#THIS IS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nighttidee · 3 days ago

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𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐁𝐄

Lad's men asking you out on a date (part one here and series masterlist here)

ft Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb

wc: 3181 (approx 700 for each)

warnings: allusions to Mthys (nothing specific), inaccurate depiction of jobs, Caleb's one is a bit obsessive, but that is his whole character lmao

notes: Part two! Im already invisioning part three so let me know if that's wanted, even though I'll probs do it anyway lmao.

𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑

Xavier was one to watch, to wait until he was certain of his choice. He was good at that, knowing when to act and when to stay, and yet now he couldn't decide what to do. You were plaguing him, you and your smile tormented his mind, invaded his sleep, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

He felt like he was standing on a ledge, a ledge that Jeremiah was laughing at. Xaier shot a glare at his friend as he was pushed further and further into the shop, where he knew you were; he could hear you humming again.

"My favourite assistant!" Jeremiah called out.

"I'm your only assistant!" You laughed as you rounded the corner, flashing a grin that made Xavier's heart stutter in its rhythm.

"Tomato, tomatoe," The brunette man laughed, "My friend needs help picking out some flowers, but I've got a client to call, so could you help him?"

It took everything in Xavier's willpower not to summon his Lightblade and run his friend through. Picking out some flowers?! What was the idiot thinking? He didn't know the first thing about them!

"Sure," You chirped, you turned to Xavier, those stunning eyes of yours glittering, "You're in safe hands, mister..."

"Xavier," He murmured, subtly pulling the strands of silver hair from his eyes.

You nodded and told him your name in return, and he memorised it. He'd spent many sleepless nights trying to figure it out. Jeremiah had only snickered when he'd asked, so he'd been left to his imagination. Now, all of his ideas seemed foolish compared to your answer.

"So..." You spoke softly, "What's the occasion? Celebration? Birthday? Romance? Friendship?"

Xavier opened his mouth, shut it again and considered. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jeremiah with a phone in his hand, grinning at him as he winked encouragingly.

Xavier swallowed, "The third..."

You nodded, "Got it! For an anniversary, I would recommend Red Tulips because they signify true and long-lasting love. Sunflowers are good for portraying the joy they bring you, though!"

"What about for dates?" Xavier inquired softly, "As in, asking someone out on one."

He didn't know why he was saying, well, he did, he just didn't know why he was saying it now. This was only his second time meeting you. He'd only just learned your name. Why was his control over his tongue suddenly slipping?

You hummed thoughtfully, "There isn't a specific flower for asking someone out, but if you know their favourite flower, that would be the best course of action. If not, you can never go wrong with a rose bouquet; they're the flower of love for a reason! Though, personally I'm partial to just one."

He watched as your fingers glided over a rose, its petals unfurling softly.

"Just one?" Breathed Xavier, he had to decide now. Back away from the ledge and into security, or jump off it and see what comes next?

"Yeah. I just find it more intimate, if that makes sense." You laughed gently, "There's something special about knowing someone looked through loads of flowers to find the perfect one just for you."

Xavier swallowed again. He'd spent so long waiting for nothing to ever happen. Why couldn't he be impatient now? Why couldn't he let himself go and pursue something new, something that he wanted?

If he didn't act now, he never would.

"Then," He murmured, reaching for the single rose you'd touched earlier, "I'd like this."

You blinked, brows furrowing as he pressed it towards you, "Um, you're meant to keep the rose until you give it to the person you're trying to ask out."

Xavier felt his lips twitch upwards, "I know."

"Then..." You began.

He leaned forward, ignoring the pulse in his heart, and tucked a few stray strands behind your ear, "A flower for a flower."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth, he could help on his knuckles as he slowly pulled away, waiting for your reaction. He was trying to memorise your features in case this was the last time he saw you.

You smiled, "Where are you going to take me, sunshine?"

𝐒𝐘𝐋𝐔𝐒

Sylus had a mission tonight, one he would do anything to complete. Mephisto cawed overhead, guiding him forward to the desire that haunted him. He could hear Luke and Kerian even now, their confused voices as they inquired about his distracted state of mind. He'd been thinking of you ever since you drove away from him, one of the few brave enough to turn their back on him.

He wanted to know you, to caress the cracks in your coyness and find what lurked beneath that chaotic gleam in your eyes. He wanted to peel the layers of your existence off one by one until he found the core of who you were.

And to do that, he needed to find you again. It'd been weeks, but now, with Mephisto's view, he'd finally found you. This wasn't an opportunity he was going to let pass him by. No, he wanted what he wanted, and he wanted it now - you.

His motorbike came to a rumbling halt before another bike, settled against the road, a familiar cat-eared helmet sat snugly on its rider, you. You turned your head and pulled off said helmet, a playful, unreadable expression on your face, "Long time no see."

Sylus leaned forward, flipping his visor up, "To Elysium."

"Trying to buy my information?" You laughed, "I'm scandalised, Sylus."

He blinked. You already knew his name. Something in his stomach twisted, only it wasn't a feeling of fear, but one of fire. It coursed through his body as he hummed, "I don't need to buy your information, sweetie. I'll find that all out soon enough, and don't worry, your name is at the top of my list."

Your eyes narrowed slightly as you studied him, "Then why 'to Elysium'?"

"The winner gets to make one request of the loser." Sylus answered.

Something in your expression shifted, a slyness taking over your features, "A request?"

"Within reason, of course," Sylus chuckled, leaning close, voice dropping to a whisper, "Scared?"

You clicked your tongue and lifted your helmet, "To Elysium."

And you were gone. Both of you bolting through the streets under the eternal night of the N109 Zone, eagerly racing one another for a price Sylus was determined to win. Slyus had a mission tonight, and this was it: he would win, no matter what. It wasn't in his nature to lose.

He could barely see you, the two of you jerking wildly through cars, losing sight of each other as you raced through the roads. The wind burst against Sylus' chest as he pressed down on the accelerator. He saw the blurry form of Mephstio dart into an alley and smirked, cheating was perfectly fine in his books.

He followed his faithful companion and, within minutes, found himself in front of Elysium with a smug grin on his face. When you finally arrived, you took off your helmet, gaze flickering to the mechanical bird that cawed loudly and laughed, "Sneaky."

"I prefer resourceful," Sylus shrugged.

You hummed, tilting your head curiously, "So, what is that you want?"

"Dinner," He grinned.

"Dinner." You said flatly.

"You, me. Dinner," Slyus explained, studying you with great curiosity, wondering what you looked like beneath your biker jacket, "What do you say?"

You pulled out your phone, "I say, add your number. We've got a dinner date to plan."

Slyus' fingers brushed against yours as he grasped your device. He couldn't wait to learn everything he could about you.

𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋

Rafayel's new art collection had taken the world by storm. Thomas had told him that again and again and again. Auction after auction, commission attempt after commission attempt, invitation after invitation. He was being driven to the brink of madness by the humans around him, who grasped and groped for the opportunity to see inside his mind and find out just what made him the best.

He wouldn't tell them. He never would. And it was easy not to; they believed every little lie and fell for every tiny trick. They weren't interesting at all. Not like you. He'd gone back to the same spot on the beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, only to find a ghost of you instead.

You haunted him so viciously that every single painting in his new collection was inspired by you. The paintings of stormy seas, of sweet seas, of seductary seas, were all made in honour of you. And yet they weren't enough, the hints of you in each of them, the shading of the colour of your hair, the highlights, the colour of your eyes, the underpainting the colour of your skin, none of them were enough.

He thought you'd haunt him forever.

And yet, there you stood, staring at one of the paintings still up for auction. The one centred around the seagull reaching for the ocean like his hand wanted to reach for yours.

He left the conversation he was in without a word.

"Miss Marine Biologist," He spoke in greeting. He wondered if he could get your name today. He wanted it.

"Mr Painter," You smiled in surprise, "Or should I say super famous painter Rafayel?"

"Now that's hardly fair!" Rafayel hummed, leaning down slightly, "You know my name, but I don't have a clue about yours, beautiful."

To everyone else, it would've looked like he was leaning down to hear you better, but he wasn't. Lemurian hearing was far superior to humans'; he just liked seeing you flush from his proximity. The hue on your cheeks was the perfect shade, and he itched to match his paints to it, and if he couldn't, he'd make new ones.

You laughed softly, avoiding his eyes as you murmured your name to him. He was already to find ways to encode it into his artwork, maybe he'd use an anagram of your name to title his pieces, maybe he'd match each letter of your name to one of his paints and use that as his palette, maybe he'd secretly spell your name on his painting.

"What do you think?" He asked, slyly sneaking a hand on your back as he guided you closer to his paintings. He delighted in the warmth that bled into his fingertips and palm.

"I think they're...Beyond words," You murmured, eyes dancing across the artistry before your eyes. Rafayel's burning heart flushed, softening with the gentle wave of your earnest response.

"And here I was trying to flatter you, precious," Rafayel chuckled, "You're secretly a charmer, huh."

"No..." You shook your head, trying to turn away, only to find Rafayel's head close to yours, caging you, refusing to let you refusing to meet his gaze. Every inch of him seared with an intensity that demanded your attention.

"No...?" He tilted his head, slipping his tongue over his lower lip briefly.

"No..." Your eyes flickered to the side. "People are looking."

"Then let's leave," Rafayel responded.

You blinked in bewilderment, "What?"

"Let me show you my studio," Rafayel breathed, pulling you closer when he saw you hesitate, "Come on, precious. Don't you want to see how similar my work is to the sea?"

You considered it, "I think your work is as complex as the sea. Just like its maker."

A grin split over Rafayel's lips, "You think I'm as...what was it you said....beautiful and brutal as the sea?"

"Yes," You answered firmly.

He smirked and slipped his hand to your wrist, thumb caressing the pulse point that lay there, "Only one way to find out."

And then, the two of you escaped, ignoring the calls of Thomas the whole way.

𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐁

"This Colonel Xia, status report," Caleb hummed in his private office on his ship. He'd spent the last hour doing checks with all the ships in his fleet to ensure everything was in order - they were only a few hours away from returning to Skyhaven, after all.

He was dudicious, concise and ruthless, that's what made him the best colonel in the entire Farspace Fleet. He would not have his crew doubt him now, no matter how tiresome it was to check on all of his pilots. He leaned backwards in his chair and waited patiently for his crews response.

"All systems are fine, Colonel, we're ready to go," A familiar voice called over comms.

Something in Caleb sparked to life at the words. He knew that voice, it replayed over and over again in his head since he'd heard it. He clutched the armrests on his chair tightly. Just how many times had he passed you in HQ's halls, managing only a few words here and there? He'd tried every method to form some relationship with you that went beyond Colonel and Crew Member.

And now, away from prying eyes, he finally had the chance.

"How are you doing, rookie?" He hummed, readjusting his cuff links.

"Great," Came your soft response, "I never thought Deepspace could be more beautiful."

Caleb blinked, "You think it's beautiful?"

"Don't you?" You inquired over the comms, and he wondered what you looked like. Were you fiddling with your uniform like him? Did you have your hat off? Were you completely relaxed?

Caleb considered his answer before landing on, "It's dangerous."

"All beautiful things are," You rebutted, and he heard your gentle laugh, "Poisonous flowers, the sea, the snow, the sun, they're all beautiful and all of them could kill you. The Deepspace Tunnel is no different, Colonel."

"Caleb."

"...Huh?"

"If we're going to have a deep discussion I feel like we should leave titles behind," Caleb answered, loosing his tie to escape the heat creeping up his neck. Wasn't space meant to be cold?

"Alright, Caleb. You've already got my name," You responded slowly, as if savouring the taste of his name on your tongue. Caleb shivered.

"Indeed I do," He'd obsessed over your name, it became his favourite alcohol to get drunk off, "What is it that you find so beautiful about Deepspace?"

You hummed, considering, "It's new. I don't want to spend the rest of my life comforted by the known, I want confront the unknown and space is just that. Stars millions of light years away, planets hidden by shadows, the secret of the Deepspace Tunnel, I want to see them all. I'm happy to spend my life trying to."

Something in your words hit Caleb harder than it meant to. He was a a boy again, holding his plane toy as he stared up at the glow-in-the-dark stars Josephine had stuck to his ceiling. Maybe he could look at Deepspace like that again. Maybe he could ignore all the problems waiting for him at Skyhaven just a little longer. Maybe he could indulge in your presence more.

"I understand that," Caleb murmured, barely above a whisper, "More than you know."

There was a moment of silence, weighted with confession.

He could almost see you smile, "Being out here for so long makes me hungry for actual food, though."

Caleb almost laughed, "I understand that, too."

"I don't know what I'm craving, though. In the academy, my diet consisted of cup noodles and whatever sweets I could find!" You giggled and it echoed in his mind.

"I could take you to some of my favourite spots?" Caleb inquired carefully. Cautious. He wasn't about to cross a line you didn't want him to. He could stop himself from becoming to wrapped up in you, or so he hoped.

"It's a date!" You beamed.

And maybe you simply said it because it was an expression, but that didn't matter, not to Caleb. Because he was going to use every possible advantage he had to make sure he was the only one your were going on dates with.

𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄

He was on a bench again. It was the one he always went to at Asko, it was as famialr to him as his home was. He leaned back against the cold wood, staring out into the night. He was done for the day and yet he couldn't not find it in himself to move. The thought of driving only made the ahce in his body worse. Every inch of him begged for sleep and yet his mind marched on, restless.

Twenty hours.

That's how long he had until his next shift. Twenty hours to get home, shower, eat, sleep, wake up, eat, shower, dress, clean and get to work. His mind went rampant, trying to figure out how quickly to do things, and he knew sitting on the bench wouldn't help him, yet he could not move.

He felt like ripping his hair out. Ice crawled up his neck, and he was thankful for his scarf.

"Zayne..." That voice. How many times had he heard it over the phone over the last couple of weeks?

He looked to the side and found you standing there, only a few short feet from him, a soft, concerned look on your face. He hadn't seen you since he'd left your hospital after the boy he'd done the heart surgery on was discharged. But he'd spoken to you, for professional reasons, he told himself again and again every time his thumb hovered over your contact.

He sucked in a harsh breath and steadied himself, "...What are you doing here?"

You toyed with your lip between your teeth, "Remember that job opportunity I told you about?"

Realisation coursed through Zayne as he sat straighter, "It's at Asko."

"Mhm," You smiled, "They just told me I got it, so you'll be seeing a lot more of me!"

The ice on Zayne's neck thawed slightly, the thorns of frost receding as he stared at you. Seeing you more often, he found he didn't recoil at the thought as he so often did when it came to the closeness of others.

He swallowed, speaking softly, "Congratulations. We've gained a wonderful Doctor."

He watched as you flushed like a flower blooming and sighed deeply. You furrowed your brows, and as you leaned close, he could smell your perfume. "Are you okay?"

Zayne looked at you and found himself softening, his words spilling from his tongue before he could free them, "I'm trying to feel real again."

You nodded, deep understanding stretched across your face, "Do you need anything?"

He hummed thoughtfully, "D...Do you have any...sweets?"

Your face crumpled, "No. I ran out earlier, and I don't know where the good ones are in Linkon. I don't know where the best dessert places are either! It's the worst part of moving to a new place."

A dry chuckle left Zayne's lips before he could stop it. "Not knowing where you can sate your sweet tooth is worse than knowing nothing and no one in Linkon?"

"Yes, it is!" You huffed, puffing out your cheeks, and Zayne found he wanted to squish them. "Besides, I know you!"

A feeling crawled up Zayne's neck again, but instead of frost, it was flush. He resisted the urge to loosen his tie and run his hand through his hair; he couldn't remove his professional facade just yet. He didn't know you well enough, he didn't understand you fully, he couldn't feel your intentions in their entirety.

But how would he ever know those things if he never took a step towards the sun?

"You do know me," Zayne hesitated, licking his lips absent-mindedly, "And I could show you where I know the best desserts are?"

You grinned widely, and grasped his hand, pulling him upwards, "Well, come on, then!"

Why had he spent all that time trying to make a plan so he could have as much time as possible, again? He certainly wasn't going to use it.

