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gyuuberryy · 5 months ago

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no doubt !

loser!enhypen's reaction to your confession + their down bad behaviour

genre: completely fluff, slight crack

warnings: self doubt, very little stuttering

note: live, laugh, love hot loser men

word count: 2.3k

i love reading your comments and reblogs, so please do so if you liked reading this<3

HEESEUNG

heeseung was the guy who always sat in the back of the library, oversized hoodie pulled up and earbuds blasting lo-fi playlists. not because he was trying to look cool and aloof—he just didn’t know how to talk to people. heeseung’s whole vibe screamed ‘leave me alone’, and yet, you were drawn to him. maybe it was the way his big glasses always slid down his nose or how he’d stammer when the librarian asked if he needed help. there was a sweetness to his awkwardness, a genuine quality that made him stand out(not to mention how devastatingly handsome he was).

you started leaving him little sticky notes on the library desk when he wasn’t looking, simple messages like “nice doodles!” or “your handwriting is cute<3” the day he caught you in the act, his face turned the color of a ripe tomato.

“you think my handwriting’s c-cute?” he stuttered, practically vibrating with nervous energy.

a bit nervous, you laughed and nodded. “yeah, i do. and i think you’re cute too.”

heeseung froze, his pen dropping to the table. “wait, you… you think i’m cute?” he sounded so disbelieving it was almost funny.

when you confessed that you liked him, he spent two weeks in disbelief, constantly asking if you were joking. but after you assured him that no, you weren’t pulling some cruel prank, he became utterly devoted. he’d text you good morning every day, walk you to your classes while carrying your books (even when you insisted you could manage), and write you poetry—the kind of cringe, over-the-top poetry that made your heart melt anyway.

heeseung was the kind of boyfriend who’d get embarrassingly jealous but try to hide it. if someone so much as glanced at you for too long, he’d fidget nervously and mumble something about how they were probably just admiring how amazing you were. and if you hugged him in public? forget it. he’d be grinning like an idiot for the rest of the day.

when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about your future together. he’d scribble little sketches of the two of you in his notebook, complete with hearts and statements like “me + you = forever.” if you teased him about it, he’d turn beet red and try to deny it, but you could see the tiny smile playing on his lips.

rest is under the cut!

JAY

jay was the guy in your science class who thought he could blend in by keeping his head down. what he didn’t realize was that his nervous habits were endearing: the way he’d mumble answers to himself during group work or adjust his glasses every 30 seconds. he was always sketching random diagrams in his notebook—half for class, half because he was too awkward to make conversation.

you had a crush on him because, despite his shyness, there was something magnetic about the way he focused—his brows furrowing as he sketched diagrams in his notebook, the faintest pout forming on his lips when he was deep in concentration. one time, you caught him organizing the classroom supplies, his long fingers deftly sorting through tape dispensers and markers while muttering something about order.

when you mentioned you liked him, jay blinked at you like he couldn’t comprehend the words. “me? like me, me?” he asked, pointing to himself.

you nodded, trying not to giggle at how wide his eyes had gotten. “yes, you. i think you’re really sweet.”

jay’s face turned a deep shade of red, and he immediately started rambling. “i mean, i… uh, wow, okay, i didn’t expect this. are you sure? like, really sure? because i’m kind of a mess, and—”

once it clicked, though, he was all in. he’d send you paragraphs of text apologizing if he thought he said something wrong, shower you with small, thoughtful gifts (like your favorite snacks or a plant he’d researched how to care for), and eventually worked up the courage to hold your hand—though he’d sweat buckets the entire time.

jay would also start making lists—actual, physical lists—of things he could do to make you happy. “compliment her at least once a day,” “remember her favorite coffee order!,” and “learn how to not be a complete dork >:(” were scrawled on a sticky note tucked into his notebook. and when he wasn’t nervously doting on you, he was daydreaming about you, doodling your initials in the margins of his notes.

very soon, he was down-bad for you, which was evident through his real life and his social media activities. he’d post the cheesiest captions about you, like “can’t believe i’m dating the most amazing person in the world” with a blurry photo of the two of you. his friends teased him mercilessly, but he didn’t care. to him, you were worth every bit of embarrassment. late at night, he’d re-read your old texts and smile like an idiot, convinced he was the luckiest person alive.

JAKE

jake was a lovable mess. he wore mismatched socks, always seemed to forget his pencil, and somehow managed to trip over air at least once a day. his “plan” to talk to you involved him awkwardly hovering near your desk and pretending to need help with math problems he already knew how to solve. you knew from the start he was a bit of a loser—but that’s exactly why you liked him along with you finding everything he did adorable.

“wait, wait,” he said when you told him you were into him. “you like me? like, romantically? or is this a ‘pity me’ situation?”

after realizing you genuinely liked him, jake became a golden retriever in human form. he’d facetime you at random hours just to say hi, take you on chaotic “dates” that involved him occasionally tripping over things in public, nervously ordering food for you both and all silly fun activities like arcade games and amusement parks. it was never a dull day with him! after your first kiss, he couldn’t stop grinning for hours, texting his friends in all caps: “GUYS I JUST KISSED THE LOVE OF MY LIFE AAHJKHSSSK”

jake’s down-bad behavior reached new levels when he started making playlists for every possible mood you might have: “songs to cheer you up,” “songs that remind me of you<3,” and even “songs to study to (but only if you want to study with me):3” he’d even text you mid-class to tell you he missed you, even if you’d just seen each other that morning.

jake was also the kind of boyfriend who’d insist on carrying your bag even when it was clear it was too heavy for him. “i’ve got this!” he’d say, wincing slightly but refusing to let you take it back. and if you ever mentioned feeling sad or stressed, he’d immediately panic, asking, “what can i do? tell me, and i’ll do it!” he’d even write you little notes with nerdy jokes or doodles to make you smile, slipping them into your locker or bag for you to find later.

SUNGHOON

sunghoon thought he was slick, but his ‘cool guy’ act was so transparent it was almost cute. he’d lean against the lockers during breaks, pretending not to notice you, but the way his ears turned red every time you walked by gave him away. despite his awkward attempts at being aloof, you found his loser tendencies adorable: like how he’d secretly google pickup lines but chicken out before using them.

when you confessed your feelings, he genuinely choked. “wait, you like me? oh wow… you have bad- I MEAN great taste ahem.” he spent a solid week trying to act nonchalant, but once you started dating, his loser side came out full force. he’d ask you to “rate his outfits” before dates, send you selfies captioned “just thinking about you bbg,” and blush furiously every time you complimented him. sunghoon may have tried to act smooth, but deep down, he was utterly whipped.

sunghoon would also start practicing ways to compliment you in the mirror—only to mess it up completely when the time came. “y-you look… uh, very… beautiful? no, wait, gorgeous! that’s the word i meant!” and everytime you smiled at him, he’d be texting his friends, “she smiled at me again!!!!! i’m gonna pass out.”

his devotion extended to doing the smallest things for you, like bringing you your favorite drink or snacks without you asking. he’d even memorise your schedule so he could “accidentally” bump into you between classes, claiming it was coincidence even though the timing was suspiciously perfect. at night, he’d lay awake replaying your conversations, smiling at the ceiling like the lovesick fool he was.

SUNOO

you had noticed sunoo always sitting at the edge of friend groups, laughing along but never quite joining in. he was bubbly and fun but had an air of self-doubt that made him endearing. you started noticing how he’d always bring extra snacks to share with classmates or go out of his way to compliment people—little acts of kindness that made your heart flutter. not to mention his angelic beauty, that had you look twice the first time you had seen him standing near the water cooler awkwardly.

it was hard not to develop a crush and when you told sunoo you liked him, he’d blink in disbelief. “no way. you’re joking, right?” but after realising you were serious, he’d giggle nervously and hide his face in his hands. once you started dating, he became the most attentive boyfriend ever, remembering every small detail about you and hyping you up like you were the main character. he’d also send you cheesy tiktoks at 2 a.m. with captions like, “this is so us babe ><”

sunoo was head over heels for you, the literal epitome of “she fell first but he fell harder”. he did adorable things like creating a secret pinterest board filled with date ideas and texting you pictures of cute animals with captions like, “look, it’s us in 50 years!” he also started learning how to bake just so he could surprise you with your favorite treats—though most of his attempts ended in chaotic, flour-covered disasters.

if you ever seemed upset, sunoo would go into full panic mode, showering you with compliments and doing everything in his power to cheer you up. “you’re the most amazing person i’ve ever met,” he’d say earnestly, his eyes sparkling with sincerity. he even kept a list on his phone of all the things you’d mentioned liking, just so he could surprise you when you least expected it.

JUNGWON

jungwon was the class president who seemed to have it all together—but his close friends knew better. he was the guy who’d trip over his words during speeches, carry five planners because he kept losing them, and stress over things like forgetting to bring tape for a poster project. you liked him because, despite his loser-ish tendencies, he had a heart of gold and worked hard to make everyone feel included.

when you told him you had a crush on him, jungwon’s first reaction was to nervously laugh. “wait, me? are you sure? why would you do that to yourself!?” once he accepted that you really liked him, he became the sweetest boyfriend imaginable. he’d plan thoughtful dates (that inevitably went slightly wrong but ended up being more fun because of it), leave you encouraging notes in your locker, and get adorably flustered every time you kissed him.

jungwon also started creating “motivational speeches” for you, writing them out on notecards and practicing in the mirror before giving them. “i believe in you,” he’d say earnestly, fumbling to hand you a little note that said, “you’re amazing, and don’t you forget it.” if you teased him about it, he’d bury his face in his hands and mumble, “stop, you’re embarrassing me…”

his love didn’t stop there. he’d stay up late researching ways to make your life easier, like creating color-coded study guides or finding fun new spots to take you on dates. and if anyone dared to speak poorly of you, jungwon would step up, surprising everyone with his sudden fierceness. “they don’t know what they’re talking about,” he’d say, his tone protective and unwavering.

NI-KI

ni-ki was the quiet gamer boy who’d rather blend into the background than be noticed. he wore the same hoodie every other day and constantly had earbuds in, even when they weren’t playing anything. you liked him because of how unpretentious he was—and how his eyes lit up whenever he talked about something he loved, like a new game or a random meme he found hilarious.

when you told him you were into him, ni-ki almost dropped his controller. his eyes narrowed into a glare, “are you sure you’re not messing with me? did jake tell you about my crush?” after he realised what he had said, he immediately scampered away leaving you standing there confused. once he got over his initial shock, he became your biggest simp. he’d send you memes that reminded him of you, let you beat him at games (even though he’d deny it), and randomly text you “you’re so pretty” at the most unexpected times. around his friends, he’d brag about you non-stop, showing off pictures of you with a proud grin.

once he was down bad for you, he became hell bent on learning how to cook your favorite meals—even though he’d never cooked before in his life. “how hard can it be?” he’d say, only to panic five minutes in and call you for help. he also started staying up late to design matching gamer tags for the two of you, insisting that everyone online needed to know you were his.

in quiet moments, ni-ki would open up about how much you meant to him, his voice soft and a little shaky. “i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m not letting go.” and if you ever showed up to surprise him during his gaming sessions, he’d immediately log off, saying, “sorry, guys, my priority is here,” as he turned his full attention to you.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 ©𝗴𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗿𝘆𝘆 on Tumblr

˚ · .𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱

taglist: @soobnuuy @senascoooop @moafloribunda @lunalovesstories

@firstclassjaylee @levandright @fancypeacepersona @mirouie

@gaonashi @firstclassjaylee @kkamismom12 @evandsolo

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superhoeva · 7 days ago

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𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 – 𝐦. 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | what a fucking delight it was to write this, as someone who has a big fat crush on this ^ man right here and as someone who is also a lifelong steeler fan. this one goes out to @ovaryacted (who pretty much beta-ed the first handful of pages for this), @heavenbarnes (who maybe might have been bitten by the robby bug?? no pressure to read babes), @jackabbotsfakeleg (who is the first fellow steelers fan i found on tumblr; this team is my doom but i love them!), plus all the robby fiends

warning(s) include language, inappropriate relations (?),age gap (reader is 25ish/2nd year med student, while robby is pushing 50), he fell first and harder, sexual tension, reader is a steelers fan and from pittsburgh, (american) football talk, baltimore ravens trashing, injury (mentioned), smut, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), handjob, nipple play, bodily fluids, big dick/down bad!robby, special appearance at the end; she's thick, guys... sitting at 5.2k words!

Medical school lecture halls are just as chilly as Robby remembers.

The air feels a little less clean, a little more human, but still. There’s a nip to the air that takes him back to his Monday-Wednesday-Friday EMED 851 lecture. Part of him wishes he had worn one of his hoodies, though that would look a little weird with the button-up and slacks he has on. The light blue–cornflower, the tag reads–top and black bottoms feel odd, tugging at Robby’s skin in a way that his scrubs and cargos don’t.

There’s a wide array of students scattered across the seats of the room. To his surprise, most of them listen to him ramble about airways with attentive eyes and scribble down whatever they can catch. Good. That means that they’re maybe halfway serious about this shit, which earns them 2% of the qualification needed to work in emergency medicine.

Other than a lull of awkward silence at the very beginning plus a few verbal stumbles in the form of curses that cause the class to giggle while he apologizes and gathers himself, the doctor is pretty solid.

There’s only one other time he flounders, if he should even call it that. It was more of an unforeseen pause. Nothing more than the tick of a few seconds when his eyes lock with yours for the first time today.

You’re already staring in his direction, waiting for him to finish the word that collapses surprisingly easy on his lips at the sight of you. He blinks, a strange flush ricocheting across the skin of his face when you blink at him, even throwing in a little grin just as he snatches back his composure with a distracted um.

The shirt you’re wearing is nice. Simple and fitted. Cap sleeves stop right below your shoulder and reveal intricate lines of ink that swirl back under the fabric in loops that make Robby wonder more than he should. You’re wearing shorts, too. Huh. He’d have half a mind to question how your exposed legs bear the nippy air of the hall, but it doesn’t matter. You make it work–and well–the material cutting off just a little higher than he initially realized.

Zipping his eyes back up to yours, he warms at how you’re picking at your bottom lip; your other hand now using your pen to write down something you remember him saying a few moments earlier.

Covering his gulp with a fast wipe at his beard, Robby somehow finds a way to push out the words that have been stuck in his throat for what feels like longer than the brisk five seconds that have passed since he spoke last.

His head tilts, barely, and his lips twitch into a small smile, dragging his stare from you to the carpet beneath him so he can speak again. Robby plays off the mistake as him thinking–about the question itself and not how you are unmistakably the prettiest thing in this room.

Eleven. That’s how many times he glances at you between then and the end of his lecture. The first three times were a genuine accident, and boy, did they feel like one. Goosebumps flutter across the back of his neck, which he’s rubbed enough times that some of the students probably think there’s something wrong with the tendons there. Robby almost agrees, with the way they keep allowing him to swivel and study you.

The more it happens, the oops of peeking at you, the longer it takes for him to look away. By the end of his knowledge-packed but run-on sentence answers, Robby’s stare cements to you. You’re nodding, legs crossed, and unintentionally drawing patterns with the pad of your finger across the skin of your thigh. For some reason, he’s fairly confident in the fact that you probably don’t even realize you’re doing it.

“Any more questions for Dr. Robinavitch?”

Dr. Robinavitch. Professors, man.

Robby doesn’t try to stop himself from glimpsing in your vicinity. Not right at you but close, so his peripheral can catch any possible movement of your hand raising. His eyes burn with an unsettling eagerness while he waits for something to happen. What the fuck is wrong with him? What the fuck is wrong with you for wearing shorts that fit that well even while you’re sitting?

Your hand stays where it is, arm propped against the side of your seat, fingers fiddling with the pen he can tell you’re trying not to click. The small pang of disappointment that rises inside him squashes away in seconds, and he prays that his ears don’t start to hue red after you hold his stare the longest you have for the entire class.

Looking at him through your lashes, you wait. And wait… and wait. A smirk barely ghosts across your mouth, and Robby rips away his stare. Throat bobbing while he swallows, blinking faster than he means to, he looks to the professor.

“Think they’re ready to kick me out, Dr. Hummel. I’ve probably rambled for long enough, yeah?” Robby shrugs. A sheepish smile warms his face when the room echoes with a healthy applause, and Robby almost recoils at the sound. There’s no way Hummel didn’t tell them to do that. And all he can do is stand and take it, hands tucked into his pockets, his thanks an awkward nod and embarrassed grimace-flavored grin.

Robby tries not to blush when he spots you clapping along with everyone else. He tucks his chin, feeling a little silly with how satisfying it feels to know he’s spoken well enough for you to show some appreciation. Or maybe you’re just doing it to be nice. Either way, you’re making the attending pinker than usual.

Class wraps in a daze.

Dr. Hummel leaves Robby lingering to the side, a wave of shuffling backpacks and zippers echoes throughout the hall. There’s a reminder announcement about a research paper due two weeks from today… or is it a presentation? Robby doesn’t listen hard enough to verify.

A sprinkle of pupils, glowing with a luster that only presents itself after their final class of the week concludes, come up to formally greet Robby. All with names he’ll try to remember but won’t. Bright-eyed and buzzing more than he thinks one would be after an hour and a half long lecture on airways, but hey. He appreciates the eagerness, even if it’s a little much.

Doing his best to be polite, Robby tries to seem as if he’s actively listening–nodding, humming, and throwing in a smile for good measure. He catches a few of the words being smattered his way, but he’s already forgotten them by the time the students leave him be. A sigh of relief sinks out of his nose when he turns his head to find you still in the room, only just now standing from your chair and sliding a thick notebook into your bag.

A line of spit gets caught in his throat when he sees you adjust your shorts, subtly tugging at where they’ve ridden up in between the warmth of your thighs–warmth of your thighs? Fuck, Michael, get it the hell together.

Robby coughs loudly into the crook of his elbow before pivoting to find you gliding his way. His heart jumps as you head right for the man, and his mind races to search for something to say. Hi? Nice to meet you? I really like those shorts?

His mouth opens to speak, though he quickly settles it into a kind grin as you scoot past him with a smile of your own.

“S’cuse me,” you pronounce gently, and Robby’s throat bobs.

“Of course,” he nods, voice huskier than he means for it to be as he takes a polite step to the side. You gift him one last breath-snatching smile before floating out of the hall without a second look. A long hum seeps from Robby, his fingers reaching to scrape at the nape of his neck.

Fuck, he needs to change out of these clothes… and maybe receive a beating of some kind for how long he let himself gawk at your ass just now.

Unfortunately, Robby doesn’t find the courage to ask anyone to smack him across the face the entire walk to his car. He does, however, have enough sense to unfasten the button that’s been digging into his skin since he threw on the shirt.

The man could cry happy tears when he pulls into the Panera Bread parking lot to find it close to empty. Surprising, considering that it’s the middle of the day on the UPMC campus but hey. He’s not complaining. The less college students in line between him and his overpriced iced green tea and tomato basil BLT, the better. In fact, he might splurge and go for a brownie, too… maybe that’ll clear the fog you’ve spelled him under.

His mind wandered for the whole ride over–swirling with blurry images of you and tingling with unanswered questions. Robby even stumbles through his order a few times, though the embarrassment over that is briskly wiped away when he turns his head to find you sitting at one of the tables.

Of course, you’re here.

Of course, you’re here and snacking on chocolate croissants and sipping coffee while reading off the screen of your laptop with the most delightful expression of intrigue he’s ever seen.

You aren’t real… you can’t be because only dreams are this coincidental.

Teeth grinding, Robby scans the area around you. Empty, other than an older man stirring his tomato soup and a mother and daughter sharing a frosted cookie with a pair of soft smiles. Robby’s eyes crinkle at the sight, shifting in his place at the counter in deep thought.

He guesses it’ll be a short wait for his food, as it always is. Then all he needs to do is fill his cup at the machine, wait for his number to be called and he’s home free… no matter how tempting it would be to tip over your way and say a quick hello. There’s a voice in the back of his head chanting for him to swallow the nerves and fucking do it, yet he still isn’t sure what’d he start with. What do you say to a young woman you’re certain will haunt you for the rest of you life–

“Dr. Robinavitch? Hi…”

It takes Robby a second to look at you. Even without, an odd feeling tightens Robby’s chest. He finally turns, swallowing through a tickle in his throat, just barely blinking away how his eyes try to water as you approach him carefully. Dear lord, someone please help him–your voice. All you’ve said is his name and a simple, normal hello yet he’s already turning into a puddle of nothing.

“Oh, please. Everyone just calls me Robby,” he holds his hand out for you to shake but regrets it immediately at the spark that ignites when your palms touch. Clenching his teeth at the feeling, Robby masks his tight jaw with a warm smile. “You were just in my lecture, if I remember correctly.”

