#and it's something that checks all the boxes for me

[motthe]

there's no death here | robert "bob" reynolds

ཐིཋྀ thunderbolts caught me with a bob-shaped hole in my heart.

warnings: spoilers from thunderbolts, super!reader, fem!reader, not sure if I'll make a bunch of parts or even finish this idea so be warned, gonna go ahead and say canon-divergent to save my ass bc im no marvel expert.

《masterlist》

You weren't built for battle—the powers you had were more defense based than anything—but you had been trained by the best of the best. The countless lessons left your survival skills above subpar, and maybe you could make use of your size and strangle a man twice it, but those things didn't make you a hero.

And being around so many of them for so long, it's disturbingly easy to start to feel useless.

“Born or cursed?”

You didn't remember who had asked it. You do remember you had been younger, that you'd been more or less adopted into the world of the Avengers without ever truly being thrown into it. Wanda and Natasha had been your everything, especially when it came to helping with your powers. Between the supernatural and the mental side, they had done wonders.

Sitting around and not making use of yourself would be spitting on their memory, so it wasn't long before you were dragged into government business. Reading minds was handy, but picking apart memories? Entering their psyche?

You were gold to detectives and last resort for men in black suits who would “talk” to criminals if you didn't.

The work had drained enough from you by the time Bucky showed up on your doorstep with a bottle of liquor and a favor.

“This isn't what I do,” you told him, looking over the files. “I'm not a therapist or a teacher. If Void is as powerful as you say it is—”

“It can be beaten,” he explained. “We've done it before. I just need you to help Bob block it out. You know how to do that.”

“With other people's thoughts,” you argued.

He shook his head. “You suppress memories. You put them into neat little boxes for your agent work.”

“You want me to make him forget something that dangerous?”

“I want you to show him he's not alone when it comes to this side of superpowers.” Bucky stood, a warm hand coming down on your shoulder and squeezing. “We've all been scattered. It's a shit team, the New Avengers, but it's something, kid.”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Bucky,” you sighed.

“I know. Wouldn't be asking you for your help if you were.”

The door shut to your apartment in farewell, but one visit from the Winter Soldier had too many opening at once. Flashes of earth's most mightiest heroes, of old friends, dead friends, missing ones.

Getting dragged back into that mess was asking for trouble.

Sipping on free alcohol, you flip through the packet of Robert “Bob” Reynolds. Sweet face, fucked past, and a far more fucked psyche for the powers he'd revealed in the last hit on New York.

Cursed, you decided by the end of your research, frowning as a picture slipped free. The New Avengers were definitely a ragtag group. Bucky was the only one you knew, Yelena you learned more than enough about through Nat digging around her head one time too many. Alexei Shostakov as well, but he was easy to pick apart at one glance. Anything revolving around Ava Starr and John Walker was rumors or passed down the grapevine.

Your phone vibrated. Checking it drew a deep line between your eyebrows. Someone was asking for another questioning, this time through the mind of a rampant serial killer in Chicago. They didn't have enough on him.

You leaned into your hands, sighing.

Across the block at a red-light, Bucky glanced at his phone and smiled as he read over the text.

“I need to meet him before I agree to this.”

The light flicked green.

The Watchtower was a shadow of the place you used to know. Repairs were still being made leaving people crawling on every floor but the top level had been finished for two weeks now, leaving the New Avengers with their shared space.

Bucky had promised the team would be out when you arrived, save for Bob. As it was quiet when the elevator door opened, you were glad to see he'd kept that promise.

“Welcome back,” he called, walking up.

“Which room did you snag?” you scoffed, eyeing the decor. Minimalist, neutral tones. Far greyer than the old room you remembered.

“The biggest.” He said it like it was obvious. Maybe it should've been.

Hearing movement, you both turned as a shadow passed by the windows. The hunched shoulders were a dead giveaway, soft eyes flittering between the floor and you as the young man stepped down.

Bob wore a dark blue sweater that drowned his figure and dark jeans. His hair was still a shaggy length and dark brown from the recent pictures you'd seen. By all accounts, he looked normal, but the anxiety flowed off him in waves that crashed against your head.

His mind extends way beyond others.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, clearing his throat. “You're, uh, Bucky's friend?”

You introduced yourself, stepping forward to offer your hand. He was quick to step back even across the room, body tensing.

“Wait, don't. I'm not sure if I—”

“When's the last time you transported someone into a shame room?”

The shock on his face had you glancing at Bucky for answers.

“Last week,” he said, crossing his arms. “Nothing super dangerous. Uncomfortable, but we get a lot of repeats so we break off easily enough.”

“Wait, so how much do you already know?” Bob asked, arms wrapping around himself.

“Enough,” you and Bucky respond.

Bob sighed, head nodding along as he turned away. “Great, guess that makes it easier.”

“I wouldn't say that; you're guarded now.” You moved closer, keeping your steps slow and your hands behind your back. Bob remained tense but didn't shy away. “Bucky called me here to see if I could help you, but I came here to see if you even want it.”

“Well, uh…” he swallowed, head bowing.

Do you want my help? His eyes flashed wide, breath catching as he looked up. You kept your expression neutral as you raised a brow. Do you? This will only work if you want to put in the effort.

“Can you see everything?”

You fought not to smile at the childish awe in his voice as it echoed back to you. I'm not looking. I'm listening.

A series of curses and panicked background commentary had you laughing.

I've heard and seen a lot. Honestly, don’t worry about it.

“That's easy for you to say,” Robert grumbled. “I cant control my thoughts like you can.”

“Would you like to?”

“It's not that I don't want your help,” he said, hands tangling into his sweater. “I just don't want to hurt anyone again. A lot of people… Some don't snap out of what I make them see. It's bad.”

“I have faith in my mental state,” you assured him. “Mental barriers, especially. I need to see just how powerful you are, though. Because if you get past mine, that means I'll be training you through trial and error. It's risky but it's not impossible.”

Bob looked to Bucky. “Do you think that's a good idea?”

Your old friend shrugged. “I brought her in because she's good at what she does. Whatever she wants to do, I have to trust it's the right decision.”

“I could hurt her!” Bob breathed and looked back to you. “I could hurt you really, really bad. Are you sure you know what you're signing up for?”

“I read through your files. I saw the extent of your powers and the aftermath of the accident,” you explained. “I'm prepared to help you with all things mental and psychic, but trust has to go both ways.”

You raised your hand again. He flinched, shuffling back.

“You want to help me now. What if that changes?” he whispers. “What if you see what it's really like and it scares you?”

“We won't know unless we try.” You took a step. Hand outstretched.

Bob looked at Bucky again, as if waiting to see if anyone would disagree. Whatever he searched for wasn't there.

He sighed and met your gaze. Pale blue eyes, you noted, with colors shifting around the pupil.

“Okay,” he nodded, holding up a shaky hand. The skin was bitten raw around his nails, skin dry but warm. The moment you felt it, there was a pressure against your mental shields. You could see the darkness clouding around you, searching for a way in, but you held firm.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, arm trembling as he stood there. His eyes were closed, head turned away.

You smiled, holding in a laugh as you used your other hand to grab his. “I'm fine, Bob. You're definitely powerful.”

“But you didn't see anything?” he said, eyeing where you were joined.

“I've had years to work on my mental barriers. You can't breach what doesn't have an entrance.” You squeezed his hand. “This is a really good sign. I'm going to have to let you in at some point to see just how potent your power is, but we'll work up to that.”

“You really don't see anything?” he whispered, hope rising in his expression as he searched your gaze.

“Just you,” you promised, unable to keep from smiling. “We'll have to work on your projection. Your thoughts are…loud.”

His face flushed red as he pulled away, sputtering an apology. There was some halfass excuse about the bathroom as he fled. Bucky stepped up to fill the empty space.

“What was he thinking?”

“None of your business,” you chuckled. “You got a guest room for me?”

But you had to admit you were flattered. Mens’ thoughts usually came up with the same descriptions for you at first glance. All your life you'd been met with disgusting thoughts and hateful opinions or plain “hot��� and “sexy.”

This might've been the first time a man had ever thought of you as “radiant” before.

[izzih22]

heyy, first of all thank you for all the fics you’ve been releasing you’ve been doing alot for our entertainment 💕I would like to request a short for you to give you a break lol.

So Azzi’s at a bar with her friends, Paige isn’t there, and the topic of relationships come up and one of Azzi’s friends is talking about how her feet were hurting so her boyfriend helped her walk to the car and azzi’s like “you walk?” (paige literally carries her) i hope you get what i’m saying😭😭 the whole one shot is just her being oblivious to bad relationship things or just things that a normal human can do for themselves because paige treats her like an absolute goddess.

You Walk?

Note: thank you so much!! I kinda made it longer so hope you like it!!

It’s one of those rare weekends with no games and no early practices. Just an off-night, a quiet pocket of time in the chaos of their season. So naturally, KK suggests the local lounge down the road that doesn’t card too hard and plays R&B remixes on Saturdays.

They roll in like they always do—sweatpants and messy buns, still talking about drills that went wrong or teammates who didn’t box out. Azzi’s with them, of course, even if she keeps glancing at her phone every few minutes.

“Paige isn’t coming,” Caroline says as they slide into a corner booth, raising a brow.

Azzi looks up, too fast. “I know.”

“She had film or something, right?” KK asks, already digging into the nachos they ordered before even sitting down.

“Yeah,” Azzi nods, checking her phone again. “Film and then treatment on her ankle.”

“Poor girl’s glued together with KT tape and stubbornness,” Ice mutters, stealing a chip.

“She’s fine,” Azzi says. “She just… doesn’t rest unless someone makes her.”

“Guess that someone is you?” Sarah teases.

Azzi shrugs, biting back a smile. “Sometimes.”

The drinks come—sodas, Shirley Temples, one rogue ginger beer Ice claims “tastes mature.” The music is mellow, the lighting soft. It’s one of those rare moments they all feel twenty-something and not like full-time athletes living on granola bars and ankle braces.

“So,” Jana says, kicking things off as she always does, “relationship question.”

KK groans. “Why do you always do this?”

“Because we’re five girls in a booth on a Saturday night and I’m trying to live a rom-com.”

Caroline snorts. “You need better material.”

Jana ignores her. “What’s the most romantic thing someone’s done for you after a game?”

Ice perks up immediately. “Ooh. Okay, not a boyfriend, but the guy I’ve been seeing lately he picked me up from that away game last weekend, right? I had on these heeled boots…bad decision…and after the game, my feet were screaming. And he walked me all the way back to the car, like arm around me, helping me limp.”

“Aww,” Sarah coos.

Caroline nods. “That’s sweet.”

Azzi, sipping her lemonade, tilts her head. “Wait… you walked?”

The table quiets.

Ice looks over. “Yeah?”

“You didn’t get carried?”

KK snorts. “What?”

Azzi blinks slowly, clearly confused. “If my feet hurt, Paige just carries me to the car.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then…

“I’m sorry,” Caroline says, setting down her drink. “She what?”

Azzi shrugs. “Carries me. Like, arms around my neck, bridal style. She opens the car door with her elbow while holding me.”

Ice stares at her. “You mean like… she’s done this more than once?”

Azzi squints, doing mental math. “It’s kind of our thing. I don’t really walk if I don’t have to after games.”

Jana’s mouth is slightly open. “You… you don’t walk?”

“Not if I’m tired.”

Sarah leans in, looking way too invested. “Does she do this in public?”

“Yeah?”

Caroline is actively holding her head in her hands. “You’re not in a relationship. You’re in a royal court.”

“I thought this was normal,” Azzi mutters, eyes narrowing.

“Azzi,” KK says seriously. “She carried your entire duffel bag and you after the Stanford game.”

“I was sore!”

“She was too!”

Azzi frowns. “She’s stronger than me.”

Everyone knows she lying. Paige is strong but Azzi is a machine. But alas they don’t say anything just smirk.

“You could have walked.”

“Could I have?” Azzi asks genuinely, like she’s never considered the possibility.

Sarah is absolutely losing it. “What else does she do for you that you think is normal?”

Azzi shrugs. “I dunno. She ties my shoes sometimes?”

“Sometimes?” Ice echoes, nearly choking on her drink.

“Well, like, when I’m wearing those shoes with the complicated laces and I don’t feel like doing it. She does them for me.”

KK throws her head back. “I’m actually gonna scream.”

“Oh,” Azzi adds thoughtfully. “She always opens my water bottles too.”

Caroline leans across the table. “Azzi. You are a D1 athlete. You have hands.”

“She gets to them before I do!”

“I’ve watched her unwrap your protein bars.”

“Only the ones with the sticky wrappers.”

“She cuts your grapes.”

“They taste better when they’re in halves!”

“Have you ever carried her to the car?” Sarah asks.

Azzi blinks. “She doesn’t like being carried.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“No…”

Jana laughs. “You are a princess and you don’t even know it.”

“She microwaves my hoodie before practice when it’s cold,” Azzi offers softly, almost defensively now.

Caroline groans. “Microwaves?!”

“It’s not weird! She wraps it in a towel and puts it in for like, fifteen seconds. So it’s warm.”

KK turns to the group. “I am dating the wrong people.”

Ice clutches her drink. “I’m not even really dating and I feel wronged.”

Azzi’s phone buzzes. She glances at it and smiles instantly.

“What is it?” Caroline asks.

“She just texted me. ‘Did you eat enough?’”

“Tell her no,” Sarah says. “So she’ll pull up with food in twenty minutes and a blanket and probably a slideshow presentation about nutrients.”

Azzi giggles, typing a reply. The girls all watch her, a mix of affectionate disbelief and exasperated envy.

“You know what’s wild,” KK says, voice a little softer now. “She really doesn’t do that for anyone else.”

“Does what?” Azzi asks, still texting.

“All of it,” Jana says, smiling. “She’s cool with us, yeah. But Paige? She spoils you. Like, in ways she doesn’t even realize.”

“She worships you,” Caroline says, not unkindly. “You’re like her favorite person.”

Azzi blinks, cheeks pinking. “She’s my favorite person too.”

There’s a little silence after that. One of those good, warm ones.

Ice sighs dramatically. “Y’all are disgusting.”

Kk raises her glass. “To not walking.”

Everyone laughs.

Azzi raises her glass too, her phone lighting up again with a message from Paige.

PAIGE:

If you’re still hungry, I can bring you something when I’m done. Or just come pick you up.

She smiles, melts a little, and types back:

AZZI:

I’m good. But you can still come pick me up if you want. I miss you.

PAIGE:

On my way.

Azzi sets her phone down, heart full. Her team is still roasting her, still in disbelief but underneath it, there’s love. So much of it.

⸻

Azzi’s just stepped out of the bar when she sees her.

Paige is parked right out front, leaning casually against the passenger door in a hoodie and joggers, arms crossed, hair pulled back in a low bun like she didn’t spend the last two hours watching film and icing. Her eyes soften the second she sees Azzi.

Azzi doesn’t even try to play it cool. She lights up instantly.

Paige pushes off the car and meets her halfway.

“Hey,” she says, already reaching to adjust Azzi’s oversized sweatshirt like it’s her job.

Azzi smiles up at her. “Hi.”

“You tired?”

Azzi leans into her. “A little.”

And without missing a beat, she lifts Azzi right off the ground, arms around her back and under her knees, bridal style. Azzi doesn’t even flinch—she just folds into it, wraps her arms around Paige’s neck, and rests her head against her shoulder like they’ve done this a thousand times.

Inside the bar, five noses are pressed up against the window.

“NO. WAY,” KK whisper-yells.

“She didn’t even ask, Paige just knew,” Ice says, jaw dropped.

“She looks so happy,” Sarah mutters, a little too emotionally invested.

“I feel like I just watched a scene from a Netflix original,” Caroline says.

“Literally how does someone look hot while carrying another adult?” Jana asks, offended.

“Did you see how she opened the door without putting Azzi down?” Ice adds. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

KK’s filming through the window. “If my future wife doesn’t treat me like I’m made of moonlight and satin sheets, I don’t want her.”

“You think she warmed up the car too?” Sarah asks.

“She probably pre-set the seat warmer,” Caroline says.

“Y’all,” Ice says, dropping her voice like it’s a national secret, “I used to think Paige was kind of quiet and chill. But she’s not. She’s just so gone for Azzi that none of us even exist when she’s around.”

The group stares out the window as Paige carefully lowers Azzi into the car, buckles her in, then presses a kiss to her forehead like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like muscle memory.

They’re still watching as the car pulls away.

Caroline turns back to the table.

“I think we just witnessed a mythological event.”

“I feel single,” KK says dramatically.

“You are single,” Jana deadpans.

“I feel extra single,” KK corrects.

Sarah’s already texting their group chat:

Sarah: azzi literally gets carried home like a fairy tale

Sarah: if she ever says “paige isn’t that romantic” again we’re playing the window footage

Caroline opens her soda, toasts the air, and says, “To setting the bar unreasonably high.”

They all clink their glasses together.

And somewhere across town, Azzi leans into Paige’s shoulder in the car and says, “They roasted me so bad.”

Paige just smiles. “Good. Let them be jealous.”

Azzi’s grin turns soft. “I’m really lucky.”

Paige glances over at her. “I’m the lucky one.”

⸻

UConn practice, Sunday morning. Coach hasn’t even walked in yet, and the team is already stretching, half-awake, shoes only half-laced. It’s quiet until Paige walks in.

Azzi’s trailing behind her, as always, but today there’s a very specific look in her eyes. It’s the “I told them everything” look.

Paige doesn’t notice. She jogs in with her usual no-sleep-no-problem swagger, hair tied up, hoodie sleeves shoved to her elbows. She barely sets her water bottle down before…

“Oh hey, Paige,” KK calls, loud and obvious. “How are your arms feeling today?”

Paige blinks. “My arms?”

“Yeah, after carrying an entire grown woman across a parking lot last night.”

Azzi breaks immediately, hiding behind a towel.

Paige turns slowly toward her. “You told them?”

“I said one thing,” Azzi mumbles from behind the towel.

“One thing?” Caroline grins. “Girl, you gave us a thesis.”

“We know about the grapes,” Ice adds. “The microwaved hoodie. The shoelace situation.”

Ash fakes a swoon. “She carries you with the door elbow bump. I literally can’t even open my Gatorade without losing a nail.”

Paige stands there, eyes narrowing like she’s deciding who to block in practice first.

“Y’all are being dramatic,” she mutters.

“No we’re not,” Caroline says. “We’re being observant.”

“She doesn’t walk, Paige!” KK shouts, already laughing.

“Okay, but why should she walk?” Paige shoots back, deadpan. “She’s perfect.”

The gym goes silent.

Caroline turns to Ice. “Did she just…?”

“She just dropped that like it was normal,” Ice whispers.

Paige shrugs, tossing a ball lazily between her hands. “If I can carry her, why wouldn’t I? Y’all just jealous.”

“Damn right we are,” Ice says. “I limp and suffer in silence.”

Jana raises an eyebrow. “Would you carry any of us if our feet hurt?”

Paige doesn’t even blink. “No.”

“That was fast,” KK says.

“She wouldn’t even open my water bottle,” Ice adds.

“You shouldn’t need help,” Paige shrugs.

“But Azzi does?” Caroline teases.

Paige tosses the ball at her lightly. “Azzi gets help. Not the same.”

Azzi finally peeks out from behind her towel, smiling helplessly.

Caroline rolls her eyes. “You’re so whipped.”

“I’m not whipped,” Paige says, walking to Azzi like it’s automatic. “I’m just obsessed with her. Totally different.”

Azzi beams. Everyone else groans.

Coach finally walks in, blowing his whistle.

“Save the flirting for after sprints!” He yells.

“Yes, Coach!” they all echo.

But as they start warming up, Azzi’s still grinning, and Paige casually offers her a drink without her even asking. The rest of the team watches it happen like they’re seeing the northern lights.

“Grapes next,” Ice mutters.

“Pretty sure she’s already got them in the locker room,” Caroline says.

And they do. In a little Tupperware, halved.

Because Paige Bueckers may not talk about her feelings much. But everyone on the team knows one thing now: she doesn’t just love Azzi.

She lives to make her life easier.

And apparently, that includes never letting her feet touch the ground.