#love and deepspace fic #lads x non!mc reader #love and deepsace x reader #love and deepsace #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #sylus x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader

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ridingreeves · 1 day ago

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𝖯𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀－𝖤𝗅𝗂𝗃𝖺𝗁*𝖲𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾*𝖬𝗈𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗑 𝖲𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝖲𝗎𝗆𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗒－Smoke Moore cheated on the kindest girl he ever had—with the one girl who hated her most. She left without a scene, healed quietly, and showed up to the block party glowing. Surrounded by love, she didn’t look his way once. And as Smoke watched her slip further from his reach, he realized too late—he’d lost something he’d never find again.

𝖠／𝖭－ 𝗅𝗈𝗐𝗄𝖾𝗒 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾

You always knew Smoke Moore wasn’t the easiest man to love.

He had this heat to him—sharp and sudden, like summer pavement burning the soles of your feet if you stood still too long. He was cold, dangerous, maddening, and magnetic. But even with all that, he was your soft spot. Your once-in-a-lifetime. The kind of man you loved with your whole chest, knowing damn well he could set the whole thing on fire.

Smoke had that kind of presence that made a room feel too small when he walked in. The kind of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to have everyone’s attention—he just had that heat about him. Quiet. Smoldering. Dangerous. People stayed out of his way, except you.

Because you…

You were kind in a way the world had tried to beat out of you.

You stayed soft, even when people gave you every reason not to be.

And you loved Smoke with the kind of love that was steady.

Unconditional. Unselfish.

You loved him through his moods. You were the quiet one in his world. Sweet. Always kind. Never raised your voice, never tried to tame him. That was never your goal. You just wanted to love him. Fully. Patiently. And he let you. Let you in farther than he had ever let anyone.

He used to tell you you were “the nicest thing in his life.”

He said it like a confession, like it scared him.

You were loyal to a fault. The kind of girl who baked for his brother, remembered birthdays, smiled even when she was tired.

⸻

But nice girls like you never see it coming.

Not until it’s already too late.

⸻

It started with little things.

Shorter conversations. Longer nights out. Missed calls. Cold shoulders.

You knew something was off—you just didn’t want to believe it.

Eyes heavy, jaw tight. Smelling like perfume that wasn’t yours. Wearing guilt like it was stitched into the seams of his clothes. You asked him if everything was okay, and he barely looked at you when he said, “Yeah. Just tired.”

But you weren’t stupid.

You felt it. The shift. The absence.

His love started dripping instead of pouring. He wasn’t cruel—not at first. Just… distant. You’d kiss him and he wouldn’t kiss you back the same. You’d touch him and he’d flinch like he forgot what your hands felt like.

And then it happened.

Your best friend told you first. She didn’t want to, but she couldn’t stand watching you stay in the dark.

“She’s been posting about him. Nia.”

Nia.

Of all people.

The girl who always talked slick about you, who never liked you from the start. The one who’d smirk when you walked into a room, who used to mess with Stack and swore up and down, Smoke wasn’t “your type anyway.” She was petty and loud and bitter—and she hated how soft Smoke got when you were around.

And now she had him.

You didn’t believe it at first. You wanted to give him the chance to explain..

You sat across from him at the kitchen table, hands shaking, voice soft.

“Are you sleeping with her?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the table like it had the words he didn’t want to say.

“Smoke,” you whispered, “please don’t lie to me.”

He looked up, jaw tight.

“…Yeah. I did.”

And in that moment, your world cracked.

It wasn’t just that he cheated.

It was who he chose to betray you with.

It was the girl who hated you the most, now holding the heart you’d thought was yours.

“How long?”

He didn’t lie. Didn’t bother.

“Couple weeks.”

A couple weeks. While you were home making dinner, texting him reminders to stay safe, folding his damn laundry. While you were loving him the best way you knew how.

You blinked through the tears, heart beating in your ears.

“Do you love her?”

He shook his head too fast. “Nah. I was mad. I was drunk. It just happened—”

“You let it happen,” you cut in, your voice breaking. “You let her touch what was mine.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but there was nothing he could say that would unbreak you.

⸻

You left.

You didn’t pack much—just enough to get through the night. You didn’t slam the door. You didn’t scream. That wasn’t your way. You cried in silence in the back of your friend’s car while the city blurred past you.

You told yourself it was just a mistake.

But mistakes don’t post pictures in his hoodie.

They don’t tag him under thirst traps.

They don’t smile in your face at parties like they didn’t help burn your home down.

⸻

Nia made it her mission to be seen. Loud and proud. Letting everybody know she had him now.

“She’s a good girl,” she said to you one night when y’all crossed paths in the club, fake laughing in front of her friends. “But he needed a real woman.”

You didn’t say a word. You just stared back, holding your drink with both hands so it wouldn’t slip.

You weren’t made for moments like that.

You were made for warmth. For quiet mornings. For soft love.

Not for games, not for drama, not for public humiliation.

But life didn’t care what you were made for.

It dragged you through it anyway.

You cried hard that night. Ugly, breathless sobs into your pillow, wondering what more you could’ve done. Wondering why being gentle wasn’t enough. Why loving someone so good didn’t keep them from hurting you.

⸻

Smoke didn’t reach out for weeks.

Not until you blocked him. Not until you started to disappear. That’s when he showed up.

At your door. Hoodie on. Eyes tired. Guilt all over his face.

“I messed up,” he said.

You just stared.

He stepped forward. “You were the only person who saw me—the real me. The one I don’t show nobody. You didn’t deserve that. I was scared. I felt like I was breaking and you were just… too good.”

You swallowed hard, voice quiet.

“So you broke me instead.”

Silence.

“I don’t want her,” he said. “I want—”

“You had me.”

You looked him in the eye, tears in your eyes. “And you threw me to the one person you knew would love watching me suffer.”

He exhaled, rubbing his face. “I can’t take it back—”

“No,” you cut him off, stepping back into your apartment. “But you can leave.”

You closed the door before he could say another word.

And then you sobbed. For all the good you gave. For all the quiet nights and small moments and homemade meals and unconditional love that went unappreciated.

⸻

You were the kindest girl Smoke Moore had ever known.

And he let a bitter, jealous girl touch what was meant to be yours.

One day, he’d feel the weight of that loss.

But by then, you’d be long gone.

And someone else—someone better—would hold your heart the way it always deserved to be held.

Soft. Gentle. Safe.

Because being nice was never your weakness.

It was your superpower.

He just never deserved it.

⸻

Summer came around again, just like it always did.

The block was loud. Kids ran through open hydrants. Grills were smoking. The block was alive—music blasting, people dancing, plates of food being passed around.

You didn’t even want to come.

But your friends convinced you. Said you deserved a day to be seen. Said healing looked good on you, and it did. The pain was still there, soft and tucked behind your ribs, but you were moving forward now. Smiling more. Laughing again. You had finally learned how to carry the ache without letting it consume you.

Sundress. Gold hoops. Braids done. You weren’t trying hard—you never had to. That smile alone made people look twice. You walked in with your friends, drink in hand, greeting people with hugs and soft laughs, and you didn’t look in his direction once.

And across the block, Smoke saw you.

He hadn’t seen you in months. Not since the night you closed the door on him. Not since he realized he could never undo what he did.

Now, there you were.

You didn’t look angry. Didn’t even look at him. You looked happy. Surrounded by people who were glad to see you, sipping your drink with lip gloss shining, smiling at something your friend whispered in your ear.

Smoke’s stomach twisted.

“She came?” he muttered, almost under his breath.

His cousin Sammie turned toward him with raised brows, sipping Hennessy in a cup. “Why wouldn’t she? She from the block too. You don’t own the whole street, Smoke.”

His brother Stack leaned back against a fence, eyes scanning the scene. “Damn,” he said with a low whistle. “She look good. Real good. That new glow hit different.”

Stack looked at smoke and snickered, “She thriving. And you over here with Nia the Gremlin attached to your damn hip.”

“Chill, Stack.”

“No, you chill. ’Cause I know you ain’t think she wasn’t gon’ show up. This her block too. She probably helped plan this whole sh*t. Ain’t nobody hiding from you.”

Smoke stayed quiet, jaw clenched.

Stack kept going.

“Nah, I love this for her. She out here shining while you stuck with this wanna be influencer.’ Look at you. Sad as hell under them damn shades.”

Sammie bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Smoke didn’t laugh.

Stack cut him a look. “You know Nia gon’ act up, right? She clocked her the second she stepped out that car.”

And sure enough—there she was.

Nia.

Clinging to Smoke’s arm like it was her full-time job, dressed too loud, eyes already burning holes through your dress. She whispered something in Smoke’s ear and kissed his cheek, hard and fast, all while staring at you from across the way.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t turn your head. Didn’t blink.

You just laughed at something your friend said, sipped your drink, and kept dancing like you were finally free.

Stack smirked and nudged Smoke. “Nigga. You see that? She ain’t even LOOK over here. You ain’t even a memory no more—you a ghost.”

Smoke didn’t respond. He was watching you now—completely. That ache in his chest spreading. You were everything soft he’d ever known, and now you were everything he couldn’t reach.

Sammie saw it too.

He shifted his drink. “She petty as hell for that. Ain’t nobody think that girl won, bro. She just loud.”

Smoke pulled his arm away gently, jaw tight. “Chill out.”

But Nia wasn’t letting go. Not with you glowing like that a few feet away.

You didn’t look over at them once. You didn’t need to. You felt her eyes. Felt the tension. But you kept laughing. Kept being you. Sweet, classy, untouchable. Unbothered on the outside, even if your chest still ached in places you didn’t talk about.

Stack leaned into Smoke, dropping his voice. Holding a laugh

“You gon’ keep lettin’ her play in your face like that? Like she proud of helpin’ you fumble, the only girl that ever really held you down?”

Smoke clenched his jaw, staring at you like you were a ghost.

Stack stepped back, still laughing. “You really let Nia fumble your whole legacy. You fumbled heaven. You was held like royalty and traded it for… that.”

Sammie spoke up. “Man, leave him alone.”

“No,” Stack grinned. “He need to sit in this. Look at him. Look at that sad little puppy face. Pitiful.”

Smoke muttered under his breath, “Stack, chill before I swing on you.”

Stack just laughed harder. “Swing on me for what? I ain’t the one who cheated on the nicest girl in the damn city with your ex’s biggest hater. You brought this clown parade to town.”

Sammie lifted his cup. “She really do look happy, though. That peace hit different when it ain’t with you no more.”

Smoke kept his eyes on you.

You were on a porch swing now, leaning into your friend, laughing again.

Stack shook his head and clicked his tongue. “You know what the truth is? She really loved you, bruh. And now she out here loving herself. You ain’t even a footnote in her story no more.”

Smoke finally said, low, broken. “I ain’t never gonna find that again.”

Stack looked at him sideways. “Nope. And she ain’t lookin’ back neither.”

“She ain’t hiding from you, Smoke,” Sammie said. “You the one duckin’ her shadow.”

⸻

That night, when the block quieted and people started heading home, you walked past Smoke once. Just once.

Your perfume hit him like a memory.

But you didn’t even glance his way.

Stack clapped him on the back, grinning wide. “That’s the sound of a door slammin’. And you locked out forever, Nigga.”

Smoke didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because in the end, all he could do was stand there…

And watch the kindest girl he ever had keep walking.

Without him.

And for a second, he forgot how to breathe.

Stack sighed beside him. Lit a blunt. Took a long drag before speaking.

“You miss her, huh?”

Smoke didn’t answer.

Sammie walked up, eyes serious. “You ever tell her you sorry? For real, not that shit you pulled on her doorstep?”

“She don’t wanna hear from me.”

Stack looked at him hard. “She shouldn’t. You broke the nicest girl I ever seen. You gave her away to that girl who been wantin’ to be her since high school.”

Smoke swallowed.

“I know.”

But it didn’t matter anymore.

Because the way you looked now—the ease in your shoulders, the light in your eyes—told him everything he needed to know.

You weren’t his anymore.

And the worst part?

He still loved you with everything in him.

But his love came too late.

And no matter how many block parties he showed up to, how many times he watched you from a distance, he knew deep in his gut

You were gone.

And Nia? She could never make him forget you.

#sinners x black reader #elijah smoke moore #elijah x reader #sinners x reader #micheal b jordan sinners #smoke x black reader #micheal b jordan x reader #micheal b jordan smut #micheal b jordan #elias stack moore #sammie sinners

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popcornpoppypop · 2 days ago

Text

The Need for Salt and Kindness

Summary: Olivia has POTS. She hasn't told Robby. Of course she has a flare when they're working together.

Warnings: Fainting, POTS, talk of needles, chest pain, heart palpations, headaches, blood for a glucometer.

A/N: I'm a POTS girly so I based a lot of her symptoms on what I experiences as well as some research. I also have hEDS and sometimes the symptoms bleed over. I tried to keep this sweet. Let me know what you think!

Olivia Walter knew she was in for a shitty shift when she woke and her chest felt like there was rocks in it. She had been fighting a flare-up of her POTS for a while. The first indicator for her was chest discomfort. She took her time sitting up and sipped the water next to her bed.

“Well, shit.” She sighed as she started to stand. Her head was swimming already. She started to systematically tense her leg muscles, something she had seen a reddit, to stop the dizziness.

“Eat. You have to eat.” She groaned to herself. She knew that feeding herself would help, but when she felt like she was dying, it was hard to force food in her. She settled on a Gatorade and a breakfast bar with the promise of a protein smoothie on the way to work.

She walked into the Pitt, smoothie half drunk and feeling marginally better. The place was already buzzing with too many people. She felt her fingers tingle and shook them out. Another Gatorade was needed this morning. She pulled out another bottle before throwing her things in her locker and making her way to the Hub for handover.

“You ever try just plain water?” Langdon snorted.

“You ever try minding your business?” She snapped back.

“Ouch. Who pissed in your cheerios?” Langdon rolled his eyes. Olivia moved to stand next to Collins, leaning on the desk.

“You okay? Looks like that desk is the only thing keeping you on your feet.” Collins smirked.

“Yeah, just off today.” Olivia cleared her throat.

“Long night?” Collins raised an eyebrow.

“Long life.” Olivia laughed. Robby gave out assignments and dismissed everyone. He grabbed Olivia’s arm and pulled her to the side, out of ear shot of everyone.

“You were late this morning.” His voice laced with concern.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” She rubbed her eyes, the head was settling behind her eyes.

“No, you’re not in trouble. I’m just concerned. You seemed off when I left last night.” Robby crossed his arms, his head dipping so he could keep eye contact.

“I’m just tired. It’s been a long week. Don’t worry about me. I can keep up.” She gave a tight smile and walked off, leaving a very unconvinced Robby scratching his chin.

Olivia felt like she was moving through molasses. She did her best to keep up, but her heart palpitations were making her slow down. Robby had checked in more than once and it was starting to piss her off.

“Liv, help me with this cast?” Santos popped her head out of a room.

“Sure.” Olivia sighed. She just wanted to curl up in a ball and not move.

She sat as she helped finish the leg cast with Santos, who was making jokes at her. She couldn’t bring herself to fake a smile. Her hands kept dropping the instruments; they were shaking. She clenched them into fists, as if that would help.

“You okay?” Trintiy asked. As they finished up the cast.

“Yeah. Just so freaking tired.” Olivia mumbled.

“Dr. Walter, I want you monitoring Javadi’s laceration repair.” Dr. Robby barged in.

“Okay.” She sighed as she climbed to her feet. Her body immediately protested. Her legs felt like lead, her chest heaving with each breath. The dizziness made it feel like her eyes were rolling like a slot machine in her head.

“Dr. Walter?” Robby stopped, seeing her face grow pale.

“Mm’okay.” She mumbled.

“Why don’t you sit for a minute?” Robby took her and plopped her in a chair.

“I’m…just…” Her head rocked back and forth as she fought the syncope. “No…please…” She whined.

“Olivia, can you open your eyes?” Robby held her face in his hands as he examined her.

“Can’t…” She sighed.

“She’s going down. Get me a gurney!” Robby called out.