Robby feels dumb when he tags on the question at the end. There’s no doubt surrounding whether he’s remembering correctly, as he’ll never forget you or those shorts even if he were to try.

“Yeah, for Hummel’s class. I’m actually glad I ran into you again. I really enjoyed you coming to talk to us today. And I’m sorry, I feel like I should’ve said something before leaving class but I couldn’t think of any cool questions to ask you afterwards but, uh, yeah. Having an actual attending from an ED come to talk to you about using a mac versus a miller is much more pleasing than reading about it in some textbook at three in the morning.”

A small chuckle lightens his face. “That’s very kind of you, ‘m glad you liked it. Is ED your main interest?”

“One-hundred percent. I mean, I won’t even start my rotations for another year but that’s definitely the end goal.”

“Well, good. That’s good, um… sorry, one sec,” Robby’s cut off by the calling of his number, but raises a gentle hand with a pleasant smile in hopes that you’ll stay put. He mumbles a small thank you to the worker that slides him his bag, turning back to you with a lick to his lips. “Like I was saying, that’s great. We could always use more people like you in the ED.”

Wait. Shit. People like you? The man hasn’t even known you for that long and has talked to you for even less. He finds himself lucky when you decide not to think about the statement as hard as he does, accepting the compliment with a small grin.

“I appreciate that, Robby. Hopefully at least one of my clinicals ends up being in The Pitt. I can’t even imagine all the things I’d learn as your MS considering that all it took was a class of you speaking for me to fill up two pages of notes.”

Is he as red as he feels?

“Ah, hearing that, I’m sure you’d fit right in wherever you end up. Secretly kinda hoping it is in my ED at some point, though.” And not just because you’re a knockout and a half. “Just over the short time I’ve talked to you, you seem stellar. Good listener, pretty, cares about the details.”

Wait. Shit, that second one is a slip and much too obvious to just glaze over like his last one. You’re blinking at him in a way that itches his insides, and he exhales a rough breath. Shaking his head, he dips his nose in an embarrassed hang of his head.

“‘M sorry,” he starts with a breathy laugh because it’s all he can do. “That wasn’t appropriate of me, I’m sorry. Your good looks have nothin’ to do with your abilities.”

Suddenly, it feels like karma is having its way with Robby. Was there a door he should’ve held but didn’t? A thank you he forgot to tell someone? There must be because he’s usually quicker to control himself around someone that’s piqued his interests as much as you have.

When he tilts his gaze back to you, there’s something in your face hinting at something he doesn’t let himself attempt to decrypt.

“Jeez, I’m really eatin’ it today, aren’t I,” Robby squirms with a sheepish smile. “And that feels like my cue to leave you to you’re studying before I am forced to have you gag me.”

“Oh, I’m not studying. I mean, I should be but your answer to that one question Jeremiah asked has me knee deep in an article about the history of clinical airway management. Also, I didn’t take you to be into that kinda stuff, but I’ll make sure to be gentle if you really want me to.”

Brow line raising in a flutter of rousing excitement, Robby allows himself a full grin. You match the toothy-smile, leaning with something that looks like anticipation with another wring of your hands.

What a well-dressed, witty, gorgeous geek you’re proving yourself to be.

“I, uh, I actually know of a few other studies you might be interested in,” Robby suggests, a wave of poise centering his thoughts and reprioritizing his intentions. “...if you've got the time?”

The next sixty-ish minutes pass devastatingly fast. A few more people have populated the Panera dining room but Robby’s too high on your presence and one and a half cups of iced green tea to care.

“You’re making this up, you gotta be.”

“I swear, Robby,” you hold up your hands. “I will admit, losing to the ratbirds–at home, in OT–does tend to cloud one's judegment, but enough to think they have the upperhand against a metal lightpost? All Dad saw was red and I ended up waiting in the ER with him while he waited to get his fingers re-set. We we’re at chairs for a while and then brought to the back, and the thing I remember the most was this hum hanging in the air the entire time. Even though I was only around five, that shit was… addicting. Not as electric as a Steelers home game but pretty close. The nurse and my dad kept having to tell me to stay behind the curtain but, of course, I didn’t. ‘Cause, you know. Children. But watching all those people come in broken just to have people like you give their everything to try and fix them… that’s when I knew I wanted to be an emergency physician.”

The corner of Robby’s lips quirks up as he watches you. You stare back at him with held breath before ripping your eyes away to the half-eaten piece of brownie he’d offered you. A little dry but completely worth it with how your hands brushed when he passed you the sweet.

“So basically what I’m hearing is that the Baltimore Ravens are the reason you were able to find your purpose in life so early on…” Robby eases out, rubbing a hand across his beard in anticipation of the response he’s fishing for. He gets it and more when your face wrinkles into a cute grimace and you flinch with a shudder.

“You put it that way, and it almost makes me think I should drop outta med school to move to Canada.”

Your words pull a deep chuckle from Robby, who’s feeling warm at how the two of you are leaning and talking. Bodies relaxed and bellies content with sandwiches and baked goods, the dance you’re both performing is becoming more difficult by the second.

He’s starting to feel less and less sorry about how the side of his shoe keeps knocking against yours, even doing it once on purpose as a thanks for when you notify him of a loose crumb in his beard. The tips of your fingers keep creeping towards each other but Robby blames that on the smaller scale of the table he’s joined you at. You got up, once, for napkins and the man had to take in a deep breath at the swing of your hips. He’s not sure he looked away fast enough either. At least, that’s what the smirk that dashes across your face reveals to him.

“So,” Robby starts after a comfortable lull in the conversation, pausing to clear his throat. “Are all of Hummel’s students this awesome or did I just get lucky runnin’ into you again?”

Flattery. The age old tactic and Robby makes sure not to lay it on too thick. In all of his bumbling and slip ups from earlier, he’s maganed to regain some of his bravado. It returns to him slowly but surely as he starts to unravel you. Not by much but enough to finger out what makes you tick; which jokes to draw out, what subjects (medical or otherwise) gets you going, which throw of his timbre embellishes the shine in your eyes.

“Mm, most of them are pretty cool. Some are also the biggest assholes you’ll ever meet but what’s any place without a few of those?”

“Heaven,” Robby answers with an unbothered shrug of his shoulders and you bob your head in agreement.

“Preach,” you grin, popping a corner of brownie into your mouth. “They were on their best behavior today with you being there but trust me, they’re incapable of going twenty four hours without creaming their pants over making other people feel like shit.”

Wow. “Oh, yeah?”

“For sure. Dr. Hummel should have you come around more often, though. Maybe next time you can snap a few egos in check.”

You’re into whatever this is, Robby can feel it. It’s in your eyes, that don’t notice their lingering on the hair that’s peeking out at the top of his exposed chest. In your voice, that’s lilting in a manner that’s ringing through the thick fog he entered the building with to guide his ship closer to your sweet taunt.

Robby’s quicker than the hesitation his words want to bite back on, tilting his head to give you a quick once over before flicking them away with a grin that’s smugger than he means for it to be.

“Oh, that’s definitely something I’d consider as long as you're still sittin’ front row.”

Your lips curl upwards and Robby is buzzing at the win. It makes his chest puff a little, too, and his head starts to feel a little funny when he catches you staring again.

“Hey, uh,” just do it, Rob, “why don’t we exhancge numbers? You know, in case you ever feel like conversing more over slightly-stale bread and the best passion papaya iced green tea on this side of the Mississippi.”

Taking a second to think, you sniff.

“While I have had better passion… papaya iced green tea–” you recite the words with a subtle unsureness, laughing a little at the nod Robby encourages you with.

“You got it,” he reassures you, voice rasping with obvious amusement before letting you continue.

“–I’d love to keep picking your brain. I will warn you, though, since the age of eleven, I have somehow managed to, uh, shift every conversation I’ve been a part of to the topic of the Pittsburgh Steelers at some point, so if that’s not your thing, then…”

Your words melt into a stronger laugh than you expected to leave you, and it wraps arround the high-pitched giggle trickles out of Robby.

“Oh, I’ve dealt with worse, sweetheart,” he winks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket and opening it before sliding it your way. He holds his breath the entire time you add your contact, eyes flicking to his screen where he sees your name along with a simple :). He huffs at the sight, plucking the device back into his grip. “Much, much worse.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

You add a smirk and tip of your head with the question. Robby’s soaring.

The following hours prove to be just as indelible as your shorts, and it’s all because of you.

You’re more than special, and Robby sits undisputed in that fact as he commences the third round of the night. The slide into you is just as good as the first and the second. You’re on top this time, your hands clutching his face to rub at the thick of his beard while you sink down onto him.

Robby holds your waist, hands light but still there as he splits you open. A noise breaks from his throat when you sit fully, and he rests his forehead against yours. While you take a second to adjust, Robby peeks down past the pudge of his belly to where the two of you meet, groaning at the sight of you stretcehed around him.

Eyes flicking to yours, Robby tightens the arm he has around your waist to tug you until your breasts are flush against his chest. You cling to him at the shift, hips barely lifting before collapsing back down onto him with a shuggering grunt.

Your body keeps the same languid speed, Robby helping you just barely with a hand splayed just above your ass.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” you pant out against his mouth. “And fucking huge. I should’ve known considering how you walked into class earlier, though.”

“Shit,” Robby moans. “Really?”

You bob your head, hand reaching to grab at Robby’s shoulder. The muscle holds strong under your squeeze, you answer him during another rock of your hips.

“Mmhm. You just… oh, fuck, you walk like it’s big. Which it totally is, by the way.”

“So you’ve said,” Robby ribs, adding a few bucks of his hips that yanks a squeak out of you. “Actually screamed it a few times, too.”

“Well, can you blame me–”

You’re interrupted by Robby, who surprises you with a steep roll to the side. Now hanging over you, Robby pants through a groan. He’s gonna feel that tomorrow but the chance of a strained back isn’t gonna stop him from trying to get you to keep making those sounds that have him seeing stars.

He takes the miracle of his cock remaining inside you even after the change of position, hitching both of your legs back as far as they’ll let him and jerking you with a thrust. It’s deep and driving, intentional enough to make you feel every inch and vein of his swollen member. You wail out right next to his ear and he smiles against the tattoo on your shoulder in victory. He still doesn’t know what it is. You won’t tell him and he got tired of guessing.

“No, I can’t,” Robby throws back, hips falling into a pattern of sharp thrusts. You feel bottomless and it makes his stomach clench. “Eyes on me, baby. Right here, okay?

Robby meets your stare as soon as you crack open your lids. He tightens the snap of his hips, allowing himself to indulge. Call it a habit but he likes to look… observe the way your mouth parts as you puff out air every time your clit hits his pelvis… how your brows pinch together and eyes water as he pounds into the spot it only took him a total of seven thrusts to find… how your hands reach for his neck, squeezing when you hear him flutter your name out on a gruttal moan.

You especially like him loud, he’s found. Not bold enough to ask for it, Robby had the pleasure of figuring the phenomenon out on his own. It didn’t take long, thankfully, as he got embarrassingly close to blowing a vocal cord when you tongued at his nipples and skillfully jerked out his cum onto your stomach. Afterwards, his taste buds found your slit a sopping mess of slick and cream, which he slurped away at until you tugged him up by the hair and kissed your juices from his mouth.

The first time he’d fucked you, it was slow. A loitering exploration of every indent and ripple inside your hole, every mole and freckle of your skin. You’d already come once against his tongue after he’d convinced you that no, you were not going to die if he didn’t kiss you right then.

(‘What about her, hm?’ He’d asked with a finger ghosting across your clit. ‘Nothin’ wrong with being a little greedy but I gotta show her some love, too, alright? She’s much too pretty to ignore, even with you givin’ me those eyes…’)

However, it’s the first time you peak around him that the sky parts. Heaven calls, singing songs of eternal delights but Robby declines the offer. His soul finds the symphony of you falling apart much more satisfying. Ever more gratifying, as it’s his name flooding from your lips. Not God’s or some boy in one of your classes in those cold ass rooms–his.

The second time you’d come around him hits both of you like a train. He’d gotten you trapped on your side, leg hanging in the air helplessly. Neck stretching, you’d bit at his tongue a few times when he’d upped the speed of his hips, warning Robby that you were gonna come again. After you added on a whine that you did not want him pulling out when he came, he flipped you into a rough prone bone, pounding you until your pussy creamed with his cum and your ears heard nothing but dial tones.

This time–the third time–Robby lets himself get lost in it. Uses his mind and body for the sole purpose of calling forth and tying your euphoria to his. A perfect ache is throbbing a pulse through his cock, and the man can only plunge himself in and out of you with mindless, hoarse grunts.

Robby executes it flawlessly, the seaming of the end of your climax grazing just over the start of his. You cry out unintelligible words, grabbing at him like he’ll disappear if you don’t and trembling as he works to milk out your release for as long as he can.

“That’s my–fuck… yeah, that’s my sweet girl,” Robby pants, still rocking you as his thrusts melt into a sloppy chasing of his own end. His sweet girl. That’s exactly what you are now, regardless of what happens after this. “Gonna fill you up again. Make you nice and full’a me.”

The only warning Robby’s able to give is a long, choked swear before he starts to spasm, sack twitching as he surges out rope after rope of a plentiful load. He uses a few more thrusts to fuck the cum deeper before joining your lips in a tired kiss. When you run your hands up his back to rake your nails through his hair, Robby groans.

Hips still, his softening cock remains a welcome intrusion. His eyes flicker shut at your appreciated touch across his scalp, the man melts completely into you, hoping it takes a long while for your breaths to return.

Robby’s mind is completely still. Numb, even, and there are only figures of you. Clenching his eyes, he sighs before mumbling something so muffled that he has to repeat it.

“I said,” he begins with a kiss to your jaw, “the Ravens might be my new favorite team.”

Robby feels your inhale pause and lifts his head to look in your eyes. A short laugh wheezes out of him when he finds you already staring back, your face a cross of complete and utter confusion and a little bit of hurt.

“What on earth could have possibly compelled you to say that to me?”

Your question starts strong but falls apart with giggles at how Robby keeps laughing. The two of you shake with stupid giggles, and Robby has to take a second to remember where he was going with this.

“Only ‘cause they led you to me. No Ravens, no angry dad. No angry dad, no ER visit. No ER visit, no grand revelation of wanting to become a doctor in emergency medicine. It’s simple, I’m a little surprised I had to explain it.”

“...you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Oh, baby, I know I am.”

“Hello?”

Robby blinks, and wants to glower at the fingers Jack snaps in front of his face until he remembers he’s supposed to be answering something. A question. He’s supposed to be answering a question.

Which question?

Fuck if he knows.

Who asked it?

Fuck if he knows.

It takes every part of Robby’s being to not look to the right because that’s where you’re sitting with a wide smile just barely hidden beneath your palm. Eyes boring into him, you stretch your crossed legs and reposition.

“E-even though that might have looked like a stroke, guys, it was not… I don’t think,” Jack picks up for Robby with a pat to the later man’s shoulder. “It’s actually something we in our profession call getting old, but please don’t worry. I’m going through it, too. Apparently, not as fast as this guy, though.”

The rest of the room lightens with a chuckle so Robby’s laughs along with them. It’s fake and ugly but the pause gives him a chance to zip his eyes your way and back.

And, of course, Jack catches him. Hell, he knows Robby well enough to have already seen the way that his hand clenches into a fist every time you move so much as an inch.

As Dr. Hummel attempts to return order to the slightly distracted class, Jack gives Robby a silent not bad, Rob. At all, though a little more decorum wouldn’t hurt.

Robby bites at his tongue, completely pink.

#the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavich x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #the pitt fic #the pitt hbo #noah wyle

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nanamisgirly · 26 days ago

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pussy slapping with your maths teacherྀི

based on this ask (I hope the anon will like it🙂‍↕️)

next part

you knew the email meant trouble the second it landed in your inbox.

subject : “Homework 6 — Integrity Dicussion.” from : [email protected]

so now you're standing outside his office door, palms sweating, thighs pressed together in your miniskirt like that might save you from the cheating homework you assigned. it's not like you're scared of Gojo. he's just your goofy annoyingly attractive nerd math professor. the man wears Gundam socks with his loafers, makes calculus puns, and has a signed photo of Neil deGrasse Tyson on his bookshelf like it's a family heirloom.

but he also happens to have shoulders like a swimmer, hands big enough to palm a basketball, and a mouth made for sin that he hides behind dump jokes with his stupidly slutty glasses. you're not into him or anything tho, you're just not blind.

your knuckles tap against the door.

“come in,” he calls, voice low. too low actually.

you step in, closing the door behind you.

the first thing you see are the posters of fractals and famous math equations—not surprising. in the other hand, what is really surprising is the life-size cardboard cutout of the pokémon Blastoise. what the fuck is that?

your surprise doesn't stop there, as your eyes land on the chunky old Casio calculator sitting on his desk next to a mug that says, “i'm a cute professor <3”.

he's seated at his desk, glasses on, sleeves rolled to the elbows showing strong forearms scribbled in veins, one ankle resting over the opposite knee like he's got all the time in the world. a lopsided smile appears as he asks “you're nervous ?”

you scoff, clutching your handbag a little tighter. “i'm not.” he's the one to talk—how would anyone look comfortable in a office looking like this?

“mmh. tell yourself that.” he leans, pulls open a drawer and slides out your homework. he taps the edge the paper as he hold it in the air. “you handed your homework last week. and you scored…a beautiful 97.” he tilts his head, gauging your reaction.

you're feeling a bit too hot now, sweats trickling down your spine, but you try to hold it together. you feign innocence, “yeah, incredible isn't it?” you say, rolling your eyes to play it cool.

he hums thoughtfully. “sure… if you hadn't cheated.”

you swallow, crossing your arms as you cock a hip “a girl scores high and suddenly some old grump of a man's offended by it. what a world we live in.”

gojo leans back in his chair, gaze sliding over your form—lingering a bit too long on your thighs. “is that how it is?" he hums, eyes flicking up to meet yours "just a bitter old man then?” the corner of his mouth twitches like he's trying not to grin

he clicks his tongue and leans back further, arms spreading across the armchair like he owns the place. he does, actually. his knees spread too—annoyingly wide, “look, we both know you didn't do these problems yourself. and you're gonna redo it. right here. right now. on me.”

your lips part. “gojo—”

“professor gojo,” he corrects, tone maddeningly even. “you don't want me to call the Academic Integrity Committee, do you?”

you glance down at his thighs, then back up. “you're a math professor. Not my—”

“—brat tamer?” he cuts in smoothly, raising a brow without blinking.

you go still. your jaw clenches, heat crawling up the back of your neck. he's so smug. smug and patient and infuriatingly unfazed.

you step forward and settle on his lap—hovering, refusing to fully sit. if he thinks you're gonna give in that easily, he's dead wrong. you don't care if your thighs start shaking. you'll squat until the apocalypse if you have to.

“ah—!” a squeal rips out of you when his hands clamp around your hips, big and warm and decidedly firm as he drags you down until you're fully seated, straddling his lap. your miniskirt hikes up dangerously high in the process, your bare thighs pressed tight to his slacks.

his breath hitches, almost imperceptibly. you probably wouldn't have noticed if you weren't so hyper-aware of every single shift in the room.

“problem one,” he says, casually putting your paper on the desk like he isn't now rock-hard beneath you like a complete weirdo. his hands stay planted on your thighs, thumbs stroking idly, but his voice stays cold. unbothered, professional almost.

keyword : almost.

you swallow hard, cheeks burning from the sheer proximity—his firm chest pressed to your back, white fluffy hair brushing every time he leans in. his scent clings to your skin—clean linen, cologne, and chalk dust—it's driving you insane. and those damn impossible formulas staring up at you on the paper—differential equations, matrix exponentials, fucking laplace transforms. couldn't he have picked basic calculus ?

your brain is short-circuiting. and the little laughs of the far-too-good-looking-with-his-glasses-pushed-low-on-his-nose professor is doing nothing to ease your nerves. “solve the matrix for the homogeneous system.” your spine stiffens as his voice is nothing but hot air dragging goosebumps up your neck.

“c'mon, engineer girl. use that big brain of yours.” you let out a shaky exhale, trying to focus on the paper even while his fingers toy with the hem of your panties. he hasn't even really touched you, but you're feeling your panties clinging to you—embarrassingly wet.

“one over s-squared plus four?” you try something, mind too fuzzy to think. your breath catches as his fingertips trace your clothed slit—oh very so slowly. he doesn't bother pressing, just lets the fabric catch and soak even more.

“gojo, what are you—”

“professor,” he reminds you, tone suddenly sharp. “and…” he's turning his head, cheek brushing yours as he watches your teeth dig in your bottom lip “no guessing.” you shudder, thighs trembling on his thick one.

that’s ridiculous how sensitive you were from featherlight touches…you’re better than that..so why are your wetting your thighs by seconds ?

