Meanwhile, Soap texts the group chat from Scotland, oblivious: "Morning, lads! Miss me yet? 👊😂"

Ghost leaves him on read. You don’t even dare reply.

[ohgodthevoices]

going crazy over how husband material osamu is, hear me ouuutttt

tags : fluff, time-skip, f!reader, tattoo , he listens to, he cares , and he cook , i’m thirsting m sorry

osamu would be the type of bestfriend that knows damn well you want him bad but keeps on teasing you and acting clueless just to see how far you can go before you crack

as childhood friends, it was normal for you to be touchy and generally comfortable with each other but it raised his suspicions when you now looked away when he was topless around you. it’s not like you were uncomfortable with it ?

you’ve basically lived your whole life with the miyas, you’ve seen osamu wet the bed as a kid, get rejected by his middle school crush you’ve even witnessed him putting his hand in his pants and scratch his butt, seeing him topless in the comfort of his apartment was a casual thing so why the hell would you look away , did he lose his shape ? no, he still worked out frequently even if he’s not an athlete anymore…

either way osamu always took care for you, he was always so careful when it comes to you , sure he’d playfully hit you here and there but it was nothing you couldn’t handle

just imagine him cooking you a nice heart-warming meal, glancing at you every now and then while you’re sitting on the counter looking like a mess after a long exhausting day , wine glass in hand and rambling your worries away. it really became a ritual for you to swing by his place unannounced after a bad day.

he’d open the door with his signature lazy smile “ya had a bad day?” you finally let you shoulders relax “long story..” he steps back, inviting you in “i got time”.

sometimes osamu gets this weird feeling he can’t explain when he realizes he’s seen you grow into a real woman, it really freaked him tf out when you told him you had your first time with some boy he never heard the name of.

he scolds you after a bad decision for sure , but he’s always there to comfort you right after. SO imagine his surprise when during a drunken confession after you finally listened to him and dumped your toxic bf, you admit to him between sobs that broke his heart into pieces

“why can’t i find a guy that actually likes me—?” your face was buried in his now wet tshirt , his strong arms holding you tight as if they were gonna protect you from feeling hurt, your words were muffled, melting together “why can’t i find someone like you samu…im so jealous of the girl that’s gonna be yours” holy fucking shit how was he so blind to never realize this…

thank god that night was complete blurry in your mind , so when you woke up the day completely hung over and found your beloved best friend making you breakfast with a bed hair and his sleeves rolled up showing off his forearms that you find really hot for some reason , your slight blush was explained.

omfg the day he showed up to your workplace during his break with a well crafted lunch box he made full of delicious onigiris because he listens and he remembers that your annoying coworker kept flaunting her relationship to you and it pissed you off and you wanted to show her that you can pull too

ever since he realized the power he had over you, he wouldn’t stop just picking at you and seeing how far he can go, he was basically testing the waters by stretching until his shirt lifts up, hold eye contact for a lil longer than what he should, and how he praises you don’t get me startedddd

“yer actually pretty decent at this” when you cook dinner with him, “look at ya bein all confident and independent !” when you actually tell the waiter they got your order wrong, “yer pretty distractin’ yk that? that’s kinda dangerous.”

osamu was a pretty touchy guy, not overly cuddly or anything but he did enjoy proximity, he’d usually hold your wrist when passing crowds but for some reason he now held your waist, his touch gentle yet firm on you. istg his hand placement is impeccable

there’s just something about him keeping a hair tie on his wrist for you that’s so endearing, so caring and attentive to your lil daily struggles.

it all happened when you got your first tattoo, he had sent you to his friend whom he deemed good enough to ink your body. he was nervous and excited as if he was the one getting tattooed but that’s mostly because you wanted to keep it a mystery, he knew that when he came home after closing the shop he’d find you there already.

there was just something so intimate about him coming back from work and finding you already at his place , he liked it, he could get use to it.

“ ‘m here !” he yelled out closing the door behind him , analyzing you from head to toe as you pop infront of him with his tshirt and shorts on displaying an almost mischievous smile, his eyebrows creasing as he doesn’t see any trace of a tattoo on your arms or legs, maybe it was on your shoulders?

he plopped down on his couch , man spreading “soo… are ya gonna show me or ?” you happily turn to the side, his eyes widen as you lift up the shirt enough to reveal a sideboob tattoo. he sits up the shock visible on his face “holy shit cmere” you obey him , getting closer for him to get a better look. with a swift motion his arm was now around your hip , pushing you to sit on one of his legs

he clearly recognized his friend’s intricate style, the design cupping the side of your boob, he wanted to admire his work but damn he felt a lil jealous that he worked so close to you. he finally looked at you only now noticing your reddish face

his face was just inches from yours, his previously shocked expression fading as he met your eyes. he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your jaw, and for a split second, everything around you felt quiet, just the two of you in that small space. he couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, though, breaking the tension as he nudged you lightly

“didn’t know you had it in ya to do somethin’ like that” he whispered.

before you could answer, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, gently pulling you in. his lips brushed yours, just a soft, teasing touch, before pulling back slightly with that same smirk. “couldn’t resist,” he muttered under his breath, and this time, when he kissed you again, it was longer, deeper—no more teasing, just the feeling of the moment taking over.

i’m currently such a sucker for time skip osamu he’s all i’m thinking about