“Sorry.” She sighed as she lost the battle. Her body slumped forward, Robby catching her just in time.

“Shit. Liv? Liv, you gotta wake up for me.” He said, rubbing her sternum.

“Oh, shit!” Santos came running over. “She said she was just tired earlier.” She helped Robby get her on the gurney, wheeling her into a room.

“Get the glucometer, she’s probably not eaten enough.” He ordered. “Come on, Olivia. Wake up.” Robby begged as they hooked her up to the monitors.

“Stop.” Olivia groaned as she started coming around.

“Hey, easy.” Robby stopped her from sitting up. “Liv, you fainted. We need to make sure you’re okay.” His voice was softer than usual.

“I’m fine.” She pushed their hands off her.

“Olivia, you’re not.” Robby was getting stern with her now. She almost wanted to laugh.

“I have POTS. I faint. It happens. I don’t need any of this.” She sighed.

“Shit, her pulse is 112.” Donnie said as he looked at the monitor.

“Yeah. I fainted, my heart rate jumps and then it evens out. At some point.” She shrugged.

“Okay. Thank you everyone. Back to work.” Robby announced, taking the glucometer from Santos and ushering everyone out.

“I just need a second.” Olivia started trying to get out of bed. Robby pushed her back down onto the bed.

“Nope. You need to relax for a minute.” He told her.

“Laying down isn’t great for me right now.”

“Okay, sit, but stay off your feet.” He scolded as he got the glucometer prepped.

“Come on. No. I don’t need that.” She crossed her arms.

“Don’t be stubborn. POTS patients can experience hypoglycemia. You know that. Humor me.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Fine.” She growled, flopping her hand out to him.

“Thank you.” He swabbed her finger with alcohol and pricked it, letting the stick fill with blood.

“I haven’t passed out in so long.” Olivia shook her head.

“Stress can make things worse.” Robby pulled his glasses out to read the glucometer.

“I haven’t had any more stress than usual.”

“You’re a senior resident. Your life is stress.” He snorted. He turned the glucometer to show her. “70. You just earned yourself monitoring and a sandwich.”

“Fuck.” Olivia cursed.

“Hey, just let us take care of you. Any preferences?”

“Same as Earl.”

“No egg salad, got it.” He smiled as he left the room.

Olivia felt her face flush with embarrassment and frustration. She hated people seeing her sick. She hated when her boss saw her sick. She hated when her handsome boss, that she’s not-so-secretly dating, saw her sick. She leaned over and turned the sound off on the monitor, annoyed at the sound of her heart rate as it slowed.

“Heads up.” Robby came in, tossing a sandwich to her.

“Thanks.” She caught it.

“Turkey sandwich and orange juice. Administer orally.” Robby smirked as he sat on the stool across from her, handing the juice to her.

“So funny.” She rolled her eyes as she took a bite of her sandwich.

“Eh, I try.” He shrugged.

“Try harder.” She had a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“Oh, I see we’re feeling better.” Robby crossed his arms. “You want to tell me why I wasn’t informed of your illness?” He raised an eyebrow.

“No one needed to know. I’ve dealt with it for years. It never stopped me from doing what I wanted. It’s never impeded my work.” Olivia straightened up, her hackles starting to raise.

“Clearly. That’s why I had to throw your ass on a gurney today.” Robby snorted.

“I didn’t need help. I would have been fine.” Olivia snapped.

“Easy. I’m just helping. It’s kind of my job.”

“Sorry. I just don’t like being babied.” She sighed.

“No one is doing that. Look, it would have been good to know so that I could recognize the signs and stop the syncope before it starts. That’s all.” Robby said.

“I woke up feeling like shit. I knew this was going to happen.” Olivia shook her head, picking at her sandwich.

“It’s not a weakness to take of yourself or let people help you do it.” Robby dipped his head so he could meet her eyes.

“You first.”

“Oh, ouch.” Robby laughed.

“I’m not accustomed to being taken care of. I’m not good at it.” Olivia shrugged.

“Yeah, me too.” Robby rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. “Look, I’m going to suggest something. Jack will be here in less than an hour, and our shift will be over. Let me take you home, help you through the flare-up.”

“You don’t have to do that.” She sipped her orange juice, hands still shaking.

“I know. I want to.” He shrugged. Olivia watched him for a moment, as if waiting for some mask to fall from his face.

“Okay.” She sighed.

“Good. I’ll be back to check on you in a bit.” He smiled.

“I can finish the shift.” Olivia started to get to her feet, she swayed on her feet. Robby rushed over and helped her sit back down.

“Not happening. You’re resting. Doctor’s orders.” Robby crossed his arms.

“Who listens to their doctor these days, anyway.”

“Boss’s orders.”

“No one listens to their boss. You sure as hell don’t.”

“Boyfriend's orders. Just sit your ass down and eat your sandwich.” He shook his head as he left.

Olivia sipped her juice, a smile tugging at her lips. Maybe she could learned to let herself be taken care of. A knock at the door broke her of her thoughts.

“Hey, Liv. How you doing?” Perlah’s bright face popped into the room.

“I’m okay.” Olivia smiled.

“Good. You had us worried, kid.” She came in with the IV caddy.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” Olivia sat up.

“Robby wants a catheter placed? I thought he told you.”

“Coward. No, he didn’t.”

“Said something about getting you fluids. Am I going to need the soft restraints?” Perlah cocked an eyebrow.

“No.” Olivia groaned as she flopped her arm out for Perlah.

“I’ll make quick work of it, don’t worry.”

“Should have made him do it.” Olivia snorted.

“Oh yeah, that would end well. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Robby place a catheter. Probably hasn’t since he was an intern.” Perlah laughed.

“Good point. I do prefer my veins not blown.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, course.” Olivia looked at her confused.

“You two are a thing, right?” Perlah taped the catheter in and leaned back on the stool.

“Oh. Um. I don’t know how to answer that.” Olivia cleared her throat.

“Don’t worry. You just did.” Perlah patted her leg and left.

“Well, shit.” Olivia sighed.

Olivia drifted off to sleep at some point. Her body was exhausted; she couldn’t fight it during flares. She felt a gentle hand on her arm, stroking up and down.

“Liv. We can go home.” Robby’s voice a gentle whisper in her ear. She groaned as she stretched.

“Okay.” She hummed as she sat up, her head swimming.

“Easy.” Robby steadied her. “Should I get a wheelchair?”

“No. Just give me a second.” She cleared her throat. She stood, putting a brave face. Robby could see how dizzy she was.

“I’m getting a chair.” He sighed.

“Fine.” Olivia flopped back on the bed.

“You do feel like shit if you’re not fighting the wheelchair.” Robby chuckled as he left. Olivia had a few choice words for him, in her head of course.

“I left my cane at home.” She sighed as he came back in.

“I’ve never seen your cane?” Robby looked surprised.

“I keep it in my coat closet, in a corner. Most people don’t see it.” She shrugged as she got into the chair. Robby wheeled her out of the ED, many double glances followed.

“They’ll talk.” Olivia sighed. “Perlah knows.”

“Perlah knows everything. She also knows better than to say something to the wrong person.” Robby shrugged.

“Gloria will know.”

“I told Gloria after our first date.” Robby chuckled.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did, you were half-drunk on wine watching Love Island. I didn’t think you were that gone that you wouldn’t remember.” He helped her into the passenger seat.

“Sneaky. You’re sneaky.” Olivia sighed as she leaned her head back.

“Sure. When I need to be. Relax. Go to sleep. We’ll be home in a few minutes.” He told her as he drove off.

Olivia felt the car stop, waking her up. Her head lolled upright.

“That was fast.” She cleared her throat as she climbed out of the car. Robby ran around to the other side, hovering, waiting to catch her. She held onto his arm as they walked up to her apartment. She was always so glad she had a ground-floor apartment.

“Do you want a shower?” He asked as he put his bag on the counter.

“Need one. I stink.” She groaned.

“Do you want help?” He watched her shuffle toward her bedroom.

“No.”

“Let me rephrase. Do you need it?”

“…yes.”

“Okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He smirked as he walked behind her.

“I hate you.”

“That is not what you said the other night when I made you scream so loud the neighbors called the cops.” He growled in her ear.

“Not fair!” Olivia gasped.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Robby laughed as he turned her shower on.

“At least shower with me. I washed the clothes you left here. It’ll be easier.” Olivia batted her eyelashes, a move she knew Robby could never say no to.

“You drive a hard bargain. Sure.” He smiled as he pulled the scrub top from her. She moved to take his off, but he pushed her hands off. “I’m taking care of you. Don’t fuss over me. I’m fine.”

“Okay.” Her voice was small. Robby finished undressing her and himself. He helped her into the shower, keeping a firm hold on her as she settled into the warmth.

Robby was soft and quick as he helped Olivia wash up. He knew she would have a small window where it felt okay before the syncope reared its ugly head.

“Ugh…Head’s swimming.” Olivia groaned.

“Okay, I got you.” Robby hummed as he rinsed the remaining suds from her skin and turned the water off. He wrapped her in a towel and sat her on the closed toilet.

“Top drawer. Pajamas are in the top drawer. Second drawer is my compression stockings.” She sighed as she took deep breaths. Robby grabbed her clothes and his and went back in.

“I knew I left my Penguins shirt somewhere.” He grumbled as he threw on his shirt and shorts.

“I wore it a couple of times.” Olivia pulled her clothes on. She struggled with her stockings.

“Let me help.” Robby took them from her.

“I haven’t been this bad in so long. I don’t know what happened.” Olivia sighed, feeling the emotions bubbling up.

“It happens. You did party pretty hard at Mohan’s birthday last weekend. Probably what did you in.” Robby got to his feet.

“Yeah. I don’t know. I need electrolytes.” She groaned as she slowly got to her feet.

“Let’s get you settled on the couch. I got fluids for you.” Robby helped her to the couch, tucking her heated blanket around her. He left and came back in with his backpack.

“I have packets on the counter next to the sink.” Olivia grumbled as she squeezed her eyes shut, the headache pounding.

“I’m getting you hooked up and then I’m making you dinner.” Robby pulled a bag of fluids from his bag and a small stand.

“You stole from the hospital?” Olivia looked at him confused.

“Nope. You’re getting billed for the fluids. Sorry. The stand is mine. Jack liked to party hard and made me give him a banana bag at his place. Got tired of taping it to the wall.” Robby attached the fluids to the catheter still in Olivia’s arm.

“I forgot about that thing in my arm.” She huffed.

“What do you want to eat?” Robby sat on the footstool across from her.

“Taco Bell.”

“No.”

“Yes, I want it.”

“That shit will kill you.”

“I need the salt. There is nothing filled with sodium like Taco Bell. It’s my go-to Hail Mary meal.” Olivia whined.

“Jesus. How are you still alive?” Robby rubbed his eyes.

“I’m stubborn.”

“Oh, well, yeah. Knew that.” Robby chuckled. “I’m going to make you something. Just, sit there and try not to die.” He waved her off and went to the kitchen.

Olivia flipped through her apps, not a single thing appealing to her. She moved to get up, wanting to take something for the headache.

“What are you doing?” Robby materialized out of nowhere next to her.

“Fuck! Where did you come from!?” Olivia fell back on the couch, clutching her chest.

“I’m always around. I’m all knowing.” Robby crossed his arms. “Then you’ll know that I’m getting Tylenol for my head.” She looked at him and tilted her head to emphasize her point.

“Okay.” Robby pulled a bottle of Tylenol from his pocket and handed it to her.

“There is no way you knew that.” Olivia grumbled as she poured the pills into her hand.

“Please. You’re not as hard to read as you think you are. You’ve been complaining about a headache all day.” He laughed.

“Does taking care of me just mean you get to be sassy to me all night?”

“Maybe.” Robby shrugged as he walked back into the kitchen. Olivia decided to stop fighting the need to sleep again and let the exhaustion take hold.

“Liv?” Robby’s voice shook her from her light sleep.

“Hmm? Sorry. I get so tired.” She sat up.

“Fatigue is one of the main symptoms.”

“Don’t act like you’re an expert all of a sudden.” She smirked.

“Here,” Robby shoved a plate in her face. “Not Taco Bell, but it’ll be better for you at least.” The plate was filled with a Mexican corn and bean salad of some sort, chicken, and avocado.

“Since when do you cook?” Olivia asked as she took a bite.

“I wouldn’t call that cooking. Just throwing things in a bowl. I watch a lot of Food Network. It’s relaxing.” Robby sat next to her and started eating his plate.

“Thank you.” Olivia nudged his arm.

“Any time. You really shouldn’t eat carbs so much, by the way.” Robby said as he shoved food into his mouth. Olivia dropped her fork and stared at him.

“You weren’t complaining about my fat the other night.” She huffed.

“What? No! Oh my god! No! No, it’s the sugar. It can cause flares! That’s what I meant.” Robby nearly choked on his food.

“Nice save.” Olivia chuckled.

“Fuck, you know how to make dinner awkward.”

“I’m not the one commenting on someone’s diet.”

“Your bag is almost done. I got another one, you think you need it?” Robby asked as he finished his meal.

“No. I think I’m okay.” Olivia sighed.

“Let me know.” Robby took their dishes to the kitchen. “I’m going to ask Jack what electrolytes he uses, his don’t have sugar in them.” He said as he walked back in. Olivia was taking deep breaths and clenching her hands into fists and releasing them. “Liv?”

“I’m going down again. I can feel it.” Her voice broke. Robby sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder.

“It’s okay. I’m going to lift your legs up, keep the blood flowing.” He put his arm under her knees and lifted them so they were just above her chest. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay?”

“I fucking hate this shit.” She cried.

“I can imagine.” Robby nodded as he used his free hand to massage her neck.

“What a mess.” She hummed, her body shaking. Her head fell back against the couch as she lost consciousness.

Robby moved her body so she was lying flat on the couch, her knees bent. He ran to the kitchen and got a cold, wet dish towel, placing it on the back of her neck. He kept his hand on her wrist, keeping track of her pulse. He ran his hands through her hair, waiting for her to wake up.

Olivia’s head slowly shook, her eyebrows furrowed. She grasped down on whatever was holding her hand. Robby’s hand, she figured.

“You’re okay. Nice and slow.” Robby murmured to her. She took a deep breath as she opened her eyes, Robby was sitting on the floor next to her.

“Sorry.” She groaned.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Robby told her.

“You’re nice.” She sighed.

“I do my best.” He smiled, his fingers still combing her hair. “I think you need to go see your neurologist.”

“The great Dr. Michael Robinavitch admits he can’t fix a patient? Is the sky falling? You should check.” Olivia smiled.

“You’re so funny.” Robby rolled his eyes.

“I know. I’ll call in the morning.” She sighed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Really.” Robby traced patterns on the back of her hand.

“I don’t like being treated like glass. When people find out I have a chronic illness, they treat me like glass. Or they get mean. I couldn’t bear it from you. Anyone but you.” Olivia pulled her hand from his grasp and cupped his cheek in it, running her thumb along his cheekbone.

“I’ll never be mean to you. Not on purpose.” He kissed her palm. “I know you’re an independent woman, you hate people infantilizing you. But you can let me carry the weight sometimes. You can let me take care of you, not baby you, care for you.”

“Shut up. I’m already tachycardic and you’re going to make it worse.” Olivia coughed.

“I’ll work on diluting my high levels of charm for you. We’ll monitor your intake, like the sugar.” He smirked as he leaned down to kiss her.

#the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #dr. robby #dr. michael robinavitch #dr. michael robinavitch x oc #dr. michael “robby” robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr. robby fluff #doctor robby #dr. robinavitch #dr. robby x reader #noah wyle #tw food #tw blood #tw pots #tw fainting

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madebycloud · 3 days ago

Text

STAY

rumi x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary．workaholism is practically her middle name. rumi works to the bone day in, day out, always putting her work before everything else… and that includes you. (requested by @remmia) warnings/themes．light angst and fluff, argument, happy ending words．2.0k

Rumi was supposed to come home at 9pm, according to her.

11:14pm. She's two hours late.

You tried calling her, but it just rang endlessly. No answer. Texting her was no use either, as she rarely replied to your texts these days.