[chimerafeathers]

#i don’t go here but i think mirabelle had every right to react the way she did #how was she supposed to know siffrin cared at all if they were acting like he didn’t? #secret goodness only gets you so far if you aren’t willing to be honest about it with the people you love (via @kaiju-lightning)

i don't know to what degree you "don't go here" (what context or information you have or don't have outside of what's in this post) but, if you didn't know, Siffrin isn't like. some asshole with a secret ultra-hidden deep-down heart of gold that no one can see. they're just kind of quiet a lot of the time, and when they do speak up, it's usually either lightly jokey or very sweetly supportive. Mirabelle doubting his motives is VERY much fueled by her anxiety; none of the others (including Bonnie, a pre-teen) sincerely think that Siffrin doesn't care about them, even after Siffrin spends a day burning all their bridges.

more specific spoilers ahead!

there's a flashback in the very beginning of the game where Siffrin remembers Mirabelle checking in with them, trying to make sure he's really willing to be on a dangerous quest with her, and he tells her point-blank that traveling with them all is the happiest he's ever been. they're being completely honest, but Mirabelle doesn't really know that! because like! how could that possibly be true?? they're on a dangerous quest that they may not survive, for a country that he has no ties to, AND THEY JUST LOST AN EYE??? it doesn't make sense that nothing in his life made him happier than they are right now! maybe they're teasing her, or just trying to make her feel better, or something that would make more sense than that.

Siffrin's also in the habit of reminding Mirabelle not to bite her nails too much when she's feeling anxious. they start visibly panicking whenever they think someone is upset (especially if he thinks it's his fault or it's aimed at him). they lost their eye protecting Bonnie and only really cared that Bonnie was safe afterwards. he spends a lot of time trying to be quietly reassuring or keeping people happy with his jokes. Isabeau at one point calls them nice, and says he "always listens to what everyone has to say, and always tries to give advice even though they're not always very good at it"—that's all specifically about pre-time-loop behavior!

it's really not a secret AT ALL that Siffrin cares about the party in general. the "secret" part is how MUCH and how DEEPLY they care. it's the difference between "yeah, we had a great time together! i really enjoyed hanging out with you. we should keep in touch and hang out again sometime" (where everyone thinks everyone else is at, emotionally) and "i care about all of you more than anyone else i've ever known and the thought of you leaving is painful, but i can't bear to ask you to stay with me when you all have lives and homes and jobs and families to get back to and i don't want to keep you from your goals. i'm fine with just 'keeping in touch.' it's FINE"

it's also worth noting that the "secret" part is also kiiiiinda a secret even to Siffrin himself? as in, they're trying so hard to accept the fact that everyone will leave, that it's completely normal and natural for them to go back to their own lives, that they're shoving all their feelings about that into a tiny box and burying it in the back of their mind.

all of this to say, yes, Mirabelle absolutely has a right to be upset when Siffrin hurts her! but the reason she reacts so strongly is that she struggles much more than the others to consistently read Siffrin's behavior as sincerely friendly, because of her own anxiety and hangups. it's NOT because Siffrin is outwardly cold, callous, rude, flippant, or anything like that at a baseline.

hope that clears things up!

i really love how intensely Mirabelle reacts to act 5 Siffrin botched friendquest.

Isabeau is mostly operating out of concern and, eventually, hurt. he already knows something’s up before Siffrin gets to him. he knows something truly awful must be wrong for Siffrin to be lashing out like they are, and as soon as he can’t handle the situation anymore, he leaves and asks (with strained cheer) for time apart to cool off.

most of Bonnie’s anger comes from being upset and afraid that Siffrin would willingly put themself in danger for no reason, when that’s exactly why they’ve been so unsettled since the eye incident. they hate that Siffrin values their own life so little, they hate that they’re the cause of any pain or loss for him, and here he is, putting himself in that situation AGAIN. on purpose. it’s loud and explosive, but it’s familiar, too, being “hated” by Bonnie for this reason.

Odile pushes, and keeps pushing, until her concern overwhelms Siffrin and they strike where they know she’s most vulnerable. she gets physical, just for a moment, grabbing his collar before controlling herself and letting go. her fury shuts down into cold detachment, and she walks away.

but Mirabelle—dear, sweet, gentle, loving Mirabelle, “the most wonderful being on earth,” with her secret “ruthless side” that largely involves lightly badmouthing people behind their backs and then apologizing—slaps them. immediately.

and then COMPLETELY RENOUNCES THEIR FRIENDSHIP.

not just “we’re not friends anymore,” but “we were never friends in the first place.”

that’s!!! pretty extreme!!!!

of course, she ALSO starts by asking what’s wrong. something must have happened for him to act like this. but as soon as Siffrin brushes her off, she jumps past that line of questioning and dives headfirst into re-evaluating everything she thought she knew about them as a a person.

if he could say something like that to her and not see anything wrong with it, then she was wrong to treat him as a friend, wrong to read camaraderie into his teasing, wrong to think they must care about them all under their aloof demeanor.

that’s how Mirabelle phrases it—“I was wrong about you”—but i think that there’s a hidden layer of I was right about you, too.

she talks about the way they tease her like she had to convince herself that he was doing it in a friendly way. she says they talk like they “know better than her” like that’s a thought she’s had for a LONG time.

“Always soooo mysterious, Siffrin, always talking as if you're better than me! As if you know me!!! But you don't, Siffrin!!! You're just as lost and useless as I am!!! So stop!!! Talking!!! As if you know me!!!!!!”

none of this comes across as a new, sudden way to view Siffrin for her. it doesn’t shock or confuse her. it makes her angry, defensive, almost like she was waiting for something like this to happen at some point. the feeling of resentment, frustration, jealousy, being patronized and condescended to—this is something she’s been actively pushing down and rejecting this entire time, but they’ve given her ample reason for it all to boil to the surface. violently.

Mirabelle’s kindness is not inherent or easy. it’s a choice she’s making. she treats Siffrin warmly because she gives him the benefit of the doubt—refusing to act based on anxiety-fueled, cynical speculation, and reassuring herself that his actions are driven by care and friendship even if she can’t quite see it.

“I was wrong about you” doesn’t mean she always and without question believed them to be a fundamentally kind, caring person from the beginning—it’s that her first, colder instincts were right, and she was wrong to convince herself otherwise.

never mind that she asked what was wrong at first. she barely gives them time to speak in their own defense, to explain what they really meant by what they said. all of her suppressed doubts and frustrations are getting aired out now, now that all the trust she’d so deliberately placed in him has been betrayed. her pain feels bigger than this singular moment, so when she hurts him back, she makes sure it extends back through the entirety of their relationship for him, too.

“You're awful. You're not my friend, not my ally, not anything. You never were.”

like the others, she goes back to the clocktower and tells Siffrin not to come back until later. but there’s a finality to the way she ends this confrontation that isn’t quite there with the others. Isabeau and Odile reach their breaking point and remove themselves from the situation, asking for space to cool off but still somewhat leaving the door open for Siffrin to tell them what’s really going on at some point. Mirabelle is the only one who tries to fully cut ties—after everything else she says, her “I don’t want to see you until tonight” reads to me somewhat as “I don’t want to see you anymore unless I have to.”

I can’t wait to never see you again.

even back at the clocktower, Mirabelle doesn’t really defend Siffrin’s place in the party when Odile suggests leaving them behind out of concern for their trustworthiness on the most important day of the journey. Isabeau and Bonnie protest out of sentimentality and faith in Siffrin’s abilities and connection to them, and Mirabelle agrees, but…

“I agree, but... B-But would he even agree to come with us, still? Maybe they won't even come back tonight...”

she doesn’t say much outside of that. maybe the stutter and hesitation here are signs of regret about how things happened, but she lacks Isabeau and Bonnie’s confidence that Siffrin even wants to come back to them in the first place. she doesn’t trust that their bond was real anymore. maybe it never was in the first place, or maybe she broke whatever was there herself.

and she’s still mad when they finally catch up to Siffrin at the King! and she makes sure Siffrin knows that—after saving them, assuring him that he no longer needs to fight, that they’re all there for him. she still cares, of course she still cares—she’s still hurt, too, but they can figure that part out once there’s less world-ending stuff going on.

she’s the first to say that they all reserve the right to still be angry at Siffrin later—and that they’ve already forgiven him.

she’s also the first to say we want to stay with you, too. it’s not just you.

she was wrong! she thought they didn’t care but they care so much, it’s overwhelming, it’s world-ending.

i think she’s gonna be wallowing in guilt post-canon the moment she remembers what she said and did TO SIFFRIN and not just what Siffrin said to her. especially now that she knows Siffrin’s exact hangups, and especially especially if she figures out what Siffrin was trying to say.

they put themself through hell out of loneliness and fear that none of the others cared about him the way he cared about them, he was going insane from repetition and exhaustion and hunger and trying to keep them all safe and together, and all they did in the midst of all that was say something kind of mean to her one time (that turned out to not even be MEANT to be mean it was supposed to be HELPFUL they just SAID IT ALL WRONG) and she SLAPPED THEM? and told him that they WEREN’T FRIENDS AT ALL??? how could she!!! she should have known better!! what they said hurt a lot but still!!!

so when they eventually manage to try to talk about it, they end up almost in, like, a guilt competition.

Mirabelle apologizing for how she reacted, that she shouldn’t have yelled or hit him, that she doesn’t want to be the kind of person who acts that way out of anger and she’s sorry that she made Siffrin expect that reaction from her, she should have known better and believed in him more and they only messed up like that because they were losing their mind in a time loop but what’s HER excuse—

and Siffrin going nononono stop I deserved it—(HUH DON’T SAY THAT NO YOU DIDN’T)—and that he should never have said such awful things to her, ever, and she was under so much pressure already with the weight of the country and everyone’s lives and futures and her religion and their whole party counting on her to do this impossible task because she’s the only one who can, all this unbearable expectation and hope crushing her, and they KNEW that but they thought they could skip to the ending as though her feelings didn’t matter at all, like helping her wasn’t as important as saving a little time—

until they’re just. in tears together, apologizing for all the horrible things they did in between complimenting each other’s strength and kindness and resilience and how much they admire each other and saying that no, everything you did was completely understandable, actually, the only one who sucks here is me. which neither of them will accept coming from the other!!

they’re so similar, in ways they couldn’t really understand, before.

warm, affectionate, perfect Mirabelle, the resolute hero, a beacon of compassion and hope for all those around her, who wears her heart on her sleeve, her fear making her courage shine all the brighter—nothing like the insignificant, forgettable Siffrin, too terrified to be known, too fragile to touch, too selfish and disgusting to bear letting go.

cool, mysterious, unflappable Siffrin, the worldly traveler, as charming and silly as they are confident and skilled, who brushed off losing an eye like it was nothing, accepting the risks of this journey with barely more than a shrug—nothing like the anxious, stagnant, underserving Mirabelle, a fraud and a nobody crumbling under the weight of a mission too important to be entrusted to someone like her, doubting herself, doubting her friends, doubting her mentor, doubting her faith, too weak and brittle to bend and change the way the world needs her to without breaking.

not worth bothering others with their problems. they should be able to handle this alone. stay positive, stay calm. breathe in, and out.

they’ll struggle with it, still—the hiding, the minimizing—but now, they understand each other a little better. they can hold each other accountable for what they leave unsaid.

it’ll get easier, eventually. they have plenty of time.

[phantomwithbreakfast]

DANNYMAY DAY 09: Underground

Day 08 • Day 10

⟢ I was getting confused with this prompt. As—underground could mean so many things, depending on the context. But one idea kept clawing back into my brain—corpse AU. And oh, dude. I got way too hyped about it. Turns out, @ghostlyglimmer and I had the same deliciously dreadful idea! Go check out her hauntingly good work here! As for mine? Uhh, well—I turned Danny into uhh—something a little more post-mortem than usual (duhh). Think like—half-dead, half-ghost, full-on corpse aesthetic. Possessed corpse? Danny as a ghostly remnant that crawled his way out of his grave. (More under the cut)

Genre: Angst / Horror • TW/CW: Death — Memory Loss — Identity Loss — Emotional Distress • AU — OOC

Danny was dead. He just didn’t know.

His eyes snapped open to pitch black—thick, suffocating, endless. The silence was too loud.

Then—

A green eerie light. A flickering glow bloomed somewhere in the dark. Acidic light pushed into retinas that no longer needed to see, searing across nerves that shouldn’t be burning. He gasped, or… he tried to. But his lungs didn’t move. His heart didn’t beat. No air, no space. Just… cold.

There was nothing. No memory. No name. No life.

All he knew he was trapped.

I need to get out.

He reached upward, lifting his trembling hands—and they met something rough. Wooden. Dry. Pressed against his palms like a lid. A box. Too small, too tight.

A memory sliced through the fog—white light, searing heat and pain. A scream that never ended.

His.

“No,” he rasped, his voice cracked like brittle glass. “No, no—”

Panic shot through him. His fingers clawed upward again, splinters digging in—except… they didn’t. His hand passed through the lid. Not touching it. Just… slipping.

“The fuck…?”

His breathing quickened—but there was nothing to breath. His chest rose on instinct, not oxygen. There was no warmth, no blood. But something churned inside him, rising from deep within the center of his chest. Something icy. Wild. Terrified.

Realization crept in—this was a coffin. A grave. He was underground, sealed in silence and death.

Six feet under. Buried. Gone.

“I’m not—I’m not dead!”

His body shuddered. A jolt of agony ripped through his spine.

He screamed, and then—something changed.

His clothes tore into black and white in a blur of flickering energy. He didn’t feel it happen. He didn’t mean to. He just panicked—and something inside him answered.

He clawed his way upward, intangible, through dirt and soil and death. His body no longer felt like his own. Cold. Weightless. Wrong.

He burst out of the earth and soil with a gasp he couldn’t feel. And when he looked down at his hands—they weren’t the same. They were covered with white gloves, faintly glowing, trembling. His hair was pearl-white, catching the corner of his glowing green eyes.

And finally, he understood.

He was a ghost.

But he didn’t know who he’d been, didn’t know what he’d lost, didn’t know how he got here or why his bones felt weightless and hollow. Didn’t know what came next.

All he knew was that he’d died… and death hadn’t stuck.

They’d buried him alive—or so it felt. But no… he’d been dead. Truly dead. And now he was back—aware, conscious, no longer rotting in silence. No longer sleeping in that box meant to hold him forever. And now? He was alone, hollow, lost. With no memories, no name, and nothing but the weight of death clinging to his… skin, he had to piece together a life he couldn’t remember.

“I’m not… I’m not dead. I’m here. I’m still here. But I don’t feel anything. I don’t need to breathe—I don’t need oxygen. There’s nothing inside me. No heartbeat. No warmth. Just this… silence and… cold. I’m a ghost. I’m a fucking ghost. Fuck. No. Why? Why wouldn’t you just let me die? Why couldn’t you let me rest in peace?”

He swallowed hard, even though he didn’t need to.

“What do I remember? I remember… a flash—no, a blast—of… of white light, ripping through me. I remember the pain—so much pain—tearing through every nerve like… like fire. I don’t… that’s all. That’s all I have left. There’s… there’s nothing else.”

He grabbed his hair with both hands, pulling so hard like it might help him get his memories back. Confused… he was so confused. Panic consumed him again. He could still feel—but it was hollow, empty. Feeling devastated. Like remembering emotions he couldn’t place. The physical sensations were gone. No pain, no nerves. Just… nothing.

Or at least, that’s what he thought.

The only thing he felt was weightlessness. Like gravity had let go of him. Like the world no longer needed to hold him down.

He let go of his head, lowering his translucent arms as he slowly turned around. His eyes landed on the stone sticking out of the earth—the one he’d just crawled from.

There was a name carved into it.

“Daniel James Fenton.”

He stared. The letters made sense. He could read. So… not all of his memory was gone. But the name—it didn’t mean anything. It didn’t feel like his. He could still speak. That was something.

“The fuck is happening to me?”

His knees gave out. He sank to the ground, one hand sliding up to the gravestone. His gloved fingers traced the curved lettering with a kind of detached reverence.

“Was that… me?”

He asked himself. But no answer came. He sighed—a useless motion, but it came anyway. Muscle memory, maybe. A mimic of something human.

His fingers hovered over the name like it might spark something—some memory, some feeling. But there was nothing. Just letters. Just stone. Just silence.

“That… is me?”

He whispered again, quieter this time. But the wind didn’t answer either. He stared at the name like it belonged to someone else. Someone real. Someone who was loved, who laughed, who had a life. Someone human.

But that wasn’t him anymore.

Whoever Daniel James Fenton was… he’d been buried six feet under. And what clawed out of that grave wasn’t the same.

He sat back, knees sinking into the soil, the chill of death wrapping around him like a second skin. His white hair drifted in the still night air. His chest didn’t rise. His body didn’t ache. His heart didn’t beat.

But something deep inside him did hurt. And he didn’t even know why.

“I don’t… I don’t know who I am.”

He said, voice barely above the wind, like a broken echo. But the grave didn’t answer.

And neither did the boy… who once lived.

⟢ That second part wasn’t planned—it just came out of nowhere. And I really needed to stop myself before I ended up writing an entire phic about it, lol.

[sycamorelibrary754]

Seeds of Friendship

Summary: You're on Bob duty while the rest of the team is away.

Pairings: Robert Reynolds x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Spoilers for Thunderbolts*!! Read at your own risk.

A/N: My first Bob fic! I would love more requests for Bob or any of the Thunderbolts*!

From the moment Valentina announced you all as The New Avengers, you drew the line at calling it The Watch Tower. It felt disrespectful to the family you had spent so many years with inside its walls. Val had done a real number on the building. What was once a vibrant hub of ingenuity was now a sterile shell of its former self.

You weren't a full-time member of the original team; more like an independent variable they called when they needed your specific skill set. Tony dubbed you Nature’s Fury because of your ability to control the elements, summoning storms or conjuring walls of fire. So, when Bucky called you in a hushed whisper from his Congressional office in D.C. and said he needed your help tracking down a group of rogue misfits, you didn't hesitate.

Nonetheless, now was not the moment to get lost on memory lane; you were on Bob duty. The team had collectively agreed: Bob shouldn’t be left alone. So, each of you took turns keeping him company. “It’s simple,” Yelena had said with a reassuring smile, “Just try to engage him, but if he’s not into it, check in every couple of hours.”

With the rest of the New Avengers bickering like a bunch of kids across the Tower and onto the jet, you took a deep breath and approached Bob’s bedroom door.

You gently knocked. “Robert, can I come in?”

“Sure,” came his soft response.

As you opened the door, you found Bob sprawled on his bed, engrossed in a book.

“Hey, I’m about to start a movie. Want to join me?” you asked.

“No thanks. I think I’ll stick to my book,” he answered meekly, lifting a worn copy of The Fellowship of the Ring.

“Alright, I’ll be in the common area if you need anything,” you reminded him warmly.

“Okay, thanks, Y/N.”

*^~^*

You had settled into a cozy position on the couch, the warm glow of the television casting soft light across the room. As the heartwarming story of "UP" unfolded, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Time slipped unnoticed, and you were awoken by the gentle sounds of the Pixar credits rolling in the background. Stretching slightly, you blinked a few times, trying to shake off the lingering drowsiness.

Rubbing your eyes, you slowly sat up, startled by the sound of the kitchen cupboard closing. You turned to find Bob standing there, his oversized sweater sleeves drooping past his knuckles, looking rather sheepish.

“Sorry, Y/N. I didn't mean to wake you,” he said, nervously fidgeting with his hands. “I was just looking for something for lunch.”

“It’s all good. Let me whip us up something,” you replied, running your hand through your hair as you rose.

As you rifled through the fridge, you realized someone needed to step up grocery shopping duties—anyone but Alexi, who always seemed to get stuck in the cereal aisle waiting to be recognized from the Wheaties box.

Determined, you pulled out the ingredients for sandwiches. “What’s your pleasure?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder.

“Um, whatever you want works for me,” Bob replied softly, glancing at the floor.

“Bob,” you teased with a smirk. “You know you can actually tell me what kind of sandwich you want.”

He hesitated, then clarified, “Okay, grilled cheese, please?”

“There we go! Two grilled cheese sandwiches coming right up,” you declared with a grin.

You spread a generous layer of butter on each slice of bread and, with care and precision, layered the cheese.

“Uh, don’t you—don’t you need to turn on the stove?” Bob asked his voice a mixture of curiosity and uncertainty.

“Not necessary,” you replied, focusing your energy. A flicker of flame danced to life in your palm, toasting the bread and melting the cheese to gooey perfection in mere moments.

“Right,” Bob mumbled, remembering the surprising talents you possessed.

“So, you used to work here with the… original Avengers?” Bob asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, sometimes,” you replied, sipping your Coke. “Whenever they needed me.”

You could practically see the gears turning in Bob's head for minutes as you ate. Finally, he leaned in closer. “Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course,” you encouraged.

“What happened to you that you can do,” he said, gesturing with his hand in a sweeping motion, “that?”

You paused, memories flooding back after years of being buried. It had been ages since you reflected on your past.

“I’m sorry! I shouldn't have pried,” Bob stammered, realizing he might have crossed a line. “I—”

“Robert!” you interjected softly, careful not to push him away completely. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes and didn’t want him to retreat into silence. “It’s alright. I understand how strange this all must seem. I was involved in a Hydra experiment, a variation of the Winter Soldier project. That’s how I came to know Bucky. He was more than just a soldier to me; he was my mentor, guiding me through the darkness of that place. When Bucky finally managed to break free from their control, he didn’t forget me. He returned, risking everything to rescue me from the same fate that had haunted him.”