“from now on,” his fingers slip beneath the damp lace, two digits brushing your folds, “you get every problem right, you're so good at pretending to be smart—but be smart.” his hand curls back up—cupping your pussy, applying steady pressure to your aching clit through the underwear. your thighs squeeze together instinctively, the heat unbearable.

you stare at the same problem, chest rising and falling in heavy breath. “a-a inverse time b—?” you offer weakly.

a low, pitying sound escapes him.

smack.

“wrong again.” the sudden sharp slap on your cunt makes your entire body jolts in his lap, your ass pressing harder against his cock. your head drops forward, tears prickling your lashes, hips twitching in a pathetic attempt at friction.

it"s so humiliating. that nerd of a teacher. fuck.

“uh-huh, don't move, sweetie. who told you you get to grind on my thigh?” he grabs your jaw with his free hand, forcing you to meet his glacier-blue eyes glinting behind crooked glasses. “let's try again. if f(t) = sin(3t), then what's the Laplace transform?” his breath ghosts over your cheek, one hand directing your gaze to the paper like you aren't already losing your mind.

your mind scrambles, your pussy pulses, and you're cursing the world for putting you in this situation. you can't even help it, it just feels so good.

your voice breaks on a moan, nothing reflecting your angry mind “three… over��squared plus n-nine—”

gojo groans softly, cock twitching under your ass. “there she is,” he mutters, hand sliding down to rub rough circles against your clit. “smart and fuckable? you might be my new favorite little project sweetie.”

and just as a whimper leaves your lips—the second your hips barely roll forward in a desperate grind—he yanks his hand away.

“what did i say?” he asks, calmly adjusting his glasses like he's not the filthiest thing on earth right now. “no grinding. one right answer doesn't mean you get to cum. you've got four more questions, we're far from done.”

he lands another slap on your clit—scarily precise. “i get to edge you again. and again. until your poor little cunt forgets what cumming even feels like.” you sob his name as he pulls your underwear taut between your fat lips, the soaked lace dragging cruelly against your swollen clit. you shove your fist into your mouth, biting it to stay quiet.

he dips his fingers back into the ruined mess between your legs. not inside—never inside apparently. he's probably a psychopathe who loves skimming his student's pussy entrance, circling it like a threat.

“if you get all the five right tho," he murmurs darkly, "i'll bend you over this desk and fuck you, raw, with your nose pressed onto that test," your walls clench hard at his words—and he feels it, obviously…

smirking into your hair, he adds, “you'd love that, of course you would. so go on, sweetie. show me you're not just a brainless little brat. show me how much of a perfect slut you are for good grades.”

you swear once you'll get all your mind together, you're gonna make him regret everything. that cocky, small-dick bastard—acting like he's got a big game between his thighs.

a nerd like him, isn't packing enough to pleasure you. right?

^⌯𖥦⌯^

a/n aaaand we thanks my bachelor in engineer for my knowledge ☝🏼 tho i hope you enjoyed reading this, i don’t think it’s perfect buuut i tried :))) let me know 🫶🏻

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thepencilnerd · 1 month ago

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Glasses Be Damned

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: Lazy Sunday mornings. You in his shirt. Him wearing—glasses? What could be better? genre/notes: domestic, tooth-rotting fluff, banter, implied-but-not-explicit smut, steamy and fluffy like the perfect scrambled eggs (or tofu), beard scruff, you being down so bad for your man in glasses, age-gap relationship word count: 1.8k a/n: happy sunday! I worship those damn 1x01 gifs that live in my head rent free

It was a sleepy Sunday morning. You’d stayed over the night before—his place, not yours—because he made a surprisingly excellent omelet and your apartment was a barren wasteland save for one expired can of soup and half a granola bar. You were planning on moving out soon anyway—leases expiring, schedules syncing, toothbrushes and charger cords already blurring the lines—and in with Robby.

One cold morning not long ago, you’d rushed into the hospital just a few minutes late, hair still dripping and teeth chattering from the walk over. Robby had looked up the second he saw you, eyes narrowing in concern, about to ask what was wrong.

You’d beat him to it. "My apartment’s basically falling apart," you said, breathless as you rubbed your arms. "No hot water, the heater’s busted, and I'm pretty sure there's black mold. I’ll call the landlord later. It’s fine."

He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared at you for a second longer, then quietly shuffled through the papers on the counter.

"You should move in with me," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked. "What?"

So he repeated himself, just as casually. "Move into my place."

He said it like it was nothing—like he was asking you to grab coffee, or teach the interns how to perform proper chest compressions. Calm. Nonchalant. Then, as if to prove his point, he started listing the benefits: less commuting, better water pressure, warmer blankets, shared groceries, an actual place to hang your coat that wasn’t a pile on your chair, cuddle cards redeemable for forehead kisses and back rubs, and—most importantly—no more freezing walks alone or in the dark. He even threw in something about matching mugs and leaving notes on the fridge like it was a feature, not a fantasy.

You opened your mouth, prepared to deploy every avoidant tactic in the book—because even after dating for a couple of years now, there was still a part of you that worried about taking up too much space, too much of him. But before you could spiral into worrying about boundaries, permanence, or him getting sick of you, he looked up again and softened.

"Hey," he said gently. "If you’d rather find a new place, I’ll help you. Really. I just want you safe, healthy, and not at risk for mold poisoning or hypothermia."

Then, with the same ease as his offer, he pressed a warm kiss to your cheek. "See you in five," he murmured, as if he hadn’t just tilted your entire world off its axis, and walked away.

You stood there, frozen—and slowly, a small smile formed at the corners of your lips.

And that was it. No grand declarations. Just a calm, matter-of-fact offer that left no room for protest. So you said yes.

Robby had frozen for a second like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. And then—he lit up. That slow, rare smile spreading across his face like sunrise. He pulled you into a tight hug, spinning you once in the middle of the hallway, laughing against your temple. He kissed you—your cheek, your forehead, your lips—soft and quick and too many times to count, like he couldn’t believe his luck. Like he didn’t want to waste a second not holding you.

"You're going to regret it," you teased.

"Never," he said, kissing you again. "Not in a million years."

Now your things were already half there anyway—socks in drawers, your favorite mug on the drying rack, your name scribbled under his on the mail by the door. And every morning like this only made it feel more like home.

You’d rolled out of bed in one of his soft, worn-in T-shirts—the one with the hem that just barely skimmed your thighs—padding barefoot toward the kitchen in search of coffee, warmth, and maybe a kiss if you looked pathetic enough.

You’ve seen Robby in a dozen different states—bloody scrubs, half-asleep during pre-dawn rounds, in command in a trauma bay, soft and half-melted in post-call cuddles. But you’ve never—never—seen him in glasses.

Until today.

You weren’t expecting it. And there he was, standing at the kitchen counter, hair still a little tousled, wearing black, round-framed glasses while flipping through the newspaper like it was the 80s.

You froze.

He glanced up. "Good morning."

You stared. Mouth agape. Said nothing.

"What?" he asked, wary.

You pointed. "Since when do you wear glasses?!"

He blinked, then winced, lifting a hand to take them off. "I—only for reading. Usually. I forgot I had them on."

"No. No, no, no, no." You crossed the room like a woman possessed. "Do not take those off."

He paused, hand halfway to his face. "Why?"

You stepped closer, practically beaming as you drank him in with eyes like saucers. "Because that—is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life."

He stared at you like you’d just said you were into spleens. "You’re joking."

You weren’t. "Robby," you deadpanned. "You look like the hot professor everyone has a crisis about in college. It's a rite of passage."

"I’m decades older than you."

"Exactly! And only by a decade and a half. It’s working for you." You took a step closer and lowered your voice in the hopes of enticing him. "And totally doing it for me."

He squinted, expression unreadable for a beat. "They make me look old." But his voice was softer now—like he wasn’t entirely put off by the idea. Like maybe, just maybe, his interest had been piqued.

"They make you look like you read poetry before bed and know how to ruin someone emotionally and intellectually."

He blushed—actually blushed.

You wrapped your arms around his waist, tugging him close. "Why have you been hiding this from me?"

"Because," he mumbled, suddenly very interested in the crossword puzzle, "I thought you’d think they made me look... I don’t know. Grandpa-ish."

"You’re out of your mind," you said, tugging the paper from his hands. "This is my Roman Empire now."

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. "You’re never letting this go, are you."

You grinned into his hair. "Not a chance."

His fingers skimmed under the hem of his shirt on your thighs—the one he always liked seeing you in, the one he claimed looked better on you than it ever did on him. His rough thumbs brushed against your bare skin in slow, reverent passes, toying with where the fabric met the soft curve of your hips. Goosebumps followed in their wake, your skin tightening under his touch.

He lingered there, gaze locked on the contrast between cotton and skin, the intimacy of it. The way you wore his shirt like it belonged to you—like he did. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his eyes darkened behind the lenses.

"You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?" he asked, voice low, one thumb brushing just beneath the hem like it had every right to be there.

You shrugged, playing innocent, but your smile was all heat. "It's pretty cozy."

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes soft but hooded, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss you or pin you to the nearest surface. "That’s not an answer."

You leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. "What are you going to do about it, sir?"

His breath hitched, gaze dipping to your lips before dragging back up to your eyes, hungry and tentative all at once. You felt the shift in the air—warmth curling low in your belly as his grip tightened, just slightly, like he was reminding himself you were real. And here. And his.

"You are unbelievable," he murmured, voice low and slightly hoarse, each word curling around the edges of a smile he couldn't quite suppress. There was awe behind it—fondness and a hint of reverence, like he still couldn't believe you were his.

"And you're absurdly attractive in those frames," you murmured, fingertips sliding up the back of his neck and into his hair, curling gently as you tugged him down to meet you. The kiss you gave him was slow, thorough, but it carried heat—a teasing sort of promise beneath the softness.

His hands spanned your waist, thumbs brushing bare skin with growing intent as he kissed you back, deepening it until your breath hitched against his mouth. The glasses stayed on, slightly askew, and it only made your pulse race harder.

You gasped softly when his lips left yours to trail along your jaw, then just beneath your ear, the scruff of his beard dragging deliciously against your skin. It was just long enough to rasp, to make you shiver, to remind you that this wasn't just soft Sunday morning, off-duty Dr. Robby—this was all of him. "This what does it for you?" he murmured, voice husky, lips brushing your pulse point, beard scraping lightly as he spoke.

"God, I want you to ruin me," you whispered, lips ghosting the shell of his ear, your voice low and just shy of reverent. The grin on your face was wicked, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it—the way your breath caught, the way your body leaned into his like gravity had given up pretending.

He stilled for a moment, like you’d short-circuited something vital in him. Then, wordless and driven by something primal, he kissed you again—hungrier now, hands roaming, touch reverent and desperate all at once.

You giggled against his mouth, breathless. "Race you to the bedroom. Winner gets bragging rights and top position."

His eyes flared with something dangerous and amused. "Is that a challenge?"

"I’m just saying," you murmured, backing out of his arms with a wicked grin, "you’re not the only one with stamina, Dr. Robinavitch."

The next second, you bolted.

Robby cursed softly, then took off after you with a kind of urgency that had nothing to do with competition and everything to do with getting his hands back on you.

Your laughter echoed down the hallway—right up until he caught you halfway to the bedroom, spun you around, and pressed you back against the nearest wall like he’d just won gold.

"Called it," he murmured into your skin, beard scraping, lips insistent. "I can’t wait until this is every morning. Waking up to you, going to sleep with you…" he trailed kisses along your jaw, voice low and reverent as though he were citing a prayer.

You smiled against his mouth, fingers curling into his hair. "Then don’t let me go. Not tonight. Not ever."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and tender all at once. "You’re it for me."

The omelet could wait—left forgotten on the counter alongside the crossword and cold coffee. And the glasses? They stayed on. Fogged, slightly crooked, and forever etched into your memory.

#the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr. robby #michael robinavitch #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #noah wyle #dr robby imagine #the pitt spoilers #dr. robby x reader #dr robby x you #the pitt imagine #michael robinavitch imagine #michael robinavitch smut #dr robby smut

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enhani-ki · 3 months ago

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fuckboy!ni-ki x reader part ii

warnings : smut, nsfw, bullying, cursing, etc.

read part one

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki likes to give you gifts or something matching with him.

he loves spoiling you. small gifts, some things to match with him, or just something that made people notice you were his.

"are you really giving me this?" you asked, twisting the shining ring on your finger while lying on ni-ki's chest.

he pressed a quick kiss to your temple. "you don't like it?" he asked, a bit worried.

"i love it." you admitted, admiring how it caught the light. "i just look like i'm married." you laughed, holding up your hand next to his.

ni-ki grabbed your hand, flipping it over in his palm. "you're so small." he said, resisting the urge to squeeze just to see how fragile you felt. "love you." he kissed the back of your hand, his lips stayed there for a second longer than usual.

you smiled, heart fluttering... until he suddenly pressed your hand against his bulge.

"ahhh!" you yelped, pulling your hand back as he burst into laughter.

you shot him a glare but still couldn't help the small smile forming at your lips.

your boyfriend is so naughty.

ni-ki smirked. "so what if it makes you look like you're married?"

you sat up, crossing your arms. "i'm literally (your age)."

he raised his eyebrows as if to say, so? and?

rolling your eyes, you leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

sweet, generous, handsome… how did you get so lucky?

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki's girlfriend is being bullied.

the closer you got to ni-ki, the more others began to notice and... not all of the attention was positive.

it started small, just a comment here or a whisper there. few student would tease you, asking if you did some witchcraft, wondering aloud what someone like him saw in you.

it was easy to brush off and laugh it away with ni-ki by your side. girls rolled their eyes whenever you passed by, loudly commenting on how "desperate" you looked or how "out of his league" you were.

in class, notes with cruel messages were left on your desk, scribbled in handwriting you don't recognize. during lunch, someone will "accidentally" spill their drink to you and liquid will come splashing onto your bag.

you tried to hide how much it got to you but ni-ki wasn't stupid. he noticed the way you slightly flinch when someone laughed a little too loudly behind you or the forced smile you gave when you claimed you were fine.

one afternoon, as the two of you walked home, he finally brought it up. "baby, they're just jealous, you know?" he said casually wrapping his arms on your shoulders, hugging you from behind.

you removed his arm, trying to play dumb. "w- who?"

he stopped and turned to face you. "you know who. those idiots at school." his tone was calm but there was a slight of irritation in his voice.

you sighed, looking down at your feet. "it's not a big deal, ni-ki. i can handle it."

he frowned, taking a step closer. "you shouldn't have to. tell me who it is."

everyone.

you looked up at him, surprised by the seriousness in his tone. "i said it’s fine..."

"it's not, though." he replied. "just… don’t hide it from me, okay? if it gets worse, you have tell me right away."

you nodded reluctantly.

"i have to admit something though..."

you looked at him. "what's that?"

ni-ki sighed. "the girl behind us..." he paused. "be- before we got close, she liked me. but i didn't like her back, but i guess i… led her on a little."

you narrowed your eyes and ni-ki panicked. "we didn't do anything! i promise." he smiled and chuckled nervously. "i didn't realize how serious she was until it was too late, i guess."

you sighed and wrapping your arms on his waist. "thanks for letting me know and it's okay, i love you."

ni-ki cupped your face before kissing you. "i love you, too."

the bullying didn't stop and to your dismay, it started affecting ni-ki too. it wasn't obvious before, just small petty things but soon you started noticing it too. people would switch his test papers, putting nonsense answers and making it seem like he hadn't done his work.

you even saw it happen during a class one day. someone snickered as they slid his paper to the bottom of the pile, replacing it with a blank sheet. your heart sank when the teacher handed it back, a bold zero marked at the top.

ni-ki didn't seem fazed, though. he calmly explained the situation, the teachers believed him of course and gave him another chance to take the tests.

he also had some people investigated, he got some help collecting evidence to prove what they're doing and make them take accountability for their actions.

honestly, he wouldn't care at all. but he has you now and he won't let you get hurt even more just because of him.

such a cool guy.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki loves your mouth.

it was obvious in the way his eyes stared at it whenever you spoke, how he'd watch your lips move like he was barely listening to a word you were saying.

"you talk too much," he said, thumb tracing your lower lip as he leaned in.

you rolled your eyes. "then stop making me talk."

he chuckled, thumb slipping into your mouth just enough to press against your tongue. "what if i just keep your mouth busy instead?"

he loved teasing you. pulling your lip between his teeth, running his thumb across it, and watch you get flustered.

he'd stare whenever you absentmindedly bit your lip, waiting for the moment you noticed him watching.

the way he reacted when you licked something off your fingers?

"you're doing that on purpose, aren't you" his voice was always rougher then, his eyes locked on your lips like he was seconds away from losing control.

you smirked. "doing what?"

it doesn't matter if you were just eating ice cream, drinking from a straw, or just licking your lips because they were dry... he'd make it a thing.

he devoured your lips, pressing hard, stealing every little sound you made. his hands always found your jaw, keeping you still, deepening the kiss like he needed to 'cause he's been starving for you.

then he would pull back to admire the way your lips were swollen, glossy from his kisses, "so pretty," he whispered, "i think i'll keep going."

ni-ki never wants to let it stay innocent.

he groaned, voice rough. "fuck, baby… i just wanna put it in your mouth."

you couldn't help the blush creeping onto your cheeks, feeling him already hard beneath his pants.

"tsk, you're so impatient." you teased, slowly unzipping his jeans. "don't you want to watch the rest of the movie first?"

"no... fuck that movie." he panted, his fingers tucking the strands of your hair behind your ears.

he needs that pretty mouth on his cock like, right now.

chuckling, you pulled out his generous length, ni-ki watched you spit out your saliva, where it dripped down on his cock, you gave it a long, slow lick from base to tip.

he hissed, head falling back against the couch.

you didn't even know how to give blowjobs before, you just took your time experimenting until he says "just like that" and now suddenly you just might be an expert already.

you kept sucking at the head, tracing the thick vein underneath. you enveloped him in your mouth, heart pounding at his rich, masculine taste.

ni-ki let out a strangled noise, his fingers tangling in your hair.

you relaxed your throat and sank lower until his cock hit the back. his hips jerked up, forcing you to take him even deeper.

and even though you're gagging and there's tears forming at your eyes, you didn't stop, you kept bobbing your head in his lap.

and to ni-ki you're gorgeous like this... your lips stretched around his big dick. bet the neighbors could hear you gagging as he really fucked on your face.

you moaned, sending sweet vibrations through his shaft, swirling your tongue as you picked up the pace.

ni-ki panted harshly, his abs were clenching.

"shit, i'm already close..." he said, eyes rolling at the back of his head.

you gently played with his balls and with a few more quick sucking and thrusts, he reached his climax, spurting jets of hot seed down your throat.

you swallowed it all, not letting a single drop escape so ni-ki wouldn't complain.

and as he came down from his high, ni-ki pulled you close for a kiss, his tongue roamed into your mouth then he groaned in approval. "i'm a lucky bastard. right?"

you smirked against his lips, then he laughed breathlessly. his cock already starting to stir again.

"can you sit on my face?"

✶ boyfriend!ni-ki is no doubt protective.

ni-ki leaves to order food at a small café, leaving you seated at a table by yourself. and while he's away, someone approaches and starts hitting on you.

he returned to the table holding a tray, his eyes immediately caught the unfamiliar figure leaning close to you. his relaxed expression hardens as he watches you visibly uncomfortable, trying to politely brush off their advances.

he calmly approached them, his height and presence alone was enough to make the stranger falter, stepping between you and the person, his hand held the back of your chair. "you need something from my girlfriend?"

the stranger stammers, "oh, i didn't know-"

"now you do?" ni-ki cuts in, eyes narrowing slightly. he wasn't loud but it is enough to make it clear that they should back off.

"you okay? did they say anything weird?"

and when you assured him you're fine, he clicked his tongue, annoyed. "can't even leave you for five minutes without someone trying something."

you looked at him in disbelief. "now you know how it feels when i'm with you!"

he just smiled smugly and sipped on his drink.

✶ boyfriend!ni-ki is cute when upset.

you didn't text him back all day and he was NOT happy about it.

now, standing in front of him, you could feel his disappointment. his arms were crossed and his lips were slightly pouting like a duck...

"oh, come on… you're not actually mad, are you?" you sighed, reaching out to touch his arm but he moved away, making a show of it.

"dunno," he muttered, "guess i just thought my girlfriend would care enough to answer me."

you blinked. "ni-ki, i was busy..."

"yeah, i know, busy ignoring me." he shot back, still refusing to look at you.

you groaned, stepping closer, "babyyyy, don't be like this."

nothing. not even a glance. he was really milking this.

so, naturally, you had to step up your game.

you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his chest. "ni-kiii, i said sorryyy!"

silence.

you looked up at him, blinking sweetly. "please, forgive me?"

ni-ki exhaled, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. but stop, he wasn't going to let you off that easily.