She's busy.

She's just busy.

Too busy for you, at least.

Too busy to spend time with you. Too busy to pay attention to you. Too busy for the person she's supposed to come home to every day.

It wouldn't bother you so much if it hadn't happened so often... late nights, lack of responses, missed calls, canceled dates. Sometimes it feels like Rumi puts her job before anything else. The fans, the fame, the work, the music. Everything, except you.

You've been patient. You've been understanding. You've tried to support her in every way. You've tried to be the best partner you could possibly be.

It's not like you're asking for much, is it? just a text to say she's running late or a call to say she missed your call. Anything would be better than the silence you're constantly met with.

Rumi promised. She promised she'd make time for you.

And yet...here you are. Sitting alone in the apartment, waiting for a girl who's always too busy to give you any of her time.

And waiting.

Eventually, you hear a click as the door opens slowly, spilling light from the hallway to flood into the space.

“Oh... babe, you're still up.”

You scoff in response, not meeting her gaze. “I am. been waiting for you to come home.”

Rumi closes the door behind her, taking off her coat and shoes. She then turns towards you, sighing. “Babe... please, let's not get into this right now...” she says, stepping cautiously into the apartment. “I'm tired, okay? It was a long day—”

“A long day, huh?” you interrupt, standing up from the couch.

It's always the same excuse. 'Too tired.' 'Work was busy.' 'We'll talk tomorrow… I'm sleepy...' Yet, here she is again, showing up late and expecting you to simply accept it without complaint.

Rumi walks over to you, reaching out to take your hand in hers, but you bat it away. She frowns. “You know how it is. The company's got a lot of big projects coming up… I had a lot of things to take care of today.”

You look at her incredulously. “And how many times have you said that exact same thing in the past month— in the past three months?”

“I… I just… I can't always control my work schedule, you know? Babe—”

You cut her off again, pointing a finger at her. “You know you can control when you answer my calls. You can control when you send me a freaking text back—”

“I was busy, okay? I tried my best to respond whenever I could, but work—”

“Work, work, work! That's all you ever care about these fucking days. You never have time for me. I'm not asking for much, just a call or a text or ANYTHING!”

“Why are you so angry about this?!” she snaps back, throwing her hand to the side. “You know how important my job is to me. It takes a lot of my time, and I'm trying my BEST to juggle everything— the company, the comebacks, the fans, and you! I'm trying to do it all, and it's not easy—”

“Not easy?” You laugh bitterly. “Is it difficult for you to send a ten second text to your partner? To give them a quick call just so they know you actually remember they exist? What's so hard about giving a few minutes of your time every once—” You swallow. The knot in your throat tightens. “When was the last time we even went on a date, Rumi? when was the last time you even told me you loved me? Is that how you prove you're 'trying?'”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” Rumi's voice suddenly rises over yours.

You step back instinctively, eyes brimming with tears. “I just want some of your attention, Rumi. Is that really too much to ask for...? Just show me that you CARE about this relationship— that you CARE about ME. I just want—” You pause, inhaling deeply, wiping away a tear that rolls down your cheek with a trembling hand. “...I just want to feel loved... by you.”

Her features soften instantly. Guilt creeps into the corners of her eyes when she sees your tearstained face, noticing the vulnerability that you rarely showed.

Rumi exhales slowly, steps towards you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You rest your head against her shoulder, arms remaining limp at your sides.

“I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry...” she whispers. “I don't mean to neglect you. I just get really caught up in my work. There are music shows, performances, fans, and a million things happening at once... it's not easy, babe.”

You don't hug her back. Her words don't comfort you; her touch doesn't ease your worries. She's just saying what she thinks you want to hear, what she has to so you'd forgive her.

“If it's not easy for you, Rumi... if you find it that hard to make time for me. Then maybe... maybe we should just... end this... whatever this is.”

It's not that you actually want to leave Rumi...but you can't keep living like this. Constantly ignored, constantly feeling unloved. You deserve better than this—to live in a shadow, to feel so little but to give so much.

“No. No, wait, no— babe, please... please don't say that.” Rumi pulls back to look you in the eye, grasping your face between her hands. “You're just upset... you don't mean that.”

“I am upset, Rumi. I'm tired. I'm hurt. I'm so fed up. I just feel like you've forgotten that I even exist. I can't keep going like this, Rumi... and I don't think you want to either.”

The words seem to stab straight into Rumi's heart. Her hold on your face trembles. “You're not thinking straight right now...I'm tired, you're tired, and it's late. Can we just go to bed, please? we can talk about it tomorrow, I promise.”

She's right about one thing: you are tired. Not just from the late hour or the emotional strain of the argument. It's the weariness of putting up with this situation for so long, hoping that things would somehow change.

So you don't protest as she leads you towards the bedroom, gently pushes you onto the bed, and don't resist as she climbs on top of you, laying on your body, not wanting to be apart from you.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry... I'm so stupid, so selfish. I'll be better. I'll—” Her voice falters. “I love you. I love you so much... I'm so sorry.”

You lift your arms as if to push Rumi off, but your gesture changes midway, folding around her quivering frame, cradling her against your chest. The warm wetness seeps from her eyes onto your skin.

There you stay. Rumi sobs into your neck, hands tightly clenching fistfuls of your clothes. She'll probably be back to ignoring you when the sun rises.

But for now, for just these few stolen moments while she clings onto you with all her might...

...you want to believe her and hope that come morning, things will feel different.

───────────

Morning arrives. Your mind slowly pulls awake, but your eyes stay closed. Hands instinctively reaching out to your side in search of a familiar warmth. Except... the only thing your hand manages to find is a cold, empty space.

Wait. Cold? Empty?

Your eyes snap open, the sleep clearing from your vision in an instant.

There's no Rumi. No warm body, no messy hair on the pillow, no comforting weight pinning you down in place. The covers beside you are ruffled but already cold.

Sitting up, your eyes drift to the small clock on the bedside. 9:15am.

You throw the covers off yourself, standing up. The hardwood floor is cool under your soles as you leave the room.

The apartment is silent. No sounds of water running or the hum of a hairdryer.

No sign of Rumi.

What were you expecting? for her to actually keep her promise? ...How pathetic, desperate, stupid, and gullible you are.

Just when you're about to wallow in your own self-loathing, the sound of the front door opening suddenly catches your ears.

There, in the doorway, stands Rumi, dressed in sweatpants, cropped hoodie, holding a plastic bag filled with groceries. “Morning..,” She then shuts the door and walks towards the kitchen, setting the groceries on the counter. “I went to the supermarket early to avoid the rush. Got us some things we needed, a few extra snacks I thought you might like—”

“I thought you'd be at the studio right now.”

Rumi pauses, stalling as she begins unpacking the groceries. She doesn't turn around when she says, “I took a break...for a month.”

You blink in disbelief.

She continues as you approach the kitchen. “I told Bobby that I needed some time off, and the company agreed. I won't be going into the studio for a while or having any schedules. So we can spend some time together.”

“What about the girls?”

“Mira and Zoey are also taking time off to take care of their own things. It's just you and me. No work, no studio, no interruptions to deal with. Just us. For an entire month.”

Did you hear her right? Rumi, who's always working, always busy, always has no time to answer her phone, took a whole month off? For...you?

“Where do you want to go? I was looking online earlier, and I think going to Jeju would be nice. We could get a small rental car there and just drive wherever, or if you'd rather stay in Seoul, we could—”

You don't realize you've closed the distance between you until you're standing right behind her, arms encircling her waist, resting your chin on her shoulder.

You've missed this. Holding her, feeling her, being with her like this. It's like...you can breathe again.

Rumi stiffens at the sudden contact, hands freezing around the milk she just grabbed, then lowers it back into the bag before slowly melting into your embrace, leaning back as her hands cover yours on her stomach, thumb tracing over your knuckles.

Neither of you speaks for a while, simply content to stay in the other's arms after such a long time.

A month off.

No distractions. No late nights. No schedules.

Just the two of you.

To try. To fix things. To fall in love again. To make up for lost time. To simply exist in each other's presence.

“I'm sorry.” Rumi tilts her head to rub her cheek softly against yours. “I know I wasn't the best girlfriend to you...and— and I messed up. A lot. I've hurt you. A lot. I can't promise I won't screw up or be able to fix the mistakes I've made, but...I promise I'll try. For us.”

You don't reply. Can't reply. Not when your heart is stuck in your throat and the words are choking you from within.

So instead you hug her tighter. Hold her closer. Hoping that this time it'll be enough. That after all the hurt, heartache, tears, pain, things will finally work out as long as you both try.

It's then that your stomach decides to make its presence known, rumbling loudly. Rumi laughs, her own stomach following suit, gurgling as if on cue, earning another laugh from both of you.

Your laughter dies back into a chuckle, Rumi turning in your hold to look at you with a small smile. “Do you want an omurice?”

You nod, mirroring her smile. You haven't had her omurice in so long.

She then presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Rumi.”

Both of you end up making omurice for breakfast, and despite the fact that the eggs get slightly overcooked and you make a bit of a mess while rolling the omelette, your heart is lighter than it's been in months.

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bbyg4rl · 19 hours ago

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waking jj up . . .

cw:bf!jj x gf!reader, new relationship, fluff, slightly shy!jj.

The sunlight sneaks through the curtains in soft golden stripes, warming the sheets and the tip of JJ’s nose. His arm is draped across your waist, heavy and warm, and his face is buried in your pillow, hair a complete disaster. He’s snoring just a little, all soft and stuffy-sounding.

This is your first morning with him. As his girlfriend. Not just crashing after a party or staying up talking until someone passed out. This is real. This is JJ Maybank in your bed, tangled up with you.

You lean in and kiss his shoulder—light as a whisper. He doesn’t stir, so you do it again, then again, trailing kisses up toward his neck, giggling quietly against his skin.

He groans into the pillow, voice scratchy and still thick with sleep. “If this is a dream, I’m gonna be so pissed when I wake up.”

You laugh. “It’s not a dream.”

He lifts his head just a little, cracking one sleepy eye open to look at you. His voice is low and adorably grumbly. “You’re bein’ all nice. First thing in the morning. That’s messed up.”

You tilt your head, grinning. “You don’t like it?”

“No, I do, that’s the problem.” He flops back onto his side, blinking at you like he still doesn’t totally believe this is happening. “You’re kissin’ me all soft, smiling at me like you want me here. It’s dangerous.”

You giggle again, tucking your hand under your chin as you lay beside him. “JJ.”

“What?”

“I do want you here.”

He grins sleepily at that, but there’s a little blush creeping in now, across his nose and the tips of his ears. You kiss the corner of his mouth and feel him freeze just slightly, like your affection surprises him. “No one’s ever done that,” he says after a pause.

You scrunch your nose at that, “Kissed you?”

“No—well—yeah, but…” He hides his face in the pillow for a second before turning his head just enough to peek at you. “No one’s ever woken me up like that. All soft. Like they… care.”

You go quiet for a beat. Then, softly add, “Well. I do.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, letting out a half-whine, half-groan. “Stop it. You’re gonna break me in half with the sweetness.”

You press a kiss to his forehead. “Good.”

JJ opens his eyes again, fully this time, and stares at you with that look—wide-eyed and boyish and a little overwhelmed. “You’re gonna ruin me for anyone else, you know that?”

You giggle. “Who said I was planning on sharing?”

That makes his cheeks go even pinker. He pulls the comforter up over his face like he’s hiding from the moment. You tug it down with a smile. “Hey. You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just… I didn’t think mornings could feel like this.” He gestures vaguely between the two of you. “Warm. Soft. Like someone actually cares”

You nuzzle into his chest, your voice muffled. “I care.”

He wraps his arms around you immediately, burying his face in your hair. “Okay, well now you’re going to get me all whipped for you.”

You laugh so hard you snort, and he grins against your neck. “Noted,” you say. “I’ll make sure to do it more.”

JJ just holds you tighter, quiet for a second. Then he whispers, “Best damn morning of my life.”

check out my other works ! masterlist

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yawnzshit · 2 days ago

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PRI'S FIC RECS : SUPERMAN EDITION.

[ ♡ ] : personal favourites.

🎙️ i will be adding more to this list as I read :) enjoy ! and extra shoutout to the authors who wrote these <3 love you guys!! also pls feel free to dm me with more recs! i will gladly add them here :)

extra p.s these are x reader fics...i don't mind ship fics but i don't read them so i can't rec those :")

My Hero by @jungkooklover777 [ 11k ]

synopsis : an office romance sounds good in theory but what happens when it goes according to theory?

notes : office!romance au ; me and slow burn go hand in hand.

unfold your love by @junleb [ 6.8k ]

synopsis : jimmy olsen and the mystery of two idiots who are definitely not in love

notes : coworkers!au ; cutesy, loved it!!!!

clark kent's love language by @ilyasorokinn [ 1.4k ] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : clark thinks his love language is to keep you safe. he likes to check in on you every once in a while during the day. one afternoon, his daily check-in's prove to be necessary.

notes : i loved this sm :( can i have a clark kent pls

a lesson in trust falling by @swordgrace [ 1.6k ]

synopsis : you’re not fond of flying — thankfully, your boyfriend is superman.

notes : established!relationship au ; GUYS PLS READ THIS NOW!! as someone with a bit of a fear of flying this is so perf <3

stop avoiding me by @killishin

coworkers!au ; superhero!reader

notes : VERY CUTESY!!!

take a deep breath and let the rest come easy by @indouloureux

synopsis : sometimes sunlight just isn't enough for superman to heal. so there's a reason why he comes home to you every night.

notes : i love him ur honour.

clark kent bf texts by @writingmeraki

notes : everyone deserves a bf clark 🙏🙏🙏

LOVESICK by @hearts4hughes

notes : i love yearning. i love yearning. i love love.

spider...man? by @se7entyrell

synopsis : Your relationship with Clark told through your crippling fear of spiders, aka four times when Clark is the world's best spider-catcher.

notes : cute & sweet ☹️☹️☹️

clark kent and the lavender skirt by @luveline [4k]

synopsis : You like to rush things. Clark takes things slow until he can’t anymore. (Or, you attempt to seduce your coworker in a series of little skirts, and while Clark falls in love with all of you, the skirts don’t hurt.)

notes : YO THE BUILDUP IN THIS HAD ME KICKING GIGGLING SCREAMING.

! SMUT SECTION [ read the warnings ! ]

but he doesn't like me, does he? by @sillyswriting [ 12.7k] [ ♡ ]

synopsis : There was one thing you knew for sure, absolutely certain: Clark Kent didn’t like you. Not in an angry or rude way, he was still polite, still himself. But you could feel it. His body language and attitude gave everything away. Your coworkers kept insisting you were wrong, but then why did he keep avoiding you?

notes : coworkers!au ; LOVED LOVEDD THISSS YOUR HONOUR I WANT THIS PLEASE PLEASEEE

THE INTERVIEW NO ONE CAN EVER KNOW ABOUT by @louisaskywalkerani

synopsis : (yes, that one. the countertop one.)

notes : yeah. JUST YEAH. READ THIS.

untitled by @jordiemeow [ 1.9k]

synopsis : your boyfriend clark always seems to find the light in everything. but with several hard fights back to back ending in numerous civilian casualties to weigh him down, he just needs a gentle touch to soothe him and coax him back to his former brightness.

notes : cute adorable soft smut, my fave

untitled by @softvalentines

notes : yeah i get it, i soooo do. thank you for this 🙏🙏🙏🙏

clark kent masterlist by @diorchids

notes : thank you author for your service for the horny(me) bitches 🙏🙏🙏 linking your entire masterlist cause yes.

...more to come!

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camficdiner · 3 days ago

Note

1.1, 2.5, 3.5, 4.3

there’s a party at the lake house and a game of truth or dare is happening and someone dares her to make out with all 3 hughes bros and rank them. she rolls her eyes and doesn’t want to do it as she’s friends with them all but she does. after, jack ends up being number 1 and that’s that. later on he finds her and is like so i was first? and is all cocky about it and one thing leads to another and jack shows her what else he’s good at😏

☕️ cams fic diner — order 125

🍒 thank you:

to the ones who kiss and rank and still don’t know what’s about to hit them.