Bob’s face shifted with sympathy. “That sounds terrible.”

You nodded, surveying the once-familiar confines. “But once I found my way here, things began to shift for me. Trust me, it will happen for you, too.”

Bob averted his gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. “I hope so. I know everyone cares about me, but sometimes it’s hard to believe I belong here.”

You paused, realizing that sometimes words alone aren't enough to bridge the gap. “Come on, I want to share something with you,” you said, an encouraging smile forming on your lips.

*^~^*

Taking the elevator up, you watched Bob shift uncomfortably. Upon reaching the rooftop, your heart sank for a moment as the cranes loomed overhead, obscuring what used to be a breathtaking view of the New York City skyline. Leading him to the roof's south side, you hoped Val hadn’t managed to get her hands on everything just yet.

To your relief, you glanced over and saw the greenhouse that Pepper had lovingly installed still standing, a little oasis amidst the chaos.

“I used to spend countless afternoons up here,” you said, guiding Bob through the greenhouse's door. The familiar scent of damp earth and blooming flowers wafted over you both. I always found solace in nature, far away from the noise and hardness of concrete.”

Bob nodded, his fingers nervously twirling a lock of his tousled brown hair. “I like nature too,” he replied, his voice quiet and reflective. “When my parents would argue, and things turned… intense, I would slip outside to the garden. It was always so calm and peaceful out there.”

You continued exploring the rows of leafy plants and the vibrant colors surrounding you, pausing to hold up a small, unassuming pot that sat neglected on a shelf. Its surface was dusty and cracked, seeming empty at first glance.

“Um... it looks empty,” Bob remarked, his brow furrowing in disappointment as he peered into the pot, searching for signs of life.

With a warm and reassuring smile, you shook your head gently. “It may appear empty right now, but with a little care and nurturing, it holds the promise to thrive and transform into something beautiful.”

You waved your hand over the pot, and with a soft rustling sound, a small begonia bulb began to push its way through the rich soil, its vibrant green leaves unfurling as if reaching for the light.

“Do you see the point I’m trying to make, Robert?” you inquired, your eyes searching his for understanding.

Bob raised an eyebrow, a hint of curiosity creeping into his expression. “That we’re both just sad little bulbs too afraid to emerge from the shadows of our rooms?” he suggested, a weary smile playing on his lips.

You shook your head, your thoughts swirling as you tried to articulate your feelings more clearly. “Yes! Wait, no, that’s not it,” you corrected yourself, your hands gesturing animatedly. “We may be shy and feel out of place in this world, but if we allow others to help us, we can find our way through this darkness and be okay.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes more sense,” Bob replied with a warm, infectious smile that lit up his face. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at the vibrant begonia in his hands, its rich green leaves and delicate pink blooms swaying gently. “Do you think anyone would mind if I put this in my room?” he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“I don't think they would mind at all,” you reassured him, gently reaching out to grasp his hand.

At that moment, the serene atmosphere of the greenhouse was interrupted as the building trembled slightly. The familiar hum of a jet gently echoed in the distance, growing louder as it approached. You stepped outside, feeling a playful breeze tousle your hair while the jet descended gracefully onto the landing pad nearby.

Standing there with Bob, the pot cradled carefully in his arms; you watched as the team emerged from the aircraft, one by one.

“Hey, Bobby! Nice flower!” John called out playfully, a teasing glint in his eyes as he pointed at the begonia.

Ava, standing beside him, shot him a playful shove. “Stuff it, Walker,” she retorted, her tone light-hearted yet protective. “It’s pretty.”

“I see you two visited the greenhouse,” Bucky observed.

“Yeah, I’m going to put this flower in my room,” Bob declared proudly, a newfound confidence shining through his voice.

“That is wonderful Бобик (Bob),” Alexi boomed, his deep voice reverberating as he patted the young man's back with a hearty thump, causing him to stumble forward. “The tower could use more color,” he added, guiding Bob back toward the entrance with a hand on his shoulder.

Yelena stood nearby; her eyebrow arched skeptically as she looked between you and Bob. “You brought him up to the roof?” she asked her tone a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I was going for a metaphor,” you explained, the words spilling out sheepishly, an apologetic smile gracing your lips.

“Alright,” Yelena agreed after a moment of consideration. “As long as he doesn't fall off,” she added, a flicker of affection for Bob dancing in her eyes.

You took one last look at Bob as he engaged with the rest of the team, his face lighting up with every interaction. A smile crept onto your face. “He’s going to be just fine,” you thought, feeling a surge of hope for the young man who had found his place among you.

[joelcrush]

Let Me Learn You

pairing: joel miller x f!reader warnings: mdni, | age gap | oral (f & m) | fingering | unprotected sex | size kink | dirty talk | praise + possession | face grabbing | mild & mutual obsession | Joel being emotionally unwell about it in the hottest way | no outbreak word count - 7.7k summary - Your dad’s old friend Joel helps you move. You don’t see the tension—but he does. And when it finally breaks, there’s no going back. A slow build into something filthy, soft, and completely his.

part one

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your place was already too warm by the time the couch got wedged in the hallway.

Boxes everywhere. Cabinets open. You’d been living out of a backpack for three days and still hadn’t figured out where to put your bath towels or your coffee mugs. But it was your first place, and the chaos felt kind of earned. You weren’t expecting help until later, but someone knocked just after noon. When you opened the door, a man was already walking up the short front path. Mid-40s, maybe older. Black shirt. Solid frame. A calm face that didn’t give much away.

“Your dad said you might need help with furniture,” he said. “Oh—yeah. I didn’t know he sent someone already.”

He nodded once, like that was enough talking, and stepped inside when you held the door open. You moved a box out of his way and watched him take in the space.

“Sorry it’s such a mess. I’m still figuring things out.”

“That’s what movin’ is,” he said, and then he gestured toward the hallway. “You want that couch in there?”

You nodded. “Yeah, that’s the living room.”

He got to work without another word.

You grabbed the lighter end automatically, even though he didn’t ask, and together you managed to get the thing unstuck from the hallway and into place. He didn’t struggle much. Barely looked winded. You didn’t talk a lot while he moved the rest. Just helped where you could—pointed at where things should go, said thank you more than necessary. He wasn’t cold, just quiet. Direct. There was something steadying about it, actually. The way he barely blinked when you offered him a half-finished bottle of water or said you were probably gonna live with a broken bookshelf for the rest of time.

“You don’t need a new one,” he said. “Just better anchors.” “That sounds like something a bookshelf would say right before collapsing on me in my sleep.”

That made him smile. Small, quick, but you saw it.

He finished sooner than you expected. Wiped his hands on his jeans. Gave a little grunt of finality like he was mentally checking the job off a list. You followed him toward the door, grabbing a new bottle of water from the fridge.

“Thanks again,” you said, handing it to him. “Seriously. I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He took it, his hand brushing yours. “Glad to help.”

Then, like it was nothing:

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

The word didn’t stick. Not in a weird way. Just something he said, maybe a habit. You smiled, nodded.

“See you around, probably.”

He left with a short nod and a low “mmhm” that barely registered before the door clicked shut behind him.

You didn’t think twice about it.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He wasn’t planning on saying yes when her dad called.

It was supposed to be his day off. A list of errands to half-ignore. Tools to clean, laundry to avoid. But then the man mentioned his daughter—first place on her own, said she was “barely five feet and stubborn as hell,” trying to move a bed frame solo.

Joel didn’t ask for details. Just wrote down the address and showed up twenty minutes later with a socket wrench in his back pocket and a short list of things he was telling himself this wasn’t. He was expecting someone anxious. Chatty. The kind of girl who got overwhelmed easily and didn’t know the difference between drywall and brick. He wasn’t expecting her.

She opened the door barefoot, shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair barely held in place by a clip. A box cutter was still in her hand. She blinked like she forgot anyone else existed.

“Oh—yeah. Hi. Come in.”

She didn’t look twice at him. Didn’t pause or fidget or start fixing her hair. She just waved him in and apologized for the mess, like he gave a shit. Joel followed her inside, slow, eyes catching on the curve of her back as she bent to move a box. Her legs were bare—soft, clean skin above the knee, and a pair of shorts that weren’t trying to be anything but comfortable.

It didn’t mean anything. Didn’t have to. He kept his voice steady.

“Your dad said you needed help with the bed frame?”

She nodded, smiled like it was nothing. “Yeah—it’s in the bedroom. Not built yet. It’s kind of in pieces, sorry.”

Joel just grunted, made his way down the hall, and tried not to think about how small her bed was. How soft the mattress looked when he pressed it into place. How nice her voice sounded when she laughed at herself.

She stayed close. Helped with one end of the dresser. Pulled things out of boxes while he worked. Told him about the bookshelf she half-built and already gave up on.

“It’s gonna collapse on me in my sleep. Death by IKEA.”

He’d smiled. Couldn’t help it.

She had no idea how easily she pulled reactions out of him.

She moved like no one was watching. Sat with her legs folded under her. Hummed along with her phone when music came on. Handed him tools without making it weird. Said thank you every single time like she meant it. He tried not to stare at her mouth when she talked. The way she bit her lip when thinking. The little breath she let out when lifting something heavier than expected. By the time he finished, his hands were itching. His jaw ached from how tight he’d kept it the whole time. He took the water bottle she offered him, let their fingers brush for half a second too long, then stepped toward the door before he did something dumb.

“Thanks again,” she said behind him, voice easy, warm. “I would’ve been here all day trying to flip the mattress on my own.”

“No problem.” He forced the words out. “Glad to help.”

He turned back to her. She was smiling, casual, eyes bright but unreadable.

“Take it easy, sweetheart.”

It slipped out. Not flirtation. Not even affection. Just… instinct. Something familiar to fill the space before it got quiet enough to admit what he was actually thinking. She didn’t react. Just nodded and said see you around.

She didn’t know.

Didn’t even fucking know.

Joel walked down the steps with his jaw tight, grip still too firm around the neck of the water bottle. He told himself he wasn’t coming back unless she called. And that if she did—

He’d keep his hands to himself.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your shelf gave out around 11:45 on a Tuesday night.

You weren’t surprised. It had been tilted since move-in, bowing just slightly in the middle. You told yourself it’d be fine as long as you didn’t put anything too heavy on it—which was, in retrospect, a lie. Three cookbooks and a ceramic bowl later, it tipped forward and slid halfway off the wall with a low, dramatic creak.

You stared at it for a minute from the hallway, then texted your dad.

Me: hey do you still have joel’s number? the guy who helped move the bed?

He sent it over right away.

Dad: What’d you break lol Me: nothing important

You stared at Joel’s number for a second. Then tapped out a quick message.

Me: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

You hovered over “send” for about half a second—then hit it.

He replied later that morning:

Joel: I can come by after 6.

You changed into a hoodie and shorts after work, didn’t think twice about it. Hair up. Face clean. You weren’t trying to impress anyone—you were just tired. You cleared the area near the shelf, shoved the broken screws into a Ziploc, and ate half a granola bar standing at the counter while you waited. 

When the knock came, you opened the door barefoot again.

“Hey,” you said, stepping back. “Thanks for coming.”

He nodded once, stepping inside, his tool bag slung low in one hand.

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

He crouched without hesitation, unzipping the bag and pulling out a drill. You moved to the side, then bent down next to him without thinking—knees close to his, your hip brushing his arm as you leaned on one hand. 

He stilled, just for a second. You didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” you said, squinting at the side bracket, “but I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

You rested your chin in your hand, watching as he fit a new anchor in place. His hands moved slow, careful. He didn’t fumble or double check. Just measured, placed, and drove the screw in clean.

“You make it look easy,” you said, and you meant it.

He didn’t respond right away.

“It is,” he said eventually. “Just takes practice.”

You stretched your arms overhead with a soft breath. Felt the hoodie rise slightly against your ribs but didn’t bother fixing it.

“I should learn,” you said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not,” he said. Quick. Low.

You blinked. Looked at him.

He was still focused on the wall. Like the drywall had something real important to say. When he finished, you stood and stepped back, brushing off your legs as he gave the shelf a firm test tug. It held.

“All good now,” he said, rising.

You smiled. “You’re magic.”

He didn’t smile back—not fully—but something in his face shifted. Like he wanted to.

“Seriously, thank you,” you added, walking toward the kitchen. “Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?”

“No.” “Not even like, a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he repeated. “You needed help. That’s all.”

You turned, leaning your hip on the counter, granola bar wrapper in your hand.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

Joel adjusted the strap of his bag.

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He walked to the door, pulled it open.

“Night, Joel.” “Take care,” he said. Then, after a pause—“See you.”

You nodded once. Locked the door behind him. Then turned back to clean up the mess of drywall dust on the floor, not thinking twice about how close you'd been. Not even wondering what he’d seen when you bent down next to him.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He shouldn’t have said yes.

He told himself that the first time, and again when her text came in. He sat there with the phone in his hand, staring at the words like they meant something bigger than they were.

Her: hi! this is y/n, from the move-in last week. my shelf kinda fell off the wall and i think i stripped one of the screws trying to fix it. no rush at all but if you’re around sometime this week, i’d really appreciate the help.

It was polite. Friendly. Clear. Not flirty. Not suggestive. Still ruined him anyway.

He told himself not to answer right away. Answered anyway.

Him: I can come by after 6.

And that was that.

She opened the door in that same kind of outfit—something soft and small and lived-in. Hoodie half-tucked, legs bare to mid-thigh, hair up in a clip that didn’t look like it was doing much.

He looked at her face. Only her face.

“Hey,” she said, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks for coming.”

“This the one?” “Yeah. It gave up.”

She smiled like it was no big deal, then followed him to the wall.

He crouched low, unzipped his bag, pulled out the drill.

And then—then—she crouched down beside him. No hesitation. Her knee knocked gently into his. Her hip brushed his arm. She planted her hand beside him, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin.

Joel’s heart stuttered hard in his chest.

She didn’t notice.

“I tried to tighten it again myself,” she said, leaning in closer. “But I think I stripped the screw.”

“Probably,” he said, throat dry. “Wrong kind for drywall.”

She rested her chin in her palm. Her shorts rode up slightly as she shifted her weight.

He didn’t look.

He absolutely looked.

“You make it look easy.”

He didn’t answer right away. Couldn't.

“It is,” he managed. “Just takes practice.”

And then she stretched. Arms over her head. Hoodie lifting just enough to expose the soft dip of her waist, a sliver of skin above the waistband of her shorts. She sighed like she’d been holding her breath all day.

He almost did something stupid.

“I should learn,” she said. “So I don’t have to keep bugging you.”

“You’re not.”

Too fast. Too hard.

She blinked at him, caught off guard. He didn’t meet her eyes. Couldn’t. Focused on the drywall like it was going to crawl off the wall if he didn’t stare it down.

When he stood, she did too. Watched him test the shelf, nod in approval.

“You’re magic,” she said.

He wasn’t. If he was, he’d disappear before he did something he’d regret.

“Seriously, thank you. Do I owe you anything for the anchor things?” “No.” “Not even like a coffee or something?” “You don’t owe me,” he said again, voice rough. “You needed help. That’s all.”

That was supposed to be it. His line. His boundary.

Then she leaned against the counter. Granola bar in hand. Hoodie sleeves pushed up. Looking at him like he was just… normal. Like she wasn’t killing him without even trying.

“Well I still appreciate it.”

“Text if anything else breaks.” “Hopefully that’s not a weekly thing.” “You never know.”

He turned toward the door before his mouth could get ahead of him. Opened it. Let the cooler evening air hit his face.

“Night, Joel.”

“Take care,” he said.

He hesitated and looked back.

“See you.”

Then he left before he could fuck it all up. He didn’t even make it to the car before he had to stop and breathe. Stared at his truck like it might help. Gripped the edge of the driver’s side door like he needed something solid to hang onto. She had no idea.

Didn’t even know what she was doing. Didn’t know what she’d done.

And that? That was the worst part.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You hadn't seen Joel in almost two weeks.

You hadn’t needed anything since. The apartment was starting to feel like yours now—boxes gone, rugs laid down, kitchen mostly organized. You spent your mornings with coffee by the window and your evenings on the couch with a book or something half-watched on TV. Quiet. Repetitive. In a good way.

Some nights, you stayed up too late just rearranging cabinets or deciding which drawer made the most sense for silverware. It wasn’t that deep. It just felt nice—having your own space, your own rules, your own rhythms.

Every once in a while, you’d think about Joel. Not in a way that meant anything. Just—when something squeaked. Or when the fridge made a sound you didn’t trust. He was the kind of person who’d know what it meant. That’s all.

So when the kitchen drawer started acting weird—handle loose, catching on something inside—you didn’t think twice.

You grabbed your phone and texted him:

You: hi. sorry to bother you again but my kitchen drawer is being weird. handle’s all wobbly and i have no clue what i’m doing. if you’re around, i’d love the help. but no pressure!

He replied an hour later:

Joel: I’ll be there after five.

He showed up in a navy work shirt this time. Sleeves rolled to his elbows. Same tool bag. Same quiet expression.

“Handle loose?” “Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

You gestured toward the drawer, stepping out of the way. He crouched beside it, tugging gently on the knob. Watched it tilt sideways and catch.

“You got a screwdriver?”

You blinked. “Somewhere. I think.”

He gave a low hum—noncommittal—and set his bag down.

You turned toward the junk drawer, rummaging through it with one hand, then realized the screwdriver you did have had rolled under the counter the other night when you tried to open a wine bottle with it.

You spotted it—tucked just behind the leg of the lower cabinet.

“Wait—I think it’s down there.”

You bent at the waist, one hand on the counter, reaching for it blindly. 

Behind you, Joel went still. You didn’t see it—didn’t turn around. Didn’t notice how close he was standing. Just grabbed the screwdriver, stood back up, and turned to hand it to him.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He took it slowly. Said nothing at first.

“This one’s fine,” he said, glancing it over. “You wanna try?”

You blinked. “You mean actually fix it?”

“Why not.”

You smiled, stepping in beside him as he held the drawer open. He pointed to the screw just inside the panel.

“This one’s backing out. You wanna keep it flush. Push in, twist clockwise.”

You crouched down again beside him and lined it up—then tried to turn it. It slipped.

“Here,” he said, quiet again.

His hand came around yours, firm and steady, guiding your wrist. His palm covered the back of your hand easily, fingers calloused but warm.

“Like that,” he murmured. “Gentle pressure.”

Your breath caught—not sharply, just enough to notice. Enough to make you pause. His chest brushed your shoulder. He didn’t move away. You kept your eyes on the drawer. Focused.

“I think I got it.”

He let go a beat later. Stepped back just slightly.

“Good,” he said. “It’s in.”

When you both stood again, you smiled without thinking. A little dazed, maybe, but content.

“Thanks,” you said, and meant it. “That was kind of satisfying.”

“Yeah?” he said, voice a touch rougher than before. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

You laughed. “Well I’ll still probably text you next time something breaks.”

He nodded once. Looked at you for just a second too long.

“You’re welcome,” he said finally. “Glad to help.”

He left not long after. And once again, you stayed in the kitchen long after he was gone, still holding the screwdriver in your hand like it was worth something.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

He told himself it didn’t mean anything.

It was just a drawer. A loose handle. Five minutes of work, tops. She’d probably be busy—on the phone, cleaning, half-distracted. He’d fix it, nod politely, get out before he did something stupid.

And then she opened the door. Same bare legs. Same oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed up her forearms. Her hair was clipped back messily, like she hadn’t thought about it once.

She smiled when she saw him.

“Yeah. It’s barely hanging on.”

She pointed to the drawer like it wasn’t a trap.

Joel crouched, checked the damage, asked for a screwdriver even though he already had one. Just to hear her laugh. Just to keep her talking.

“Somewhere. I think.”

She turned to look for it, rummaging like she’d forget it halfway through.

And then she bent.

Bent.

At the waist. One hand braced on the counter. Shorts lifting just enough to expose the full curve of her thighs, the soft underside he’d been trying not to think about for weeks. He was behind her. Close.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

She had no idea. She came back up like nothing happened. Smiled as she handed it to him. No pause, no shift in her voice. Like she wasn’t burning him alive.

“Found it. Not that I know how to use it.”

He wanted to tell her. You don’t know what you’re doing to me.

But he just nodded. Told her to try. Handed her the screwdriver like it was a test.

She crouched beside him. Elbow bumped his. Her shoulder brushed his chest.

He stared at her hands, small and careful, fingers slipping once.

“Here.”

He wrapped his hand over hers, gently. Guided her wrist, pressed his palm to the back of her hand to steady her grip. 