"you're not convincing me enough." he sighed, still acting all moody.

you smiled, tiptoeing to kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then his lips...

"better?" you whispered, smiling against his skin.

his hands finally found your waist, pulling you in closer. "hmm… getting there."

you rolled your eyes but kissed him properly this time, slow and sweet, his grip tightening as he finally gave in.

and when you pulled away, he pouted at you. "you know you could've just texted me back saying you're busy, right?"

"yeah, but then i wouldn't get to do all this." you teased, wrapping your arms around his neck.

ni-ki grinned. "damn… i should get mad at you more often, huh?"

a/n: hello, read part one

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

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novascharms · 4 months ago

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no thoughts, just rafe eating his study-till-i-drop girlfriend out to help her destress :)

the gentle knock on your door barely registers. "mom, i'll eat later tonight," you call out, voice clipped but trying to stay calm. it’s the third time you’ve said it, and the second you hear the door open, frustration prickles at your already frazzled nerves.

except it’s not your mom—it’s rafe. he stands in the doorway with his gym bag slung over one shoulder. “later tonight, huh?” he murmurs, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. with a gentle thud, he drops the bag just outside your door and steps inside, nudging the door shut behind him with his foot.

for a moment, your stress falters. the weight in your chest shifts, replaced by something lighter—relief, maybe even the hint of a smile. but it’s fleeting. you shake it off, glancing back at your biology book. “i have a lot to do,” you mutter, your tone softening despite yourself. “how was practice?”

he doesn’t answer immediately, just walks over to your bed, sits down, and kicks off his shoes. when he finally speaks, it’s in that low, casual drawl of his. “sweaty.”

you glance up and notice it now—his slightly damp hair curling at the ends, the faint sheen still clinging to his skin, and the subtle, clean scent of soap that lingers between you.

when you don’t respond, his brows pull together slightly, and he shuffles closer to you. instinctively, you tuck your knees to your chest, resting the weight of your textbook on your thighs to give him space.

“you should eat,” he says, his voice quieter now, laced with something tender. “you’ve been at this all day.”

he’s probably right, but the thought of pausing—of stepping away when you’re so far from finished—feels impossible. your pen moves almost mindlessly across the page as you scribble out another note, your lips parting to respond. but before you can, your notebook is snatched from your lap in one smooth, effortless motion.

“rafe,” you snap, reaching for it immediately. he holds it just out of reach, his grin soft but teasing.

“rafe, i’m not joking,” you warn, leaning forward. before you can try again, his lips meet yours, cutting off your protests with a kiss.

“you’re gonna burn out,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tone gentle but firm.

you pull back slightly, just enough to glare at him, though the frown on your face is more instinct than true frustration. “you haven’t even seen me during exams,” you mutter, the memory of those sleepless, frantic weeks flashing briefly in your mind.

“not looking forward to that,” he says with a quiet chuckle, still pressing faint, featherlight kisses to your lips.

you don’t stop him this time. instead, you find yourself watching him—watching the way his face softens as he leans into you, the way his eyes flicker between yours and your lips, the way his touch feels so deliberate, so careful.

“want me to help you destress?” he asks softly, his voice low and warm.

you blink at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “help me… destress? how?”

his hands trail down your legs, his touch light and teasing. “you had tights on this morning,” he notes, almost absentmindedly.

you nod slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “they weren’t staying up… i took them off.”

his gaze lowers, and before you fully register what’s happening, his hands are gently parting your legs. your breath hitches as the air shifts between you.

he starts slowly, pressing soft, lingering kisses to your thigh, his lips warm against your skin. you let out a deep, shaky sigh—a sound that seems to rise from an exhaustion you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. each kiss feels deliberate, a quiet offering of care and something deeper, something unspoken.

he works his way lower, inch by inch, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your thighs until he pauses. his eyes lift to meet yours, and his voice comes soft, almost reverent. “can i?”

you nod, breathless, unable to form words. the need simmering in his gaze feels like it could burn right through you, and the anticipation makes your skin hum, every nerve alive and aching for his touch.

his eyes drift down to your cunt that you know is drenched right now, before he’s even done something and the thought of him having you this undone before he’s even touched you is really sad.

when he tugs on the sides of your panties, you freeze for a moment—quiet realization of what’s about to happen and for a second, you’re afraid, afraid of something this new. his gentle eyes are immediately finding yours. “you trust me?” he asks and you know the answer is yes because you say yes without even thinking about it.

“good cause i won’t hurt you, sweetheart..” he’s lightly tugging on your panties, pulling them over your legs until they’re at your ankles and then he’s tossing them to the side. they’re simple white cotton ones and you find yourself wishing you atleast had those sexy, lacy ones.

“you promise?”

“cross my heart,”

he’s properly buried between your thighs now and the first lick along your folds has you gasping and fisting your freshly washed sheets. “you’ve got the prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen, baby..” when his tongue flicks against your drenched cunt, you let out a moan that is downright embarrassingly loud. before the noise can travel, rafe’s hand is flying to cover your mouth and you’re left muffling against his palm.

“as much as i’m dying to hear you moan my name, that’s a risk we can’t take right now, hm?” he murmurs and you assume that’s a sign that he’d go easy on you, you assume that since your parents are currently two floors below you and rafe cares about what they think, he wouldn’t go overboard.

you assume wrong.

“rafe!” you cry out against his palm, head tilting back as he shoves his tongue between your lips. your back is arching off the bed as your one hand holds onto his wrist that’s covering your mouth while the other is gripping rafe’s hair for dear life.

you were completely under the impression that the way his tongue was kissing and flicking your hole and folds was the pinnacle of all of this and you could imagine yourself cumming from just that in the next five minutes.

but then he’s licking from your hole to your clit and the moment his tongue makes first contact with your clit, your eyes fly open and your brain goes completely fuzzy.

“that’s it, baby, lemme make you feel good..” he’s muttering, mouth still right on your clit and you can hardly focus on his words, can hardly focus on much else but the pleasure that seems to be intensifying with every second that passes, “p-please..! i’m..i—“ you’re stuttering, eyes glossy in this almost fucked out state and you’re not even sure what you’re trying to say, what you want. you want something, need something.

“i’ll take care of you. i got you, babygirl.” you want to move, want to push against his mouth or push your hand against the back of his head to pull him in but your body feels too weak. all you can do is let out these muffled, shaky cries against rafe’s palms as he ate you out like it was his very last meal.

your whole body is trembling, a thin sheen of glistening sweat covers your forehead and you swear you can see stars right on the ceiling of your bedroom. rafe’s tongue is relentless, tirelessly lapping and licking at your clit, sucking it into his mouth and you’re losing focus, can’t think straight anymore. your eyes are rolling back as you attempt to push your mound against his lips.

you shudder when the pleasure only intensifies, “gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” rafe’s murmuring against your clit and you’re nodding frantically, “mhm! m’ gonna cum…gonna c-cum..!” you know it’s coming, can feel something pushing against you, pushing you over the edge and you’re about to spill.

rafe doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow, just devours you no matter how hard you’re pulling on his hair because you’re about to cum and it’s gonna be all over him and the humiliation of that would kill you.

“rafe! s’ too much!” you gasp and somehow, rafe knows just what to do, just which way to flick his tongue because not a moment later, your toes are curling, fingers tightening in his hair, back arching off your sheets and you’re coming all over his face, slick gushing out as you cry so loud he has to stuff your mouth with his fingers to keep you quiet.

he only removes his fingers after a second and then he’s rising up from between your legs while you lay there, head on your pillow, in this almost dream-like state, trying to catch your breath.

“all good?” his voice is soft, slightly out of breath but steady compared to your shallow pants. you nod, still catching your breath, as he leans over and grabs a tissue from the box on your nightstand. his movements are slow, careful as he cleans you both up, the gentle press of the tissue against your skin making you hyperaware of the moment.

it’s only when you shift slightly that your eyes flicker downward, catching the unmistakable bulge in his sweats. a rush of heat floods your cheeks, and you sit up slowly, your movements hesitant. “you—”

he follows your gaze and shakes his head immediately, cutting off your words before you can finish. “nah, don’t worry about me,” he says, his tone easy but resolute. he leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips grounding you even as your thoughts spin.

still, your eyes drift back to him, lingering a second too long. the idea settles in your chest, insistent and new, and before you can second-guess yourself, your hand starts to reach for him.

he catches your wrist gently but firmly, halting you in place. “no.” his voice is low, the single word laced with finality. his thumb brushes against the delicate skin of your wrist as he holds it, his gaze steady on yours. “go eat.”

you blink up at him, torn between frustration and a quiet determination. “i want to help you,” you murmur, your voice soft but unwavering, the words carrying more weight than you intended. your eyes meet his, defiant, even as your pulse races.

he exhales a small laugh, tilting his head until his forehead rests against yours. his lips brush yours, featherlight, a whisper of contact that leaves you yearning for more. “not today,” he says softly, his voice dropping to a near murmur. “go eat.”

his words leave no room for argument, but the tenderness in his tone eases the sting of his refusal. reluctantly, you shift off the bed, your legs unsteady as you make your way toward the door.

snippet from 'teach please me' series.

#teach me #novawrites #rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe smut

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leona-hawthorne · 6 months ago

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LEONA-HAWTHORNE’S FICMAS

december 4th. theodore nott — kiss it better.

theodore nott x fem reader

summary ; he doesn’t mind using extreme measures to get you to put your lips on his. word count ; 2.6k warnings ; fluff, kissing, mentions of blood

navigation ficmas masterlist

Theodore never quite knew what to do with the attention you gave him.

There you were, sitting across from him in the library, your hair falling forward as you scribbled down notes, lost in thought. He should’ve been focused on his own work, on the potions essay that was due tomorrow, but he couldn’t help himself. His gaze kept drifting back to you. Every time your quill scratched the parchment or your lips pressed together in concentration, his chest tightened. You had a way of drawing him in, pulling him closer with every small, unconscious movement.

It wasn’t like he’d never noticed you before. You had always been part of the group, hovering on the edges of conversations, offering sharp comments when the boys got too ridiculous, but you never quite entered Theo’s orbit like this. Now, though? Now, he was starting to realize that he’d been wrong to overlook you. You were too… soft. Too gentle in a world that had taught him to be hard, distant. It made him feel things he wasn’t used to feeling.

Then it happened—something so small, so insignificant that it shouldn’t have left a mark on him, but it did.

A paper cut.

He didn’t even flinch as the thin slice formed on his finger while rifling through his notes. Theo muttered a low curse under his breath, instinctively moving to press his thumb against it, but before he could do anything, you noticed.

“You okay?” you asked, your voice warm, as though you had known him for ages.

Theo blinked, unsure why you were even asking. “Just a paper cut.”

A small smile tugged at your lips as you set your quill down and leaned forward. “Want me to kiss it and make it feel better?”

For a split second, he thought you were joking. He stared at you, unsure how to respond. That wasn’t the kind of offer people made to him. Kisses didn’t fix anything—not the way his childhood had been, not the way life worked now. But the way you looked at him, playful yet sincere, made something stir in his chest.

“That works?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

You laughed lightly, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Sure it does. My mom used to do it for me when I was little. Worked like a charm.”

The mention of your mom caught him off guard. His own memories of his mother were hazy, distant, like an old photograph left out in the sun for too long. He couldn’t remember if she had ever kissed his cuts, couldn’t remember if anyone had ever cared for him like that. Affection had always been scarce in the Nott household. His mother had been gone for a long time, and the little acts of tenderness you described had died with her.

You stood and walked around the table. He didn’t know why he didn’t stop you, didn’t say something sarcastic or brush it off.

“It’s no big deal,” he muttered, trying to pull his hand away, but you held it gently, your fingers warm against his.

“Let me see,” you said softly, and he couldn’t find it in himself to argue. He held his breath as you leaned down, your lips brushing over his finger in the softest kiss. The contact was fleeting, a whisper of warmth, but it sent his mind reeling. He didn’t understand why something so simple, so childlike, could make him feel… different.

“There,” you said, your voice light as you pulled back. “All better.”

He could only stare at you, his throat suddenly tight. “Yeah… thanks.”

You smiled, returning to your seat like nothing had happened, like you hadn’t just unknowingly changed something in him. Theo’s gaze lingered on you, the phantom of your lips still tingling on his skin. He didn’t know how to process it. No one had ever looked at him that way, treated him that way.

But he knew one thing for sure—he wanted to feel that again.

The next day, Theo’s mind was still replaying that moment, over and over. It had awakened something inside him, something that ached for more, and before he knew it, he found himself searching for a way to feel it again. This time, though, he didn’t want a kiss on the hand. He wanted more.

Theo found Draco leaning against one of the stone walls outside. He approached him with a strange sort of determination, one that was equal parts reckless and desperate. Draco raised an eyebrow when he saw Theo approaching.

“Need something, Nott?” Draco drawled, clearly amused by the look on Theo’s face.

Theo didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Punch me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Draco blinked, clearly taken aback. “What?”

“I need you to punch me,” Theo repeated, his voice steady despite the absurdity of the request.

“Alright, gladly, but why?”

Theo swallowed, his throat dry. He knew it was ridiculous, that this whole plan was absurd, but he needed this to happen. He needed you to kiss him again, to care again. "Just... trust me. I need a bruise, a cut, something that’ll make her—” He cut himself off, his face heating up.

Draco’s smirk only widened, a glint of realization flashing in his eyes. “Ah. Her.” He stood up straighter, clearly intrigued. “So, you’re finally doing something about it. You want me to punch you so she’ll fuss over you. Clever.”

“Just do it, will you?” Theo muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck.

Draco shrugged, but there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “If you insist.” Without further warning, Draco’s fist came flying toward Theo’s face. He didn’t hold back either—Theo barely had time to register the motion before pain exploded in his mouth.

He stumbled backward, his hand flying to his lip. Blood welled up immediately, the sharp sting spreading across his jaw.

“Merlin’s beard,” Theo muttered, his vision momentarily swimming. “I said punch me, not break my damn face.”

Draco stepped back, grinning like he had just done Theo the biggest favor in the world. “There. You’re welcome.”

Theo wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, already thinking about what would come next. He didn’t care about the pain. He didn’t care about anything except the idea of you seeing him like this—hurt, vulnerable—and caring for him again.

He found you in the common room later that day, sitting in your usual spot near the fireplace. You didn’t see him at first—too absorbed in the book you were reading, a small frown of concentration on your face.

Theo hesitated for a second, suddenly feeling nervous. What if this was a mistake? What if you didn’t react the way he hoped?

But then you looked up, and your eyes immediately widened in shock as you took in the sight of him—blood smeared on his lip, a fresh bruise forming on his jaw.

“Theo!” you gasped, your book forgotten as you rushed over to him. “What happened? Are you okay?”

He tried to shrug it off, leaning casually against the arm of the couch, though the pain in his mouth made it hard to play it cool. “Got into a fight. No big deal.”

You didn’t look convinced. Your fingers hovered near his face, concern etched into your features. “Does it hurt?”

Theo could feel his heart pounding, his mouth dry as the moment he’d been waiting for arrived. His voice was lower than he intended as he muttered, “A little… are you… are you not gonna kiss it better?”

Your expression softened, that same playful smile from the day before returning. “Again, huh?”

You leaned in, your eyes flicking to his lips, and Theo’s pulse quickened. When your lips brushed his, it was soft, cautious, but this time there was something more to it—something that made the ache in his lip completely disappear.

And just like that, Theo knew he was done for.

Your lips lingered for a moment longer than necessary, and it was enough to set Theo’s blood humming. The softness of your touch felt like a balm, not just for the bruise but for something deeper—something buried in the recesses of his mind that he didn’t want to examine too closely.

When you pulled back, your gaze met his, a flicker of something unreadable crossing your face. Concern? Amusement? Theo couldn’t tell. But what he did know was that he didn’t want that moment to end. Not yet.

"You really need to stop getting into fights," you murmured, shaking your head with a small, exasperated smile. "What were you even thinking?"

Theo almost laughed at the irony. He couldn’t very well tell you the truth—that the whole thing had been orchestrated just for this. Just for the briefest chance to feel your lips on his.

Instead, he shrugged, playing it off. "You know how it is. Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t mix well."

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness behind it, something that made Theo’s chest tighten in that unfamiliar way again. “One of these days, you’re going to get yourself hurt for real, and then I won’t be able to kiss it better.”

That sent a jolt of warmth through him, stronger than the pain in his lip. He let the silence stretch between you for a moment, watching as you shifted nervously under his gaze.

"Maybe," he said slowly, his voice low, "I just like the way you kiss me."

Your eyes widened slightly at that, a faint blush creeping across your cheeks. Theo smirked inwardly, relishing the way his words seemed to fluster you. You always had a quick response for everything, but now you were quiet, your lips parting as though you weren’t sure what to say.

“I—” you started, your voice trailing off as you looked down at your hands.

Theo’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to reach out, to grab your wrist and pull you back in, to kiss you again but for real this time—not as some excuse to soothe a bruise or a cut.

Before you could speak, a voice cut through the tension like a knife.

“Well, look at you two,” Draco drawled as he strolled into the common room, clearly interrupting something he knew full well was important. “What did I say, Nott? You’re welcome, by the way.”

Theo shot Draco a glare, a deep scowl crossing his face. Of course he had to show up now, just when things were starting to move in the direction he wanted.

You, however, looked between them, confusion evident on your face. “What’s he talking about?”

Before Theo could respond, Draco answered for him, leaning casually against the wall with that insufferable grin. “Oh, nothing. Just that Nott here got himself punched on purpose. Quite the romantic, isn’t he?”

Theo’s heart dropped. He glared at Draco, fury bubbling up in his chest. “Shut it, Malfoy.”

But it was too late. You were already staring at Theo, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Wait… what?”

Theo tried to backtrack, scrambling for some sort of excuse, but he wasn’t fast enough. You took a step back, your brows furrowed in confusion as realization slowly dawned on you.

"You… you let someone punch you just so I’d…?"

The color drained from Theo’s face as he saw the pieces falling into place in your mind.

“I—” he began, his voice unsteady, “It’s not like that.”

You crossed your arms, staring at him like you were trying to decide whether to be angry, amused, or something in between. “Theo, what the hell were you thinking?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I just… I wanted—” He cut himself off again, feeling ridiculous. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

But you were still looking at him, waiting for an answer, and the weight of your gaze was too much to bear.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” Theo muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your expression softened, the confusion giving way to something else—something gentler. You uncrossed your arms and took a step closer, your eyes searching his face.

"You could’ve just asked," you said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.

Theo blinked, thrown off by your reaction. He had expected you to be angry, maybe even laugh and walk away. But there you were, looking at him with something that felt dangerously close to fondness.

“You… wouldn’t have laughed at me?” he asked, his voice rough with uncertainty.

You shook your head, your smile growing. “No, Theo. I wouldn’t have laughed.”

Theo didn’t know what to say to that. For a long moment, he just stood there, staring at you, the words dying in his throat. He felt foolish, standing in front of you like this, bruised and vulnerable, all because he didn’t know how to ask for something he wanted so badly.

But then you reached out, your hand gently brushing against his bruised lip again, and all the embarrassment, all the uncertainty melted away.

“If you wanted me to kiss you,” you murmured, stepping even closer, “all you had to do was say so.”

When your lips finally met his, it wasn’t like before. This wasn’t a kiss to make anything better. This was a kiss because you both wanted it.

Theo’s hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. You responded instantly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him, and Theo felt like he was drowning, lost in the feel of you, in the way you kissed him like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together. “Yeah, I still don’t regret anything,” he muttered.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips again. “Next time, just ask, Theo. No more getting hurt.”

Theo nodded, his heart still racing as he held you close, a grin tugging at his lips. “Deal.”

ficmas taglist: @winnie1emon @ur-local-wizard @satosugu4-ever @ankoluvs @superstargirll @slytherin-princess-x @abeoavita @mattheoriddle101 @georgiastars13 @smoooore @mattheoriddles-sluttt @2dloveshp @mattysprincess @catching-fire-in-the-wind

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niceutossu · 6 months ago

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Serious | Oikawa x Reader

Oikawa doesn’t want to get married until you get hurt and he can’t see you. “Family only,” the nurse tells him coldly. And he tries his best to charm his way through, joking about how you two were even closer than family but the worker doesn’t budge.

“Only blood relatives?” He asks, despite knowing the answer himself.

“Or spouse.” The woman replied, avoiding eye contact as she scribbled down important information and continued ignoring his existence.

“I’m practically-“ Before he could finish, he stopped at the sight of her hand raising.