💬 “rank me again”

✨ description & prompts:

character: Jack Hughes

prompt: there’s a party at the lake house. someone dares her to kiss all three Hughes brothers and rank them. Jack comes in first. later, he finds her and asks what else he’s best at. he shows her.

type: party chaos, friends to something more, jealousy/possessiveness, smut

🛼🍒🧁✨

⸻

You already knew it was a mistake the second the bottle stopped spinning and pointed at you.

“Truth or dare?” Luke grinned, eyes glassy.

You leaned back against the couch, stretching your legs out like this was all beneath you. “Truth.”

“Nope.” Cole was already shaking his head. “No way. You’ve picked truth the last two rounds.”

Jack, slouched like a king in the corner of the couch, raised a brow. “Come on. Live a little.”

You sighed. “Fine. Dare.”

Cole smirked. “Kiss all three Hughes brothers. Then rank them.”

The room erupted in noise. Laughter. Groans. A couple people half-choked on their drinks.

You blinked. “Are you on drugs?”

“It’s a dare,” Jack said innocently. “You’re not scared, are you?”

Your glare could have cut glass. “If any of you try to slip tongue, I swear to God—”

Quinn stood first. It was harmless. A polite, two-second press of lips, like he was kissing someone he respected too much to ever touch.

Luke made a face. “This is so weird,” he muttered before leaning in. It was awkward and quick, and he backed off the second it happened like he needed mouthwash.

Then Jack stood.

And you hesitated.

He was looking at you like he already knew he’d win. Smug, slow, borderline dangerous. His hand found your waist before you could stop him, pulling you closer.

The kiss was deliberate. Hot. His mouth didn’t move fast — just deep. A low hum buzzed in his throat when you didn’t pull away. And then he did use tongue, sweeping into your mouth like it belonged there.

When he pulled back, your heart was pounding.

You sat down, forcing your face neutral.

“Rank them,” someone called.

You didn’t even think. “Jack. Then Quinn. Then Luke.”

Jack shot up two hands like he’d just scored a hat trick. Luke fake-cried into a beer. Quinn rolled his eyes.

Jack didn’t stop looking at you for the rest of the night.

—

Later, you found yourself alone on the back deck, the lake dark and quiet under the moonlight. You heard footsteps behind you before you felt the body heat.

“You really meant it?” Jack’s voice was lower now. Slower.

You turned. He was already closer than you expected.

“You were the best kisser,” you said flatly. “Happy?”

“No,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Not just the best. I was first.”

“So?”

“So, what else am I the best at?”

You opened your mouth.

Didn’t answer.

Jack took a step forward, pinning you lightly between the banister and his body.

“You’ve been looking at me all night.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

His mouth brushed yours.

“That kiss meant something,” he said. “And you know it.”

And then he kissed you again — nothing like earlier. This was deeper, darker, fingers sliding into your hair, hand gripping your ass. His hips were already grinding into yours, slow and hard enough to make you gasp.

“Jack—” you whispered, trying to pull away, dizzy.

He caught your jaw, turned your face back. “No,” he said. “Not running.”

His mouth was back on yours — hot, frantic. You felt your back hit the hallway wall, then the soft thud of your shorts hitting the floor.

“Bedroom,” he muttered.

You didn’t make it.

He turned you around, bent you over the hallway table. Your panties were tugged down in one sharp pull, his hands bracing your hips open.

“Still wanna act like that kiss was nothing?” he said, voice tight, cock already pressing between your thighs. “Still wanna pretend you don’t think about me?”

Your moan gave you away.

He slid into you hard.

And you gasped.

He didn’t give you time to adjust — he was relentless, thick and possessive, hips slamming into you with a rhythm that was all need. You clutched the table, crying out as he pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in.

“Look at you,” he growled, grabbing a handful of your hair. “Taking it like you fucking need me.”

You couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe.

He shoved back in harder. Rough. Unforgiving. Your orgasm built like a wave and hit hard, legs trembling.

And still he kept going.

“Say it,” he gritted. “Say I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“Yes—Jack—fuck—yes—”

You came again, legs shaking, teeth biting into your arm to muffle the noise.

When he finally pulled you back up, his chest was slick with sweat. He carried you into the nearest bedroom and dropped you gently onto the sheets.

Then he undressed you fully.

Laid you down.

And kissed every inch of skin like he hadn’t just ruined you.

“Still ranking me first?” he murmured against your thigh.

You laughed, breathless. “I think you broke the whole scale.”

He smirked. “Good.”

He crawled up and kissed you slow this time. Long. Tender.

And when you fell asleep — bare, flushed, still sore — his hand was resting on your stomach like it was a claim.

Like he’d finally gotten what he wanted.

—

#camficdiner #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes smut #jh86 #jh86 x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes x you #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jh86 imagine #jh86 smut

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yuh13lo · 2 days ago

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𝐩𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ⋆·˚ ༘ * m.s.

“Just one more time. One. Please, babe. I need to see him.”

You laughed, the phone barely stable in your hand from how much Matt’s begging voice was making you shake with amusement. You were lying on your stomach on your bed, golden retriever puppy curled up beside you, and Matt was on FaceTime, eyes wide, bottom lip out dramatically.

“Matt. You saw him yesterday.”

“And I miss him!” he cried out like it was the end of the world, flopping backward on the couch with a groan. “Babe, come on, you can’t gatekeep the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You squinted playfully. “The best thing?”

He smirked. “Okay, second best. First best is obviously you. But come on, it’s Cooper. Look at that face!”

You turned your phone toward the little ball of sunshine snoozing peacefully on your pillow. As soon as Matt saw Cooper’s floppy ears and sleepy smile, he literally squealed.

“OH MY GOD—he’s SMILING. Look at that. That’s a smile. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

You shook your head, half in love, half in disbelief. “You’re obsessed.”

“With both of you,” Matt said immediately, that soft boyish grin creeping onto his face. “But for real, can you bring him over? Nick and Chris are begging too.”

You raised a brow. “Nick is begging? Chris is begging? Or you’re just using them to make your case stronger?”

Matt looked away guiltily.

“Exactly what I thought.”

“Okay fine, they didn’t say anything yet but they will once Cooper gets here. Just imagine: Cooper in the backyard chasing Nick, Chris trying to teach him to do tricks, me getting puppy cuddles and you. That’s like… a perfect day.”

You were already reaching for the leash. “You better have treats ready.”

Fifteen minutes later, you were at the triplets’ house, barely out of the car before Matt sprinted out the front door like a five-year-old on Christmas morning.

“COOPERRRR!” he yelled, arms wide like the puppy would actually leap into them.

To be fair… Cooper kind of did.

He bounded right up to Matt, golden fur flying, tail wagging at light speed, and launched himself into Matt’s arms. Matt let out the most joy-filled laugh you’d ever heard as he sat back on the grass with Cooper licking his face, paws on his chest.

“I think he likes you more than me,” you teased, walking up with the bag of toys and treats.

Matt was grinning like an idiot. “He should. I’m his dad.”

Chris opened the door from his room and blinked. “Wait—he’s actually here?”

Nick appeared behind him, eyebrows raising. “Aw, he’s alot fluffier in person.”

“See?!” Matt beamed up at you like he’d just won the lottery. “Everyone loves him.”

You laughed, kneeling beside him as Cooper happily flopped across both your legs. “You just wanted an excuse to see me and my dog.”

Matt leaned over, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Maybe. But I also wanted to ask… you think he could maybe sleep over next time?”

You blinked. “Cooper or me?”

He smirked. “Both. But mostly Cooper.”

You pushed his shoulder. He didn’t care. He was too busy scratching behind Cooper’s ears and whispering, “You and me, buddy. Best buds for life. Don’t tell your mom, but I’m gonna steal you.”

You crossed your arms. “Matt.”

“Borrow you,” he corrected, kissing your cheek again. “Forever.”

✦ join my taglist⭐️

Taglist @drewinlace @mattspillowprincess @matthewsroses @ellsxxoxo @xsturnkay @oopsiedaisydeer @edu4rd0ss @nessaisabelartemas333 @bugs-tags @courta13 @clairo4life @matts-babytomatoes @leahfaith @lyingonchris @weirdosloveme @sturnsburna @sturnsobsessed21 @luzstarkey @sabheartsturn @ivysturnss

#chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #madison beer #sturniolo smut #madi filipowicz #matthew sturniolo

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moonlit-imagines · 3 days ago

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Headcanons for being Bob’s best friend

Bob Reynolds x reader

warnings: DRUGGGG ADDICTIONNNNN. i really think its so important to talk about bobs drug addiction. i do find him to be babygirl but in the "looks like a cinnamon roll, could actually kill you" because he is really That Guy. i wouldn't be surprised if he canonically stabbed someone for meth if im being honest. also bob's abuse and such, mental illness, yk

a/n: request so entertaining to read i actually took it LMAOO sorry it took so long there were 10 requests ahead of you i had to put you in the next request slot group 😭

prompt: @ceylon-morphe: “Do you have any hcs for bob? Sweet baby bob? Precious pookie bob? Must protect and give all my love bob? Wanna smooch his sad puppy face bob? Give him a bubble bath and wrap him in my softest blankets bob? He’s innocent he did nothing wrong bob? I’ve only met bob for 2 minutes but If anything happens to him ima kill everyone in this room then myself bob? God gives his strongest battles to his most traumatized soldiers bob? Pathetic wet mess of a human being bob? Legit looks like he be a bottom in bed bob? Looks like the poster child of sad pathetic losers everywhere bob? Much thanks boo!//Apologies I forgot to add bob (from thunderbolts) relationship to reader as friends.”

you've stuck by bob for forever

despite his flaws—his many flaws—you always tried to be there for him

like when he shows up at your house at 3am slurring his words, sweating his ass off, barely standing still and you have to drag him inside and help him come down

"i didn't know where else to go" -bob

"i know" -you, wiping his face with a wet washcloth

it was a cycle for a long time, and you felt so helpless about it

you knew what he'd come from, and you were the only person he'd ever trusted with the details of his past

abuse, the car accident that got him hooked on painkillers, the spiral downwards of chasing a high, other mental health struggles

he's told you he was "getting clean" about a dozen different times, but it was always the same

you felt like you were enabling him

"shiiiitttt, no, y/n, that's not what it looks like" -bob

"really? because it looks like a bag of meth rocks to me next to...oh, look at that, your 'trusty' pipe" -you

"nooo, that's my friend's, i was holding onto it for him" -bob

"you don't have any friends" -you, tossing his things on the couch and storming off

it always broke his heart when he disappointed you

and honestly, looking at it from his point of view, he felt just as much of a failure for being a bad friend

it was a sensitive subject

you bailed him out of jail a handful of times and the last time you did, you gave him the biggest earful he'd gotten since he was a kid

"i can't keep doing this, bob! at this rate, you'll be dead in a ditch and i'm terrified of the day i get that call. i can't keep running in circles like this, you need to get your shit together" -you

"i swear, this is the last time, okay? please don't be mad" -bob

"you said that the last three times i bailed you out. no more chances." -you

bob felt like a real asshole, but trying to change was too hard for him

that's when, without any warning, he left you and went to malaysia, you didn't hear from him for a good couple of weeks

he left a note telling you he was off to go "find his purpose," which meant he was on his own and had no one to look out for him

and although you may have threatened to give up on him, it was just supposed to be a wakeup call

you called him every day, several times a day, for weeks. left voicemails every time

"hey bob. please call me back. i just want to make sure you're okay" "bob, it's me, can you give me a call back when you get this?" "bob, i'm getting really worried, can you please let me know you're alive?" "hey. i love you, man. i'm always here for you and i'm sorry for how we left things" -you

meanwhile, bob had submitted himself to human experimentation to try to "better himself" and didnt want to talk to you again until he turned his life around for you

you were listed on his "medical forms" as an emergency contact, but you were never contacted when he was believed dead

after a few weeks, his voicemail box was full and calling was futile

and bob was stuck in a box and shipped to utah to be hidden from the government and world, a failed experiment that was to be buried

you felt so guilty. it ate away at you. and no matter how many times you went over it in your head—the begging and pleading for him to get help, the betrayals, picking him up from jail, thinking he was getting better just to find a secret stash—you felt like it was all your fault.

when bob woke up from his...coma? yeah, sure. when bob woke from his coma in a death trap with 4 3 assassins, the last thing he had in his memory was you

"yeah, no, don't know how i got here? i'm bob, i just, uh, woke up. any of you know y/n?" -bob

"is he joking?" -john

"no. i just need to let y/n know i'm okay. it worries them when they don't hear from me for a while" -bob

"who is y/n to you, bob?" -yelena

"oh, y/n is my best friend. really understanding, really awesome. sometimes i forget to check in and they think i'm dead" -bob :)

"oh...well we don't know any y/n, sorry" -ava

yelena soon found his files—"sentry project"

you were listed in his records, she found it curious and a little sweet

until much later when they all escaped the incinerator and discovered bob had powers and valentina was being...protective of him

"i think we have a problem" -yelena, walking thru the desert

"oh, do we now? do tell, i'm dying to hear what other problems we have besides being stranded in the desert and hunted by valentina's soldiers" -john

"well, smartass, these are the files on bob and how he got there. his beloved y/n is in here. they're a target" -yelena

"sucks to be y/n, then" -ava

when bucky found the group of rogue assassins, yelena took it as an opportunity to save you

"bob needs us, but so does y/n. is there any way you can make sure they're okay? out of harms way" -yelena

"be careful, yelena. it's starting to sound like you have a heart" -john

"shut up, walker" -yelena and bucky

you were soon visited by captain america at your humble abode in florida

bucky called in a favor

"sorry to drop by unannounced, but it's for your protection" -sam

"my protection? what do you mean? what's going on?" -you

"your friend bob is alive, but he made some friends with some bad people" -sam

"great, more drug dealers?" -you

"the director of the CIA actually" -sam

"you're joking" -you

"for your sake, i wish i was. you need to come with me" -sam

if he'd gotten there 20 minutes later you'd have been permanently silenced by valentina's soldiers

sam couldn't be your security detail for long, not officially, but bucky asked him to bring you to new york where the "thunderbolts" would protect you and reunite you with bob

unfortunately, the situation wasn't what they had thought—but you'd seen this before

"i go by sentry now. y/n, are you proud of me? i feel so much healthier now, you were right!" -bob

"y/n, get behind me" -yelena

"i think y/n is turning on you. you might need to take care of them" -val

"no, no. y/n would never. they've always taken care of me. we can finally be happy" -bob

"well, these assassins are trying to take y/n away from you. they'd be safer with us" -val, continuing to manipulate

that started the firefight, which ended with you running for your life to the elevator and waiting for the others to follow suit

"what happened to him?! he left florida a couple weeks—maybe a month ago—he was never like this. sure, he had his issues—and the delusions of invincibility, but now he actually is invincible??" -you

"your friend was experimented on, the only survivor of these experiments. that woman—valentina—she has her nails dug deep in him, he's her weapon" -yelena "i read his file, you were in it. that's why we knew where to find you"

"emergency contact?" -you

yelena nodded

"i'm always the one he calls when he's in trouble. last time he got in trouble, i yelled at him. that was the first time i've seen him in a while" -you

"that's not your fault. he seems...troubled" -ava

"you don't know the half of it" -you

yelena then started yelling at the whole team in front of avengers tower and you tried to wander off, soon stopped by the void swallowing all of new york city

"is that—it can't be? bob?" -you

"you need to find cover" -john

you hid, but were soon a shadow on the wall and transported into "the void"

after reliving some of your worst memories, you found bob all by yourself. he was sitting alone in the attic of his childhood home. you'd heard this story many times when he was drunk and crying over bad memories

"hi." -bob

"been a while" -you, sitting beside him

"yeah, i'm sorry. i just thought i might be able to do something good if i was on my own for a while" -bob, looking down through the floorboards "i made everything worse"

"you know you can always count on me. i'm sorry i snapped last time we talked" -you

"well, i shouldn't have bought those pills from that undercover cop. i knew he was a cop, too. i've seen him bust other people. i just really wanted what he had" -bob

"we'll...we'll work on that. not buying drugs. especially from cops" -you

soon, the thunderbolts appeared and they had a plan to get out of the hell-filled void you got trapped in. bob felt extra bad bc he knew the things you'd been through too and it was his fault you had to relive them

he held your hand most of the trip out, and by the time you reached reality again, he was a little lost

"y/n! who are all these people?" -bob

"some friends we made!" -you, trying to stay upbeat

"is he okay? we all remember what just happened, right?" -bucky

"yeah, no, he's fine. this happens sometimes" -you

"yeah, i just get a little fuzzy. it'll come back to me" -bob, looking to you. you nodded encouragingly

this was the first time you'd seen him look healthy in a long time. good weight, no bags around his eyes, posture was better, a genuine smile, all around looking better

you and him got dragged into the "new avengers" announcement

and he needed to stay in new york due to his...abilities

"will you stay here with me? it'll be sooo cool, we can have sleepovers again like we used to!" -bob

the other "avengers" made it a stipulation for you to stay, and you were looking for a reason to move out of florida. you said yes and joined up with the new avengers—in a more civilian sense. who knows, maybe you'd become useful in ways you never thought before?