And that was it. That was the fucking moment. He felt it—heat, want, something hard and undeniable sparking low in his spine. She was so close. Warm. Smelling like laundry detergent and faint vanilla and something softer underneath it all. She looked so serious. So focused.

She didn’t notice. Didn’t shift away. Didn’t tease. Didn’t flinch.

When he let go, her fingers flexed just once. She smiled at the drawer like it had passed a test.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “That was kind of satisfying.”

Joel couldn’t speak for a second. His jaw was locked. His pulse loud.

“Yeah?” he managed. “Guess it’s worth teaching.”

She laughed, soft and light. Like nothing had happened.

He nodded when she said she’d probably text again soon. Forced himself to turn around. Told her “glad to help” like it wasn’t the fucking truth.

He made it out the door without letting it show. Made it to his truck before his breath caught.

But he didn’t drive home right away. He sat there with his hands on the wheel, hard and shaking, and his dick aching so bad it bordered on painful. Her laugh. Her legs. Her little thank you. The fucking bend.

He drove home with one thing on his mind. Locked the door behind him. Dropped the bag. Went straight to the bathroom. Unzipped his jeans, fist already tight around the base of his cock before he even got the water running. Leaned hard against the counter, eyes closed. Thought of her on her knees—not because she meant to be there. Just crouched beside him, bare skin brushing his arm, looking up like he was someone worth listening to.

He came fast.

Too fast.

Palm braced to the mirror. Breathing rough.

Still hard. Still wanting.

It wasn’t the first time. He thought of her more than he admitted. At night, especially. When the house was quiet and the TV was off and there was nothing left to distract him. He saw her laugh. Saw the way she sat cross-legged on the floor. The way she always said thank you. The way she smiled when she held the door open and didn’t look at him twice.

She didn’t know.

And that was the thing he hated most.

Because part of him was starting to hope that one day she would.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Your door wasn’t broken, not really.

It latched. It locked. But sometimes it stuck, and sometimes it didn’t. The key turned stiff. The frame shifted just slightly when it rained. You weren’t sure if it was normal, but the idea of it not working right—the thought of forgetting to double check it before bed—had started to settle in your chest the way small anxieties do.

You told yourself it wasn’t worth bothering anyone. Then you texted Joel anyway.

You: hey—sorry again lol but do you mind checking something with the door lock? it’s probably fine but i’m paranoid and you’re the only one who knows what they’re doing.

He replied quickly, like always.

Joel: I’ll stop by. Be there in an hour.

You didn’t rush to get ready. Just changed out of your tank with the bleach stain and pulled on a clean one. Combed your hair. Opened the windows to let the evening breeze in. You weren’t trying to make anything of it.

But when he knocked, your stomach did that quiet fluttery thing anyway. He looked the same. Always did. Button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled high, work-worn jeans, one hand loose at his side and the other around the handle of his tool bag.

“Door’s acting up?” he asked as he stepped inside.

You nodded. 

“It’s probably nothing. The latch just sticks sometimes. Or it clicks too fast. I don’t know—I don’t want to lock myself out one day and realize it’s been busted this whole time.”

He gave a small grunt in response, already crouching near the frame, running his hand along the wood with practiced ease. You leaned against the counter and watched him move—quiet, focused, not in a hurry. There was something oddly calming about the way he handled things. Like he could break something down and make it make sense without saying much at all.

He worked in silence, checking the alignment, nudging the hinge with his thumb. He didn’t ask for tools. Didn’t explain what he was doing. Just moved like someone who’d done this a hundred times before. You stayed still. Tried not to let your eyes linger too long.

But when he bent to inspect the strike plate—shoulders flexing under the fabric of his shirt, jaw set tight as he leaned into the motion—you looked. Just for a second. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him crouched over things before. You had. The bed, the shelf, the drawer. But something about tonight felt… closer. Or quieter. Like your apartment had shrunk while he was in it.

He stood again, twisting the deadbolt back and forth until it slid smoothly.

“Heat’s probably pushing the frame out a little,” he said. “Wasn’t latching clean. Fixed now.”

You nodded. “Thanks.”

You didn’t move right away. Neither did he. He glanced toward you, eyes unreadable, and for just a second the silence stretched—not awkward, but full. Charged. Something in your chest stuttered.

“I feel like I should pay you for this,” you said lightly, voice thinner than you meant it to be.

Joel shook his head. “You know I don’t want that.”

The way he said it made your throat go tight.

He stepped forward to put a tool back in his bag, and as he passed, his arm brushed yours—bare skin to bare skin—and the contact left something behind. Something warm. You could still feel it after he moved away.

Your fingers curled around the edge of the counter.

He picked up the bag, slung it over his shoulder, and didn’t speak again until he reached the door.

His voice was low this time. Softer.

“You keep the bolt oiled, it’ll stay smooth.”

You nodded. Didn’t say anything.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You heard the door click behind him. And you didn’t move for a while.

Just stood there, hand still pressed to the spot where he’d touched you, wondering when his voice started sounding like that in your head. Then—

The doorknob turned again. You’d forgotten you hadn’t locked it yet.

He hadn’t made it far—probably still on the porch—maybe he forgot something, maybe—

You opened it just a little.

Joel was still there. One hand at his side, the other adjusting the strap of his bag over his shoulder. He looked up like he was about to say something, but didn’t.

And before you could stop yourself—

“Wait.”

He blinked.

You opened the door a little wider. Stepped back.

“Do you… wanna stay a little longer?”

It came out too fast. Not flirty. Not smooth. Not even really intentional.

You didn’t know why you said it. You weren’t lonely. You weren’t scared. You didn’t need anything. You just didn’t want him to go. Joel didn’t move at first. Just looked at you—slowly, like he was trying to understand something you hadn’t even figured out yet.

“I mean—if you’re not busy,” you added quickly. “Or if you don’t want to drive yet. I don’t know. It’s dumb. Forget it.”

He didn’t let you spiral. Just said it, quiet and even:

“You sure?”

It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t hopeful. It was serious. Rough around the edges. Like he needed to hear you say it twice, just so he wouldn’t do something he couldn’t take back.

You swallowed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Joel didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Just stepped back inside. You shut the door behind him, heart hammering like you were the one who had something to hide. You didn’t know what you wanted. But you wanted it to be him. 

You didn’t know what to offer him. He’d already fixed the door. Already stepped back inside. It wasn’t like there was something to do—no show to watch, no dinner to finish.  

So you said:

“You can sit if you want.”

And he did. Took the end of the couch like he was still on duty. Leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands folded. He didn’t relax. He didn’t sprawl. Just… sat.

You curled into the other corner. Pulled your legs under you. Told yourself not to overthink it.

At first, it was small talk. Something about the weather. The construction noise a few blocks down. You said your neighbor’s dog barked like it had been through a war and Joel let out the smallest huff of a laugh. It was easy. Comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

Until the quiet stretched again and your eyes drifted—slow, unthinking—to the way his forearms rested across his thighs. To the line of his profile in the soft light. To the way he looked at the floor like he was trying not to look at you.

You shifted slightly, adjusting your legs. Your knee bumped his.

Just a brush. Just skin.

But it was something. 

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

Your breath slowed in your chest like it was afraid to make a sound. You said something then—you couldn’t even remember what. A question. Something about where he grew up. Or maybe if he liked his job. Anything to fill the space.

He answered softly. Nothing too deep. But his voice had dropped again—lower, quieter, like it only belonged in the room you were sharing. You nodded along. Fiddled with the hem of your tank top. Your hands were warm. You didn’t know why.

A few more minutes passed. A few more glances. The energy never spiked. It just sat between you—thick and warm and new.

Eventually, he checked the time.

“I should head out.”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

You walked him to the door again. He didn’t look at you quite the same way. And when you said goodnight, it came out quieter than you meant.

He said your name, low and even.

“Take care.”

You locked the door behind him. Checked it twice, like that would make the moment last longer. The living room felt different after he left. Not colder. Not empty. Just… aware. Like the air had shifted around you and was still trying to settle. You stood there for a while. Then turned out the lights. Got a glass of water. Tried to act normal. But when you passed the couch—that spot—you felt it again.

That hum under your skin.

The tension in your chest.

The way your breath had slowed when his knee touched yours.

You went to bed without brushing your hair. Climbed under the blanket and stared at the ceiling like it had answers. It didn’t. You closed your eyes. And the first thing you thought of was his voice. That low “take care” at the door. The way he said your name. The way his hands looked when he fixed things—rough, steady, careful. You exhaled, quiet and shaky. Your thighs pressed together beneath the blanket.

You didn’t mean to. Didn’t plan it. But your hand slid down anyway.

Just over your stomach. Just under the hem of your shirt. You weren’t thinking clearly, weren’t even sure why you were doing it—but your body was buzzing, hot, still echoing from the way it had felt sitting next to him. You touched yourself softly. Slowly. Just enough to take the edge off the ache you didn’t know how to name.

You didn’t say his name. But you thought about his hands. And somehow... that was worse.

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

It was around 8 pm the next day when she texted.

Her: hey—are you around?

No other details. No broken drawer. No explanation. Just like the night before.

Joel had spent most of that day trying not to think about her. Didn’t work. He kept seeing her—how she looked when she asked him to stay. The way she leaned on the counter, lip tucked between her teeth like she didn’t know what she was doing to him. He kept hearing her voice in the dark. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

He didn’t know what the hell she thought this was. He didn’t even know what he thought it was anymore. But when she sent that message, he didn’t hesitate.

He answered.

Him: Yeah. You need something? Her: no just—wanted to see you if you’re not busy

He read that last part twice. Then grabbed his keys.

Her apartment was dim when she let him in—lights low, one lamp near the window, something soft playing in the background. She wore a ribbed tank top and sleep shorts, her hair half-clipped up, a faint line across her cheek like she’d just woken up from a nap on the couch.

She didn’t look nervous. But she didn’t meet his eyes right away either.

“Hi,” she said.

That was it. No reason. No problem to solve.

Joel stepped inside and felt his body lock up almost immediately. The air felt too warm. The room too quiet. Like the walls knew something he didn’t.

“You okay?” he asked.

She nodded. Smiled. Tucked her leg up on the couch and motioned for him to sit.

“I just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

She said it lightly, like it didn’t mean anything. But Joel could feel it. Something was different.

He sat at the opposite end of the couch. It felt too small. She curled up in her usual spot, blanket draped over her legs, a glass of water resting on her thigh. Her foot brushed against the cushion near his hip when she shifted. She didn’t pull it away.

He couldn’t focus on what she was saying. Some story about her neighbor’s smoke alarm going off for two hours, about how she tried banging on the wall but it didn’t help. He nodded when he should. Said “yeah” once. Let her talk.

But all he could think about was how good she smelled.

How soft her voice was.

How close her knee was to touching his.

The worst part was how normal it looked. From the outside, it could’ve been nothing. Just two people sitting. One talking. The other listening. But inside him, everything was clenched.

Every time she tucked her hair behind her ear. Every time her tank top shifted when she reached for her glass. Every time her voice went quiet at the end of a sentence. It was like being on fire. Quietly. And she didn’t even notice.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat like that. Maybe an hour, maybe more. The sound of her voice, the way she laughed at her own joke, the curve of her body under that blanket—it all started to stack up. He shifted once. Adjusted the way he sat. It didn’t help. His hands were too still. His legs too tense. His jeans too tight across his thighs.

He wanted to leave.

And he wanted to stay forever.

Eventually, she leaned back a little, head against the cushion, voice low.

“It’s nice when you’re here.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t. 

She looked over at him. Eyes soft. Barely searching. And God help him—he almost reached for her. Almost touched her ankle where it peeked out from the blanket. Almost slid his hand over her knee and just held it there. But he didn’t.

He just nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

When she walked him to the door an hour later, she said goodnight the same way she always did. But her voice had changed. And Joel? Joel barely made it to his truck before he gripped the steering wheel with both hands and sat there in the dark, breathing like he’d just run six miles uphill.

She didn’t need anything from him. She just wanted him there. And he didn’t know how much longer he could keep coming over without letting her know what that did to him.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

It was 6 pm on a Thursday. You had just gotten home from work and settled in.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You hadn’t texted him. Hadn’t broken anything. You’d just been pacing a little—half-folding laundry, checking your phone without a reason, replaying the sound of his voice from last night in your head. It was quiet. Too quiet. 

You were mid-sip of water when the knock came. Not loud. Just two firm knocks—confident. Familiar. Your breath caught before your brain caught up. You set the glass down and wiped your hands on your shorts. Walked to the door slowly. When you opened it—he was already looking at you.

Joel. Still in work clothes. Shirt wrinkled, sweat at his collar, bag slung off one shoulder. His eyes didn’t move like they usually did. No casual sweep of the room. No distant quiet. They were on you. And they stayed there.

“Hi,” you said, soft. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I know.”

His voice was rough. Tired. Not angry. Just… decided.

You blinked. Your fingers curled lightly around the edge of the door.

“Everything okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. And then, without breaking eye contact— “Can I come in?”

⊹₊˚⋆☾⋆˚₊⊹

She opened the door wearing that same look she always had with him—soft, unsure, like she didn’t even know what she was doing.

But he did. He knew. It had hit him earlier that day, hours after he left—when he realized how long she’d watched him from the couch. How quiet she’d gone. How the blanket had slipped down just far enough to show the top of her thigh and she hadn’t pulled it back up.

She’d wanted him there. Not because she was lonely. Because she wanted him. And that was it. That was the fucking end of his restraint. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t thought it through. Just got in the truck. Drove straight to her door. And now he was standing inside her apartment, watching her back away slowly as he stepped in. She looked nervous—but not scared. Like her body was catching up to something her brain hadn’t named yet. 

Joel dropped his bag by the door.

“You sure you’re not just bein’ polite?” he asked quietly. “What?” she blinked. “You didn’t ask me to fix anything.”

She shook her head once, eyes wide.

“No. I just… wanted to see you.”

He stared at her. Then took one slow step closer.

“You ever let anybody else in here just because you wanted to see ‘em?”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Joel’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped.

“Didn’t think so.”

She was still standing by the doorway, arms at her sides, breathing like she didn’t trust her own chest to move too much. Joel took another step.

Closer.

Slow.

The silence between them folded into something heavier.

“Why’d you really want me here?”

She blinked, lips parting. No words. Just air. He could see it in her eyes—the hesitation, the pull, the heat she hadn’t admitted to herself yet. And it wrecked him.

“You don’t even know,” he murmured. “Do you?”

She swallowed. Didn’t speak.

“You got no idea what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made her breath catch.

He stepped even closer, so close now he could feel the warmth coming off her skin, could see the pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

“Every time I come over here. Every time you call. Every time you smile like that like I ain’t comin’ apart at the fuckin’ seams…”

His hand twitched at his side. He didn’t touch her. Didn’t move.

“You sit there in your little tank tops. You lean close. You say my name like it don’t mean nothin’. And you don’t even know.”

She was staring up at him now—still quiet, still frozen—but there was something in her eyes.

A question.

A need.

She whispered it, like it wasn’t even meant to be heard.

“What if I do?”

Joel went still. Just for a beat. Then—

He moved. Not rushed. Not soft. Just real—a hand at her jaw, fingers curling gently but firmly, tilting her face up. Not a kiss. Not yet. His mouth hovered just over hers, breath mingling, eyes locked.

“You say that again, baby… I won’t be able to walk away.”

Her eyes flicked down to his mouth. Then back to his eyes. She didn’t say it again. But she didn’t move. And she didn’t stop him when his forehead came to rest gently against hers.

“Tell me to leave,” he rasped, jaw tight. “If I stay, I won’t keep pretendin’ I don’t want you.”

She didn’t say a word. And that silence? 

That was all he needed.

She just looked up at him with those wide, careful eyes, breath slow and warm on his mouth. And he knew.

Joel’s hand slipped from her jaw to the back of her neck, slow and certain, and the second his mouth touched hers—it was over.

Soft at first. Gentle. Like maybe he could stop himself if he started slow. But then she made a sound—something small, something like a sigh—and it wrecked him.

He pulled her in. Gripped her waist, pressed her back against the wall without meaning to. Mouth open now, kissing her like he needed it, like it had been building for years instead of weeks. Her hands slid up his chest, shaky, unsure, fingertips digging into the fabric like she didn’t know what to hold on to.

“Joel—”

She breathed it like she couldn’t help it. Like it was already a habit.

He groaned, low and deep into her mouth, then pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Tell me to stop.”

She blinked, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Didn’t say a word.

He kissed her again. This time rougher—hands in her hair, thigh between hers, tongue tasting the little gasps she gave him. She clung to him like she didn’t know what else to do, and he let her. Let her pull, let her press up against him, let her feel everything he’d been trying to hide.

He dragged his mouth down her neck, nipped lightly at her collarbone.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ to me,” he muttered, voice ragged.

She whispered back, almost dazed:

“I want to.”

That was it.

Joel lifted her without thinking. Hands on her thighs, walking her backward through the apartment until the backs of her knees hit the couch. He laid her down gently. Crawled over her slow.

She looked up at him like she was still trying to believe this was real.

He kissed her softer this time—one hand braced by her head, the other brushing her cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely there.

She nodded—then paused.

Eyes searching his face. Lips parted, like the words were already sitting there, waiting to fall out.

“I’ve never…” she breathed. “Not like this.”

Joel froze. Not because he was surprised. But because of how softly she said it. Like it mattered. Like it meant something. Like it wasn’t just about sex—it was him.

She looked up at him, nervous. Exposed. Brave.

“I’ve never been with anyone like this before,” she said again, quieter now.

Something in Joel’s chest cracked wide open. He touched her face, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“You don’t have to explain that to me, baby.”

His voice was low, almost reverent. His hand cupped her jaw like she was breakable. Like he’d do anything not to hurt her.

“You just tell me how to touch you,” he murmured. “Tell me what you like. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Eyes locked on his. Lips parted. Like something was about to come out, but her breath caught instead.

“I—I don’t know what to… I mean, I’ve never—”

Her voice cracked. She swallowed. Blinked fast like she was frustrated for even trying to say it. 

Joel leaned in, hand cradling her face, steady and warm. He kissed the corner of her mouth—just once, gentle—then pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“You don’t have to know what to do.”

“You just let me learn you.”

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt. He brought his forehead to hers.

“I’ll go slow,” he murmured. “You wanna stop, you tell me. You want more—I’ll give you more.”

“Joel…” she whispered.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

She looked at him—wide-eyed, nervous, open.

“I want it to be you.”

Joel exhaled like her words physically hit him in the chest. But he didn’t move forward. He leaned in, kissed her—once, slow, firm. Then pulled back just enough to look her in the eye.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’ for.”

Her face faltered. She looked like she was about to apologize. Joel shook his head—soft, gentle—thumbing her cheek before she could look away.

“I like that you’re new to this. Like that you trust me.” “But I’m not in a rush, baby.”

He kissed her again. Deeper this time.

“Not gonna take you fast. Not gonna take you like you’re just somethin’ I can fuck and leave. I want you feelin’ safe. Wanted.”

She blinked up at him—something between a gasp and a breath catching in her throat.

“I do,” she whispered. “Feel safe.”

That almost did him in. Joel groaned softly and dipped his head, kissing her slower now—longer, lips moving against hers like he was savoring the shape of her mouth. Like he had all night to learn it.

Her hands came up around his neck. Her body pulled him closer. The couch shifted beneath them as he laid her back gently—not to take, not to fuck—but just to have her close.

He kissed her jaw, her cheek, her neck—each one softer than the last. Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging gently. He let out a breath against her skin.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he said, voice low. “Until then… I’m gonna take my time.”

She nodded, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed her again.

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of mouths meeting, breath between them, the soft drag of his fingers over her waist and thighs—not pushing, just exploring.

Not claiming. Just caring.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

You didn’t expect it to feel like this.

His weight above you. His hands slow and steady. His mouth moving like he wanted to memorize you—not take you apart. Joel wasn’t rushing. He wasn’t even undressing you anymore. Just kissing. Letting the couch shift beneath your backs while his hands slid over your waist like it was something precious.

“You tell me when you’re ready,” he’d said.

And you believed him. God, you believed him.

Now his lips were on your throat. Your collarbone. His hand was smoothing over your thigh—up, down, warm, patient—like he wasn’t trying to get anywhere. Just feel. Just touch. You didn’t know your body could light up like this. Every place he kissed felt like it meant something. Your skin tingled. Your breath kept catching—right in that tight little place under your ribs.

You didn’t feel nervous anymore. You felt wanted. Not like a thing. Not like a curiosity. Like something he needed. Like something he’d been waiting for.

“You’re killin’ me,” he whispered suddenly, voice thick and low in your ear.

You smiled—barely.

“Why?”

He kissed your neck again, then your jaw.