“Are you legally married?” She interjected, clearly having gone through this conversation dozens of times before. Oikawa couldn’t even blame her for the annoyance, as much as he couldn’t blame himself for trying.

“No.” He says dejectedly, shoulders falling with a deep sigh.

“Then please just wait until actual family gets here.” She states, motioning towards the waiting room as he did his best not to scowl.

Instead, he offered her a forced but friendly smile, retreating towards the uncomfortable hospital chairs. As he sat down the plastic squeaked: loud and jarring, and he grimaced. There was no point in arguing but it didn’t ease the nervousness crawling under his skin. How long had you been here? How long before he could see you? He began tapping his foot restlessly, only serving to amplify the ache in his chest.

You two were family, practically at least. You both lived together. You shared meals, inside jokes, and the kind of silence that only happens between people who really get each other. He knew how you liked your tea, the temperature you liked to have bath drawn to. Was that not family-like?

He clenched his hands, feeling his fingernails dig into his palms as memories started to surface, further sharpening the ache. He’d never bothered to bring up marriage, and you never asked. You both knew—knew what being a pro-athlete entailed. Time off spent planning was time he lost playing. He thought he had made it clear he was still yours and you were his. But now, as he sits helplessly outside your hospital room, he regrets never saying anything.

If you were really his he’d be able to see you, and if he was really yours then he’d be willing to settle down and take things seriously. He feels himself cringe as he remembers similar words Iwaizumi had spoken to him the night you two had first met.

After introductions and hours of chatting, the three of you finally settled into a comfortable rhythm. You and Iwaizumi were a surprise match—though Oikawa teased that it shouldn’t be that surprising given that he had good taste, earning him a synchronized glare from the two of you.

He felt his heart flip in his chest—he really did have good taste (and maybe a type). Later, during a moment of quiet, Oikawa excused himself to the bathroom. When he returned, he found the two of you sitting in a mutual silence.

“Hey I was gone for just a second now, what happened to all the good times?” He joked, his signature smirk only lasting a moment before being startled by the sound of the restaurant staff singing happy birthday behind him.

Turning around, he watched as they brought out a small cake with candles. His name written out in chocolate syrup and topped off with powdered sugar in the shape of his jersey number.

“I told her you weren’t worth it but she insisted.” Iwaizumi deadpanned, but the softness in his eyes betrayed him. Oikawa felt a lump form in his throat at the sight of your warm smile. The glow from the candles were nothing compared to the light in your eyes when you looked at him.

“Happy birthday Tooru.” You spoke gently, contrasting the loud cheers behind him. He felt a weird weakness wash over him, one that scared him more than the surprise singing.

You’d already celebrated with him that morning—and afternoon. He’d never thought you’d extend it to dinner. He was known to be a dramatic guy, extravagant even, but being celebrated for those things felt foreign.

Later, as you took a call nearby and he and Iwaizumi argued over the bill, his friend placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi asked, his voice softer than usual, “you’re serious about this, right?” He didn’t need to specify; his question hung in the air, pressing gently but firmly on Oikawa’s usual bravado.

Caught off guard, Oikawa searched for a lighthearted response, but Iwaizumi’s hand didn’t move. He hesitated, then admitted quietly, “I’ve never been celebrated like this before.” He felt small under the weight of his best friend’s discerning gaze.

In all his previous relationships, he had failed to feel true intimacy, always keeping partners at an arms-length. He thought your relationship would be no different, that it’d still be on his terms albeit a bit toxic.

Except it was not like that at all.

You were like a whirlwind in his life, at first catching him off guard but now helping him build solid foundations. Between the two of you, he was definitely more needy. In the past, he would’ve said it was the other way around but you had your own undeniable magnetism. Anyone with eyes would be sure to see it too, and see right through him at the same time.

The feminine niceties he thought he had grown accustomed to had him giddy and unable to keep his hands off you. Everything you did had his heart racing and for the first time in his life, he was nervous to lose someone.

His suave streak had been brutally ended by your presence alone, having made him feel like he was worth loving again and again without even knowing. His own sweet and cheeky angel.

“If it feels good, then take it seriously.” Iwaizumi replied, his words simple but earnest. Before Oikawa could respond, you returned, bringing back your carefree nature he always craved, the same one he was starting to feel like he didn’t deserve.

Despite it being his birthday, despite feeling a certain question rise behind the heaviness in his throat after his exchange with Iwaizumi, he stayed quiet. He could’ve at least made a joke about it then, but he didn’t.

He’d told himself he was taking it, you, seriously—that you would understand without him saying it out loud. You knew him and he knew you, was that not enough? Maybe not to Iwaizumi, who also knew him maybe a bit better than he knew himself sometimes. The thought of losing you the same way he’d lost others left a knot in his stomach.

He had tried to ignore this truth: that you meant something more—not just to him, but to the people he loved. Yet every now and then, there would be reminders of just how deeply you’d embedded yourself into his life.

He started to reminisce on how he’d found out how you kept visiting his nephew after he’d left for Argentina. He’d received a photo out of the blue: you and Takeru, cheek-to-cheek, grinning at the zoo. His younger self would’ve called it impossible—Takeru, in a picture? Smiling? But there it was.

He quickly replied back with a like to the photo and a teasing message along the lines of ‘huh why what’. He’d barely hit send before you replied with another picture. This time it was of you and his older sister pressed cheek to cheek, her eyes shining with the same warmth he felt every time he looked at you.

“Sponsored trip by my favorite Oikawa <3,” you’d written.

As much as he wanted to text back a cheeky remark he felt himself falter, too focused on the way his sisters eyes shined with the same affection he felt for you. It made him feel a little funny, a little weak. The same way he felt when Iwaizumi prodded him. This was family and something else he couldn’t name quite yet.

Without even thinking he called you, needing to hear your voice and feel like he was there with you (and, of course, remind you that he’s your favorite). He’d kept his tone light, playful. But there’d been a weight in his chest, the same question hovering unasked. He knew you could tell in the way you asked him things, lingered onto his replies as if to find some deeper meaning.

Again, he could have asked. He could have made you family in name as well as in his heart, so many times. Except now, that same question haunted him, and he wasn’t sure he even deserved to ask anymore.

He shook his head as if to rid himself of any more good memories, not allowing himself to relish in you with all the regret that gnawed at him. He was so good at not biting his tongue except when it came to things that mattered. Because nothing was serious to Oikawa until it was, for better or for worse.

And he didn’t know exactly when you had become serious to him, but you had. He felt a tremor pass through him at the thought of seeing you look anything less than alive. Or not being able to make you laugh when you come home sullen anymore.

He moved around restlessly at that thought of not seeing you again. It felt wrong—horribly wrong. He took in a deep breath to calm his ragged nerves. He would see you again, even if it meant seeing you at your worst.

You had seen him at his most selfish and prideful and yet, you still reached out to him, unafraid. He wanted, no, needed to show you that he loved every single part of you the same, no matter how overwhelming because no one could be as much as he is sometimes.

All the relationships he had in high school, college, and the flings in-between had felt so stifling. The thought of making a legal commitment had always made Oikawa’s skin crawl. Except now, sitting under the sterile white lights and thinking of just how much you meant to him feels even more suffocating. You weren’t a high school girl or a fling, you were you.

And then the realization hits him hard: maybe he does wants all of it, as long as it’s with you—the highs, the lows, the commitment he once ran from. For there to never be any more regrets, to love and to cherish, all of it as long as it was with you.

But what if he was too late again?

“Tooru?” The soft sound of your voice pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. His head snaps up, eyes wide as he sees you standing there, in a hospital gown, looking a bit pale but alive. Your face is a little worn, eyes sunken in but you’re still here. You’re still you. Relief floods him, so overwhelming he barely notices the creak of the plastic chair as he rises, taking long and purposeful strides towards you.

If it feels good then take it seriously.

He stands in front of you for a moment, not knowing where to place his hands as familiar words gather in his throat the way they had so many times before. Except he doesn’t let himself hold back—not this time. He’d held onto these words for too long, out of fear or pride, whatever it was, it didn’t matter now.

Everything is clear as he sinks down on one knee, eyes locked on yours as he finally gives in to what he’s always wanted: you.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #oikawa tooru #oikawa x reader #hq oikawa #oikawa fluff #did I cook if so pls leave reviews #oikawa angst #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu iwaizumi #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa x y/n #niceutossu

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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

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Not just a work crush || L.Jihoon (Woozi)

Pairing: Woozi (Lee Jihoon) x Reader (Single Mom!Staff)

Warnings: Mentions of exhaustion| past heartbreak {not with woozi} | workplace struggles | protective Woozi | fluff overload | slow burn | single parent struggle | petnames {zi, zizi, munchkin, sweetheart, baby} | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE. Trope: Secret Single Mom | Found Family | Slow Burn to Love Word Count: 6268 words ; Reading Time: 23 mins-ish Synopsis: You’ve spent years keeping your biggest secret—your daughter—hidden from your work life. As a dedicated staff member for SEVENTEEN, exhaustion is second nature, but Woozi starts noticing. When he stumbles upon a picture of your daughter, everything clicks. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t pry—he just starts showing up. In quiet moments, in unspoken gestures, in the way your little girl calls him "Zizi" before you can even admit what’s happening. Author’s Note: This is a soft, slow-burn story about love that sneaks up on you, about finding a home in unexpected places, and about a tiny human who unknowingly sets everything into motion. Expect protective Woozi, adorable child moments, and fluff that will melt your heart. Requests are open!!

The studio, usually a vibrant hub of creative energy, was shrouded in a hushed, almost reverent stillness. The digital displays on the mixing consoles cast faint, flickering lights, painting the room in a spectrum of soft blues and greens. The air, thick with the lingering scent of electronic equipment and late-night coffee, seemed to vibrate with a quiet intensity. You, however, were oblivious to the subtle symphony of the space, lost in the depths of a weariness that permeated your very bones.

The day had been a relentless marathon, a blur of back-to-back meetings, urgent phone calls, and the constant, gnawing pressure to maintain a semblance of order amidst the chaos of the entertainment industry. Each task, each demand, had chipped away at your reserves, leaving you feeling stretched thin and utterly drained. Yet, the thought of your daughter, her bright, innocent eyes and infectious laughter, had provided a fragile anchor, a reminder of the purpose that fueled your every move.

Your fingers, calloused and weary from hours of typing and scribbling, lay still on the scattered papers before you. The tour schedules, the promotional plans, the endless stream of logistical details blurred into an indistinguishable mass, reflecting the fog that had settled over your mind. Your eyelids, heavy as lead, fluttered closed, and your head, aching with a dull, throbbing rhythm, finally succumbed to the irresistible pull of exhaustion. The cool, smooth surface of the desk offered a momentary respite, a fleeting sanctuary from the relentless demands of your life.

The silence of the studio was broken only by the low hum of the ventilation system and the distant, muffled sounds of the city, a symphony of urban life that usually went unnoticed. Tonight, however, the quiet hum became a soothing drone, a lullaby that gently coaxed you into a state of semi-consciousness.

Woozi, drawn back to the studio by the nagging feeling of an unfinished task, entered the room with his usual quiet precision. He expected to find you immersed in your work, a whirlwind of focused energy, your brow furrowed in concentration as you navigated the complexities of the group’s schedule. He had a half-formed, wry comment ready, a playful jab about your legendary work ethic.

But the scene that unfolded before him was a stark contrast to his expectations. He found you motionless, your head resting on the desk, your breath soft and steady. A flicker of concern, a rare and unfamiliar sensation, stirred within him. He approached with cautious steps, his movements as silent as the shadows that danced across the room.

He paused, his gaze lingering on your peaceful expression. There was a vulnerability in your stillness, a quiet fragility that he had never witnessed before. It was a stark reminder of the human beneath the ever-efficient professional. Then, the soft glow of your phone illuminated the darkness, pulling his attention to the image displayed on the lock screen.

The face of a young girl, her eyes wide with a curious innocence, stared back at him. The resemblance was undeniable, a striking echo of your own features. The same delicate curve of the cheek, the same determined set of the jaw, the same spark of intelligence in the eyes. A realization, sharp and sudden, pierced through his thoughts, illuminating a hidden dimension of your life.

He sank into the chair opposite you, his gaze fixed on the glowing screen, his mind reeling with the implications of this unexpected discovery. The pieces of the puzzle, the hurried exits, the late-night phone calls, the subtle weariness that clung to you like a shadow, finally fell into place. He remembered the faint, almost imperceptible tremor in your voice when you spoke of deadlines and responsibilities, the way your eyes held a depth of unspoken emotion.

He thought about the tiny jackets he had seen you quickly hide into a bag, and the small snacks that you had hidden in your desk drawer. He thought about the small drawings that sometimes were left on your desk, that he had thought were just random sketches.

His fingers hovered over your phone, a silent temptation to delve deeper into this hidden world. But a sense of respect, a quiet understanding of the boundaries you had erected, held him back. This was your story, your secret, a part of your life that you had chosen to keep private.

He sat there, in the quiet solitude of the studio, his gaze tracing the delicate features of your daughter’s face. A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through his chest, a sense of protectiveness that he couldn’t quite comprehend. He felt a newfound respect for your strength, your resilience, the quiet determination that enabled you to navigate the demanding world of the entertainment industry while raising a child.

The silence of the room was heavy with unspoken emotions, with the weight of a secret revealed. Woozi, the master of carefully crafted words and calculated expressions, found himself speechless, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts and unfamiliar feelings. He was a composer of emotions, a weaver of melodies, but in this moment, he was lost in a symphony of his own making, a composition of newfound understanding and quiet admiration.

The studio, once a place solely defined by the rhythm of music and the demands of production, began to transform into a space imbued with a quiet, almost palpable sense of understanding. The day after Woozi's discovery was a delicate dance of unspoken acknowledgment, a subtle shift in the atmosphere that permeated every corner of the room. You were acutely aware of his presence, a gentle undercurrent that flowed beneath the surface of his usual focused demeanor. His gaze, usually sharp and analytical, now held a softer, more contemplative quality, lingering on you for fleeting moments before he'd quickly divert his attention back to his work.

You found yourself constantly questioning his newfound attentiveness, your mind swirling with a mix of gratitude and anxiety. Had he seen the lock screen? Did he judge your situation? Was this a temporary phase, a fleeting expression of sympathy that would eventually fade? The thought of your private life being exposed, the vulnerability it implied, sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, he remained silent, offering no explicit confirmation, no intrusive questions.

Instead, his actions spoke volumes. Small, almost imperceptible gestures began to accumulate, a quiet symphony of unspoken understanding. A bottle of chilled water, precisely the temperature you preferred, would appear beside your workspace, as if conjured by an unseen hand. A neatly packed lunchbox, filled with healthy and balanced ingredients, materialized during the lunch break, a subtle nudge towards self-care amidst the chaos of the day. And when the pressure from management threatened to overwhelm you, when their demands became unreasonable, Woozi would step in, his voice a calm, firm barrier between you and their frustration.

He did not raise his voice, nor did he offer platitudes. He simply presented logical counterarguments, calmly dismantling their unreasonable demands with his sharp intellect and unwavering composure. It was a subtle act of protection, a silent acknowledgment of the burdens you carried.

The unspoken communication between you became a delicate dance, a series of subtle cues and unspoken acknowledgments. You’d catch his eye across the room, a fleeting glance that held a depth of understanding, a silent reassurance that you weren’t alone. He’d leave small notes on your desk, scribbled on scrap paper, containing encouraging words or a simple drawing, a small token of support amidst the whirlwind of your day.

His presence, once a source of professional respect, now became a source of quiet comfort. He was still Woozi, the meticulous producer, the genius songwriter, but there was a newfound gentleness in his demeanor, a quiet understanding that made you feel seen, truly seen, beyond the roles you played within the studio.

One evening, as the recording session stretched into the late hours, your phone rang, its insistent chime cutting through the quiet hum of the studio equipment. The caller ID displayed the familiar number of your daughter’s daycare, and a wave of anxiety washed over you.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice tight with urgency. “There’s an emergency.”

Woozi’s gaze met yours, his expression calm and reassuring. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t demand explanations. He simply reached into his pocket and slid his car keys across the desk.

“Go,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ll cover for you.”

The gesture, so simple yet so profound, took your breath away. It was a silent acknowledgment of your responsibilities, a quiet reassurance that he understood the delicate balance you maintained. You stared at the keys, your throat tightening with emotion, unable to articulate the gratitude that swelled within you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He nodded, a silent acknowledgment, and turned back to the mixing console, his focus unwavering. You grabbed the keys and rushed out, your mind a whirlwind of anxiety and gratitude.

The drive to the daycare was a blur, your hands gripping the steering wheel, your mind racing with worst-case scenarios. When you arrived, you found your daughter safe and sound, her feverish brow cooled by a damp cloth. The daycare staff explained that it was a brief spike in temperature, a common occurrence in young children.

Relief washed over you, a wave so intense that it left you weak. You held your daughter close, her small body warm against yours, and whispered reassurances into her hair, a silent promise to protect her from all harm.

As you drove home, your thoughts turned to Woozi. He had covered for you, without hesitation, without question. He had given you the time and space you needed, without expecting anything in return. It was a selfless act, a quiet demonstration of his understanding and support.

When you returned to the studio the next day, he was working as if nothing had happened. He didn’t mention the previous night, didn’t ask about your daughter. He simply continued with his work, his focus unwavering.

But you knew, deep down, that something had irrevocably changed. He had seen you, truly seen you, not just as a colleague, but as a person, a mother, a woman with a life beyond the studio walls. And in that quiet understanding, a connection began to form, a bond that was both fragile and profound.

The studio, once a place of work, began to feel like a sanctuary, a place where you were seen, understood, and supported. The unspoken communication between you and Woozi became a silent language, a symphony of understanding that resonated deeper than any words could convey. You began to look forward to seeing him, to hearing his voice, to feeling the quiet reassurance of his presence. And even though the fear of eventual change lingered, you allowed yourself to savor the peace, the quiet comfort, that he offered. You began to feel a warmth grow in your heart, a feeling you had long suppressed, a flicker of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, you weren’t alone after all.

The decision to invite Woozi into your home, into the sanctuary you’d built for yourself and your daughter, was a tightrope walk between hope and fear. It was a leap of faith, a fragile attempt to open a door that had been slammed shut years ago. The echoes of your past, the sharp sting of broken promises and abandoned dreams, still lingered, casting long shadows over your present.

You remembered the way he had looked at you when you told him about the ex-boyfriend, the man who had promised forever and then vanished like smoke in the wind. The way he’d gripped your hand, his own knuckles white, as you described the lonely nights, the silent tears that soaked your pillow, the crushing weight of single parenthood. He had listened without judgment, without pity, his eyes filled with a quiet understanding that resonated deep within you.

The wounds from that old betrayal had never fully healed. They were scars, invisible to the world, but deeply etched into your soul. You had built walls around your heart, brick by careful brick, protecting yourself and your daughter from further pain. The thought of trusting someone again, of letting them into your carefully constructed world, was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Yet, Woozi had chipped away at those walls, piece by piece, with his quiet kindness and unwavering support. He had seen your strength, your resilience, the quiet determination that enabled you to navigate the chaos of your life. He had offered a safe harbor, a quiet understanding that made you feel seen, truly seen, beyond the roles you played in the studio.

And so, you had invited him into your home, a tentative step towards allowing yourself to hope again. But the fear remained, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind, reminding you of the fragility of trust, the potential for heartbreak.

There he stood, in your doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. The scent of rain clung to his clothes, a reminder of the storm that had mirrored your emotional turmoil the night before. You ushered him inside, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a mixture of anticipation and dread.

Your daughter, ever curious and fearless, peeked out from behind your legs, her big, expressive eyes fixed on the unfamiliar figure. She was your masterpiece, your reason for everything, a tiny echo of your own strength and determination. The thought of introducing her to someone new, of allowing another person to become a part of her world, filled you with a protective instinct so fierce it almost choked you.

Woozi, usually so composed and self-assured, seemed awkward, unsure of how to navigate this unexpected encounter. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands clasped behind his back, a silent testament to his own vulnerability.

He knelt down, his gaze meeting your daughter’s, and held out a small plushie – a fluffy, pastel-colored sheep he’d impulsively grabbed from a nearby store. It was a gesture of peace, a silent offering to this tiny, unknown entity.

She frowned, her brow furrowed in suspicion, mirroring your own cautious approach to new relationships. “Mommy said don’t take things from strangers.” Her voice was small but firm, a testament to your consistent teachings, a reflection of the lessons you’d learned the hard way.

A laugh bubbled in your throat, a mixture of amusement and relief. You had raised a cautious and intelligent child. Before you could intervene, Woozi’s voice, usually so measured, softened, taking on a gentle, almost hesitant tone.

“I’m your mom’s friend,” he said, his eyes meeting yours for a brief, reassuring moment, a silent plea for your trust.