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @summersimmerus // @prettysbliss // @simp-legend // @wild-rose-35 // @nekoannie-chan // @beth-gallagher22 // @sk1bidi-n1k0-e4ts-people // @deanzboyfriend // @mr-mxyzptlk-1940 // @lenaelleu //

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds imagine #bob reynolds x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts imagine #thunderbolts x reader #new avengers imagine #new avengers #new avengers x reader #sentry #sentry imagine #sentry x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader

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owensbabygirl · 1 day ago

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#─:⋆˙⊹𝐋𝐔𝐒𝐓!𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒

❛nsfw alphabet❜

⋆𝐀─ 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞

most of the girls chris sleeps with he knows for a very short time period, so he doesn't know what each one likes, but he always does what he thinks is the bare minimum. wipes you, asking if you're okey, getting you something to drink, eat sometimes. and if he really feels comfortable he will silently hint that he wants cuddles, and if you agree, he'll hug you and stroke your hair until you'll fall asleep, order some food over, the whole package.

⋆𝐁─ 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

with all of his love for thighs and ass, there's something about necks that turns him on, not the neck itself but the thought of the sensitive spots on it and how he could easily mark them, or the thought of someone else biting and marking him, even better.

⋆𝐂─ 𝐜𝐮𝐦

if you'll ask he will finish on your stomach, ass, neck, anywhere. but if it's up to him, inside. even after he's done he'll continue to move and stuff you full, he could even not pull out until he cums again.

another thing, when you cum there's nothing he loved more then to pull out and start to finger you, seeing you so oversimulated, he could cum just from looking at you.

⋆𝐃─ 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 ��𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

a few years ago chris had a beard phase, he kept ot on for a few months and he really liked it, but unfortunately the front went red from a specific sexual activity, so he stole a box hair dye from a girl he stayed at, and he dyed his beard brown until he ran out of dye and decided it just shave it off to spare the bother.

⋆𝐄─ 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞

if it wasn't obvious chris isn’t new to sex. but he always learns more, every time he does something new he discovers other ways to pleasure those girls and himself, when it comes to sex he's a perfectionist, always wants to be the best one you've ever had and will have.

⋆𝐅─ 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

depends. usually chris hooks up after a night out so when that happeneds doggy is his beloved, it's rushed, it's good, he has nothing more to ask for. but if it's the morning later, sideways. sloppy, tired, but he'll make you feel every second if it. or if it's a quicky then he'll probably just put you on his lap and move you up and down, anyway- it depends on the mood

⋆𝐆─ 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐲

goof king. he laughs after he lets out a strange moan, or when he's degrading you and he says something a little too mean. he'll cum on your back and try to make a smily face with it, not that he ever made it but, well- he's trying.

⋆��─ 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫

he trims what needs to be trimmed, he keeps his slight happy 'trail' on but always trims the sides, never bald though, he tried it once and felt like a pale lizard.

⋆𝐈─ 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐜𝐲

chris is lustful, but he also sees it as an escape form, he only feels safe when he feels that close touch, you might call it meaningless or say it's just holding your hand while he's eating you out or giving you a kiss on the head after you swallow it. ❝fuckfuckfuck, that's it, fuck you're amazing❞. that is what intimacy is about for him.

⋆𝐉─ 𝐣𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟𝐟

he won't if he has another option, but if he doesn't? he got his right hand holding his phone, the other palming himself through his pants. scrolling down his gallery through all the videos he took of himself with others, where he could see all the face expressions and hear their hips clapping every other second, one time he jerked off on a phone call and accidentally came, as well, on the phone. . .long story, don't ask.

⋆𝐊─ 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

(ⁱ ᶜᵃⁿ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ᵖⁱᶜ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ)

he's there for everyone, of course he has boundaries but the line is very far to cross. his strongest one is degrading, but he doesn't mean to hurt, sometimes he feels bad for being too harsh and then he's switching to praising. ❝you're doing so good, you're so pretty under me❞. also, breeding. ❝look at you. . .god you look so beautiful with me spilling out of you, baby❞

⋆𝐋─ 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

it doesn't really metter honestly, chris craves the touch, he doesn't care if he gets it at a random bar's bathroom or in his bed, but of corse, he prefers his comfort zone.

⋆𝐌─ 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

when he makes a girl blush just from flirting, seeing her batch her pretty eyes and giggle, you know, the small things. he also knows what motivates others, the hand on the waist when just casually speaking, the small kisses on the neck while she take your her bra off, and using her own kinks against her. chris will do everything he can to see what exactly turns you on the most and use it so much you'll want to cry from pleasure.

⋆𝐍─ 𝐧𝐨

chris talks through it. he knows he might be too extreme sometimes, so the second he sees he's a little too rough he slows down ❝you're fine with this? you good?❞. even if he sees the slightest bit of hasitation in your answer he'll stop. even if he's just about to finish, he doesn't care, he'll never want it to hurt more than it should, he has a big respect for other's boundaries.

⋆𝐎─ 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥

messy. spit, tears, cum, everywhere. his hand holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail, the more straips of mascara running down your cheek the better. however, when he's the one giving it's the complete opposite. slow, sensual, maybe some soft music in the background. he takes his time, he's enjoying it way more then you are.

⋆𝐏─ 𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞

depends how much he needs it. if it's been too long since his last time he's gonna go fast and hard, need to call in sick because it hurts to walk hard. if he's seeing a girl he matched with on a dating app or something and they decided to go to his place, or just out chilling? it's slower, he'll pull you closer to him while he whispers sweet praises to your ear, his hands roamed all over your body like he worships it, taking his time.

⋆𝐐─ 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐲

chris kind of hates them. does that mean he doesn't enjoy them? not at all. he's doing what he would do normally just way faster. the only difference is the place. most likely a bathroom or the back of a house party, his wildest one was in a dressing room with a model an hour before she needed to open a show, still has a selfie he took of them both right after in his phone.

⋆𝐑─ 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤

does he like taking risks and have sex in public or a crowded place? absolutely not. why? no idea, but one time some girl called him a pussy, said he was just scared. want to know know what his ego said? ❝cm'ere babygirl, show me what you got❞. he challenged as he patted on his lap, he pulled her skirt up, panties to the side.

so what if it's on a couch in the middle of a club? he'll finish and put your panties back on before any of it could escape. smiling when he sees you walking with your thighs pinned so it won't drip down your lag.

⋆𝐒─ 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚

endless. as long as you keep touching him, keep tugging him in, he’s not stopping. he actually enjoys watching you melt. seeing you all tired, hazy, barely able to move.

❝mm, done already, pretty? don’t worry, I’ve got you.❞ and even when you think you’ve hit your limit, he’ll draw one more out of you, just to show that he can.

⋆𝐓─ 𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬

chris doesn't use toys often but he has this little drawer for them in case he's a little bored and wants to add something. gummy ropes, blindfolds, fluffy handcuffs, vibrators, remoted toys, and a cop hat, just in case. don't ask.

⋆𝐔─ 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

sometimes he just plays, edging you with his fingers, kisses, even just sweet words, he could hear you whimpering and begging and still keep going, little did you know he'll give you all what you asked for later until you'll beg him again, to stop.

⋆𝐕─ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞

loud. so loud he can't hear the playlist in the background, but sometimes he holds back and bites his lip just to hear you. nothing turns him on more then the noises you make, all from how good he makes you feel.

⋆𝐖─ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝

sometimes chris groans even if you don't touch him or do anything special, but he actually does that every time he feels like he needs to burp and he didn't want to let the other person know.

⋆𝐗─ 𝐱-𝐫𝐚𝐲

he’s not the longest, but he’s thick. wide enough that the first push always makes you bite your lip. curves up a little but it hits the spot just right. there’s a silver barb through the tip, cold at first, then burning in the best way. he lives for praises, for knowing how good he feels.

❝yeah? too much? but you're takin’ it so well.❞ he'll smirk, stop all movement as he waits for you to repeat yourself. ❝say it again.❞

⋆𝐘─ 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

needyyy!!! there's nothing he hates more them showing it. no metter how cocky he'll try to be, he's still gonna hold a whimper when he feels your hand going under his shirt or tag him closer by his hair. lust!chris is a yearner.

⋆𝐙─ 𝐙𝐳ᶻ

the second he closes the door he jumps on his bed and that's it. if you stay then he'll just hint that he wants a little cuddle then wrap his arms around you and pull you close, probably offering to watch a movie when he already knows hes going to sleep loke a baby before it even begins.

a/n: boom ho I'm fucking back get the toys ready (it's been more then a month I know I got a lil rusty)

↻𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

tags: @frostmellow @starrii-sturns @sturnslutz @tezzzzzzzz @mattslvrxo @mattslutt @mattsslvtt @izzylovesmatt @ellssturn @adorechris @bernardsbendystraws @cupiidkills @mattsplaything @spaghettislut1 @h3arts4nat @courta13

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kimkits · 3 hours ago

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this post and reblog perfectly encapsulate one of the biggest problems of the show: Arthur isn't a well written character.

tldr we want Arthur to be smart and figure out merlin has magic but the way he's written sometimes (~half the time), his actions and the things he says about magic and sorcerers just don't add up with that idea.

you can't believe he isn't smart enough to notice Merlin's magic because his intelligence level isn't consistent, it's always dependent on the plot of the episode. at the same time, Arthur couldn't have known all along, because it would make him cruel to merlin in so many instances.

the Arthur who would've noticed Merlin's magic, or just figured out the whole thing himself definitely exists, but mainly in episodes which are about him. the other Arthur, who's just stupid, doesn't notice or is willfully ignorant is also there, mainly in episodes where Arthur isn't the main focus, and merlin needs to be able to do his thing without Arthur interrupting but still being present. sometimes they use that dynamic for comedy which kinda makes it better, but not always.

let's take for example 2.08 (sins of the father) vs. 2.09 (lady of the lake): you can't tell me the same Arthur who was willing to learn more about his past from someone he was indoctrinated since birth not to trust (a sorcerer) and then to change his whole worldview because things weren't adding up when given new information, is the same Arthur who couldn't connect the dots between merlin acting weird, stealing his food, stealing a *dress*, and a missing cursed monster girl, and then when the cursed monster girl dies merlin is extremely upset for seemingly no reason?.. you don't have to be a Sherlock Holmes to realize something's up (and this exact thing happened with Mordred the previous season). merlin also uses ludicrous amounts of magic in that episode, right in front of Arthur (floating keys, flying food, boiling bath..). I get that it's played for comedy and I'm not saying it's not funny, but that sort of thing happening again and again really hurts Arthur's character.

imo the magic reveal should have been in season 2, and ideally Arthur figures it out, (potentially avoids merlin for a bit while he processes/verifies he's not wrong) then confronts him. I know it would have changed the whole show but get this: the show as it is isn't that good and doesn't support its characters as well as it could have. bbc merlin takes plot driven (instead of character driven) to the extreme. how can Arthur, the once and future king, prophecied to be the best king there ever was and ever will be, coexist with Arthur, the complete idiot who consistently can't see what's happening right in front of him (and that isn't just about not seeing Merlin's magic). I'm not saying he can't have flaws - he just can't be that ridiculously stupid and gullible.

all that said I love Arthur and I'll never stop thinking about this show due to all its flaws and potential and of course the outstanding performances from the actors who did above and beyond, and had no right to be this good with writing that bad. I love talking about merlin <333 I love these discussions <333

you CANNOT convince me that the best way for bbc to do the magic reveal shouldn't have been merlin telling arthur he has magic and arthur going i know cause he has known the ENTIRE time followed by a montage of arthur noticing merlin doing magic since the VERY beginning because lets be honest, how in the world is arthur so attuned to his manservants mannerisms but doesn't notice the magic??!!

#also not attacking anyone. except for the writers #they're the real villains here #I love bbc merlin for its characters and concepts but not for the execution and follow-up. that's what we have ao3 for #I'm sure there's better examples to give than 2.08-09 #I just watched them recently and remember being really frustrated

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swanimagines · 1 day ago

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Oooo hii long time no request!!😅😅

If it’s okay, can I please request a oneshot (or imagine, whichever works best for you!!) with Morpheus x fem!human!reader where she is Alex Burgess and Paul’s Granddaughter, and she’s visiting her Grandparents after years of moving away, and even though she has been told ever since she was a kid to stay away from the basement, her curiosity gets the best of her and she goes down there anyways, happening upon a locked up Morpheus. I’m sure he’d be skeptical to trust her, knowing that she’s one, a human, and two, a Burgess, but when she starts actively trying to free him, he starts (gradually) to change his mind about her, especially when she manages to get him out of the fishbowl-like-cage he was locked in. Maybe he wants to repay her for helping to free him, and he shows her the Dreaming and they get (romantically) closer the longer she stays there?? Whatever you think!!💜💜💜

A/N: Fun to have filled your request again, it's been like 5 years since you last sent me something haha :D Also just a reminder, this request is oneshot sized so it doesn't even qualify as a ficlet/imagine request, which means I didn't really choose to make this a oneshot, the size of the request demands a oneshot. Just a reminder for anyone who may see this and misunderstand how do different request types work.

Also a little extra note because I'm sorry if it feels like I cut the corners too much, I know I stress the "detailed plot for a oneshot please" but your request unfortunately is far too detailed for a oneshot and if I wrote this JUST as you requested, a oneshot wouldn't be enough, at least not with my writing skills. And I'm not built for longfics so :/ I had to cut corners from some things that would need a looooong buildup for it to feel in character. I hope that's fine and you won't be too disappointed.

THE MAN IN THE CELLAR

Summers were the best time of the year, honestly. Getting away from your busy life, responsibilities and duties you had when you were born into a respectable family.

But during summers, your grandparents took you to stay with them at their manor, away from the city’s grime and everything you loathed. At certain things, city life could be fun, convenient and vivid, but you had always preferred the countryside, and the big manor your grandfathers owned was a perfect place for that.

The manor had its mysteries, like every old building had. The cellar in particular had been off limits for you since you were a child, your grandfather Alex had explained that his father had been a cruel man, backed up with your granddad Paul. And that the cellar had old relics, demonic artefacts, you’d better not see. And for years, you accepted that — you had read about your great-grandfather Roderick Burgess and the horrors he was rumoured on doing. You had tried to be curious about it when you were younger and asked your grandfather how was his father in real life, but he always avoided the topic and refused from telling more than what you could read from old articles.

It had been a long time since those times now, and you were already a young woman who was kind of expected to find a husband and establish a family soon, but your grandparents never poked you with questions like that, thankfully. You sometimes wondered how you were living in 21st century while constantly being asked about whether you’ve already found a man, but you always managed to brush it off.

This summer was a little different from past ones. Grandfather Alex had been irritated somehow, and constantly visited the cellar when he and Paul thought you weren’t watching them. If it was truly full of “demonic artefacts” your great-grandfather left behind, why was he so eager to look through them, constantly? And why he was snappy every time he came back up?