“’Cause you don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

That made your stomach drop. Your hips shifted before you could stop them. You didn’t mean to grind up against him—but you did. And he groaned. Deep. From the chest. His body stiffened. Then he backed off just an inch—eyes meeting yours, wild but controlled.

“You want me to stop?”

You shook your head immediately.

“No.”

It came out faster than you meant. Hung in the air between you. He nodded once—then leaned back down, kissing you softer now, his hand cupping your face, holding you like he didn’t want to let go.

“We don’t have to do anything tonight,” he murmured. “You just let me hold you like this, and that’ll be enough.”

And God— that made your throat tighten. Because you didn’t want to stop either.

You just didn’t know how to say: I want to feel like this forever.

So instead, you whispered,

“Okay.”

And then you let him hold you. Let him kiss you slow. Let his hands slide over your skin like he was trying to learn every inch of it before asking for more.

And for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel nervous about being touched.

You just felt like you wanted to be.

✧˚ · . ୨♡୧ . · ˚✧

Joel: “Go out with me.”

You hadn’t seen him in about a week.

Not since the night he held you on the couch like something worth keeping. Like he didn’t want to rush, or take, or ruin anything. Just learn you. Kiss you slow.

But he texted. Every day. Never too much—just enough to stay in your head.

Sometimes it was a joke. Sometimes something stupid he saw at the hardware store. You smiled every time his name popped up. Sometimes you reread the things he sent you when you couldn’t sleep. Tonight was quiet. Laundry folded. Tea in your mug. You were halfway through some show you weren’t paying attention to when your phone buzzed again.

Joel: You eaten tonight?

You smiled.

You: not yet. why?

There was a pause—long enough you almost thought he got busy or changed his mind.

Then:

Joel: Thought I’d take you out.

You stared at the screen.

Out.

Not over. Not “swing by.” Not “grab something on the way.”

Out.

You: like… out out? Joel: Yeah. A date.

Your stomach flipped. Then a second message came in.

Joel: Unless that’s not what you want.

You answered fast.

You: no. I do. I want that. Joel: Friday okay? I’ll come get you. You: what should I wear? Joel: Somethin’ you feel good in. Joel: Don’t dress up for me.

Another pause. Then:

Joel: You’re already pretty.

You set the phone down. And sat there for a while, smiling at your hands.

[fgojous]

love wins all | chapter five ( satoru g. )

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

neurosurgeon!gojo x trauma surgeon!reader

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

chapter warnings. death, grief, marital problems, struggles with infertility, explicit smut (p in v, making out, public sex, handjobs, fingering, idk if this is all hahsahjas)

word count. 7.3k

masterlist.

note. hi... i wrote this for days because... this chapter hurts me so much :<

CHAPTER FIVE: I BET ON LOSING DOGS

─── SEPTEMBER, 2023 ───

“Nice work, everyone.” 

That was the last thing you said before pushing the door open to the OR, peeling your gloves and gown in the process. Your feet dragged you to the sink to scrub out, your back hunched as you scrubbed off—there’s this familiar ache blooming in between your shoulders but you were used to it ever since med school.

It was not like you have a choice, you’ve been doing this since forever. Your job is tiring but you love it. It’s a love-hate relationship, really.

You walked out—removing your scrub cap, tugging your mask away and the sharp whiff of hospital antiseptic greeted your nose as you walk through the hallway—you cursed mentally because you remembered that you still have to do the post-op notes. God, can the time freeze for just an hour? You reached for your phone in the pocket as you walked towards the workroom checking if they had paged you or anything but one text caught your eye.

Satoru | 2:15 PM

The new interns are at OUR hang out place.

You | 2:19 PM

Because they’re interns lol they’re supposed to be there just like we were.

Satoru | 2:20 PM

Still. Annoying. I'm outside the ER. Please come and grace your husband with your presence.

A smile tugged on your lips as you walked through the elevators down to the emergency room—you’ll just go see him for a little while before starting on the notes. Just for a moment though because your husband could be so dramatic if he really wanted to. 

The automatic doors hissed open as you walk through, you search for that white hair and you instinctively smile when you see your husband leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room—his hair a mess, mask pulled down on his chin while he’s sipping on his juice box—that’s been his hyperfixation these days, you don’t even know why. 

He looked up, hearing your footsteps. A grin adorned his face as you stood beside him, “You’ve been working yourself so hard these days, the next thing you know you’re the chief of trauma surgery.”

“Ha-ha.” you say, reaching for his juice box to see what the fuss is about this drink—well, okay, it tastes really good for something that sits in a hospital vending machine. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be poking brains in there?”

He laughs, “Needed to take a break. And I’d like to annoy my wife.”

You snorted out a laugh, handing him his juice box back. “Well, congrats. You’ve done it.”

Both of you stayed like that for a while—backs leaned on the wall, looking at a distance. Just enjoying the solace of being together before going back to the intense reality of your jobs. 

You took a deep breath—it was a mix of exhaustion but mostly relief that Satoru is right beside you even if you’re not saying anything. His presence is enough to make that dull ache in your shoulder and the cramping feeling in your legs dissipate into the air like sand thrown in the wind. 

Satoru moved, circling his arms around your shoulder before pressing his cheek against the side of your head. “My poor wife, so tired.”

You chuckled, snaking your arms on his waist in return before leaning into him. “Yeah, well. It’s not like we can do something about it, huh?”

Satoru was so glad you said that. 

Without a warning, he removed his arm from around you and pushed off the wall. Holding your wrist in his hand before dragging you back inside. “Come on.”

“Satoru,” you protested a bit, but your feet were following him anyway. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.” you groaned, and you can see that you were heading for the elevator. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”

“It’ll be worth it to let you drag me around the hospital with my sore feet?” 

He just gave you a sheepish smile and just brushed the hair stuck to your forehead as you both waited for the elevator. You pursed your lip because he isn’t really saying anything until you get there. 

So, you followed him, through the hallways—then you both took a turn, your eyebrows raised as you read the signage just above the door.

Pediatric Wing.

“What are we doing here?”

He didn’t answer and just walked ahead of you, you huffed a breath before following him. You don’t even know what your husband has up his sleeve—

“Here.” his soft voice cuts through the fog in your brain, you look at him—a gentle smile on his lips. 

You raised an eyebrow, “So, is this what you do?”

“Ssh. Watch.” he places his hand above your shoulder before turning you to the glass.

And there they were, a handful of newborn babies lined up in their hospital bassinet. Your heart warmed up instantly at the sight. You chuckle lightly watching the tiny hand raise into the air while yawning. Then another one bursted crying before the nurse soothed it. 

You stood there in silence—basking in the glow of the tiny humans. This isn’t what you expected when Satoru dragged you around, but you’re glad he did. Because looking at their tiny little faces makes you forget that you’re exhausted.

“Suguru brought me here yesterday. Said this is what he does sometimes.” he says, almost whispering. “But it works, right?”

“This is crazy,” you say, chuckling. “They’re so small.”

“Yeah.” he places a hand on your shoulders, “And so cute.”

You both stood there with smiles on your faces, watching the babies squirm—or stirr, or whatever cute stuff they do. 

“Hiii.” you whispered, waving your hand a little as if they’d understand you. You hear Satoru chuckling, you look at him—smiling as you scrunch your nose.

“I want one.”

“Tell me which one then I’ll put it in my pocket.”

“Satoru!” you swatted his arm lightly, and he laughed at your reaction—you just huffed, gazing back at the babies.

“But I’m serious,” you say quietly—your eyes hopeful, then your husband stops laughing, “I want one.”

He looked at you—really looked, and realized that you were serious. His gaze softens, “You do?”

You answered, without hesitations. “I do.”

You’ve always talked about having kids… someday, or in the future. But this was the first time that he’d seen that specific sparkle in your eyes—you weren’t joking, you weren’t teasing.

And it all felt surreal to him. He was still processing—you’ve thought about it, you didn’t throw it into the air like it was some silly idea. 

“Yeah?” he asks again, this time his voice was softer, like he was making sure that he really heard you right. 

“Yeah.” you nodded, still smiling at the babies.

Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, you feel his arms circle around your waist from behind, his chin propped above your shoulder. He whispers, “Okay.”

You leaned onto him, your hand brushing his arms that was wrapped around you. 

“We’ll make it happen.”

And just like that, all of it seemed in place. Just the two of you, standing there seemed like a quiet promise that you were going to try. That you’re stepping into a new chapter in your lives—together.

He was right. There was something that you could do to make this exhaustion you’ve been feeling for years fade away. 

And it was this moment, right here.

─── OCTOBER, 2023 ───

You’ve only been waiting for probably seconds but it felt like an hour. You were tapping your foot on the bathroom floor, waiting for the test line to appear.

You took a deep breath, bringing yourself down to the cold bathroom floor, so that you couldn’t see the test strip sitting on the counter. You press your knees to your chest, your fingers twitch slightly as you tap them over and over your legs.

You look at the timer on your phone and up at the counter—then at your phone again. You huffed a small breath from your nose, this is intense.

It’s just a test to see if you’re ovulating but why is your heart pounding so much?

Then the timer rings, a finger hovers over the stop button. You compose yourself before standing up. 

You can’t look. You can’t look. You can’t—

It’s positive. Your eyes sparkle as you look at those two lines.

You stepped out of the bathroom—Satoru stirred, his eyes adjusting from the sunlight seeping through the windows. He looks at you, eyes half-opened, “Morning?”

“Morning!” you greeted, you climbed into bed with him—specifically, on top of him. 

“What?” he asks, his voice groggy from sleep. “What happened?”

“I’m ovulating.” you say, with a smile. You leaned forward, pressing a kiss on his lips. His hands travelled across your back, fingers tracing your spine.

You pulled away, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re ovulating?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” he simply says before flipping you over in a swift motion, your back hits the mattress with a soft thump, you anchor your arms around his neck, giggling.

“Okay?” you let out a teasing smile, he looks at you, his messy hair falling carelessly on his forehead.

“Okay,” he repeats, fully awake—pressing soft kisses on your jaw, down to your neck, “Let’s do it.”

You laugh, a little breathlessly. Letting your hand wander to his bare back, down to the waistband of his boxers, tracing it with your fingers. “Hot.”

“I know. So hot.” he murmurs against your skin—he looks at your face, a grin etched on his lips before biting your lower lip. 

You smile into his mouth, pulling him closer just so you could calm the butterflies in your stomach—the arousal creeping up on you along with this feeling of excitement and… hope.

Hope that you never let yourself feel too much.

─── NOVEMBER, 2023 ───

You heard a small ding! from your phone. Even if you didn’t reach for it you know what it meant.

It’s the last day of your ovulation.

You look at the watch—you have rounds to do, patients to check up on. And probably a new consult was coming. 

You sighed, you couldn’t miss your window or you’ll have to wait again next month. But considering your job, you don’t have all the time in the world.

Then another sound popped out from your phone. You settled the chart down the counter and reached for the phone in your pocket.

Satoru | 9:47 PM

got time?

That was all it took before you’re pinned against the wall of the storage room, his tall stature looming over you while his lips are devouring you whole.

What? The on-call room is occupied.

Satoru’s hand travelled to your nape, pulling you closer. His tongue slips past your lips, swirling and sucking on your tongue. His other hand pushed past the waistband of your scrub pants.

Your heart was pounding—not just from the adrenaline or the thrill of doing it in the storage room where you’re surrounded by boxes of gloves, IV kits—but also by the way your husband is holding you. 

You whimper into his mouth when his middle finger rubs your clit, you pull away—gasping, he kisses your neck, “Can you keep quiet for me, yeah?”

And before you could even formulate words, he was pushing two fingers in—scissoring his fingers before curling it up, “Mhm—Satoru!”

His hand travelled to your mouth, his dark eyes glisten under the dim light—like he’s warning you to stay quiet or you’ll get caught. 

You gripped on his arm, while your other hand traveled down his pants, pushing it down along with his boxers just below his ass. 

His hard cock springs free, you wrap your hand around his length, moving it up and down—twisting your hand every now and then, your thumb brushes over the tip, smearing his pre-cum.

Your vision blurs as you watch Satoru’s lips part—his gaze holds yours as he pumps his fingers in and out, your movements in sync. Your breaths were ragged—stifled moans to keep quiet.

He removes his hand from your mouth, you bury your face on the crook of his neck as you try not to moan out loud, hand still moving on his cock. “Sa—toru. Mhm—fuck! ‘m gonna… shit.”

You could hear the  muffled—distant, bustle of the hospital just outside the door but it seemed like all the care in world flew out the window while your husband finger-fucks you—you could hear his ragged breathing, biting the skin of your neck as you pump his dick harder. 

“Take off your pants.” he says, voice low—almost a growl. You whimper as he removes his fingers—obligingly, you push your pants down along with your undergarments, letting it pool on the floor. 

His fingers gripped on the back of your thigh to hoist your leg up, he teases your folds with the tip before aligning himself—slowly, he pushes in—you bite your lip hard, you can’t not moan when he’s stretching you so deliciously. 

You’ve been with him for years, but the feeling was just the same—maybe more. God.

All you could do was bury your face on his shoulder, your fingers slipping on his hair as if you’re gripping all the last drop of wits left in you. 

Satoru’s breathing was shallow, his hands gripping on your hips as he tried to compose himself—he’s getting insane with the way you’re clenching around him, but he willed himself to move, slowly—deliberately, trying to relish in the way you wrap around him.

“Hah—fuck,” his breath ghosts over your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

He presses a soft kiss on your temple, his pace fastens—your back, slamming on the cold wall as he slams himself into you. The pleasure lit every nerve endings in your body, spreading like wildfire all over your skin. 

His lips finds yours again—pressing wet, sloppy kisses on you. A little saliva stringing out as your part, “Sat—nggh! So good—mhmm—”

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he rasps out, his movements fast—deep, hard. 

You look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, breathless moans escaping your mouth as you part your lips, your grip on his shoulder tightens. “I love you—Ah—I fuck—ngghh… love you.”

─── DECEMBER, 2023 ───

You were five days late. 

Five days. 

You stare at your phone again, the big ‘late for five days’ from the period tracker that you downloaded on your phone were screaming at you. You could feel the heartbeat in your chest along with the pounding in your head.

It’s not… could it be?

You didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t move from where you were standing.

Your fingers ghost above your belly, your heart thudding unmistakably in your chest as your brain evokes some ideas in you—your hands were shaking as you pulled the drawer open, reaching for the pregnancy test just sitting above the pads that you were hoping not to use.

But as you’re about to lift it up, that familiar cramping shoots up on your lower belly and tugs down on your lower back.

You froze.

Instead of the pregnancy test, you pick the pads from the drawer.

And your heart clenched, too tight.

“Hey,” Satoru turned his head from the television as you sat beside him on the couch, “You okay?”

You smile but knowing your husband, he could see right through you. “Got my period.”

You can see this shift in his demeanor, but nonetheless, he smiled at you. He wraps his arms around your waist before pressing a kiss on your shoulder, “It’s okay. We’ll keep trying.”

─── FEBRUARY, 2024 ───

The coffee would’ve boiled if you had the power to do it just by staring at it.

You just came from a three-hour surgery, it was messy—a lot stressful, but it was a success nevertheless and all you wanted to do right now was to sip a cup of coffee, maybe have a few minutes of silence.

You were too exhausted. Your arms feel like it’s about to fall off, your legs feel like jelly, and your brain felt like it was almost giving up on you.

Just a sip. It wouldn’t hurt, right?

You were about to reach for a cup of coffee when your husband’s voice entered your mind. Satoru would always remind you to refrain from drinking coffee because it wouldn’t be good for you—because… you were trying.

You have been trying.

You’re doing all that you can. 

You’re doing everything from not drinking coffee to taking a lot less stressful cases and avoiding night shifts—taking supplements, vitamins, hormone boosters to even tracking your ovulation and periods—even as far as scheduling sex.

It was so exhausting and all you wanted was just a sip of coffee.

It has been, what? Five months since you’ve started trying but you were still here.

Still stuck in trying. 

Before you even knew it, you were holding a cup of coffee in your hand and was about to take a sip when it got snatched from your hand.

“Nice try, Dr. Gojo.”

You huffed, looking at your husband—you didn’t utter a single word and just tried to reach for it, but then he raised it above his head. 

“Are you a kid?” you shot him a look, “You’re so insufferable.”

Satoru just grinned, pressing a kiss on your temple before dumping the coffee into the sink, making you groan—loudly. He reached for something in his pocket.

“You should be taking this.” he says, placing the blister pack in your palm.

It’s your vitamins.

“Fine.” you say, taking one from the pack and then he handed you a water. He watched as you popped it in your mouth—as if he’s checking if you really swallowed it. “Happy?”

“Very much.” 

You rolled your eyes but chuckled anyway, you took a deep breath before stepping closer to him, then you leaned onto him—his arms circled around you without any hesitation.

“Tired?”

“Very.” you could feel him tapping your back gently. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his. 

“It’s going to work, right?”

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “Yes. It’ll work.”

─── JULY, 2024 ───

“Dr. YN Gojo?”

You looked up from doing your post-op notes. You immediately fixed your posture and smiled nervously when you realized who it was who called you.

“Dr. Yamada. Hi—uhm, I mean, good afternoon! How may I help you?”

How may I help you? What in the lame ass is this YN?

How can you not get nervous when it’s Dr. Yamada in front of you?

Dr. Emi Yamada, the top cardiothoracic surgeon in the hospital—and in the country, is talking to you and you don’t know what for. 

You’ve read her papers. You probably watched one of her lectures when you were in med school—and you know she had been invited to several conferences to speak, she’s even mentioned in different journals for cardiothoracic surgery.

So, yes, you’re kind of spiraling.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” she says with a small smile, “I heard you’re the primary for the thoracoabdominal case last week.”

What… did you do something wrong?

Did she not like your work—

“We have an opening for a fellow. I’d like you to consider.”

Your eyes widened, almost choking on your saliva. “M-me?”

She nodded, putting her hands inside her pocket. “I read your charting. You work fast but precise. You’re very meticulous. I’ve heard your name more than once and they say you’re very good. Well, I could say… that I agree.”

Your jaw almost bore a hole on the ground.

Dr. Yamada is not big on compliments. She’s a bit of a terror as they say. 

“I thought they’re just talking big because your father is the chief of surgery. But you’re really good. I’ve read the paper you published when you were a resident.”

And she’s blunt—and she read your paper. Your paper that you published. 

“I’m honored but I’ve been on trauma—”

“Since residency, right?” she hummed, “That’s good. But I think cardiothoracic is a good match for you. Hearts are complicated. You know? Complex, demanding. But I could see that you like challenges. We could use someone like you.”

You couldn’t move. Your lips were tight and you didn’t know what else to say. 

How could you respond to something like this—not even your father praised you like this.

“I’m… honored.” You don’t even know how you managed to get words out. 

“You don’t have to answer now, Dr. Gojo. Just think about it.”

And with that she left you—with a heart pounding so loud in your chest, your pulse was audible in your ears. And as you stood there in that hallway, one person just came into your mind.

Satoru.

Your plan. 

Taking this would mean you’re sacrificing the other. But it doesn’t have to be like that, right? You could still try. You could do it.

“Ah, fuck, no.” you whispered, determined not to take it.

But you know—deep inside your heart, something was stirring.

—

“Are you going to eat that?”

“Huh?”

“Your food.” Megumi says before taking a bite, “You okay?”

You stared at Megumi across from you—he texted you saying was here because he said something about his application, and now you’re eating lunch with him because your husband was in surgery.

“Something wrong?” he asked again, brows furrowing when he noticed your staring at him. “You’re acting weird.”

“Do you think it’d be okay if I take a cardiothoracic fellowship?”

“You’d be studying again.” he says and you chuckled, well, you’ve been studying your whole life. It’s nothing new. 

“Dr. Yamada offered me the fellowship. She talked to me five days ago. Said I’ll be a good fit.”

He paused, dropping his utensils, “Dr. Yamada…? Dr. Emi Yamada…? Then it’s a big deal.”

You know that.

That’s why you’ve been thinking about it since. It’s not just something you can pass on. It’s a big deal. A career in trauma and cardiothoracic surgery? Soon enough, you’ll be a big deal yourself.

You huffed, leaning back. “I know that, Megs. But..”

“But what?”

“I’m thinking about Satoru. We are trying to have a baby… or were. I have no idea if we still are.” you paused, “And a fellowship like this means more hours. More work, responsibilities and… stress.”

Megumi paused for a while, pondering about what to tell you. “You’re always telling me to always go for what I want. No hesitations. You say it’s better to look at yourself and say you’ve made it even when it’s hard, and not look at yourself and wonder what could’ve been.”

You smiled at him, “I did say that, huh?”

“Yeah.” he almost smiles, “Do you want it?”

You looked away for a bit, staring at some people leaving and entering the cafeteria then you looked back at him. 