Your daughter’s gaze flickered between you and Woozi, seeking confirmation. You nodded, a small, encouraging smile on your face, a silent acknowledgment of the leap of faith you were taking.

Only then did she cautiously reach out and take the plushie, her small fingers gently brushing against his. “Thank you, Zizi,” she mumbled, her eyes still fixed on him, assessing him with the same careful scrutiny you had employed for years.

The nickname, so innocent and unexpected, broke the tension in the room, a gentle reminder of the simple, unadulterated trust of a child. A genuine smile spread across Woozi’s face, a warmth that reached his eyes, a silent promise to be worthy of that trust. In that moment, he was no longer Woozi, the renowned producer, the stoic songwriter. He was Zizi, a friend, a potential figure in this little girl’s world, a chance for you to rewrite the narrative of your past.

The studio, once a realm of pure musical creation, transformed into a covert operation, a fortress of affection guarded by the silent, watchful eyes of Lee Jihoon. He moved with a newfound purpose, a quiet determination that radiated from him like a subtle hum. He became a protector, a silent guardian, his actions driven by a fierce, almost primal instinct to shield you and your daughter from any harm.

He guarded your secret with a fervor that bordered on obsessive, his actions a testament to his growing affection. He didn’t just keep it; he fortified it, erecting an invisible barrier around your privacy. He deflected prying questions with a sharp wit, his eyes flashing a silent warning to anyone who dared to delve too deep. He became a master of misdirection, weaving elaborate tales of late-night studio sessions and urgent deadlines to explain his increasingly frequent absences.

He became a connoisseur of children’s snacks, a silent provider of tiny treasures. He’d surreptitiously slip fruit pouches and organic crackers into his bag, his expression a picture of studied nonchalance. He’d scour toy stores for the perfect plushie, the ideal coloring book, his usually focused gaze softening as he imagined your daughter’s delighted squeals.

But the members, ever perceptive, began to notice the subtle shifts in his behavior. Seungcheol, the leader, the ever-watchful patriarch of their chaotic family, observed Woozi’s increasingly erratic schedule with a furrowed brow. “Jihoon, you’re acting… strangely. You’re always disappearing, you’re hoarding children’s snacks, and you’re radiating an aura of… secretiveness,” he said, his voice laced with concern.

Mingyu, the group’s resident gossip and fashion enthusiast, held up a tiny, sequined jacket, his eyes wide with disbelief. “And this? This is clearly for a miniature diva. Who are you dressing, Jihoon? A tiny influencer?”

Jeonghan, the master of playful manipulation, the orchestrator of subtle chaos, raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Lee Jihoon. Confess. Who is this tiny human who has captured your heart? And why are you so… protective?”

Cornered, Woozi sighed, a mixture of exasperation and affection in his eyes. He knew he couldn’t keep the secret forever, not from the men who knew him better than he knew himself. He gathered them in the studio’s lounge, the air thick with anticipation, and told them everything. He explained your situation, your struggles, the quiet strength that had captivated him, and the unexpected joy that had blossomed in your daughter’s presence.

Instead of the teasing and playful jabs he had braced himself for, he was met with a chorus of genuine support, a wave of warmth that surprised even him. Joshua, the romantic, the sentimental soul of the group, clutched his chest dramatically, his eyes wide with emotion. “This is… a masterpiece of human connection! You’re like a secret superhero dad!”

Mingyu, his usual boisterous energy amplified, was practically vibrating with excitement. “This is amazing! We need to throw a welcome party! We can get her tiny designer outfits! I know a guy who makes custom mini jackets!”

Seungcheol, his expression softening, placed a hand on Woozi’s shoulder, his voice filled with genuine affection. “Jihoon, this is your happiness. You’ve found something precious, and we’re all here for you, always. We will protect her, and you, with everything we have.”

The members’ reactions were a testament to their deep bond, their unwavering support for one another. They showered Woozi with questions, eager to learn every detail about your daughter, her personality, her favorite toys. They offered to help in any way they could, from babysitting to building elaborate play forts in the studio.

Woozi, usually so guarded, found himself opening up, sharing anecdotes and stories about your daughter’s infectious laughter, her boundless curiosity, and the way she had transformed his perception of the world. He spoke of your strength, your resilience, the quiet determination that had captivated him, and the way you had built a safe haven for your small family.

But beneath the surface of his newfound openness, a quiet conflict raged within him. He was still grappling with the unfamiliar emotions that had stirred within him, the sense of responsibility and protectiveness that had taken root in his heart. He was a composer of emotions, a weaver of melodies, but he was still learning to navigate the complexities of his own heart.

He was hopelessly, utterly, and completely whipped for you. He’d been harboring a crush for years, admiring your quiet strength and unwavering dedication. Now, seeing you as a mother, as a woman who had faced adversity and emerged stronger, had amplified his feelings tenfold. He found himself wanting to protect you, to cherish you, to erase the shadows of your past.

He loved your daughter, her innocent joy and unwavering trust. And he loved you, your quiet strength, the way you had built a world for yourself and your daughter. But the fear remained, a persistent whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him of the fragility of trust, the potential for heartbreak. He was still haunted by the idea of repeating the mistakes of the past, of causing you and your daughter pain.

He didn’t answer Seungcheol’s question, the question that hung in the air like a silent challenge. He simply smiled, a small, hesitant smile that held a mixture of hope and uncertainty. He knew that he cared deeply, but the idea of defining it, of labeling it, felt daunting.

The members’ support was a comfort, a reassurance that he wasn’t alone. But the final decision, the leap of faith, was his to take. He was standing on the precipice of a new chapter, a chapter filled with the potential for love and happiness, but also the potential for pain. He was a composer of emotions, but this was a symphony that he was still learning to orchestrate. He needed to find the courage to conduct his own heart, to embrace the love that was blossoming within him, and to trust that he could create a future filled with harmony and happiness.

The quiet rhythm of your evenings had shifted, infused with a new warmth and a sense of gentle companionship. Woozi, or "Zizi," as your daughter affectionately called him, had become a regular fixture in your little home, a comforting presence that filled the space with laughter and quiet understanding. He’d arrive after studio sessions, his eyes tired but his smile bright, ready to engage in elaborate tea parties, build towering block castles, or simply sit quietly, listening to your daughter’s endless stories.

One evening, as you were on a phone call, pacing the kitchen, trying to resolve a last-minute schedule change, Woozi sat on the couch, your daughter nestled beside him, her small fingers tracing the lines on his hand. She was fascinated by his large, capable hands, the hands that created beautiful music, the hands that also built the most impressive block towers.

Then, her small voice, clear and unwavering, broke the comfortable silence. “Zizi, why do you look at my mommy like that?”

Woozi froze, his gaze snapping to her, a blush creeping up his neck. He hadn’t realized his admiration was so transparent. “Like what?” he asked, his voice a little too high-pitched.

She tilted her head, her eyes wide and innocent, yet piercingly observant. “Like she’s your favorite person. Like she’s a star, and you’re watching her shine.”

His ears burned, a wave of heat washing over him. He was a master of words, a composer of emotions, but he was utterly unprepared for the unfiltered honesty of a five-year-old. “You ask too many questions,” he mumbled, trying to deflect her inquiry with a playful scowl.

But your daughter was undeterred. “Don’t hurt her,” she said, her voice suddenly serious, her small hand gripping his.

Woozi’s heart clenched. “Hurt her? What makes you say that?”

“She cries behind closed doors,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, her eyes filled with a wisdom beyond her years. “She thinks I don’t know. But I do.”

A wave of guilt washed over him, a sharp, painful pang. He had witnessed your strength, your resilience, but he hadn’t fully grasped the depth of your pain, the silent battles you fought behind closed doors. He had been so focused on his own feelings, his own fears, that he had overlooked the silent suffering that lingered beneath your brave facade.

He looked at your daughter, her small face etched with concern, and he felt a surge of protectiveness, a fierce determination to shield you both from any further harm. “I would never hurt her,” he said, his voice firm and unwavering.

“Then why do you look at her like that?” she repeated, her eyes searching his.

He sighed, a mixture of exasperation and tenderness in his eyes.

“It’s… complicated,” he began, trying to find words a child could understand.

“Is it like how you look at your guitar?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“No, not exactly,” he chuckled. “It’s… more special than that. It’s like… she’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.”

“Does that mean you want to sing with her?”

“In a way, yes. I want to be a part of her song. I want to make her happy.”

“Does she make you happy?”

“She does. She makes me happier than anyone I know.”

“Then you should tell her that.”

He smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. “I will. I promise.”

Your daughter nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Okay,” she said, her voice serious. “But if you make her sad, I’ll tell you off. And I’ll tell everyone.”

Woozi smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that reached his eyes. “Deal,” he said, his voice filled with sincerity.

He looked at your daughter, her small face filled with a quiet determination, and he felt a surge of affection, a deep appreciation for her unwavering loyalty. He knew that he had gained not just your trust, but also the trust of your fierce little protector. And he vowed, silently, to be worthy of that trust, to cherish and protect you both with all his heart.

Two years had woven a tapestry of shared moments, the quiet understanding between you and Woozi blossoming into a deep affection. However, the outside world wasn't always kind. The growing closeness between you, a single mother, and Woozi, a respected producer, drew unwanted attention.

Coworkers, fueled by envy and a lack of understanding, whispered behind your back, their words laced with venom. "She's just using him," one would sneer, their voice dripping with malice. "Single moms always have an agenda."

"It's disgusting," another would chime in, their tone laced with disgust. "She's practically throwing herself at him. And he's so blind."

"I heard she leaves her kid with anyone, just to be with him," a third would add, embellishing the lies with a cruel twist. "No wonder she gets so much time off, she's got him wrapped around her finger."

"She's probably just a gold digger," someone would say. "Trying to get a rich man to pay for everything."

"It's so unprofessional. And in the company, too! What a mess."

Woozi overheard these conversations, his usually calm demeanor shattering into icy rage. He heard the cruel remarks, the snide insinuations, and the blatant attempts to undermine your reputation. His eyes, usually warm and gentle, turned cold and hard, his jaw clenched. His voice, usually soft and melodic, became a low, dangerous growl, barely audible. He wanted to confront them, to unleash his fury, but he knew it would only escalate the situation and draw more unwanted attention to you, and fuel the fire they were trying to start. Instead, he acted in the shadows, his methods subtle but effective.

Late one night, an anonymous account on a popular social media platform posted a detailed account of workplace bullying at HYBE. The post described a dedicated employee, a single mother, being subjected to cruel gossip and unfair treatment. It didn’t name names, but the details were specific enough to raise alarm, without being easily traced back. "This employee is constantly being verbally attacked by other employees, who spread lies about her personal life, and her work ethics. They call her names, and make her feel like she is less than human. The company is doing nothing about it. This needs to stop."

The post went viral, sparking outrage and a wave of public support for the unnamed employee. HYBE, facing a potential PR disaster, launched an internal investigation. Within days, several employees were quietly dismissed, their actions deemed unacceptable.

The whispers and rumors ceased. The atmosphere in the studio shifted, replaced by a wary respect. You noticed the change, the sudden shift in the way your coworkers treated you, but you remained unaware of Woozi’s involvement.

One evening, as you and Woozi relaxed on your couch, you scrolled through the social media feed, your eyes wide with disbelief. “Can you believe this?” you exclaimed, showing him the viral post. “Someone actually stood up for this person. It’s amazing!”

Woozi smiled, a quiet, knowing smile that warmed his eyes. “It is,” he agreed, his voice soft.

“I’m so glad someone did this,” you continued, your voice filled with gratitude. “It gives me hope that people still care. And that companies will do something about it.”

Woozi’s smile widened, a flicker of pride in his eyes. He watched you, your face glowing with relief and appreciation, and he felt a surge of satisfaction. He had protected you, silenced your tormentors, and given you a sense of hope, all without you knowing his involvement. The secret made him happy, because he knew he was the reason for your peace, and he was the one that made your life better.

Two years. Two years of stolen glances, of soft touches, of lingering stares that held unspoken promises. Two years of Woozi’s unwavering support, his quiet strength a constant anchor in your life. Two years of him seamlessly weaving himself into your world, into the intricate tapestry of your family, his presence as natural and essential as the air you breathed.

On your birthday, he arrived, not with the usual studio-related gift, but with a bouquet of your favorite flowers, their delicate petals mirroring the fragile hope that bloomed in your heart. Your daughter, ever his tiny accomplice, clung to his leg, her eyes sparkling with excitement. He pulled you aside, his expression serious, his eyes holding a depth of emotion that made your breath catch in your throat.

“I have something to say,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, the words hanging in the air like a whispered secret.

You raised an eyebrow, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “What, you secretly hate me?” you teased, trying to deflect the intensity of the moment with a touch of humor.

He scoffed, a soft smile playing on his lips. “No, idiot,” he retorted, his voice laced with affection.

Then, in one breath, he laid his heart bare, his words raw and sincere. “I love you.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the sounds around you fading into a distant hum. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the unspoken feelings that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. “Woozi…” you began, your voice barely a whisper, your mind reeling with the weight of his confession.

“I love your daughter too,” he added, his voice filled with a quiet certainty. “I think she loves me more than you do,” he teased, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere, but his eyes held a sincerity that made your heart ache.

Before you could process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within you, a little voice, clear and unwavering, cut through the tension. “KISS MAMA, ZI!” your daughter yelled, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, a wave of embarrassment washing over you. You wanted the earth to swallow you whole, to erase the awkwardness of the moment. But then, warm fingers gently tilted your chin up, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

Woozi’s eyes, usually sharp and focused, softened, their depths filled with a tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat. “I love you,” he whispered again, his voice thick with emotion, his gaze unwavering. “And I want you. Both of you. I want to be a part of your lives, to build a future with you, to cherish and protect you both.”

The vulnerability in his voice, the raw sincerity in his eyes, shattered the walls you had built around your heart. He wasn’t offering a fleeting romance, a casual fling. He was offering a forever, a commitment to you and your daughter, a promise to be a constant in your lives.

Then, finally, he closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken feelings, of shared moments, of a love that had blossomed amidst the chaos of your lives.

Your daughter squealed, a mixture of delight and playful disgust. “EWWW.”

Woozi chuckled against your lips, his laughter warm and comforting. He pulled back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, his expression filled with a quiet joy.

And in that moment, amidst the chaos of your daughter’s playful protests and the lingering scent of your birthday flowers, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of belonging that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. You felt home. You felt loved. And you knew, with a certainty that warmed you from the inside out, that this was the beginning of something beautiful, a love story written in the quiet moments of shared laughter and unwavering support.

A year later, the quiet rhythm of your little home was a symphony of love and laughter. The once empty spaces were now filled with the warmth of shared meals, the gentle hum of bedtime stories, and the soft glow of family movie nights. Woozi, no longer just "Zizi," but a cherished member of your little family, tucked Munchkin into bed, his large hands gently smoothing the soft blanket around her small frame.

She sleepily grabbed his hand, her eyelids fluttering closed, her voice a soft whisper. “Love you, Zizi.”

His heart melted, a warmth spreading through his chest like a gentle sunrise. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, his voice thick with affection. “Love you too, Munchkin.”

He lingered for a moment, his gaze lingering on her peaceful face, a silent promise to protect her dreams, to chase away the shadows that lingered in the corners of her young mind. He adjusted the nightlight, ensuring its soft glow illuminated the room, a beacon of comfort in the darkness.

You leaned against the doorframe, a soft smile gracing your lips, your heart overflowing with a love so profound it made your eyes sting with unshed tears. The scene before you, the gentle tenderness between Woozi and your daughter, was a testament to the love you had built together, a love that had blossomed amidst the chaos of your lives.

When Woozi turned, his eyes met yours, a silent conversation passing between you. He walked towards you, his footsteps soft on the carpet, his gaze unwavering. You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, your lips lingering for a moment, a silent expression of your gratitude, your affection, your unwavering love.

“Love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, the words a gentle caress against his skin.

He pulled you both close, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace, his body a comforting presence against yours. The three of you stood there, a small, perfect circle of love, bathed in the soft glow of the nightlight.

In the quiet of your little home, the silence was filled with unspoken words, with the gentle rhythm of shared breaths, with the comforting weight of love. Woozi finally felt at peace, his heart overflowing with a contentment he had never known before. He had found his place, his family, his home.

He thought of the past, the lonely nights spent in the studio, the carefully constructed walls he had built around his heart. He thought of you, your strength, your resilience, the way you had built a world for yourself and your daughter, a world filled with love and laughter.

And he realized, with a certainty that warmed him from the inside out, that he had found more than just a love story. He had found a family, a haven, a place where he belonged. He had found a symphony of love, a melody that resonated deep within his soul, a song that he would cherish for the rest of his life. And as he held you both close, he knew that he was finally home.

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catssluvr · 11 days ago

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attention, nat scatorccio

nat scatorccio x nerd!fem!reader (804) (request)

in which you’re trying to study but your girlfriend has other plans, getting your attention

warnings: pre-crash nat, clingy nat <3

⭑.ᐟ ⭑.ᐟ

You feel her eyes on you as you scribble down on your paper. There's books scattered on your bed, proof of hours of the hours you've spent studying.

It would be a lie to say you're not tired, but you'd feel worse if you just stopped than if you pushed yourself for a little longer.

It doesn't help that Nat is here, you're aware that you can get rather annoying when it comes to school related things. But you just couldn't get yourself to say no to her when she begged you to have a study date.

"Nat." You warn sternly, rubbing at your temples with sigh without turning your eyes away from the paper.

"Hm?" She hums, not quite paying attention to your tone and twirling her bangs with her fingers, almost refusing to resume the staring.

"Focus." You say simply, receiving an eye roll from the lack of attention you give her.

“I’m very focused.” Nat retorts with a huff, lips moving into a pout you know she barely means.

She is indeed focused, just not in what you wish she would be. Not in her own notebooks that have barely been touched the whole afternoon.

“On the homework.” You clarify, having to pretend you don’t want to wipe that down that pout off her lips with a messy kiss.

Nat groans in annoyance, flipping her notebook shut with a slap.

“Can we take a break?” She tries with hopeful eyes.

“We literally took a break about half an hour ago, baby.” You answer gently, finally lifting your head to look at her with a sympathetic smile.

“I’m tired.” She pushes.

“Then have a nap. I’ll be right here when you wake up.” You reason, smirking at the way she makes a face at your resilience.

“Or… you could nap with me?” She pushes some of the books, making space for her to scoot closer to your hunched form. She traces a finger down your arm, making your hairs lift.

You make no move to answer her, hunching away from her teasing touches. Nat stays silent for a moment - and you know that can’t be good.

She pounders, smiling smugly once the idea lights up in her head.

In a swift move, she throws herself at you. Her legs are planted on either side of you, holding onto your shoulders as she is now sitting right on your lap.

“Please.” Nat tries once more, starting to press kisses across your cheeks.

You roll your eyes, happy to indulge in her games. Resting your chin on her shoulder, you peek over it and start working on your paper again.

“Babyyy.” She extends the word with a whiny voice, moving down to your neck to press her nose there.

“Yes?” You question, raising your eyebrows. Not mentioning the fact it’s getting ratter impossible to ignore her presence when she’s sitting on top of you.

“You’re no fun.” Your girlfriend says almost immediately, lips curling downwards mockingly.

You have to fight the urge to kiss her right there and then, ignoring the way she’s trying really hard to make you break and do exactly that.

“Having a bad grade is also no fun.” You retort, squeezing her waist with one hand when she slumps against your shoulder.

“You couldn’t have like a B even if you tried to.” Nat groans in frustration, persuasive voice turning defeated.

You take a moment to answer, sad to have to disappoint her but knowing the guilt will eat you if you stop, "I really do want to study." You smile sheepishly.

Nat sighs once again, lips pulled down in a frown and eyes slightly droopy from sleep in the sweetest way possible.

You wrap your arms around her waist as she moves to leave your lap, holding her in place. "But you can stay here." You brush your thumb against her skin that's peaking from her black long sleeve.

"I can?" She asks, excited smile returning to her lips in a second, making your heart warm.

"Course. I'll also let you turn on the tv if you behave." You assert teasingly, smiling at the sight of her dimples.

"I love you." Nat blurts, squishing your cheeks before pressing as many kisses as she can all over your face. Your cheeks, your nose, your eyebrow and a last one on your forehead. "Okay, i'll let you get back."

"I love you." You mumble gently, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as she lets go of you to sit by your side against the headboard.

Your girlfriend leans her head against your shoulder, picking up the controller before laying her hand gently on your thigh.

You go back to writing down on your notebook, cheeks hurting from holding back a smile as you press on last kiss to her head.