And one day, you heard him mutter to granddad Paul, “He’s never giving up. He’d be there for an eternity rather than just promise he won’t hurt us.”

Paul sighed. “Maybe we should let him out, Alex and just… trust him. It’s just not worth it to fear for our own safety, you have seen what keeping him prisoner has–”

“And risk our lives? Risk our daughter’s life? Her family’s life? What if he wants revenge and wants to wipe all of us Burgesses off the face of the Earth? How could I let him out, when I know we may wake up the next morning to find our own granddaughter–”

Creak.

They stopped talking and you cursed at stepping on that one plank you always knew to avoid when you were a child and tried to sneak to the snack jar. But you sighed and stepped forward, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard anything, plastering a smile on your face.

Both of them looked at you with wide eyes, and you frowned, trying your hardest to look puzzled. “What?”

Your grandfather pursed his lips together and waved at your granddad, who started pushing him forward and they both smiled at you. “Nothing. Good night, sweetie.”

You watched at them go towards the elevator, and glanced back to the cellar door. Well, now it intrigued you more than ever, and you also happened to know the passcode… so maybe you should just take a small peek.

You shouldn’t, you knew that. But maybe… just a peek.

At night, you waited until you were sure your grandparents had fallen asleep, before you quietly exited the guest bedroom and tiptoed downstairs. You barely even breathed as you typed in the passcode, slightly flinching at every beep it made. But you somehow got it right on first try, and slipped in, before you were stopped on your tracks again once you heard two voices chatting to each other.

“He’s been here for decades and has never even tried to escape, why the fuss?” a man asked and the woman smacked her lips.

“Have you even seen the news articles about the time boss’s father was still alive?”

The man sighed. “Stories often bend around enough to be something completely different from what they started from. If I started out a rumour about you that you like to keep a garden, in a few decades it would have turned into your daughter being a serial killer who buries her victims into your garden.”

You took two careful steps forward, and finally saw… a man. Sitting naked in a large glass ball.

What the hell?

You stared at him, not even blinking.

Why did your grandparents have a naked man as a prisoner in their cellar?

It was just absurd. If someone had told you this was the reason why you weren’t allowed to go to the cellar, you would have laughed for an hour about that thought, mocked the person for being delusional. Your grandparents were the last people to keep a human being a prisoner and have guards to watch over him.

But here you were, looking at the very proof they had done that exact thing.

—-—-

You started visiting the cellar every night after that. Something in him just drew you there every single night, and it wasn’t long before you started learning the patterns of the guards, when one of them fetched something to eat for both of them, the bathroom breaks, the moment the male guard felt like he can slack for a few minutes when the female one didn’t see…

You had found a place for yourself in the corner, there was a space, a dent in the shadows you could squeeze yourself into when guards passed you, and they never noticed.

You didn’t know if that man inside the glass ball noticed you either, as he always just sat there looking at his feet, never looking around, seeming like he never even slept. He just sat there in that same position, night after night.

You weren’t sure when you started feeling like it actually wasn’t a human. You remembered reading news articles about your great-grandfather having a demon trapped in his cellar, was this the demon?

But he didn’t feel like a demon.

But… on the other hand, isn’t that what demons are supposed to be? Trick people into thinking they aren’t demons so they’d open the gates to be possessed?

But the longer you thought of it, the longer you just couldn’t help the thought. You had to get that man out of there. Something wasn’t right, and he needed to get out.

So, you began planning how you’d get past the guards, break the sigils, break the glass. You knew any of that wouldn’t be easy, but you set your mind to it.

—-—-

It took weeks. Maybe a month or two, you lost count. In any case, your summer vacation was almost over when you finally, finally managed to switch the pills they used to stay awake to strong sleeping pills, and soon both guards snored loudly on their desks, which encouraged you to finally move from the dent and sneak past them.

The man didn’t look at you, didn’t even acknowledge you. You didn’t even know if he saw you. Was the glass a two-way mirror? You frowned, before you knocked on the glass to get his attention.

Still no effect. He was ignoring you on purpose.

Well, that wasn’t a wonder honestly, he had been imprisoned for God knows how long, he had probably lost all hope at this point.

You glanced back at the guards. Still out cold, so you snuck back and started digging through their drawers for a key, a wrench, a crowbar… something you could use to open the glass ball as you recognised the glass type, it definitely wouldn’t shatter even if you slammed it with a sledgehammer. But there was nothing there, which made you groan out of frustration.

Then, you remembered the sigils. You looked down on them for a moment before you snatched the water bottle from the other guard and marched back to the glass ball, pouring water on the sigils and rubbed it around with your foot. The sigils smudged away, but there wasn’t any magical wave or a whiplash you expected, which made you drop the bottle in frustration.

At least the man now looked at your shoe, that had turned faint yellow from rubbing it against the paint. He was probably disappointed too.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to get you out,” you murmured against the glass. “I… I’ve been watching you for weeks now. I just… I just have this feeling you need to get out. I don’t know why, but I just can’t get it out of my head. I think you—”

You were interrupted as you heard your name being called from upstairs by your grandfather, which made you flinch and the man looked up. You sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Then, you sprinted away, pretending you were merely getting a glass of water before your grandfather could make his way downstairs, smile at him and claim everything is fine and you definitely weren’t trying to get the naked man in his cellar out.

But you still knew that you didn’t know how to forget and give up, when there was clearly nothing you could do.

—-—-

Next morning, you woke up to your grandfather shouting. “What do you mean he has disappeared?!”

“I don’t know, boss! We both fell asleep—”

“Fell asleep? You mean to say you forgot—”

“No, we took them, but somehow we still fell asleep! Maybe the sigils had weakened over the years and he managed to enchant us!”

You sat up slowly, listening to the ruckus. People pacing, running around.

He had escaped?

You let out a disbelieving breath, you had succeeded? Breaking the circle had worked?

Apparently that was exactly what happened.

—-—-

A few weeks later, you dreamed. For the first time in your life, you had a dream. A beautiful, neverending field with golden straws of rye spread around you and in the middle of it all stood a tree. And under that tree, stood a man in a long black cape. You recognised him immediately.

“You’re… here,” you mumbled, and he smiled softly.

“Yes. You freed me.”

You blinked. “How? I mean, obviously the sigils… but how did you get away without anyone noticing?”

He turned his eyes away from you, looking around the field. “I created a portal here, to my realm.”

You flinched slightly. “So… do you mean to say you are a demon after all?”

He chuckled. “This is not Hell. I am Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams. Children know me as the Sandman.”

You frowned. “Sandman?”

He hummed. “I was planning on cursing Alexander Burgess with eternal nightmares, but you being his granddaughter changed my mind. I do not wish to bestow such grief over you after this gift you gave me.”

You blinked. “…Thank you.”

He turned his eyes on you again. “You came to see me every night. You plotted on my escape for weeks. And for that, I am eternally grateful. The world order is restored, much because of you.”

You felt yourself blush and turned your head away from him. “I just did what I knew was right.”

He hummed again. “I wish to show you my realm. I know you have never visited here, as you were born when I was already imprisoned.”

You looked around again, and the field had shifted, replaced by a small town and a castle. “What is this place?”

He started walking slowly, prompting you to follow. “It’s The Dreaming. You will visit here every night in your dreams. Your dreams will be affected by what you went through during daytime.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t know what to say to that. You felt his eyes on you, and you glanced at him shyly. “Will I see you every night?”

His mouth parted slightly before he frowned. “I do not usually appear into mortal dreams unless there is something I need to see.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly. “Oh.”

He was quiet for a moment. “But I may make an exception with you. I may not be able to appear every night, but I would like to meet with you any time I am able to.”

You brightened up instantly. “Really?”

He smiled softly again and hummed. You smiled at him widely, feeling a flutter in your chest, unaware Morpheus felt a flutter in his own chest too when looking at you smiling.

This could become something beautiful.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

#morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman #dream of the endless #morpheus x y/n #morpheus x you #female reader #reader insert #romantic

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maria021015 · 3 days ago

Text

Figure You Out

Fred Weasley x FemGryffindorReader

Cedric Diggory was a good boyfriend. He was loyal, and kind, and handsome. He was smart, and thoughtful, and hardworking. He was a great boyfriend, even. Just not for you.

Fred is insistent that the two of you simply aren’t a good fit. He doesn’t know your favourite things, his hobbies don’t align with yours, and…well, he just can’t seem to figure you out. Not the way Fred has.

Inspired by the song ‘Figure you out’ by Vìola.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room glowed with the amber hues of sunset, stained glass casting dappled patterns across the floor and over the velvet-worn cushions of the overstuffed furniture. The fire crackled lazily in the hearth, its warmth battling the crisp, late-autumn chill that had crept into the castle. You were curled up on the middle sofa, legs stretched over Fred’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, which, it sort of was. You’d been best friends since first year. This was normal. Casual. Totally platonic. Supposedly.

Fred was absently tracing shapes on your shin with the edge of a Sugar Quill wrapper, eyes flicking between your face and the Exploding Snap cards George was reshuffling on the floor. The two of you had been locked in a battle of wits for well over ten minutes now.

George rolled his eyes dramatically as he looked between you and Fred. “Honestly, do you two even hear yourselves?”

Fred smirked. “Every golden syllable.”

You smacked his shoulder with the rolled-up sleeve of your jumper, laughing. “What, jealous we have banter and you’re just stuck with charm and mildly acceptable looks?”

George huffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I am the full package. Banter and bone structure included.”

Fred wiggled his eyebrows. “You forgot modesty.”

You grinned, eyes crinkling, and Fred’s hand stilled briefly on your leg, his fingers curling slightly against your knee before he forced himself to look away.

“Speaking of charming packages,” you said suddenly, fiddling with the fraying edge of your sleeve, “Cedric’s taking me to the Three Broomsticks on Saturday.”

The words hovered in the space like smoke. Fred blinked once. The smile on his face didn’t drop entirely, but it tightened, lips pressing just a little too firmly together, his jaw shifting as he looked back down at the wrapper in his hands. George glanced at his brother, but said nothing.

“Oh?” Fred said after a beat, voice overly casual. “Didn’t know Cedric was the pub type. Thought he’d be more into…butterfly gardens and brooding poetry.”

You laughed, tilting your head back against the couch. “I think it’s sweet.”

Fred made a noise, something halfway between a cough and a scoff. “Sweet, right. Like curdled milk.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on. He’s trying.”

“He’s taking you to get Butterbeer,” Fred said, the sharpness in his voice catching you off guard. “That got to be the most unoriginal, boring date I’ve ever heard. You hate Butterbeer!”

Your brows furrowed. “I said I wasn’t a huge fan.”

“You said - and I quote - ‘it tastes like sugar water that lost a bar fight with a marshmallow.’”

George snorted behind his deck of cards. You flushed slightly. “Okay, yeah, maybe I haven’t liked it before. But Cedric thinks he can change my mind.”

“Sounds like he’s trying to get you explore new things,” George muttered quickly, clearly trying to cut the tension as he dealt out cards to himself. “Real open minded stuff.”

Fred leaned back, shifting your legs a little higher on his lap. His voice was quieter now, but no less pointed. “Yeah. Taking someone somewhere they don’t even like is real intuitive.”

“Fred.” You sat up slightly. “It’s a sweet gesture.”

Fred looked at you then. Really looked. His gaze flicked to your lips before darting away again, jaw tight.

“Sure,” he said. “Really thoughtful.”

The silence stretched. You pulled your legs back to sit cross-legged beside him, suddenly unsure of what just happened. “You’ve been so weird about Cedric lately.”

George coughed a spluttered, trying to cover it up by smacking his own chest as though something had tickled his lungs.

Fred blinked. “Weird?”

“Yeah.” You nudged his shoulder. “Every time I bring him up, you get all sulky.”

“I don’t get sulky.”

“You do, actually,” George offered helpfully. “Like a puppy that didn’t get picked for fetch.”

Fred shot him a glare. “Thank you, Georgina.”

You folded your arms. “If it’s about Quidditch or something, I swear—”

“It’s not,” Fred cut in quickly. Too quickly.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting. Fred scrubbed a hand through his hair, then leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes trained on the flames. “I just…I don’t think he gets you.”

Your expression softened. “Fred…”

“I mean, you say you don’t like something, and instead of listening, he tries to prove you wrong. That’s not sweet. That’s—” he stopped, biting his tongue. “Forget it.”

You hesitated, unsure what to say.

George, sensing a powder keg about to blow, stood with exaggerated grace. “Well. I’ve got detention with Filch in ten. Gonna go polish suits of armor and question all my life choices. You two…enjoy the awkward tension.”

He was gone before either of you could stop him. You sat in silence for a moment before finally speaking again.

“Okay, so he’s not perfect,” you said quietly. Fred looked at you, a flicker of hope dancing in his chest. “But he’s trying,” you finished.

Fred’s shoulders slumped.

“Maybe I’ll give Butterbeer another go,” you added, more to yourself than anyone else. “Who knows, the Three Broomsticks might be better than the Leaky Cauldron.”

Fred didn’t answer. He just watched the flames flicker, your words settling heavy in the spaces between.

———————————————————————

It was late Saturday afternoon, the dying light bleeding through the tall common room windows, casting an orange-gold sheen across the wood-paneled walls and red velvet drapes. A fresh fire had been lit in the hearth, crackling softly as the castle settled into weekend stillness.

Fred and George were lounging on opposite ends of the couch, legs tangled up in a lazy stretch as they passed a Chocolate Frog card back and forth in some made-up game of flicking and catching. Fred’s shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, collar slightly wrinkled. He looked at ease, until the portrait hole creaked open.

“Hi, uh—Fred? George?”

Fred didn’t have to look up. He knew that voice, low and impossibly calm like everything he said was pre-planned. Cedric bloody Diggory.

George glanced up with a mild smile. “Hey, mate.”

Fred looked up slowly, expression unreadable as Cedric stepped fully into the common room. He held a bouquet of tightly wound red roses in one hand and looked irritatingly perfect, as usual. Neatly pressed robes, chestnut hair just slightly tousled like it had been styled to seem unstyled.

“Hey,” Cedric said, shifting awkwardly. “She’s not ready yet?”

George shrugged. “Upstairs still. You know how it is, they’re say five minutes but they really mean a half hour.”

Cedric chuckled politely and perched on the edge of the adjacent armchair, careful with the bouquet as though it might bruise. “That’s alright. I’m early anyway.”

Fred’s eyes dropped to the flowers. His mouth twitched, just barely.

“Nice roses,” George complimented, voice casual, leaning back with one arm flung across the back of the sofa.

Cedric flashed his perky white teeth in a smile. “They’re classic, right?”

Fred snorted. “Yeah. Basic, too.”

Cedric frowned slightly, confused. Fred leaned forward now, elbows on his knees, voice quiet but sharp with intent. “She doesn’t like roses. Thinks they’re overrated.”

George stayed silent, watching with thinly veiled amusement as the undercurrent of tension thickened. Cedric sat up straighter. “She told you that?”

Fred didn’t answer right away. He was looking at the bouquet now, like it had personally offended him.

“She likes peonies,” he said eventually. “Always has. Big ones, the kind that look like they’re exploding with petals. White or pink, sometimes coral. And carnations, especially if they’re that peachy kind. Baby’s breath too, but only as filler.”

Cedric blinked again, obviously startled. “Right. Wow, you…know that offhand.”

Fred gave a shrug like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t something he’d memorised on purpose. “She mentioned it once,” he said, deliberately vague, though the memory was sharp and vivid in his mind. You, during third year, lounging on the grass during Herbology break, talking about how your mum used to charm peonies to bloom early in the season and how roses always felt too forced, like they were trying too hard to be romantic and had no personal thought put into them.

Cedric was quiet for a moment. Then, almost shyly, he lifted his wand and whispered a charm under his breath. The bouquet shimmered faintly, and the crimson roses folded and bloomed outward, petals shifting shape and tone until the tight bouquet melted into a wild, soft collection of pale pink peonies, peach carnations, and airy baby’s breath that swirled gently in the warming charm.

Fred hated how good it looked. He hated even more that you’d like it.