“Yeah.” you took a deep breath, “I think I do.”

—

You hated how quiet the room is, because you could actually hear your heartbeat inside your chest. You hated how you noticed the flickering of the lamp beside you—the hum of the AC unit—just… everything.

You hated how you couldn’t just talk about it to your husband because you’re afraid of hurting him, of disappointing him more than you already have. 

You turned your head, looking at Satoru who’s already half-asleep beside you, his arm carelessly slung above his eyes. 

You watched how the breath tumbles out of his lips, how his chest rises and falls with every breath that he takes. 

“Satoru.” you whispered.

“Yes, love?” he asks, voice already a bit groggy.

You sighed, sitting up slightly. The sheets fiddling in between your fingers. “Dr. Yamada talked to me.”

He blinked, sleep slowly fading away. “Hm? Dr. Yamada? The Dr. Yamada? About what?”

“She offered me a cardiothoracic fellowship—no, uhm, she suggested I should take a fellowship.”

Satoru pushed his arm off and looked at you with a creased brows, and the look in his eyes pricked your heart in ways you didn’t even know it could.

“Fellowship?” he repeated, confirming. “Are you going to take it?”

“I’m… I— I’m just thinking about it.”

There was silence for a bit. The tension was palpable. “Nevermind—”

“You want it.” he says, you notice the change in his tone. “Just say it.”

“And what if I do?”

He sat up fully, “Jesus, YN. You’re the one who said you wanted to slow down. No more night shift, complicated cases—you said all that. Do you know what this all means? You’re going to do more work. More responsibilities—”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you sat up, taking a deep breath. “But I can do it. We can still try—”

“No, we can’t!” his voice was louder than he intended it to be, the frustrations finally seeping in. “Do you realize how big that is? That’s another late night studying, YN. I’ve seen you burn yourself out. I’ve seen you cry in the goddamn bathroom—ha, fuck, you think we could still try with you going all through that again?”

“Satoru—”

“God,” he laughed bitterly, dragging his hands through his hair, “Take it. Just fucking take it. Seems like you already made a choice, right?”

You could feel the tears falling from your eyes but you wiped them hastily. “I didn’t make a choice, Satoru. I’m just so tired of feeling this way! This fellowship? You know it’s the first thing in ten months that I’ve felt that I could finally do something without feeling like a failure? For the first time in months I could still feel like I was something!”

The look on his face says everything—you’ve hurt him. And you have no way of taking it back.

He stood up, getting out of bed. Looking away from you.

“Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer, instead, he grabbed his pillow out of the bed. 

“Satoru.”

“I’m going to sleep on the couch.” he muttered, slamming the door behind him.

And you just stayed there. Not because you didn’t want to stop him—but because you knew if you did, you would’ve said more things you would regret.

─── OCTOBER, 2024 ───

The months passed by in an agonizing blur. 

You started your fellowship two months ago—and that was the last time you had a decent conversation with your husband. Since then, you’ve been buried in rotations, surgeries, research and a lot more you couldn’t even count.

You were still sleeping in the same bed but with your backs facing each other. You still eat at the same table but only the clattering of the utensils could be heard. 

There are days that he’ll ask if you already ate and you’ll say yes. You’ll ask him if he had slept and he’ll just smile. You were like ships, just passing by each other in the vast ocean.

And the one thing that he did all those months that breaks your heart the most was—he left you coffee.

Coffee.

Because he used to take it out of your hand. Because he used to scold you when you said you wanted a sip. Just a sip and now, he’s letting you drink a whole cup.

And now, your heart is breaking because you know he surrendered. He stopped trying—you both stopped trying.

You know it was your fault. You just didn’t know how to fix it. Because you think it’d be better this way—you didn’t want to loop him in and then give him another hope then disappoint him in the end.

You stared at the cup for too long, not even sure if you wanted it anymore until your phone rings in your pocket and steers away the fog in your brain.

You almost dropped the phone when you saw Suguru’s message. You didn’t even know how but you were there in a matter of seconds.

The ER was in chaos when you arrived. 

“Male in the mid-sixties, cardiac arrest on the scene, possible internal blee—”

You shoved the nurses and paramedics out of the way, your heart was wailing inside your chest. Your whole body was pulsating.

Then you saw him, Satoru’s father.

Move, YN. You need to move.

But you couldn’t. He was pale—too pale like life was slowly drowning out of him. There was blood everywhere.

You didn’t even know how you got here—knees already bumping on the gurney, how you got your gloves on—you just know logic went out the window the moment you laid your hands above him.

“Move! I’m taking over compressions! Get the crash cart ready.”

“YN. You can’t—” you hear Suguru’s voice. “I’ll take over—”

“No!” you yelled, already moving, “I—just get the paddles ready! Suguru, please.”

You pressed your hands down his chest—you counted, over and over. “Push one of Epi. Charge to 200—clear!”

You watched as his body jerk above the table, you could already feel your hands trembling but you continued, you couldn’t stop. You won’t.

Stay with me, please. 

“Again—Clear!”

Nothing.

“Again!”

“Clear!”

“Again!”

You never stopped moving. You didn’t know how long it was. Minutes? An hour?

“Again!” you yelled, but they weren’t moving—and you, refusing to hear the shrill beeping of the machine in front of you, just continued. “Again—”

“YN.” Suguru says gently, “You’ve been at it for almost an hour.” 

But you don't stop. Your arms were sore—but that was never your worry, you wouldn’t do this.

You wouldn’t let this happen. 

No.

He can’t lose his father.

“YN.”

You could feel your tears falling as you continued the compressions. “Let go, YN.”

You feel Suguru’s hand above you, “I’ll take over. YN, you need to take a break.”

“No.” your voice cracks, “No. No. No.”

Suguru takes over and you stand there frozen, watching as his hands slowly move until it stops. 

“Time of death, 5:46 PM.”

Your hands fell to your side, your gloves soaked with blood—your hair all over the place, but you didn’t move. 

You can’t move. 

How do you tell his mom?

How do you tell him?

You don’t know how long you stood there—staring at your bloodied gloves when you heard your father’s voice.

“Dr. Gojo! Are you listening?!” he was shouting, “You know it was against protocol! He was your family! What were you thinking?!”

“He was dying…” you whispered, “I was the only trauma attending there… I…”

“That’s not the point—”

“She didn’t have any choice,” Suguru says beside you, “She was the only one there. The interns couldn’t have done what she did. Dr. Gojo only did what she thought was right—she did everything she could.”

You didn’t know what else your father said. 

All of it was a blur. 

You know you have to talk to Satoru and his mom. 

God, your husband. How do you say it to him? How do you tell him that you did everything you could but you couldn’t save his dad?

—

“YN?”

Satoru called for you—his heart dropped when he saw you sitting on the floor, back leaning on the wall just outside the emergency room.

You were still wearing your gown and gloves. You weren’t moving. You were just staring at the pavement like you’ve lost your mind.

He stepped towards you, slowly crouching to your level. 

“I’m here,” he whispers, “I’m here, love.”

But you didn’t move, you didn’t look at him because you didn’t know how to. Or if you could even.

“I… I tried,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “Satoru, I tried. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—I can’t save him. I didn’t—I’m sorry. I did everything. Everything. I tried, baby, I’m sorry—”

Your body trembled with every word that you uttered, your fingers twitching as if you’re still moving. Still compressing.

His chest tightens, he pulls you close—his figure slowly enveloping you until you feel small. “I know you tried. I know you did. You didn’t let him die alone, love. I know…”

He stutters, tears falling slowly as he pulls you closer, his words tangled into your skin.

“He would’ve been proud of you, YN. You were there for him when I couldn’t…”

─── DECEMBER, 2024 ───

It’s your husband’s birthday tomorrow. 

It’s the first one without his father. It has been almost two months since he died, but Satoru never really talked about it. He never cried in front of you again after that day, he never brought it up.

And you did not push. You didn’t want to say anything, because honestly? You don’t know how to—and there’s a selfish part of you that doesn’t want to open that wound.

So, you just stare at him. At his back. While he pours water on the glasses until he’s aware that you were staring at him. 

“What?” he asks, forehead creasing and you chuckled at his reaction. “Why?”

“You know I love you, right?”

He paused, just for a fraction of second before putting the pitcher down. He smiles, “I know.”

You stare at each other, eyes flickering the unspoken words that you couldn’t say. You never talked about it again, trying—not after months of silence, it was too painful for the two of you to even bring it up. So, you just let it sit in the back. 

Not knowing how to bring it up. Not knowing what to say.

But there’s one thing you both knew for sure. 

That you still love each other and that’ll never change.

He walked towards you—the couch sank beside you as he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you more, YN. Always have. Always will.”

You smiled, cradling his face in your hands, brushing your noses together. 

“Can I have my birthday sex now?”

You pulled away, then you shot him a look. “What?”

“Seriously?” you blinked, you glanced at the clock. “It’s still 11:58 PM. You have two minutes left.”

You shrieked when he carries you up, “Satoru—”

He grins, kissing the side of your lips. “Then advance happy birthday to me then?”

─── DECEMBER 26, 2024 ───

You were scrolling through your phone, eating whatever fruit you had left yesterday, your body sprawled at the couch. Your husband was at the hospital because he got called in and you got left alone at your apartment.

Well, that’s the reality of your job, right? Even if he wanted to stay in with you, he begrudgingly went to the hospital while you just laughed at him for being called in.

Satoru | 3:45 PM

I know you’re still laughing. Mean.

You just rolled your eyes, taking a picture of yourself lounging on the couch so you could rub it in your husband’s face. 

You | 3:46 PM

I love you <3

Satoru | 3:47 PM

K

You laughed at his response. Your poor husband, working after Christmas—

Wait.

“It’s the 26th.” you murmured, “What?”

You stood up from the couch to stare at the small calendar sitting atop the shelf.

It’s almost a month.

A month. 

You should’ve had your period by now… right?

You almost sprinted to the bathroom, hastily opening that one drawer—where you had stored the forgotten test kits, the hormone boosters, the vitamins—your hands were shaking when you reached for that one box.

And you think it’s about an hour before you had the guts to open it.

You were sitting on the bathroom floor again. Trying not to stare at the three tests that sit heavy above the counter. 

You didn’t want to hope. Not after a year of trying. Not after all the pain and silence.

But your heart betrayed you, it was screaming at you, roaring with hope that you might be—

The alarm causes you to jolt from where you were sitting. 

You couldn’t look. 

“YN?” you hear the keys clattering on the side table. “I’m home! It was just a consult.”

Then you heard his voice. 

You stood up instantly—still not looking at the test, grabbing one before you emerged from the bathroom.

“There you are!” his voice lit up, but then he frowned seeing your glassy eyes, “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You stepped forward, the test still hidden inside your palm. “I can’t look. You look.”

“Huh?”

You reached for his hand, turning his palm up then you placed it on his hand without even looking.

He blinked at you, confused until he looked at what you placed at his palm. 

His heart stopped. The air in his lungs was punched out of him.

Two lines.

Two.

“Is this…” his voice cracked as he stared at it—and you couldn’t help it anymore, so you looked, “Love—this is positive. You’re…”

“I am?” you say, tears falling at the side of your eyes, you swallow thickly, “I really am? Is this real?”

He smiles—the kind that eats up his eyes, he pulls you close, embracing you tight. Then you break—sobs wracking out of you, a big one that you almost couldn’t breathe. 

“I thought we couldn’t—ever.” you cried, clutching on his shirt as you buried your face on his neck. “I thought something was wrong with me. I thought…”

“No,” he sighs, the one that clears all the sorrows buried deep inside him—a sigh of relief, joy. “No, there’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect.”

You looked at him, smiling albeit tears were falling. He cups your face with his hands—it was warm, comfortable.

You giggle as he presses a gentle kiss in your face, everywhere his lips could touch. “We’re having a baby.”

“We are. We’re having a baby.”

─── MAY, 2025 (PRESENT)  ───

You’re having a baby.

Again.

After you’ve gone to the comfort room—where you felt like all your guts were butchered out of you, your feet dragged you to the storage room where they hid all the kits.

You took five.  Five kits. 

And now, you’re back at the comfort room—staring at the kits that were taunting you. 

All of it has two dark lines.

You press a hand on your belly, slowly brushing it—clutching like it was anchoring you to the ground.

This is real. Isn’t it?

You had no idea how you left the comfort room. All you knew was how heavy the steps that you were taking—the five tests, shoved into your pocket. 

You knocked into her door, slowly opening to see Ieiri on her desk. “Hey! I heard Megumi’s surgery is today—”

And that’s when you broke.

You didn’t mean it. You weren’t supposed to cry again. Not like this. Not in front of her but you couldn’t help it. 

Shoko was up in an instant, holding onto you before your knees buckled. “Hey—hey—it’s okay. Come here.”

She wrapped her arms around you as your loud sobs echoed around her office, your wails replacing the atmosphere.

You weren’t saying anything. 

You couldn’t.

—

“You want to tell me what happened or do you just want to sit here?”

It took a while for you to calm down, and now you’re just sitting quietly on her couch. Your eyes were swollen—knees pressed against your chest.

You took a deep breath before reaching for your coat pocket, laying all the tests in the space between you two.

All five of them. Each one unmistakeable.

You could see how her gaze softened, she placed a hand above yours, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Lie down. Let’s check.”

And then, there you were, lying while Shoko puts the cool gel on your belly—the paper on your back crinkles slightly as you shift, Shoko sits beside the machine, clicking on some buttons.

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” you whisper.

You flinched a bit when she pressed the transducer against your skin—her hands were steady, and you tried to  focus on the screen or even her voice.

But your heart was pounding. Unsure of what to feel. 

“There.” she says with a soft smile on her face, “That’s your baby.”

Then you saw it. A small figure.

It’s tiny. But it’s there. It’s real.

Your baby. Yours and Satoru’s.

The air was caught in your throat.

You chuckled—or cried, maybe—or something in between, wiping the tears falling from the side of your eyes. “That’s… that’s my baby?”

“Yeah,” she pats your hand, “You’re about six weeks. I’d say.”

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You’re six weeks. 

Just like when you first lost her. But this one… it’s going to stick, right? You’re not going to lose this one too. 

Please.

“Hey,” you hear Ieiri’s voice, you opened your eyes and she was smiling at you, “It’s okay. I know you’re scared. But this is a good thing. Okay? I’m going to keep an eye on you. We’ll have you checked regularly. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”

“Thank you.”

She just smiled and handed you a tissue box. You wiped the gel off your skin and then you sat up, “I haven’t told him.”

“Do you want me to tell him?”

“No.” you say almost immediately, “Not yet. I just want to be sure.”

Your fingers latched on the edge of the bed, gripping it a bit tight. “It’s just that… we’ve been here before. And I gave him hope and I took it away. I just wanted to make sure that this is it. That I wouldn’t just give him another disappointment.”

“I get it,” she nodded, “You’ll tell him when you’re ready.”

—

Satoru was hunched on his desk, typing something on his computer when you came into his neuro lab. He didn’t even notice you came in—he looked so exhausted, like there’s a large weight on his shoulders. His white hair was disheveled a bit, his specs perched on his nose.

You looked around—the lab was dim, there’s a lot of papers stacked and scattered around the table—and there’s a model of the brain just near his computer.

But your eyes flicker to the other side of his desk—it’s a frame, with your picture on it. 

You huffed a small breath before walking towards him and that’s when he noticed you. He hoisted his head up—eyes a bit wide from surprise.

“Hey.” he says softly, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? I haven’t seen you since—”

He stopped when you climbed on his lap, without saying anything, your arms slung around his neck, cheeks pressed on his shoulder.

He paused for just a second, then you could feel him relax, leaning you both on the chair while circling his arms around you. Gently tapping your back when he heard you sniffle.

He didn’t utter a word. He just let you—even if he wanted to ask, to know. He just let you in the fear of pushing you away. So, he just stayed quiet, giving you the comfort you clearly needed.

You weren’t sobbing like you were earlier. But your breath hitched, you clutch his coat with every breath coming out of your lips. 

But he didn’t say anything. And you wanted to tell him right there and then. But you stopped yourself, you needed to be sure first. You can’t give him false hope.

In a little while, your breathing steadied—getting in sync with him. And you just stayed there, on your husband’s lap, because this is the safest place you know. 

Then you pulled away just enough to look at his face. He gave you a smile, tucking your hair behind your ears.

“You’re not going to ask me to sign something again, right?”

And then you broke—laughing, not hysterically, but you laughed at how ridiculous you were, filing for a divorce when you knew you were never going to leave him. 

Satoru blinked but then he chuckled. 

Then you both sat there—laughing, “God, this is so ridiculous. We’re so stupid.”

“I know.” he mumbles, “This is so dumb.”

Your laughter slowly dies down, you smile at him before pressing a soft kiss on his lips. 

“Satoru.”

His arms tightens around you, resting his head on your shoulders. “Hm?”

“Throw the papers away.”

taglist. @haliyarobin . @anofi . @coffeeluvr96 . @sadmonke .

[ecstasturns]

inspo writers if you’re experiencing writer’s block

we all get tired of writing and struggle to find inspiration. when Pinterest and tik tok stop working, where else do you go? well I have to say there’s nowhere better to get inspiration than from the talented, hard-working people on this very app. so here’s a carefully crafted list of writers I’ve found really helpful when it comes to upping my pen drive.

@mattluvr I’m a mattlluvr-luvr because every single piece of writing is amazing. I can never get bored on her account. polly, seriously let me give you head.

@waitforyrlove first of all, the AESTHETICS of this account. but no, the quality of the fanfics are undeniable. ik she’s currently on a hiatus but I had to mention it. go binge rn if you can’t write.

@sturnsrecord matilda is my favourite writer oat. also her theme rn is really great if you’re reading at night for some inspiration. istg sometimes i have dreams based off her writing.

@bernardsbendystraws i swear every time i need to get my motivation back i read through rose’s blurbs and fics. the genuine talent shines through on her page. there’s nothing she can’t write.

@ifwdominicfike please please please we need to make sure this queen never leaves. some nights I don’t think I would have survived if it weren’t for her works. avery is also just so sweet so leave her a nice message after binging.

@luvs4matt i actually have a dilf!matt blurb in the drafts based off her version of the au. cherry you are such an inspiration to me, and if anyone is reading this looking for daddy Matt motivation…

@delilahsturniolo bro. delilah is the fucking cutest. and I love her album marathon to pieces. also wanna say I love the theme. I have definitely scrolled through her account for inspiration.

@mattybsgroupie personally, I’d suck and fuck maria. anyway, yeah if you want some examples of well-structured smut that manages to be original and still interesting GO TO HER.

@55sturn star has the coolest aus. they are all structured so nicely and I’m star’s no.1 little sister. she’s also very open to giving advice so send her your questions.

@hysteria-things a sturniolo token writer. I’m literally haleigh and Chris’ love child. her masterlist is my home. and I’m willing to share so if you are bored or losing interest in wtv you’re writing, go read.

@darksturnz sol is so fucking cool, i mean just look at her account. she has the best takes and I am very fucking loyal to artist!chris. something in her writing is unique and it’s so easy to read while being entertaining.

@vanteguccir layout? check. skill? check. personality? check. lele checks all the boxes. her ability to write coherent storylines is something i look up to. if you want long, varied fics, her blog is the place you need to be.

@strnilolover has got to be the most supportive person ever. you can count on her to hype you up but also to write like Shakespeare with a keyboard and a viagra. do i need to say more?

[riyangiis]

the victim's totally effective solution ─ 809 words

you thought you could endure more sleepless nights, telling yourself that you're used to it─you still aren't. but you have discovered something to save you from your problem: mouth tape!

a sequel to prof nax's snoring problem

cr ─ @average-scara-fan for the idea

it's been a while since it happened, and you're back to square one─listening to your husband's snoring the entire night and ruining your sleep schedule. at this point you could be way more restless than anaxa even if he's the one working between the two of you.

you admit, after anaxa stopped the so-called rumors from spreading even more, from being known for it and standing alongside his unremarkable achievements, you felt lonely and even more irritated and restless.

you love your husband very much, and you knew it had to be done─but you absolutely cannot stand his snoring. it needs to be gone this instant, for the sake of your health and sanity. another problem is, how?

you were getting impatient. you tried thinking of every way possible but your tired self couldn't think straight and ended up sleeping while thinking of a solution.

you tried putting a pillow not directly on his face but just enough to reach his mouth─that didn't work. you were still hearing his loud snoring but muffled. you might just have to really get used to it now...

that was till a sweetheart saved your life─hyacine! she may have been the reason that those rumors happened, but it's not her fault that your dear husband sleeps like a beast roaring.