#yellowjackets #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio x self insert #natalie yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x you #wlw

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vanteguccir · 19 days ago

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: LA'S, THE PUPPY CITY * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where at the Los Angeles show of the Surprise Party Tour, Chris not only surprises Matt with the presence of Y/N but also with a new small addition to the family.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　Matt being a dog parent 🥺🙏🏻.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

The bell over the door gave a soft jingle as Chris pushed it open, the metal frame rattling lightly against the glass. A breath of lemon-scented air wrapped around them immediately. It felt clean, a little sweet, with a subtle, milky smell that could only ever mean one thing: puppies.

Chris stopped just inside the door, his hand tightening around his phone, already recording. His screen caught Y/N stepping in first, the sleeves of her soft beige hoodie crumpled inside her tight fingers like she always did when she was nervous or excited - honestly, with her, it was usually both at once.

"Alright." Chris said quietly behind the camera, his voice almost swallowed up by the soft hum of the lobby. "We’re really doing this, huh?"

Y/N shot a small, crooked smile over her shoulder before turning back to their front. She looked around the lobby slowly, taking it all in, the neatly organized shelves of treats and toys, the bulletin board cluttered with colorful flyers and Polaroids, the little potted plants trying their best to survive on the windowsill.

It felt so alive here. Safe. Somewhere you could exhale without even realizing you'd been holding your breath.

Behind the front counter, a woman glanced up from a stack of paperwork, pushing her glasses higher on her nose. She was older, maybe in her fifties, with gray-streaked hair pulled into a messy braid and kind, smile-lined eyes. She set her pen down and stood, smoothing her hands down the front of her jeans.

"Hi there." Y/N said, stepping closer to the counter. Her voice was soft, full with that warm kind of politeness she always carried. "Are you Veronica?"

The woman’s whole face brightened. She rounded the counter with an easy, open smile that made Y/N open her own wide and pearly one.

"That’s me." She said warmly. "And you must be Y/N. You called about the puppies, right?"

Y/N nodded, the tension in her shoulders loosening visibly.

"Yes. And this is Chris." She added, glancing back at him. "He’s Matt’s brother. The one we’re surprising."

Chris gave a half-wave, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a grin. Veronica’s smile widened like she could feel the expectations echoing around them.

"Well, you picked a perfect day." She said, motioning them forward. "Come on back. We’ve got a lot of little ones eager to meet you."

She unlatched a small swinging door next to the counter, and Y/N slipped through first, Chris following close behind, lifting his phone to catch every second.

The hallway was narrow, lined with colorful paintings of dogs and cats, and the faint sound of barking echoed down the corridor. Veronica led the way with easy steps that told them about the years spent in places like this.

"We’ve got a few litters in right now." She said as they walked, her voice low and steady. "Some purebreds, mostly mixes. All around two to four months old. A couple of rescues, some surrenders. They’re all looking for someone to love them."

Y/N listened with her whole body. You could almost see every word soaking in through her skin. She glanced at the little nameplates on the walls, the photos of dogs with their 'gotcha day' dates scribbled underneath in bright marker.

Chris tilted the camera to catch them both.

"She’s about to cry, and we haven’t even seen them yet." He whispered with a soft laugh that he didn’t bother hiding.

Y/N elbowed him gently, her cheeks warming, but she didn’t deny it.

Veronica slowed as they reached a thick, heavy door at the end of the hall. She rested her hand on the handle, looking back at them with a small, knowing smile.

"Just a heads up." She started. "It’s... a lot. But in the best way."

Y/N nodded, practically vibrating with so much joy that made Chris’s throat feel a little tight.

Veronica pushed open the door, and the sound hit them like a wave.

Not too loud.

Not overwhelming.

Just tiny barks. High-pitched yips. The soft whimpering of baby dogs desperate for attention.

The room was huge, warm, and alive.

Colorful pens lined the walls and clustered in the middle, each one a little world of its own. Puppies tumbled over each other, tails wagging furiously, tiny paws slipping on the polished floor. Some barked for attention, others yawned and dozed, some sat solemnly watching as if judging whether the visitors were worthy.

Y/N froze in the doorway, her hand flying to her mouth.

"Oh my." She whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

Chris lowered the camera just a little, blue eyes widening, trying to absorb everything he was seeing.

"I’m not ready." She said in a half-laugh, half-sob kind of way, looking at the camera before traveling up to Chris's eyes.

Chris grinned, shrugging.

"You've been talking about this to me for months." He playfully rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you are ready."

They moved slowly into the room.

Puppies cried out from every direction, tiny paws scratching at the metal gates, little noses pressing eagerly against the bars.

Everywhere they looked had floppy ears, wagging tails, big hopeful eyes.

Y/N dropped to her knees by the first pen, offering her fingers through the bars. A tiny golden retriever mix immediately pounced, licking her hand with wild, uncoordinated enthusiasm.

"Hi, baby." Y/N cooed, her voice trembling a little

Chris crouched beside her, filming the way the puppy nipped at her hoodie strings and the way her laugh broke through, high and light and a little watery.

Veronica walked them slowly through the room, pausing now and then to tell them each puppy’s name, their little backstories.

"This is Millie. She’s a husky mix. Lots of energy, super smart... And that’s Bruno, he’s shy at first but a total cuddlebug once he knows you..."

Y/N knelt by every pen, meeting every puppy like they were the only one in the room. She spoke to them softly, let them sniff her hands, and gave every single one a piece of her heart.

Chris kept filming, but there was a lump in his throat now, heavy and thick. He could already see it happening. The way Matt’s posture would break when he saw.

The way this tiny new life would change their whole lives.

They were almost at the end of the room when a small sound caught Y/N’s attention, a soft, hoarse little bark, almost like a question.

She turned instinctively, eyes scanning, and there he was.

Tucked into a small pen near the back, almost hidden away, was a tiny pug, barely bigger than a loaf of bread, with oversized paws and huge, round eyes.

He blinked up at her, wobbled toward the gate on unsteady legs, and let out another bark, louder this time, more certain.

Y/N’s whole body went still.

"Oh." She whispered, her hand flying to her chest.

But it wasn’t the overwhelmed kind of 'oh' from before. It was different now.

She moved without thinking, sinking to the floor in front of his pen. The little pug pressed his smooshy face against the bars, pawing at the air desperately until Y/N slid her hand inside.

The moment her fingers brushed his fur, he let out a happy, high-pitched whimper and collapsed into her hand like he’d been waiting for her all along.

Chris lowered the phone slightly, laughing almost breathlessly.

"Oh my God, it's Matt's stuffed pug."

"This is him." Y/N said, her voice breaking on a whisper, ignoring his reference to Mr. Wrinkleton. "Chris, it’s him."

Chris crouched down beside her, his lips forming a smile. He looked at the tiny pug clambering over himself to get closer to her, his little tail wagging so hard it made his whole body wobble.

Yeah.

This was it.

Veronica knelt beside them, her smile gentle.

"He’s three months old." She said softly. "Had a rough start, but he’s healthy now. He’s gonna be somebody’s whole world."

"Our. Our own world." Silent tears slipped down Y/N´s cheeks as she cradled the tiny pug’s squirming body against her chest.

Chris lifted his phone again, filming as Y/N pressed a kiss to the pug’s soft paw.

"Welcome to the family, little dude." He whispered.

Y/N looked up at him, her arms wrapped protectively around the tiny bundle of fur, her whole face shining with something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

"Matt’s gonna lose his mind." He said, laughing at her reaction.

Y/N laughed, too, blinking hard.

"Yeah." She said. "In the best way."

The little pug yawned, his tiny body going limp against Y/N’s hoodie, safe and small and finally, finally home.

The big screen glitched.

Just for a split second, barely even a breath, but it was enough to make every single person in the theater sit up a little straighter.

The giant screen flickered, snapping out of its still state before huge white letters, sprawled loud and proud across it.

'SURPRISE'

The noise was instant.

It rose so fast it felt like the theater itself trembled with the force of it, a full-body, head-to-toe rush of screams and gasps and insane, joyful chaos.

And then the countdown appeared.

Big, chunky numbers.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

The entire theater vibrated.

And then there he was.

Chris.

Right there, filling up the screen, standing in front of a camera, looking dead into it while adjusting the knot of his tie with both hands.

Screams echoed louder than before, paired with bodies jumping out of seats like they had been electrocuted.

Chris just smiled his cheeky half-smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made everything else blur a little.

He stood up from the orange couch on the right side of the stage, the one where he’d been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Matt, grabbing the mic that had been resting between them.

The noise, if it was even possible, got louder.

Chris shot a quick look at the crowd, like seriously?, lifting his brows and laughing under his breath, but you could see the way his whole face lit up.

He loved it.

Still laughing, he shoved his free hand into the pocket of his hoodie and walked across the stage, his black Converse scuffing softly against the dark wood.

He turned toward one of the big wooden shelves that were part of the stage set and paused, throwing a quick glance back at the crowd, lifting the mic to his mouth

"Okay." Chris started, his voice crackling a little through the speakers because people wouldn’t stop cheering. He laughed again, boyish and bright. "For this surprise..." He paused, letting it hang in the air just long enough to make people collectively calm down. "I need you guys to chill, okay?"

The crowd didn’t exactly obey - because honestly, how could they? - but the volume did dip, a little.

Chris rolled his eyes dramatically, turning away from them and toward the wooden cabinet door in front of him.

He wiggled his fingers at it like he was about to do a magic trick, smiling so hard you could practically feel it.

Meanwhile, Matt and Nick were already on the left couch, explaining the dynamics of the live broadcast channel and the hint Chris was going to show to the public.

"Alright." Chris huffed out, laughing through his nose like he couldn't believe he - and Y/N - were really about to do this.

Well, they already did it anyway.

His fingers wrapped around the cool metal handle of the cabinet door and pulled it open.

The tiny little squeak the hinges made was almost swallowed by the mutters of excitement echoing across the theater. He reached inside, his arm disappearing into the dark cabinet before pulling his hand back out slowly.

When he turned around, he had something small and squishy clutched in his hand.

The cabinet clicked shut behind him as he made his way back toward the couches, stopping in front of his brothers, holding the thing up.

For a second, Matt squinted at it, confused.

And then his face changed.

"Wait-" Matt leaned forward, hands shooting out to grab it. "Dude! Mr. Wrinkleton?!"

The theater straight-up erupted.

A loud, messy mix of laughter and cheers filled the air.

Matt cradled the stuffed pug against his chest like it was a living, breathing thing. His brows furrowed, all dramatic.

"How- how did you even-" He started, mouth hanging open a little. He shook Mr. Wrinkleton gently, like that was gonna shake an answer out of the poor plushie. "I swear I left him at home! I didn’t pack him!"

Chris just shrugged, doing that thing where he tried way too hard not to laugh, but his whole face was twitching.

Nick was already cracking up on the couch beside Matt, throwing his head back like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

"Chris, did you sneak into your bag?!" He asked into his mic.

Chris just threw his hands up all innocent-like, backing up a little.

"Well, obviously." He said, grin stretching wider.

Nick leaned forward, still laughing, grabbing his own mic tighter.

"Okay, wait, wait. So what, you went to those stuffed animals stores and bought a whole lot of it?" He asked, frowning at the pug.

"Yeah, like..." Matt shook Mr. Wrinkleton in the air again, pointing at him. "Build your bear or something."

Chris gave them both a deadpan look, crossing his arms over his cotton jacket.

"Wrong. Both wrong." He said, voice dripping with fake disappointment. "And Y/N would kill me if I bought more stuffed animals."

The audience cackled.

Without warning, Chris stepped forward and snatched Mr. Wrinkleton right back out of Matt's hands, ignoring his loud "Hey, he's mine!" protest.

"Sorry, bud. He's part of the surprise." Chris said, tossing a wink at the crowd.

He walked away before either of them could argue, crossing the stage to the opposite couch, lowering himself onto the cushion, sitting Mr. Wrinkleton against his chest.

And even though he was trying his hardest to act normal, to play it cool, he definitely didn't look over to where Y/N was sitting offstage.

Not even a glance.

Okay, he peeked once. Real quick. But it didn’t count.

He pulled his gaze back to the audience, clearing his throat into the mic.

"Okay." He said, leaning forward a little. "I need you guys to really, and I mean really pay attention to this surprise, okay? No screaming. Just... watch."

The theater actually settled. Not all the way, but the noise dropped down to a quiet murmur. A few people were still whispering excitedly, phones clutched so tight in their hands that it looked like they might actually snap in half.

Chris turned back toward the giant screen, rubbing his palms over his knees once before looking up.

"Well." He said into the mic, voice a little softer now. "Let's see what I did."

The video started.

It didn’t come with any fanfare or intro, which already made it so different from the slow builds Matt and Nick did for theirs.

The first thing they all saw was the little bell above the door, giving a tiny jingle as Chris pushed it open. The metal frame rattled against the glass, a little shaky from his hand being just barely too excited.

Chris must've turned his phone a little, revealing Y/N stepping into frame.

And you could literally hear the collective reaction in the room. A few people gasped softly, immediately putting their hands to their mouths, excited whispers of Y/N's name carrying around the theater.

Matt’s whole body jerked upright, eyes going round as coins, traveling from the screen to Chris and back again.

"Y/N? What-"

She was tugging the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands, all tucked in and shy, just like she always did when she was either excited out of her mind or on the verge of jumping out of her skin.

Behind the camera, you could hear Chris’s voice, low and soft, kind of laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe they were actually doing whatever they were doing.

"Alright." He said, his tone so full of his excitement it filled up the whole living room and made Matt and Nick instinctively smile. "We’re really doing this, huh?"

Y/N shot a crooked little smile over her shoulder at him and then turned back toward the front of the store.

Video-Chris moved his phone in a way that the camera registered the shelves lined neatly with treats and toys, the bulletin board overloaded with colorful flyers and Polaroids of grinning pets, the half-dead potted plants on the windowsill.

Back on the couch, Matt’s mouth fell open a little, slow realization crossing his face, his occupied hand moving his mic close to his lips.

"Chris... is this a-?" Then blinked hard and answered himself in a sudden, hushed rush. "That's a dog place. Dude, it's a dog place."

Nick, looking equally bewildered but not yet putting two and two together, yelled back.

"What's happening?!"

On the screen, behind the front counter, an older woman lifted her head from a stack of paperwork. She pushed her glasses up her nose, eyes warm and crinkling at the corners. Her gray-streaked braid swung over her shoulder as she stood.

"Hi there." Y/N said, stepping closer to the counter.

Her voice was soft, careful but open, the way she used to talk when she's trying really hard to get it right because it matters.

Chris’s phone camera caught the way her fingers twisted the fabric of her hoodie, nerves leaking out even though her smile stayed steady.

"Are you Veronica?" She asked.

The woman’s face lit up instantly, like Y/N had flipped a switch.

Veronica rounded the counter with this easy energy that made you want to trust her instantly.

"That’s me." She said warmly, a little laugh in her voice. "And you must be Y/N. You called about the puppies, right?"

Puppies.

The word dropped into the room like a tiny, adorable bomb.

A whole new ripple of gasps and low "oh my god's" ran through the audience. Matt slapped a hand over his own mouth so fast it made a little smacking noise, his eyes widening more - if that was even possible.

Nick just shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, jaw dropped low.

Back on the right couch, Chris could feel everyone's eyes on him, the glances bouncing between him and the screen like they were all trying to process the serotonin overload.

Nick was the first to react.

"Wait-" He half-shouted into his mic. "You both spent a day with puppies or-?"

Matt was still staring at the screen, eyebrows drawn so hard together that they were practically touching.

Chris just leaned back a little, smirking at them all.

"I told you to pay attention." He said lightly, voice all mischievous.

The video continued playing, but no one really moved.

Backstage was dark. There was a warm golden light cast over everything from the stage beyond the thick curtains, but none of it quite touched where Y/N stood.

She was tucked into the far-left side of the stage, just behind where Matt and Nick were seated, hidden.

Perfectly hidden.

The kind of hidden where her heart could race freely and her hands could clutch the hem of her hoodie without anyone seeing her do it - the fabric was soft beneath her fingers, already wrinkled from how much she’d been fidgeting.

She stared at the stage, catching a glimpse of the big screen showing the video that had just started to roll, the one that had captured her and Chris walking into the puppy shelter weeks ago.

But her eyes weren’t on herself, though.

They were locked - utterly glued - to Matt on the flat screen across the stage.

His mouth was parted slightly in that unguarded way he had when he was surprised or deeply focused. His eyes were wide. Shiny. And every couple of seconds, he’d glance away from the screen, flicking his gaze through the crowd like maybe, maybe, he would find her in between their fans.

It was like he could feel her there.

But it wasn't possible, right? She was back home, waiting for them.

For him.

Y/N’s heart swelled, aching in the best, most ridiculous way. Her cheeks were already warm, and she hadn’t even stepped out yet.

On the screen, Chris's voice played softly through the speakers.

"Alright. We’re really doing this, huh?"

Y/N saw Matt’s brow pull in just slightly. And then his lips tugged up.

She was just barely biting her bottom lip when a soft touch on her shoulder made her jump.

She spun around, heart flying into her throat, but it was just Paula with her extravagant clothes, her headset half on, and her big knowing smile. But it wasn’t her smile that Y/N noticed.

It was him.

A squirming, snuffling, snorting little ball of cinnamon-colored fuzz, wrapped in Paula's arms.

Y/N’s eyes went immediately huge.

Her hands shot out, palms opening like some instinctual reflex she couldn’t fight. Paula laughed, handing over the pug puppy with the most care in the world. He squeaked once, then buried his little wet nose into Y/N’s chest the second she cradled him.

"Thank you... thank you so much." She whispered to Paula, though she never looked away from the tiny dog. Her nose pressed to his squishy head, eyes fluttering closed as she kissed him once, twice, three times. "Hi, my little love." She cooed, arms wrapping tighter around the warm, wiggly ball of fur. "Are you ready to meet your daddy?"

The puppy responded with a tiny sneeze and then a soft whimper, tucking even deeper into the safety of her hoodie. Y/N smiled, pulling the fabric higher around him, her lips brushing his ears as she rocked him lightly.

Across the stage, just barely in her peripheral, she caught movement.

Chris.

He didn’t wave or speak - obviously, but the small, subtle flick of his chin down, then toward the curtain, was enough.

Her cue.

She swallowed.

Her throat was tight, voice stuck somewhere behind her ribs. But she took one long, quiet inhale through her nose, then let it out through parted lips.

Her legs moved before her brain even fully caught up. Her boots were soft on the stage floor as she walked around the edge of the curtain and into the glow.

Her eyes flicked playfully to a group of fans who noticed her first and gasped. She gave them a small shake of her head and a smile and then looked down at the puppy still trying to climb her like she was a mountain.

"Shhh." She whispered to him, lips brushing his head again. "You’re okay, baby. We’re almost there."

His little paws dug softly at her chest, whining quietly with the new lights and noises, but Y/N just chuckled and kissed him again.

"We’re gonna get your daddy, okay? One sec."

She walked along the center of the stage slowly, looking at the crowd and lifting her right hand gently, pressing her index finger to her lips, until she reached the back of the left couch.

Matt’s back was still turned.

He was leaning forward a bit, fully focused on the final moments of the video. His fingers were twitching a little on his knee. Nick was watching too, his mouth still slightly open, clearly trying to process the whole thing.

"Matt’s gonna lose his mind." Chris’s voice said on screen, laughing.

Y/N’s laugh echoed faintly from the video. And then her voice echoed.

"Yeah. In the best way."

The screen faded to black.

"I'm so fucking confused right-" Matt turned toward Nick just a little, hand holding his mic to his lips, when something interrupted him.

A whine.

Right behind him.

Matt blinked. Froze. His body stiffened as he slowly turned toward the sound, eyebrows pulling in, lips slightly parted in confusion.

And then his entire world stopped.

Because there she was.

Y/N, who was supposed to be at home after a day full of classes.

Standing just behind him.

With a puppy cradled in her arms like he was something precious and sacred and just... perfect.

The little thing let out another soft yip, paws twitching.

Matt didn’t move for half a second.

And then everything hit him all at once.

His mic fell to the cushions with a soft thump as he stood so fast the couch shifted slightly under Nick. His blue eyes were huge, glassy, locked on her, and the tiny dog in her arms. He looked from her face to the puppy and back again like he couldn’t believe either were real.

Nick was still sitting, mouth wide.

"A dog?! What the fuck?" He yelled into the mic, which made the crowd laugh, breaking the silence.

But Matt didn’t react. Not to Nick. Not to the crowd. Not to anything.

His feet moved, and he rounded the couch as fast as his wobbling legs could. He didn’t stop until he was right in front of her, his bottom lip trembling so hard it visibly shook.

Y/N didn’t speak. She just looked at him. Heart bursting. Face soft and eyes full of tears she was barely keeping in. Her smile trembled, her arms slightly lowering the tiny pug toward him.