“Thanks,” Cedric said, glancing up at him. “That was really…helpful.”

Fred nodded once, jaw tight. “Sure.”

The creaking sound of the stairs drew their attention, and Fred immediately leaned back, slipping into his usual mask of cool detachment.

You stepped into view with your wand twisted in your hair, sleeves rolled up and sweater buttons loose. Your outfit was simple but lovely - fitted in all the ways that made Fred’s stomach twist uncomfortably, his eyes catching on the delicate slant of your collarbone.

“There you are,” you said, smiling at the sight of Cedric.

Then your gaze dropped to the bouquet in his hands and stopped dead. “Wait—” you stepped forward, astonished, “You got me peonies?”

Cedric looked sheepish. “Yeah. Thought you’d like these.”

You reached for them, cradling the bouquet like it was something magical. “These are my favourite. I never even mentioned that, though…” You turned to Fred and George with an appreciative smile. “Did one of you tell him?”

Fred shrugged without looking at you, suddenly very interested in the Chocolate Frog card now flipping between his fingers.

George grinned innocently. “Must’ve been a lucky guess.”

You beamed back at Cedric and kissed him on the cheek, then, impulsively, on the mouth - a quick press of affection that made Fred go utterly still.

He didn’t watch the kiss. He didn’t have to. But he did catch the way you flushed slightly, your fingers tightening on the bouquet as you turned toward the portrait hole.

“See you later!” you called to the twins.

Fred only nodded, jaw clenched so tight it ached, as the portrait swung shut behind you and Cedric.

Silence stretched in the common room again. The fire crackled. Fred slumped backward on the couch and threw the Chocolate Frog card toward the flames.

George whistled low. “You alright there, Romeo?”

Fred stared up at the ceiling. “Bloody brilliant.”

———————————————————————

Monday morning came with cold air and early fog, mist curling across the stone floor of the Hogwarts courtyard like smoke. Autumn had well and truly settled over the castle, biting at fingers and noses and making scarves a necessity rather than a fashion statement. The scent of damp earth and chimney smoke lingered in the air, and the crunch of frost underfoot echoed faintly through the castle.

Fred and George were slouched against the wall outside the Charms corridor, books open but mostly forgotten. The two had spent the past half hour flicking bits of parchment at a distracted Ravenclaw prefect across the hallway and keeping count of how many had hit him in the back of the neck.

“Seven,” George said with a smirk as his latest flick landed. “New record.”

Fred grinned faintly, but his eyes weren’t on the prefect anymore. His gaze was angled just to the right, toward the tall group of Hufflepuff boys clustered outside Professor Flitwick’s classroom.

Cedric was in the center of the group, hair windswept, one hand jammed casually into the pocket of his robes while he talked animatedly with a few mates from his year. Fred couldn’t hear the whole conversation, just fragments, but it was enough to piece it together.

“—front row seats,” one of them was saying, “looking right over the pitch. Imagine the view—”

“Can’t wait,” Cedric said. “Thinking of taking her. Would be perfect.”

Fred’s stomach dropped.

“She’d love it,” the other boy agreed.

“Yeah,” Cedric went on, his voice low but clear. “Top of the stands, middle section, those are the ones I’m aiming for. You can see everything from up there.”

Fred’s knuckles went white around the edge of his textbook. He didn’t even realize he’d stood up until George reached out and caught his sleeve.

“Mate,” George said in warning. “Don’t—”

But Fred was already moving. He crossed the space in a few long strides, dropping right into the edge of their conversation like he belonged there. His voice was deceptively casual, but his eyes were sharp.

“She’s scared of heights.”

Cedric blinked, turning to face him fully. “What?”

Fred met his gaze evenly. “Y/N. She’s terrified of heights. Anything higher than the greenhouse roof and she won’t go near the edge. You book seats at the top of the pitch, she’ll spend the whole match watching her feet.”

There was a beat of silence.

Cedric’s brow furrowed slightly. “I didn’t know that.”

“Obviously,” Fred muttered, looking away.

“Right. Thanks, I guess.” Cedric didn’t sound annoyed. More…confused. And maybe a little impressed. “I’ll get us different seats.”

Fred nodded once and walked away without another word, shoulders tense as he crossed back to George. He didn’t sit. Just leaned against the wall, arms folded, jaw clenched so tight it felt like his teeth might crack.

George studied him for a moment. “That was subtle.”

Fred didn’t answer. After a pause, George sighed. “You’re not helping yourself, you know.”

Fred closed his eyes briefly. “He’s going to take her to the bloody World Cup, George. And the great big oaf would have had her shivering in her boots the whole time because he wouldn’t know the difference between her and any other girl in this hallway.”

“Yeah. And instead of letting her figure that out, you’re feeding him the bloody playbook.”

Fred let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, well, I want her to be happy.”

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room buzzed with soft chatter that evening. Just a low hum of students curled up in armchairs, scribbling essays, trading Chocolate Frog cards, and pretending not to be anxious about the Transfiguration quiz in the morning.

Fred was seated cross-legged on the rug in front of the fireplace, a half-built card tower in front of him and a handful of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans scattered around as makeshift weights. His eyes were fixed on the structure, but his attention wasn’t.

George was perched on the couch, flipping lazily through Quidditch Weekly, while Fred fidgeted with a card between his fingers, bent at the corners from how often he’d twisted it.

The portrait hole creaked open.

“Evening,” came Cedric’s voice as he stepped in, looking just a touch awkward surrounded by so much red and gold.

Fred didn’t look up. He knew that tone.

George lowered his magazine. “Didn’t think we were expecting visitors.”

Cedric smiled, holding up a small brown box tied with gold twine. “Just dropping something off.”

Fred’s eyes flicked to the box. Cedric stepped closer, clearly proud of himself. “She mentioned she’s been stressed about her History of Magic paper, so I thought I’d surprise her. These are her favourites.”

George quirked a brow. “Oh yeah?”

Fred finally looked up then, mouth tight. “What’s in the box, Diggory?”

Cedric opened it with a flick of his wand and a puff of sugary steam escaped. Inside were neat rows of licorice snaps wrapped in parchment, a stack of honey fudge squares, and - Fred grimaced - three raspberry truffles topped with spun sugar.

He didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Wow,” Fred said. “Romantic and potentially fatal.”

Cedric frowned. “What?”

Fred stood up, brushing his hands on his trousers. “She hates licorice. Thinks it’s like chewing black shoelaces.”

George snorted. Cedric blinked. “Really?”

“And fudge makes her nauseous,” Fred added casually, circling the coffee table like he wasn’t personally invested. “Too dense, she says. Makes her feel like she’s eaten a brick.”

Cedric’s brow wrinkled, glancing at the box. “But she told me she liked sweets—”

“Chocolate frogs,” Fred said sharply. “Fizzing Whizbees. Sugar quills when she’s revising. She doesn’t even look at the Honeydukes licorice rack.”

There was a long pause. George closed the magazine, watching closely now.

Cedric sighed and shook his head, embarrassed. “Merlin. Thanks again, Fred. You keep saving my arse, don’t you?”

Fred forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Guess I do.”

Cedric glanced toward the girls’ staircase. “Would you mind giving these to her dormmates to leave on her bed? I’ll write her a letter, let her know I was thinking of her.”

Fred nodded, taking the box reluctantly.

“Right,” Cedric said, already heading toward the portrait hole. “Next time I’ll double check about the sweets. Cheers, mate.”

And with that, he was gone. The fire crackled. Fred stared down at the box in his hands like it had turned into a ticking time bomb.

George whistled softly. “You gonna start writing his love letters for him too?”

Fred exhaled through his nose and dropped the box on the coffee table with a dull thud. “I’m going to end up watching him propose - and do it entirely wrong - aren’t I?”

George raised an eyebrow. “Only if you don’t explode first.”

Fred didn’t answer. He was already retreating to the boys’ staircase, fists stuffed deep into his pockets, tension radiating off him in waves.

He didn’t want the credit.

He wanted the girl.

———————————————————————

The Gryffindor common room was glowing in the golden haze of early evening, warm firelight flickering against the stone walls and casting dancing shadows across the crimson and gold banners. Laughter bubbled from one corner where Seamus Finnigan had just turned someone’s book bag into a animated face. A record spun low and slow on an enchanted gramophone in the corner, humming out an old Celestina Warbeck ballad, soft and romantic.

You were sitting cross-legged on the plush rug in front of the fire, nursing a cup of cocoa - actual cocoa, courtesy of Fred, who’d whisked it away and remade it after you grimaced at the first sip of the powdered rubbish someone else had made.

Fred sat beside you, one arm braced behind him, watching the firelight dance on your features out of the corner of his eye while pretending to listen to George rant about a professor docking points again. You laughed at all the right moments, teeth flashing in the soft glow, and Fred could’ve watched you like that for hours.

He was just starting to relax - just starting to forget that Diggory existed - when it happened.

A flutter of footsteps. A cluster of younger girls - Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, Padma and Parvati - approached in a haze of giggles, all beaming like they were about to burst.

“Oh my Merlin,” Lavender breathed, her voice shrill with excitement. “Your boyfriend is actually the most romantic boy alive.”

You blinked. “Cedric?”

Fred’s body stiffened beside you. His easy posture turned sharp. Alert. George immediately side-eyed him like a war was about to start.

“We heard he left a note on your bed!” Parvati gushed. “And sweets! It’s so cute it hurts.”

“Literally hurts,” Padma added with a grin. “If it were me, I might have cried.”

Lavender sighed dramatically, plopping onto the ottoman nearby. “He’s so thoughtful. How do you stand it?”

You gave an awkward smile, cheeks flushed. “Yeah, it was…kind of him.”

Fred stared into the fire, unmoving. George nudged his foot under the table.

But Lavender wasn’t done. “And don’t even get me started on that bouquet he gave you the other day! Peonies?! I didn’t even think boys knew what peonies were!”

Your smile faded just a fraction. You glanced toward Fred instinctively, but he was staring stonily at the flames.

“Oh, and i heard he said he’s planning a surprise for summer break,” Parvati added. “Something about World Cup tickets?”

Your brows knit together slightly. Fred’s hands curled into fists against the rug.

“He’s just perfect,” Lavender concluded, utterly dreamy. “You’re so lucky.”

And that’s when Fred snapped. He stood abruptly, voice loud and sudden, cutting through the cozy hum of the room like a blade.“He’s not perfect.”

The girls froze. You blinked up at him, startled. Even George lowered his cocoa. Fred’s voice was rough around the edges now. Bitter. Barely restrained.

“He doesn’t know her favourite sweets. He bought her fudge which she hates, and nicotine, which she despises. He doesn’t know that she’s allergic to bloody peanuts. He kept trying to give her flying lessons when she can barely even stand at the top of the staircases without gripping the railing so hard her knuckles turn white.”

You stared at him, mouth parted slightly. Fred wasn’t looking at anyone. His gaze was locked on the fire like he needed something to keep him grounded.

“He didn’t get her the right flowers,” he continued, voice low now, but still sharp. “Not really. He brought roses, and I told him they were wrong. I told him what she actually liked. I’ve told him everything he’s ever actually got right about her.”

It was so silent, you could hear the fire crackle. The soft shuffle of Lavender shifting uncomfortably.

“And there’s plenty more that he’s already stuffed up - like taking her for butterbeers when her favourite drink is hot chocolate. Or buying her that silver heart necklace that she wears out of pity because she only owns gold jewellery and thinks hearts are tacky. And he always wears that cologne that she thinks smells like old cars because she hates strong scents.” Fred went on, words flowing freely along with his frustrations. “He really doesn’t know anything about her, and the real kicker is, I didn’t even need to be told any of those things. I just paid attention.”

George closed his eyes with a wince. “Oh, hell.”

Fred realized it then. The weight of what he’d said crashed down on him all at once - every confession, every bite of resentment that had been twisting in his chest for weeks. It was all out now, spilled into the common room like shattered glass.

And then—

“Cedric!” Lavender squeaked.

Fred turned slowly to see him.

Cedric stood in the entryway to the common room, just inside the portrait hole. The warm firelight spilled across the floor toward him. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?” He grinned and it only made Fred’s blood boil.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t wait. He just turned and left, storming past Cedric and out the portrait hole without a word, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room.

———————————————————————

The air was colder up here.

Wind whispered around the stone spires of the Astronomy Tower, tugging at your clothes, sweeping strands of hair across your face as you stepped out into the open. The sky was velvet-black, spangled with stars. The moon hung low - silver and solemn - its light casting shadows across the carved balustrade. Your heart thundered in your chest, and you were sure of it was because of the height, or because of him.

Fred was leaning forward with his elbows on the railing, the wind brushing through his hair, jaw set tight as if holding himself together by force alone. He didn’t turn when he heard the door creak open. Didn’t look at you.

You stepped closer, even though it terrified you to approach the edge. “Fred.”

He flinched. Just barely. Just enough to know he hadn’t expected you to follow him.

“Y/n,” he said, voice rough. “What are you doing up here?”

You ignored it. Crossed the tower until you were standing beside him, even though your head almost sounded at the sight of the steep drop to the ground. He still didn’t look at you. Just stared out over the dark grounds of Hogwarts, eyes fixed somewhere between the Forbidden Forest and the black glint of the Black Lake.

“I broke up with Cedric.”

That made him turn. His expression cracked wide open in shock, disbelieving the word that had come out of her mouth. His lips parted, but no words came out.

You held his gaze. Steady. Honest. “He’s sweet,” you said quietly. “Thoughtful. Kind. He really did try. He was a great boyfriend, but…he never really knew me, Fred. Not like you do.��

Fred exhaled hard, like someone had punched the air from his lungs. “Don’t,” he whispered again, but this time it wasn’t a warning. It was a plea. “Don’t give me hope because you…I don’t know, because you feel sorry for me or something.”

You stepped closer. “You knew about the heights. The sweets. The flowers.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You knew all of it because you paid attention. Because you’ve always paid attention.” You interrupted him, needing to get your point across. Needing to do what you came here to do.

Fred turned away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. That’s the problem, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He laughed, but it was hollow. “I’ve spent months watching someone else be the boyfriend I wanted to be. Watching you smile at flowers I picked out for him. Watching you kiss him because of something I told him to do.”

Your heart ached at the crack in his voice.“Fred…”

“I thought I could handle it,” he said, shaking his head. “I thought if you were happy, that’d be enough. Even if it wasn’t with me.”

Silence. The wind stirred your loose strands of hair. Stars spun slow above. You reached out and touched his hand. Cold fingers. Tense.

He looked at you and you smiled - gentle, soft, unguarded. “I wasn’t happy. Not really. As wonderful as he was, it just didn’t feel right. He didn’t laugh at my jokes as hard as you do. And he didn’t challenge me back when I teased him. And the longer I was with him the more I realised I was disappointed in the fact that he wasn’t anything like you. Because you’re the one I want, Fred.”

His chest stilled, unable to draw in a breath but unable to let one go either.

“I think maybe I’ve always wanted you,” you said. “But I didn’t see it until you were everywhere - in everything he got right. Every sweet, every bouquet, every careful little gesture. It wanted it to be you.”

Fred’s jaw tightened like he was fighting it. Fighting hope. Fighting want. And at your confession he finally broke. He surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was urgent, like he’d been holding it back for years and it finally snapped loose. His hands cradled your face, fingers sliding into your hair, and you melted into it, fisting the front of his jumper as the stars spun above you.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads stayed pressed together, breath mingling in the cold night air.

“You’re sure?” he whispered.

You smiled, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “Fred Weasley. I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

He laughed, real this time. Warm and bright and a little breathless.

“Thank Merlin,” he said. “Because if I had to sit through one more week of that bloody idiot making the simplest mistakes, I was going to hurl myself off this tower.”

You grinned. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Too late.” He kissed you again, slower this time, with all the things he hadn’t said out loud. And you kissed him back with all the things you never knew you’d been holding onto.

Below, the castle slept. Above, the stars burned bright. And in the quiet space between, Fred Weasley finally got the girl.

#fred wealsey fic #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley #fred weasely x y/n #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #wizarding world

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