"miss [name]? are you alright? as much as i believe anaxa, i've been noticing that you seem so much more tired lately.." the word worried is splattered all over her face in bold and italics, have you even checked yourself in the mirror today before you went out? no, you were too tired to do so.

much like her, the word confused is splattered all over your face in bold and italics, "um, im not sure if you've seen your.. eyebags..?" hyacine points out. as much as she wants to believe anaxa, what else would have you end up like this none other than your husband, who you sleep beside with daily?

(yes, you could've slept without him beside you. but unlike you, he can't. and even if you do so, they're very loud, meaning you can still hear him.)

she steps closer to you and whispers, "i have this thing, i hope it helps you sleep!" hyacine hands you something you've never seen before and you stare at it with curiosity, but as the box clearly says─it's mouth tape.

you look up at the girl, "what is this for..? how do i use it?" hyacine smiles and whispers to you again, "it's to prevent professor anaxagoras from snoring so... loud? just put the tape on his mouth!"

you stare at the box of mouth tape hyacine gave you, and maybe, just maybe, your problems would finally be solved. you could finally sleep peacefully in your husband's embrace─with his dromas doll as well.

"anaxa, look what i found!" you exclaimed at your husband─sitting comfortably on the chair and reading something that's no doubt about knowledge, he turned to look at you holding out a box of something called 'mouth tape'. he raised his eyebrow in curiosity, "what exactly is that? is that your creative way of telling me to shut up? so bold coming from you."

with the many years you have been together─you've always known how sassy your husband can be. you furrow your eyebrows in annoyance, "it's to help you with your snoring anaxagoras, i've decided that i need more sleep and i don't want to walk around with huge eyebags!"

you have a habit of calling him by his full name to show you're mad at him. anaxa stays silent and stares at you and the box for a while. "oh, it's worse. although, i can clearly see what you're mad about" he replies while staring at your eyes.

he sighs deeply, closing the book and standing up from the chair stepping closer to you. "i apologize, beloved. i just don't seem to trust this solution of yours. how did you even get your hands on this.. mouth tape?"

"hyacine gave it to me, she said it could help!" you exclaimed at your husband who looks unconvinced, anaxa did go along with your solution since he couldn't bear seeing his spouse suffer because of him.

"so, how do i use this mouth tape?"

and this night, you are finally able to sleep properly. the sweet pink-haired girl works wonders─because now you are able to sleep with your dear husband in dromas pajamas wearing mouth tape cuddling you, also with his dromas doll between the two of you. his snores are only muffled, but tolerable than your previous solution.

a sweet and dreamy moment between a married couple every night, that's all you wished for─and it's slowly but surely coming true.

you think about your success as you drift to sleep in your husband anaxa's arms. you have never felt better.

[lostwysteria]

(Part 7! I'm on a roll. I won't be posting on saturdays, though. Gotta have time to let the episode sink in lol.)

Masterlist

Lin Ling woke up to… purring(?) and a wandering hand.

Nice was glued to his front and his so very sof and warm hand was trailing up and down his spine underneath his shirt. The contented noises the man was making were very reminiscent of a cat.

Ling just sighed. Nice was very handsy. He just started petting the silky white strands in an inconspicuous attempt to get the hair out of his face. Nice sighed in bliss at that and melted further into the stupidly comfy bed.

Ling soon felt restless, though. He had to make breakfast and clean up.

He was able to untangle himself from Nice by promising to cuddle more later. ‘Poor bean. He’s touch starved.’ Ling thought to himself.

He was directed to the bathroom and found clean clothes and a new headkerchief and apron already laid out. A note was on top.

‘Your new uniform. Nice designed it.’

-J

Lin Ling put on the undershirt that clung to him and then the half sleeve white sweater. Over that he slipped on the long, light blue cardigan and buttoned it together.

His pants were leggings that clung to his hips and hung loose around his legs.

The apron and kerchief were white but had gold leafy vines along the edges.

He exited after getting dressed and faced the sight of Moon(!!!!!) poking at a box. Nice was almost hissing at her like a cat everytime she did. The animosity was palpable.

Moon(!!!) looked up and froze. Her eyes went huge.

“Hi!” She squeaked. “I'm Moon.” She introduced herself with a wave.

“I’m Homemaker. It is amazing to meet you in person and not through the crappy ads I was forced to make.”

“Ads?” She asked.

“I made all of the commercials for you and most of Nice’s. Before the last idea got me fired.”

“Oh! I loved doing the sunscreen ad. It was one of my favorites! The beach trip was sooo relaxing! I wish we could film on location much more often.” Moon gushed. Nice bristled beside her.

“Do you have any allergies? Food or otherwise?” Homemaker asked.

“Nope! Why?” She asked.

“I’m making breakfast. And your lunch. I remember you have to go film the newest advert today, Miss Moon.I figured you'd like a homemade lunch.”

He swore that Moon squee’d under her breath at that.

Nice was pouting and shooting her dark looks.

…

It didn't take long to set Ling up in the appartment after breakfast.

Nice had hugged him from behind the entire time he was cooking.

Moon had a fey light in her eyes everytime she looked up from her tablet to see that. He could have sworn she had muttered something about a domestic AU?

His favorite hero bounced out of the apartment practically radiating sparkles and joy.

Nice fake gagged.

…

Nice finished up his call to the contractors. Moon would soon have her own room. He and Lin Ling could just share his bed. Especially once he gets Wreck up to speed. The three could cuddle together with Lin Ling in the middle. No place safer.

He checked his phone. Miss. J still had Wreck’s number auto blocked. No calls or texts in or out.

Damn.

Well. He would get word out to his boyfriend soon. He would have to coordinate their next “fight” soonish. Miss. J would have to let them talk then. He missed his lover.

…

Wreck was pacing his apartment. He looked at his phone again. Moon had sent him a pic.

*Pictured: Nice and Homemaker cuddling in their sleep*

He had to talk to Nice. He could fix this. The soonest he could though would be five days from then at the True Love Recipe thing.

He could work with that.

Yeah. He could work with that.

[detectivestucks]

Marked for You Pt. 4

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Kakashi x F!Reader

Summery: Now that Kakashi knows, he won't leave you alone. There is no taking a hint because you're no longer hinting. The man doesn't understand the word 'no' and it will be the end of you.

Warnings: Sexual tension. It's getting hot in here.

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Thank you for continuing to allow my little side quest. I was reading the Four Horseman series by Laura Thalassa this week and felt the need to drag this out a smidge longer. If you've sent a request, I swear I haven't forgotten about it, I'm just being self-indulgent. Sorry!

Reader Request I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

Another day, another split shift, but at least the money is good. You debate if you want to spend your new wealth on better living accommodations or not but, it’s kinda nice to live next to Naruto. He’s a sweet boy and the way his eyes light up when you bring him food makes your entire day. 

As you think about the ball of sunshine you decide to head over to the leftover pastries. You grab some that you’d have to throw away otherwise, since they don’t keep well overnight, and place them in a box. Then you start grabbing the pastry trays and bring them to the back room, sorting through what will keep for another day and what needs to be tossed. Halfway through your task you hear the shop door open.

Your head lulls back as you close your eyes in frustration. You forgot to lock the door. Pasting on a smile you spin on your heel and walk to the front, however it doesn’t take long for your smile to falter.

“I thought you were on a mission.”

The tall ninja leans against the front door, one hand in his pocket, the other supporting a potted plant. “Keeping track of me, I see.”

“No, it’s just obvious when you’re out of town because you don’t haunt me like a shadow when you’re off defending the village.” your voice becomes whimsical, pretending he’s so noble and heroic when really you’d rather he just stay away.

“And now I’m home to check on my beautiful soulmate.”

Gaze cast to the ceiling, you pray for patience. With a deep breath drawn through your nose, you center your focus back upon Kakashi. “I have a birthmark. You have a crush. There is nothing deeper going on here.”

Kakashi approaches you, stepping forward till you’ve backed yourself up to the glass pastry case. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“It’s not.”

The corner of his mouth turns up, a stupid smirk stretching his lips under that dumb mask. “Keep trying to convince yourself, maybe one day you’ll actually believe it.” He leans against you as he places the pot down next to the cash register. Your body instantly reacts with a bolt of electricity shooting through your center. Stiff nipples, clenched core, lost breath, you’re stupid skin sack can’t tell the difference between a bad time and a good one. 

Kakashi feels it too. His chuckle fans your ear, causing your eyes to close.  There’s a sudden desperation to be anywhere but here and it drives you to push him away. Your palms make contact with his chest and shove his solid body away from you. As soon as he steps back you suck in air, filling your depleted lungs. 

“That wasn’t very nice.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what. I’m not interested so keep moving.”

“I’d believe you more if your nipples did just poke my chest a few seconds ago.”

You growl in frustration. “Why are you like this?”

“I’m not normally.”

“Then why me? What’s so special about me that you’ve become this guy?” you say gesturing to all of him.

“You’re my soulmate.”

“I’m not!”

“There’s no need to throw a fit.”

You claw at your own hair, pulling on it unsure of what to say or do. Your eyes dart around the shop, desperate for something, anything, to get you out of this conversation. You spot your coat and internally say ‘screw it.’ With a stomp of your foot, you silently speed walk towards your jacket and whisk it up, pulling it over your shoulders and bolting out of the front door. 

You don’t care that you left the shop unlocked or that you didn’t finish cleaning up, you just needed to get out of there. 

Kakashi calls your name, knowing he went too far. He sounds worried but you ignore him, picking up the pace of your feet till you break into an all out run, frantic to put as much distance between him and you as possible.

I pushed too hard, further than I should’ve in my desperation to get her to break. I may be patient but I'm determined and that same determination won out over my empathy.

Taking a look around, I gather the gist of what she was doing and I busy myself, finishing the job. I’ve watched her through the window enough times to know her routine. Empty the case and sort through what gets tossed and what gets saved. Count the register drawer, sweep the shop, set out the dry ingredients, take out the trash, turn off the lights, and lock all three doors before pulling the burglar gate over the shop’s main entrance. 

As I finish, I straighten the plant I brought for her, keeping it perched next to the cash register so every person who comes in can see it. She is mine. She is taken. She is off limits. Let there be no question. 

I’ve followed her in the shadows enough to know there are hopeful men encroaching on what belongs to me. She doesn’t acknowledge them, she doesn’t even notice them, stupid girl. She’s always so focused on herself that she never notices her surroundings. It’s one of her worst traits. Mostly because it makes me fear for her safety when I’m not around. 

I snatch the keys up off the floor and grab the box of treats that was sitting in the kitchen. After locking all the doors and closing the gate I set out in the direction of Naruto’s building.

Nighttime cloaks the road in darkness but splashes of streetlight illuminate the way. I’m not one for running if I’m not on a mission, so instead I stroll down the streets of Konaha, giving my princess as much time away from me as I’ll allow. I won’t stop pushing her, but I’ll try to be better. I’ll try not to let my overwhelming attraction to her hijack my morals. It can be hard though. Something about her shakes a wire loose in my brain. I can’t stop myself sometimes. She’ll be standing close but not close enough. I need to feel her against my body; it’s an involuntary reaction. I don't know how much longer I can hold myself at bay.

I climb the steps of her building before I finally come to her door next to Naruto’s. I knock with three short raps, standing patiently for her to open up. Naturally she doesn’t, I figured she wouldn’t. There’s an internal battle waging in my mind. Do I pick the lock and leave the box inside, or do I leave it out here where the ants will get to it? 

As much as I want to respect her privacy, I go ahead and pick the lock. It’s a simple single latch, nothing I can’t do with one hand. Once I hear the click, I push open the door to find the place dark except for the glow of a light seeping from under the gap of her bedroom door. Silently, I place the box on her kitchen table and excuse myself, making sure to lock what I have opened. 

Holed up in your room you hear your front door open. Why wouldn’t he break into my home?! There’s literally no place that’s safe from Kakashi. He’s inescapable.

Should I cave? Should I give in? Should I let him trample all over my heart? Your gooseflesh rises at the thought. You curl into a ball on your bed, tucking your chin tightly into your chest, hugging your knees till you hear him leave. 

It’s only then that you realize you were holding your breath.  He didn’t stay, he didn’t linger. Was he just proving to you that he can come and go as he pleases?

You roll over and scootch off the bed. Your feet lightly making their way over to the front of your apartment where you flick the light switch. Spinning around quickly, you check to make sure he isn’t secretly lurking in the shadows. After a few seconds to survey the room, verifying there is nowhere he could be hiding, your eyes settle on the pink pastry box situated at the center of your dining room table. It was the box you set aside for Naruto before your stupid soulmate came and ruined the evening. Maybe you should head back to work and at least lock the doors, however, the keys to the bakery now lay scattered on the table next to the sweets.

As much as you don’t want to give him credit, something in your gut tells you he locked up the shop, and an annoying amount of you believes he probably finished your chores too. Your fingers pick up the keys by the ring, allowing them to clang together as you dangle them in front of your face, scrutinizing the new keychain that now hangs among the metal. There's now an adorable pug dog with a headband wrapped around its head, similar to the ones ninja wear.

“You’re going to be the end of me, Kakashi Hatake. I’m sure of it.”

The sun is low in the sky, only a few rays poke through the shop window as you stand at the register taking orders from your usual crowd of morning customers. After dropping off the sweets at Naruto's, sleep was hard to chase last night now that you know Kakashi views locked doors as welcome mats.

It bothers you to no end that the handsome hero is impossible to escape. Even now, your standing next to this stupid potted plant that he left for you while being a damned gentleman and locking up shop for you last night. Though it was the least he could do considering the only reason you couldn't close shop was because of him. You just want to move on, forget about this soulmark crap and look for a nice guy. Someone who’s not so complicated, and someone who’s not a slut.

Almost robotically you fill orders. Your arms reflexively reach for the pastries that correspond with each familiar face. As the line filters in, your tired eyes look up to see someone a little less familiar.

“Morning!”

“Good Morning, what can I get you?”

You try to look wide awake. It can be hard when you both open and close but this man’s face makes it a little easier. His features are soothing. Dark brown hair, light brown eyes, olive skin, everything about him is warm and inviting. 

“Lets start with something sweet. What do you recommend?”

“I uh, well most people prefer our candied dumplings but I prefer a good cinnamon roll to start my Friday.”

“Sounds like I’ll take the cinnamon roll then.”

“You got it. Anything else?”

“I’ll take a matcha and your number if it’s available.”

“Sure thing, one matcha- wait, what?”

The curl of his lips is unmistakable as he watches your face change. The lady behind him stiffens and starts looking between the two of you. 

“You want my number?”

He scratches his neck with a little laugh. “I’m not normally very forward but I came here once before and I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re very pretty, you know. The kind of beauty that leaves an impression on a guy.”

Your lips part, unsure how to respond. You can think of one man who might agree with him but you don't want to imagine him at this moment. Your eyes are glued to this man's bright expression until you notice the lady behind him is gearing up to say something. 

“I, yeah, I, let me get you that matcha.”

You turn your back completely, trying to hide the heat on your cheeks. After a few seconds you begin pouring the hot water and steeping the matcha powder when you decide you’re going to accept. Moments ago you were wishing you could move on. This is your chance.

Just as you turn around the shop’s bell rings and in walks the persistent silver mane of one Kakashi Hatake. The paper cup nearly slips from your hand as your heart rate spikes. Of all the times for him to drop in, it had to be now. There is a collective inhale from the various occupants of the small room, each one apprehensive to see events unfold. Kakashi acts as if he didn't hear it but you know he does.

Quickly you look down, pretending you didn’t see him and minding your own business. Your fingers grasp the nearby marker and scribble your digits along the side of the cup in an act of defiance towards the Copy Ninja. No stupid mole is going to dictate your love life. It’s just a birthmark, nothing more. You plaster on your best customer service smile, handing over the cup and the small box with the customer's bun, wishing the gentleman a wonderful day and thanking him for his business.

He looks at you a bit lost but doesn’t press his proposal any further, assuming his rejection. You don’t want to address it now that ‘you-know-who’ is in the room but you pray the guy notices your note before his tosses the cup in the recycle.

As he leaves your stomach drops, both afraid Kakashi will find out what you did and sad that you never got the guy’s name. You chew on you lip as your eyes trail out the window after him before taking a deep breath and moving on to the next customer. You say your usual greeting when like a magnet, your eyes lock with Kakashi. He’s looking at you, calculated, reading you. Did he notice your number on the cup? Did he catch you looking out the window? What is he thinking behind that secretive mask?

Suddenly you realize you missed the lady’s order and blink your eyes back to focus, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

A lady, closer to her sixties than her fifties leans into you, reciting her order for the second time. As you jot it down and enter the items into the register she leans in and whispers, “Don’t go on that date sweetheart. It isn’t good to ignore a soulmark.”

Nervously glancing at Kakashi you whisper back, “I’m not ignoring it, I’m rejecting it. I’ve seen who I’m marked for and I don’t want it.”

“I don’t know what happened between you two but the longer you fight it, the harder things will be. Just give him (she glances over at the silver haired ninja) another chance.”

“I can make my own decisions, thank you.” you say as you hand over the food.

“You’re a sweet girl. Don’t do anything rash.” She grabs your hand as she takes her order and give you a light squeeze. “Just think on it.” With a smile she turns to walk out but not before giving Kakashi a polite nod as she passes. 

He exchanges pleasantries with her but as soon as she’s gone his piercing gaze is back on you. The heat of it makes you nervous. Part of you wonders again if he knows what you did and if he plans on confronting you about it. Please don’t confront me about this at work. 

You move through your line of customers for the next half hour, one after the other without any breaks. Kakashi stays with you the entire time, loitering in the shop. You want to kick him out but you also don’t want to give him any attention, aside from the glances you steal between transactions. Once the last member of the morning rush is gone you finally slam down your palm next to the register, jostling the plant. 

“Can I help you?”

He pauses, a smirk forming under his mask.

“These tables are for customers only. Either purchase something or get out.”

“Fine, I’ll bite.”

You stiffen, your eyes shooting to the cloth covering his lips. If he eats, am I finally going to see what’s under that mask? After rolling your shoulders and clearing your throat, you take a step and stand back over at the register, “What can I get you?”

“What did you recommend to that man when I first entered the shop?”

Frozen. “What?”

“The guy you were flirting with earlier. What did you offer him?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come now, you must remember. Brown hair, brown eyes, hopeful smile, trying to steal my girl.”

“I’m not your girl.”

“Yet.”

“Stop.”

“No.”

“Get out.”

“No.”

“Leave!”

“No.”

You kick the counter in frustration. “Damn it Kakashi, stop! We are not a couple! We are not dating. I do not belong to you.”

“Yes. You. Do.”

“No. I. Don’t.”

The two of you stare at each other, heat rising between you.

“I’ll take the cinnamon roll.”

You scoff, “If you already knew what he ordered then why did you ask?”

“I wanted to see if you’d lie to me.”

“And?”

“Your pants are on fire.”

“No dip, Sherlock. So how do you feel knowing I lied to you?”

“Angry.” He says it mater-of-factly, no emotion behind the word.

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I would. That’s why I asked.”

Kakashi just stares back at you, his face blank. “The service here is terrible. How long do you plan on making me wait for this cinnamon roll? Or are you going to bake me a fresh one?”

“You’re insufferable.”

He shrugs his shoulders. You angrily grab one of the goodie boxes and start folding it. Unceremoniously you grab the roll and slam it down in the box before shoving it in Kakashi’s chest. “Take it before I spit on it.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to your soulmate.”

“We are not soulmates!”

“Do I need pull down those pants and show you my family crest?”

“You know what...” You take back the box and open the lid, bringing it to your face, you lick off a huge glob of frosting and then push it back into his hand, wiping the icing off your chin as you do. “There.”

Before you truly register what’s happening the box falls to the floor as Kakashi pulls you into him for a kiss. In lightning speed he lowers his mask and his lips go crashing into yours. One hand firmly circles your waist, the other at the back of your head, keeping you in place, His hold is fierce, leaving you helpless to pull away. You resist him at first, keeping your mouth still but the scent of him fills your nose and clouds your mind. He smells so good. Not like cologne, but a mix of the outside and natural musk. The kind of scent that, on most men, you’d dislike, but when it comes to the man you really want, your biology can’t get enough. Your lips give way to the demanding movements of his own and soon his tongue is exploring your cavern, licking the sugary sweetness right out of it. 

You swoon, your lips keeping pace with his. Everything about you is in sync. Your body entirely in tune with the man holding you. His fingers in your scalp tighten their grip, fisting your hair the more excited the wolf gets. You’re melting into him, every crevice of your body blending with his edges.

Kakashi’s moaning into you, devouring you and leaving your lips swole. He leaves you with a new hunger that you’ve never experienced before and it frightens you. All of this frightens you.

Your eyes snap open and you push him away. “No!”

Standing there, mask carefully pulled back over his features, Kakashi pants, a mix of dazed and shocked. He steps forward, “I know you felt it. It wasn’t just me.”