And Matt- God.

He reached out like he’d never touched anything so gently in his life.

His hands came around the puppy, scooping him carefully, protectively. His fingers curled around his soft belly, bringing him to his chest, and Matt immediately bent his head, pressing his nose to the pup’s warm, wriggling body.

The crowd around them had started to whisper, a few quiet "awws" spreading like waves, people lifting their phones to capture it.

Y/N stepped closer. Her hands dropped to Matt’s right hip, fingertips ghosting over the fabric of his denim jacket, grounding herself in him.

Matt breathed. He breathed like he’d been holding it in for years. The puppy let out a soft grunt, and Matt kissed the top of his head, nuzzling his nose into his fur.

"I-" Matt’s voice cracked. He pulled the puppy tighter. "Fuck- I love you. I love you so much already, little guy."

His voice was so emotional, so raw and wrecked and overwhelmed that it made Y/N’s eyes sting even more.

"You’re mine now, yeah?" He whispered, pressing another kiss to his tiny wrinkled head, raising his eyes to meet Y/N's, waiting for some sort of confirmation that came as a nod. "Ours."

Y/N let out a soft laugh, her hand smoothing over Matt’s back before sliding up to gently stroke the puppy’s little ear.

"You’re gonna be the best dog owner." She whispered.

Matt looked at her again. His eyes were wet.

Really wet.

And full of every bit of love he could show.

And then Chris approached from the side, his mic still in his hand but lowered. He walked up slowly, looking from Matt to the puppy and then to Y/N.

He caught her eye, lifted his right hand, and closed it gently into a fist.

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, eyes still glassy as she lifted her own and gently bumped her knuckles against his.

Nick was the next to move, craning his neck and squinting behind the couch.

"This is insane." He stared between them and then turned to the audience. “They hid a puppy from us." He said, stunned, pointing to Matt, who was now just silently smiling down at the pug in his arms like he had found the meaning of life. "A whole entire puppy. From us."

The audience laughed, all warm and emotional, several people visibly wiping their eyes. Nick shook his head and looked back at Matt, softening when he saw how wrecked his brother looked.

"Matt..." He said into his mic. "They literally just made your whole world."

Matt just nodded slowly, that water-logged grin barely leaving his face, whispering something to the pug about how tiny his paws were as the little guy curled tighter into his jacket.

Chris stepped a little closer to him, lifting the mic.

"So..." He said, all playful but still gentle. "Did you like the surprise?"

Matt glanced at him, then at the crowd, then finally looked to Y/N. His gaze softened even more. He reached his arm out, grabbing her hand and pulling her gently against his side.

"I guess..." He said into the mic, voice low and smile cracking wide. "We’re dog parents now."

The entire crowd erupted in screams and laughter. Y/N laughed quietly against Matt’s side as he covered the puppy’s ears instinctively with the noises, kissing Y/N’s temple with one hand still pressed gently over the pug’s head.

620 notes · View notes

riddlesrizzler · 25 days ago

Text

Hearts and Initials

summary: You hadn't meant for him to see it... characters: mattheo riddle. shy! reader warnings: maybe a little bit of mean! matt word count: 2.1k

It hadn’t started with anything dramatic.

There was no grand gesture, no moment where time stood still. No accidental brush of fingers or shared detention that changed everything. If anything, it started in the background-quiet and unassuming, like the way sunlight slowly creeps across a windowsill.

At first, Mattheo Riddle was just another name. Another student in the halls. Another face you recognized but didn’t really see. You’d heard the rumors, of course-everyone had. He was intense. Sharp around the edges. The kind of boy who looked like he was born with a cigarette in one hand and a secret in the other. He didn’t talk much in class, but when he did, his voice cut through the air like a knife-low, slow, and full of a confidence that made people listen.

You weren’t immune to it. But you weren’t the type to fall for a boy just because everyone else did.

No, your crush didn’t start until much later. Until you caught him in a rare moment-one that nobody else seemed to notice.

It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon, the kind of grey that soaked through your robes and made everything feel just a little heavier. You had arrived early to Charms, slipping into your usual seat at the back of the classroom, half-hoping to be invisible for a while. You’d pulled out your notebook, trying to lose yourself in your doodles-half-formed shapes and crooked stars and your own name written over and over again in soft, looping script.

And then you saw him.

Mattheo, sitting two rows ahead, head bent low over his parchment. Not lounging like he usually did, not smirking or joking or making lazy remarks under his breath. No-he was reading. Really reading, with his fingers pressed lightly to the page like he was trying to hold the words in place.

It was the way his brow furrowed in concentration, how his lips moved just slightly as he whispered something to himself-practicing, maybe. The way his dark curls hung just a little too long over his eyes. The tiny crease in his shirt collar. The ink stain on his thumb.

You didn’t mean to stare. You were just... curious.

And then, like he could feel your gaze, he looked up.

You froze.

For a breathless second, your eyes locked-and something fluttered in your chest, soft and uncertain. You dropped your gaze instantly, cheeks warming, pretending to be absorbed in your notes. But you could feel him looking at you. Not with the smug amusement you expected, but with something softer. Quieter.

That was the first time.

The first time you noticed that he wasn’t always storm clouds and sharp words. That sometimes, he was just a boy-tired, thoughtful, alone in a room full of people.

And after that, it was like you couldn’t stop noticing.

The way he tapped his quill when he was thinking. How he stood just a little closer to his friends than necessary, like he needed to feel they were still there. How his voice lost its edge when he talked to animals-how he lingered outside the Owlery like he didn’t want to go back inside.

You never told anyone.

You didn’t know how to say it out loud. That the boy with the sharp tongue and stormy eyes had become the center of your day. That your stomach fluttered every time he passed you in the hall. That you started carrying your notebook closer to your chest, just in case he might see what was written inside.

It wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just a crush.

But it grew, slow and warm like tea steeping on a cold morning-seeping into all the quiet corners of your day.

And you didn’t mean for him to find it.

You’d been scribbling in the margins of your Transfiguration notes, zoning out during one of Professor McGonagall’s more monotonous lectures. Your quill had a mind of its own-curlicues and looping hearts appearing without a second thought, a small cluster of initials tucked between the equations and diagrams. His initials. Yours. Sometimes side by side. Once, definitely with a heart around them.

It wasn’t like you planned it.

You’d just… thought of him. The way his eyes lingered on you in class, the way his hand sometimes brushed yours when you passed parchment back and forth.

And maybe, just maybe, you were a little bit in love with him.

But then, during lunch in the Great Hall, your notebook had slipped from your arms as you reached for an apple from the fruit bowl. You hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Mattheo had already scooped it up, flipping it open casually to see what page you were on.

And then he froze.

You turned back toward him, notebook in his hands, and felt your heart stop.

“No-Mattheo-” you stammered, reaching for it, but he was already grinning.

“What’s this?” he asked innocently, holding it just out of reach as his eyes scanned the doodles.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. “It’s just-I was bored-it doesn’t mean anything-”

“Hmm,” he said, tapping the corner of the page where a large heart wrapped around the letters M.R. + Y/N. “Doesn’t look like nothing.”

You made a desperate grab for it, face on fire, but he stood, holding it over his head with a smirk. “Admit it,” he teased, eyes dancing. “You’ve got it bad for me.”

“I do not,” you mumbled, practically glowing red, burying your face in your hands. “Please give that back…”

Mattheo chuckled, finally handing the notebook over with both hands up like he was surrendering. “Fine, fine,” he said. “I’ll let it go…”

You exhaled.

“…For now.”

The rest of the day was merciless.

In Potions, he sat beside you and leaned close, his breath brushing your cheek as he whispered, “You gonna draw more hearts for me, sweetheart?” right as Professor Snape walked by.

In Charms, he passed you a folded note-just your initials drawn next to his in messy ink, with a little heart and a winking face.

You nearly combusted.

And in the corridor between classes, he cornered you by the windows, one arm resting against the stone wall behind you, eyes glinting. “You never answered me,” he said softly, leaning in until you were sure your legs were about to give out. “Do I get to be your boyfriend now, or do I need to earn a few more hearts first?”

You couldn’t even speak-you just squeaked and stared at his lips, completely overwhelmed.

He laughed-soft, fond, not mocking at all-and tilted your chin up gently with two fingers. “You’re adorable,” he murmured. “Seriously.”

And just when you thought he’d kiss you-just when your breath caught and your eyes fluttered shut-

He didn’t.

Instead, he stepped back, hands in his pockets, grinning like a menace. “Better start doodling, love. I want to see stars next to my name next time.”

And he walked off-leaving you stunned, flustered, and completely ruined for the rest of the day.

You stared after him, notebook clutched to your chest, and realized something very dangerous:

Mattheo Riddle had found your secret crush.

And he was never going to let you live it down.

The days that followed the notebook incident were torture-sweet, funny torture, but torture nonetheless. Mattheo had turned his teasing into an art form, and you, shy and utterly flustered, were his willing target.

It didn’t help that you couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d looked when he found your doodles-the way his lips curved into a mischievous grin, the teasing sparkle in his eyes, the way his voice softened just a little when he almost kissed you in the corridor. It wasn’t just the way he made fun of you that got to you; it was the way he made you feel-like you were the only person in the room.

That night, you found yourself in the library, your notebook open on the desk, fingers hovering over the page but not quite able to put pen to paper. You tried to focus on your notes, but it was impossible. All you could think about were the words Mattheo had whispered to you, his voice so close, his breath warm against your skin.

You sighed, resting your forehead against the cool wood of the desk. Why did you have to be so obvious?

"You know," a voice said from beside you, low and teasing. "If you stare at your notebook any longer, you’re going to wear a hole through it."

You looked up, heart jumping into your throat at the sight of Mattheo leaning against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest. His dark eyes glinted with that familiar mischievous spark as he glanced at the open notebook on the desk.

“I—uh, I wasn’t staring,” you said quickly, suddenly feeling like your whole face was on fire. “I was just thinking-”

“About how badly you want to write more hearts with my initials in them?” he cut in, voice so smooth it was almost dangerous.

You choked on a laugh, your hand darting to cover your face in embarrassment. “Mattheo, stop.”

But he didn’t. He came closer, until he was standing beside you, looking down at the notebook with that same teasing smile. “It’s cute, you know?” he said, tapping the page lightly with his finger. “I never thought you’d be into me.”

“I’m not,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. “I mean-I’m not into you like that, I’m just... just doodling. For fun. That’s all.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Yeah? You sure about that?”

Before you could answer, he grabbed a quill, dipped it into the ink bottle, and began writing-his handwriting neat and precise-right next to your scribbles.

Mattheo Riddle + Y/N. Forever.

You froze. “Mattheo, don’t-”

“It’s already done.” He grinned, dropping the quill back into the ink bottle with a clink. He was so close now, standing just beside you, and you could feel his warmth seeping into your side.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, biting your lip, feeling both incredibly flustered and completely weak in the knees.

“Am I?” he asked, the smirk on his lips slowly fading into something more sincere. “Or maybe you just like it when I’m impossible?”

You tried to hold his gaze but failed miserably, quickly looking away as your heart hammered in your chest. “I don’t... know what you’re talking about.”

Mattheo’s expression softened, and for a moment, you thought he might say something teasing again. But instead, his voice dropped to a quieter, more serious tone. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “Hide what?”

“Your crush,” he said, leaning down slightly, as if he were telling you a secret. “I can see it in the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, and you could barely meet his gaze. “I don’t-I don’t look at you like that.”

“You do,” he insisted softly. “And I like it. I like how you get all shy and flustered, how you bite your lip when you’re nervous.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. How could you argue with him when he was looking at you like that-when it felt like everything in your chest was tightening and blooming all at once?

He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. “So, what do you say, sweetheart? Think we could make those hearts real?”

You stared at him, heart thudding in your chest, feeling like every word was caught in your throat. He wasn’t making fun of you anymore-no, this was different. There was something real in his eyes, something soft and warm that made you feel seen.

“I-I don’t know,” you whispered, so quietly you weren’t sure he’d even heard you.

Mattheo’s lips twitched upward in a smile, and his gaze softened even further. He reached out, gently brushing your hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “You don’t have to say anything, Y/N. I already know.”

And with that, he kissed you-softly, tenderly-his lips lingering on yours for just a moment longer than you expected. When he pulled back, your entire world was spinning, and you could feel your heart racing like it was about to jump out of your chest.

“You’re adorable,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and affectionate. “But next time, maybe just give me a little more credit, yeah?”

You nodded, speechless, your mind still whirling from the kiss. It was so much more than you’d ever dreamed, and yet it felt so... natural.

For the first time, you realized-maybe Mattheo had known all along. Maybe he’d been waiting for you to catch up.

#slytherin boys #slytherin #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #harry potter #slytherin aesthetic #my works #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo fluff #shy!reader

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bytemee · 2 months ago

Text

SECOND NATURE 2 — kim minjeong.

synopsis. teasing winter is second nature, sometimes it’s not even intentional.

pairing. winter x added!member!reader

warning(s). fluffy, r is still a big tease tease, possessive winter again!, and let me know if there's more!

words. 1.6k

authors note. i tried to cook, i think i burnt the food

navigation. main masterlist. request. part one.

it’s supposed to be a casual day out, but with you and winter walking through a busy shopping district, it doesn’t take long before fans start gathering. some approach cautiously, others excitedly call your names, and soon, there’s a small crowd forming.

you’re used to it by now, stopping to take quick photos and sign things while winter stands nearby, hands in her pockets, watching you interact.

a fan steps forward, grinning as they hold out a photocard.

you reach for it automatically, but when you see who’s on the card, you pause.

it’s a photocard of winter.

without thinking, you smile, flip it over between your fingers, and—right in front of winter—slip it into your jacket pocket. “oh, nice. thank you!”

winter’s head snaps up instantly.

the fan laughs, covering their mouth before showing you the marker. “y/n, you’re supposed to sign it!”

you glance at winter, your smile widening when you catch the slight furrow in her brow.

“ohhh, you wanted me to sign it?” you take it out of your pocket, brushing nonexistent dust off of it. “my bad, i thought it was a gift.”

winter scoffs under her breath, muttering, “like you don’t already have one of mine.”

you hear it. and so do the fans, judging by the giggles and whispers of “wait, y/n has a winter photocard?” floating through the crowd.

you grin at her, fully enjoying how she’s starting to look a little flustered. “what can i say? i’m a collector.”

winter rolls her eyes, but she can’t hide the small, amused smile tugging at her lips.

you finally sign the photocard, handing it back to the fan, who practically bounces with excitement. “thank you! winter, can i get yours too?”

winter obliges, but not before side-eyeing you as she scribbles her signature. when she hands it back, she mumbles just loud enough for you to hear, “i should start taking your photocards too.”

you raise an eyebrow. “you already have them?”

her ears turn pink, and she looks away quickly. “shut up.”

you and winter are sitting next to each other at the fansign event, casually signing albums when a fan asks, "if you had to marry one member of aespa, who would it be?”

it doesn’t surprise you; it's a question the four of you are often asked. you hum in thought, pretending to consider your options as you glance around the table before settling on winter. you grin at her, watching the way she rolls her eyes and shakes her head in exasperation.

“well, that’s easy,” you say smoothly, leaning back in your chair. “i’d marry minjeong.”

you catch winter's sharp inhale and the way she bites her lip to hide a smile. it's a tell-tale sign that she's pleased by your answer. but you know winter too well not to notice the subtle way she shifts in her seat, or the way her gaze lingers on you longer than necessary, or how her expression turns soft when she thinks you aren't looking.

the other members immediately whip their heads toward you.

karina raises an eyebrow. “oh?”

winter clears her throat, trying to act nonchalant. but you know she's secretly glad you picked her. you turn to her, shrugging like it’s nothing. “you’re the perfect choice.”

winter blinks rapidly. “why—”

you start listing on your fingers. “you’re cute, responsible, a great cook—”

giselle laughs at the redness rising to winter's cheeks. she elbows her. "you're blushing!"

"i'm not!" winter retorts, trying to hide her face behind her hand. ningning tries to remove them, but it’s no use.

you nod along, grinning. "you already take care of me anyway; might as well make it official.”

winter's gaze snaps to you, her cheeks still pink but a teasing smile on her lips. she leans in and smacks your arm. "y/n, you're so annoying."

then, to make it worse, you turn back to the fan and seriously ask, “can you be the witness at our wedding?”

winter refuses to sit next to you at the next fansign.

your solo stage comes first, and winter is watching—except she’s barely watching you.

instead, her gaze keeps shifting to your dance partner. the one who places their hand a little too comfortably on your waist during the choreo. the one who leans a little too close.

winter’s arms cross tighter each time. she refuses to let herself react, but it’s impossible to ignore the way her jaw clenches when your partner’s fingers trail along your arm.

by the time her turn comes in the next show, she makes sure to fix the situation.

you’re her partner this time. and she makes sure to dance closer than ever.

there’s no space between you. the choreo never called for it, but she wraps her arms around you a little tighter, her grip a little firmer. she doesn’t take her eyes off you once.

you try your hardest not to laugh or smile during the performance, but it gets difficult with winter pressing against you so much that it feels like you can hardly breathe. you catch her staring at you, and she has the audacity to smirk.

when the song ends and the two of you have to bow, winter does it a little too quickly, her hand finding yours and squeezing. she lets go just as fast, but you quickly pull her back, lacing your fingers together and keeping her close. she glances at you in surprise, and you can see the light blush on her cheeks, but you only grin and squeeze her hand reassuringly.

you’re at the dorms, reaching up to put something on the highest shelf in the kitchen when she walks in.

she pauses. you see her glance at the item before slowly looking at you.

“y/n.”

“hm?” you don’t stop what you’re doing, too focused on stretching as far as you can to reach the shelf.

she glares. “bring that down.”

you tilt your head. “bring what down?”

she scoffs. then, she reaches past you to grab it herself.

except she can't reach it either. she stands on her toes, grunting as she tries to reach it, but it's obvious that it's beyond her reach. "need some help?" you ask, your tone too innocent.

her face flushes red, and she scowls. "i'm perfectly capable of getting it myself," she says firmly, her words coming out more like a warning than an actual statement.

she's so cute. but you know better than to say that, instead leaning in and whispering in her ear, "you're so short."

she snaps her head to you, ready to glare, but her eyes widen when she realizes how close you are. she freezes. "…get out of my ear!"

you laugh, stepping away. "how about i get that for you?"

winter huffs and looks away. "whatever."

you step behind her, and she stiffens when your arms reach around her and grab the item on the shelf. she's so warm. you lean forward, trying not to think about how good she smells. "here," you murmur, handing her the item.

she takes it, still not looking at you. but as soon as you step away, she grabs your sleeve. "hey!" she yells, and you turn around, surprised to find her face even redder than before.

she looks you straight in the eyes, her jaw clenched, and suddenly, you're worried you actually went too far. you open your mouth to apologize, but before you can get a word out, she speaks up again.

"thank you!"

the words come out rushed and high-pitched, and you stare at her in confusion. she still won't meet your eyes, but you can tell she's serious from the way her brow is furrowed.

your chest swells with affection, and you smile. "of course."

life in the dorms with winter was nothing short of a competitive nightmare.

you learned this the hard way when, after a long day, all you wanted to do was kick back on the couch and watch the soccer match you’d been waiting for.

except winter was already there, controller in hand, watching her own show like she owned the place.

you frowned. “move.”

“no.” she didn’t even glance at you, eyes still glued to the screen.

you crossed your arms. “i was literally about to watch the game.”

winter scoffed. “not my problem. i was here first.”

you sighed dramatically before stepping closer, towering over her. then, just because you knew it’d get to her, you reached over and grabbed the remote from her hand effortlessly.

“yah!” winter immediately jumped up, trying to snatch it back, but you held it high above your head.

she reached. she missed.

she reached again. still missed.

“wow,” you mused, grinning down at her. “so small.”

winter glared. “give it back, y/n.”

you waved the remote just out of her reach. “what was that? i can’t hear you from up here.”

she huffed, frustration growing by the second. then, before you could react, she grabbed onto your shirt and pulled—using her entire body weight to wrestle the remote out of your hand.

you yelped as you lost balance, nearly toppling over. “minjeong, what the hell—”

she used the moment to snatch the remote back and immediately ran to the other side of the couch, hugging it to her chest.

“i win,” she said smugly.

you narrowed your eyes at her. “this isn’t over.”

and it wasn't. not when you started kicking her off the couch every time she tried to watch her show, and definitely not when she retaliated by stealing your snacks.

in the end, you both ended up sitting on the floor in front of the couch, each too stubborn to let the other watch their show. and as you watched her get absorbed in whatever drama was playing, you couldn’t help but think:

the sight of winter happily watching her show is worth missing a game.

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