“It was.”

“Liar.”

You look at him with defiance. “I don’t know what I felt and I don't care. I’m not going to let this happen. Not now, not ever.”

“One way or another, Princess, this is happening. Fight it all you want mystery girl, but you’re not slipping through my fingers.”

“Get out.” you whisper, eyes turned down. You bite the flesh of your lips, feeling how inflamed they are from the way Kakashi toyed with them.

He gives you one last look of yearning before he leaves, making a shockingly silent exit.

You stoop down to collect the ruined cinnamon bun, almost surprised that Kakashi didn’t clean it up before he left. He cleaned up your mess last night, why not clean up this one? Ugh, even to yourself you sound like a selfish brat. Gods, how insufferable have I become?

Running my hands over my mask, I trace my own lips. You kissed her. You kissed her. Heavens, you kissed her.

Walking away from the bakery, I replay the scene over and over in my head. Her smell, her taste, her fire. I want her more than anything but I was foolish. I pushed her too far again. I need to get a grip. Why can’t I control myself around her?! This is a precision operation and I’m blowing it. 

Then there’s that guy. Who is my mystery girl giving herself away to? Over my dead body. There will be no date. I don’t care what she thinks she’s going to do, it’s not happening. 

I lower my hand and turn in the same direction that joke was walking in earlier. Time to do some recon...

Masterlist I Part 1 I Part 2 I Part 3

Tagslist:

@hoohamaru @watasinekoru @blueeclipsepaperstudent @readingcatinacorner @tanyaspartak @liyry @mutsu422 @longlivegojo @jjjbtori @blondenaruto

[norixseaweed]

Between Rooms: Chapter 2 - Seunghwa

Title: Between Rooms Rating: 18+ NSFW (MDNI) Characters: Seunghwa , Female Reader/You Contains: sensory play, blind folding, hand tying Masterlist Previous Chapter - Next Chapter Synopsis: Eight men. One house. And you, right in the middle of it. What started as a lucky break, an affordable room in a cozy mansion, quickly turned into something else entirely. You didn’t expect to bond with them so easily. You definitely didn’t expect the tension. Or the teasing glances. Or the way they touched you when no one else was around. this is a roommate AU A/N: PLEASE make sure to read the introduction on the masterlist first!!! Feel free to let me know what you think. Also I realized my Jongho chapter was too short so I tried to make this one longer! (Also while you're here please give my angst fic some love too ;;)

It was nearing 11PM when you padded softly through the dimly lit hallway, headed toward the kitchen for a late-night snack. As you passed by the familiar stretch of rooms, a soft glow caught your eye, the thin line of warm light leaking out from beneath Seonghwa’s office door.

Working late again.

It wasn’t unusual. In fact, it was routine. When Seonghwa was locked into a creative flow, he often lost track of time and almost always forgot to eat.

You grabbed a tray and began assembling something quick. A few frozen corn dogs went into the microwave, followed by a couple snack packs and two glasses of juice. You didn’t overthink it. This had become its own quiet ritual, checking in on him when the house was still and everyone else was winding down.

Tray in hand, you made your way back down the hall and gently knocked on the door with your foot.

“Come in!” came his voice steady, composed, but just a touch distracted.

“My hands are full,” you called back. “Can you get the door?”

A moment later, the handle turned and the door creaked open. Seonghwa greeted you with a faint smile and stepped aside to let you in.

“What’s all that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Late-night snack,” you said simply, moving to place the tray on the small coffee table in the corner of the room.

His office had a distinct Seonghwa air to it. Clean, curated, and stylish. On one side sat his dark wood desk, neatly arranged with sketchbooks, fabric swatches, and a softly glowing task lamp. Behind it, a tall shelf lined with books, design journals, and carefully labeled boxes. Across from the desk, a low leather sofa and the coffee table made the space feel warmer, more lived in.

The other side of the room was more chaotic, but still precise. Mannequins dressed in works-in-progress, a standing mirror with pins still stuck into the fabric, spools of thread organized by color on the wall. His designer’s corner. Creative energy hummed in the air.

“You didn’t have to bring all this,” he said gently, though his eyes flicked over the tray with clear appreciation.

“I figured you wouldn’t remember to eat otherwise.”

He exhaled softly through his nose. Half laugh, half surrender.

“You’re probably right.”

He sat down beside you on the sofa, reaching for a corn dog and taking a bite without hesitation.

You leaned back against the cushions, watching him chew. “Already working on something new? What happened to the last project?”

“Tossed it,” he said flatly, like it didn’t matter. Another bite followed.

Your brows pulled together. “Seriously? Why? I liked that one, it was beautiful.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It was fine. But fine isn’t enough.”

You huffed. “You say that about everything you make. At this rate, you’re going to have a closet full of ‘not enough’.”

He glanced at you, a soft smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe. But I’d rather trash something than send it out into the world half-satisfied.”

You shook your head, picking up a juice glass. “Perfectionist.”

“I prefer detail-oriented.”

You chuckled under your breath. “Sure. Let me know when you start sleeping regularly again.”

He leaned back against the sofa, the angle of his body just slightly tilted toward you now. “I don’t need sleep when I have snacks hand-delivered to me.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway. “You’re lucky I like feeding people who forget to eat.”

His gaze lingered on your face a second too long, long enough to make you pause.

You caught it, just barely, the way his eyes flicked down. From your lips…to your neck…then back up.

It was subtle. So quick it could’ve meant nothing. But it left something warm curling low in your stomach.

You didn’t say anything. And neither did he.

Instead, he turned back to the tray and reached for another snack, calm as ever, like he hadn’t just looked at you like that. 

Like you hadn’t noticed.

But you had.

“Actually,” he said, setting the snack down, “I’m glad you stopped by. I think I need to see this one on an actual person.”

He turned his attention back to you. “Only if you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

You gave a small nod, not needing much convincing. “Sure.”

Seonghwa’s smile was soft, but there was something else behind it, something unreadable. He rose from the couch and moved to the mannequin, carefully unfastening the garment with practiced ease. You stood and walked over as he held it out for you, the fabric draping elegantly over his arms.

You took the dress from him, and without another word, he quietly stepped out of the room to give you privacy.

The fabric felt cool and silky against your skin as you slipped it on. The dress was short, ending mid-thigh, with a flowing, asymmetrical hem that moved softly when you shifted your weight. One side clung slightly more to your curves, while the other dipped lower and hung freer.

What made it striking, though, was the open panel that ran along your left side. From just under your arm down to your hip, the dress was cut away, revealing the soft curve of your waist and a teasing glimpse of skin. A single delicate strap held the fabric together near the top, leaving the rest exposed in a sleek, elegant line.

You adjusted the fit, smoothing your hands down your hips as you turned slightly in front of the mirror.

The dress looked beautiful. It hugged your body in all the right places, but it was a little loose. The open side, while intentional, gaped more than expected when you moved. The top strap shifted slightly, not quite sitting the way it was meant to. Elegant, but unfinished.

A soft knock came at the door.

“Can I come in?” Seonghwa asked.

You glanced over your shoulder. “Yeah.”

He stepped in and paused. His gaze moved over you slowly, studying the dress with that familiar critical eye. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked over, thoughtful.

“It’s too loose around the waist,” he said.

“I thought so too.”

He circled behind you, adjusting the fabric at your hip. His fingers brushed along your side, then moved up to test the tension at the strap near your shoulder. You felt the weight of each movement, measured, focused, but still so close to your skin.

“It’s the open cut,” he murmured. “It works when you’re standing still, but as soon as you move, the balance shifts.”

He didn’t sound frustrated, just analytical. His hands moved with practiced ease, tugging slightly, smoothing out a fold, then pressing the fabric more snugly against your waist. His fingers lingered where the fabric ended and skin began.

“I can pin it,” he said, glancing toward the table. “Just want to test how it’s meant to fall.”

You nodded. “Okay.”

He returned with a pin cushion, then stepped in even closer. You felt his breath at your shoulder as he worked. The space between you had grown impossibly small.

He gathered the loose edge, folding it gently as his knuckles grazed your ribs. Every touch was focused on the dress, but you could feel something else under the surface. The way he held his breath. The way he looked at the place where skin met fabric.

“Don’t move,” he said quietly, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of his breath at your neck.

You didn’t.

His fingers worked slowly, pinning the fabric with care, but the focus had shifted. He wasn’t just adjusting the dress anymore. The pads of his fingers dragged lightly over your bare side, lingering longer than they needed to. His touch dipped just a little lower, grazing the dip of your waist.

He didn’t look at what he was doing. He was looking at you.

You felt it, his stare trailing over your cheek, then your lips, then lower. His gaze burned where it landed, and suddenly the silence between you felt like a held breath, waiting to snap.

His hand settled flat against your side.

Still.

Intentional.

“If I touch you again…” his voice dropped, darker now. “I won’t stop.”

He didn’t blink. Didn’t pull away. His thumb brushed softly against your skin, barely there, but enough to make your knees tighten.

“Do you want me to stop?”

You’d always felt like there was something unspoken between the two of you.

Over time, you started to notice the little things, subtle details that never felt accidental. The way Seonghwa’s hand would linger just a beat too long when he adjusted a necklace or smoothed a wrinkle in your sleeve. How his fingers would graze your skin under the guise of fixing something, precise yet gentle. The way his eyes would drop to your lips mid-conversation, not in an obvious, hungry way, but with quiet curiosity. Like he was thinking about something he’d never say out loud.

You caught him watching you more than once. Not in any blatant or inappropriate way. Just...observing. Like he was studying something he hadn’t quite figured out yet.

And you weren’t innocent in it either.

There were moments when you caught yourself staring, a little too long, at his hands as he worked, how precise and careful they were. Or when he was dressed a little too well, sleeves rolled up, collar loose, skin at his neck soft and distracting. You’d bitten your lip and looked away more times than you cared to admit.

Worse were the nights you’d fantasized about him, quietly, guiltily. Thoughts that slipped into your head when you were alone in bed, half-asleep and craving something...more. You’d picture the way his voice might sound in your ear, the way his hands might feel if he stopped holding back. You never let yourself linger too long on those thoughts. But they were there.

You’d always kept it controlled. Silent. Respectful. Just like he had.

But then came that night.

The two of you had watched Fifty Shades of Grey on a whim. A bored evening turned conversation starter. What followed had been surprisingly open, an honest and mature discussion about BDSM, limits, preferences. What intrigued you. What didn’t. What you hadn’t yet tried.

There were no smirks. No teasing. Just quiet, thoughtful words in dim lighting. Like neither of you wanted to risk breaking the stillness between you.

But something shifted that night.

After that, the space between you felt charged. His glances felt heavier. Your awareness of him sharpened. And the tension… the tension became constant.

A pull. A silence that waited.

And tonight, in the warmth of his studio, as his hand settled on your waist and his voice dropped lower...

You realized it had never just been in your head.

You looked up at him, and this time, you didn’t look away.

His gaze met yours. Steady. Searching.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you felt too still, too thick, like something about to tip over.

His hand didn’t leave your waist. If anything, it pressed a little more firmly against your skin.

His eyes stayed locked on yours.

He was waiting for an answer, but truthfully? He couldn't resist anymore. Not with the way you were looking at him, wide-eyed, breath caught somewhere in your throat, pupils blown with need.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his right hand slid upward, fingers gliding slowly along your neck. The warmth of his touch made you shiver, and when his hand cupped your jaw, you felt your knees threaten to give way.

Then his lips met yours.

It was slow at first, soft, tentative. Like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. You kissed him back, breath catching as if you’d been holding it for far too long. His grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you in place as the kiss deepened. What started gentle became something more, a quiet unraveling between you both.

Your fingers curled into the collar of his crisp white dress shirt, pulling him closer, trying to close what little space remained. The fabric shifted under your touch, warm from his body heat.

Seonghwa pulled back just slightly, his lips hovering close enough that you could still taste him. His breath was steady but deliberate, eyes heavy-lidded as he studied your face.

“Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. Not right away. The silence said enough, but you still gave him more.

You leaned in, brushing your lips softly against his. “What if I don’t?”

Your voice came out low, almost a whisper. It wasn’t really a question. It was a challenge.

His expression shifted instantly. His gaze darkened. The grip on your jaw tightened.

He kissed you again, harder this time. Like he was claiming something he’d waited too long to touch. Your mouths moved in sync, your body responding instinctively. When his tongue pushed past your lips, you welcomed it, meeting him with equal need. A soft moan escaped your throat as you rose onto your toes, desperate to stay connected.

Again, he pulled away, but not far. His forehead pressed against yours, and his thumb brushed gently over your cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to make you my toy for a while now.”

The words sent a pulse between your legs, and you bit your bottom lip, your gaze glassy with lust.

“Of course,” he added, voice softer now, “only if you’re okay with that. Do you want that?”

You nodded quickly.

“I need to hear you say it, love.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “I want you to make me your toy.”

It came out more eager than you intended. He smiled.

“Good.”

He reached for the hem of your dress. “Let’s get you out of this.”

With gentle hands, he helped you undress, peeling the garment from your body and letting it fall aside. You stood in nothing but your underwear, bare-chested, though that wasn’t unusual for you at home.

Seonghwa walked the dress over to the mannequin, smoothing it neatly into place. Then he reached for something on the table. A silk scarf.

You watched as he folded it carefully, his expression calm, focused.

He stepped toward you and brought the scarf to your eyes. His hands moved slowly as he tied it around your head and secured the knot behind.

“Do you have a safe word?”

“I use the traffic light system,” you replied, steady despite the way your heartbeat picked up. “Red, yellow, green.”

Seonghwa hummed in approval.

You felt his hands glide down your arms, soft and unhurried, until his fingers laced with yours. He guided you gently across the room, and you followed without hesitation. You trusted him. You always had. He’d never given you a reason not to.

When he stopped, so did you.

You heard the faint sound of papers being moved. Then drawers opening and closing. His presence disappeared briefly, then returned just as suddenly. His hands were at your hips again, warm and firm, guiding you back until the backs of your thighs hit a flat surface.

The edge of his desk.

You let out a soft breath just before he lifted you effortlessly onto it.

Then came the warmth of his breath against your neck. The heat of it made you shiver again, skin prickling as anticipation danced down your spine. His lips hovered there, brushing lightly, teasing without touching. You squirmed, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

His hands slid up your thighs, bare, sensitive, his fingers tracing your shape with practiced slowness. Like he was outlining something precious. 

You felt his tongue press hot and wet against your neck, dragging slowly upward until it reached your earlobe. The breath that followed was warm. Then his teeth grazed the delicate skin, nibbling gently, enough to send a shiver straight down your spine.

“Can I leave marks on you?” he murmured, voice husky and low, vibrating against your skin.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Good.”

He moved back down, lips finding your neck again, kissing with purpose this time. He took his time, dragging his mouth along your skin as if searching for something. The moment your breath hitched, he paused, lips hovering.

Then he latched on.

The suction sent a moan slipping past your lips, and you felt his smirk against your throat. His fingers slid along your ribs, slow and sure, before cupping your breasts in both hands. He kneaded gently, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as his mouth stayed busy on your neck.

When he was satisfied with the mark he left there, he trailed kisses downward, past your collarbone. He paused again, lips sealing over your skin, drawing another bruise just beneath your collar. You gasped softly, back arching just enough for your chest to meet his hands.

Your fingers moved without thinking, tangling in his hair.

“Hands down,” he growled against your skin, his voice firm and unyielding. “No touching.”

You obeyed immediately, hands releasing, dropping back to your sides.

“Yes, Sir.”

He pulled back. You could feel the shift in his energy, though you couldn’t see it, not with the blindfold still tied over your eyes. The darkness sharpened every sound, every movement, every pause. Your breath quickened.

The anticipation made you ache.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he said, his voice lower now, smoother. “Just like a doll.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but before you could respond, you felt his fingers again, this time pinching your already sensitive nipples.

“And this doll is all mine to play with, isn’t that right?”

He pinched harder.

You gasped, a sharp yelp escaping before you could stop it. The sting caught you off guard after all the delicate touches. But it wasn’t unwelcome. You squirmed, your thighs pressing together involuntarily, hands gripping the edge of the desk for grounding.

“Y-yes, Sir.”

He smirked. You couldn’t see it, but you felt it in the way his fingers lingered.

“Good girl.”

He released your nipples slowly, then placed one hand on your shoulder, the other at your waist. His touch guided you backward.

“Lie back.”

You did as told, allowing him to ease you down until your back met the cool surface of the desk. The shift left you fully exposed, breath quick and chest rising, your body laid out and waiting.

You couldn’t see him.

But you could feel the weight of his stare.

And it made you tremble.

You lay there across his desk, chest rising and falling, body humming from his last touch. The blindfold kept everything hidden, but your other senses were on high alert, every sound, every shift in the air sharpened.

You felt him step closer again. His hands found yours, fingers curling gently around your wrists.

“Give them to me,” he said softly, but there was no mistaking the command.

You offered your arms without hesitation.

He lifted them slowly above your head, and then you heard the sound, the faint metallic clink of something being unhooked. A moment later, your wrists were brought together and secured with rope. It wasn’t rough or tight, but it was firm. Purposeful. You could feel the tension in the knot as he tested it with a gentle tug.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

You swallowed, skin tingling.

He leaned close, lips brushing your temple as he whispered, “You look so good like this.”

Then, without warning, his presence disappeared. His warmth vanished from your skin, and you were left alone, blindfolded, bound, laid out across his desk in silence.

The air felt cooler without him.

You heard movement. A few soft footfalls. A cabinet opening. Then nothing.

The stillness made your heart beat louder in your chest. You shifted slightly, testing the rope. It held. The wait was driving you crazy, but it was thrilling all the same.

You didn’t know how long he was gone. Ten seconds? Thirty? A minute? It was hard to tell with your pulse pounding in your ears.

Then you felt it.

A faint breeze. His return.

He moved silently, but you could hear the slight clink of something being set down. Then—

Something cold touched your skin.

You gasped.

A small cube of ice dragged slowly across your sternum, trailing a line of chill in its path. Your back arched instinctively, wrists tugging at the restraint above your head.

He said nothing.

Just let the silence work with the sensation as he continued tracing down to your navel, the contrast of cold ice on warm skin making you squirm.

“You feel that?” he finally asked, voice low and calm again.

You nodded, lips parting around a soft moan.

“Good. Let’s see how much you can take.”

The first cube melted slowly under his touch, trailing drops of cold water down your stomach. Each drag sent a new jolt of sensation through your body, sweet and sharp, your skin responding with goosebumps wherever the ice kissed it.

You whimpered softly, hips shifting against the desk, but he offered no mercy. No words. Only that slow, relentless path.

When the last bit of the cube melted between his fingers, he stepped away again.

You heard it this time, ice clinking in a glass, the low sound of him picking another piece up. But when he returned, you didn’t feel anything immediately. You felt him hovering close, his breath warm near your shoulder. You waited.

Then something impossibly cold grazed your collarbone.

But it wasn’t his hand.

Your breath caught.

His mouth.

You felt the smooth curve of ice, pressed between his lips, being dragged slowly across your skin. The sensation was overwhelming, heat from his breath, chill from the melting cube, the softness of his lips ghosting over you all at once.

A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary.

“Oh?” he murmured softly against your skin, lips curling slightly around the melting ice. “Sensitive here?”

He didn’t give you time to answer. He slid the ice lower, moving to the swell of your breast, circling just beneath it, letting the water trail downward. The contrast made you tremble, your nipples already tight and aching from earlier. When he pulled away and blew lightly across the wet path he’d just traced, your entire body jolted.

“Such beautiful reactions,” he muttered. “I could do this all night.”

The cube slipped from his mouth into his hand, and a moment later he brought it directly to your nipple. He rolled it slowly over the stiff peak, then pinched it lightly with his chilled fingers.

You cried out, thighs pressing together again, bound hands clenching the rope.

“Still doing okay?” he asked, voice quiet but edged with control.

“Yes,” you gasped.

His lips brushed your ear.

“Good girl.”

His hand drifted lower, fingers dragging cool water trails down your stomach. The shift in temperature had your whole body on edge, twitching with every pass. Then his touch paused at your hip.

“Let’s get these off,” he said, fingers curling around the sides of your panties.

You lifted your hips instinctively as he slid the fabric down your thighs and off your legs. The air felt colder now against your bare skin, amplified by the slow melt of ice still clinging to your body.

You heard the soft clink again, another cube taken from the glass.

Then a drop of cold water landed just above your slit.

You gasped, spine arching slightly off the desk.

A moment later, you felt his fingers part you and then something cold pressed directly against your entrance. Not ice. His finger. Wet, chilled, and unhurried as it stroked over your folds, circling your clit without touching it directly.

The sharp chill made your hips jerk, your body desperate for more. But he took his time.

“So sensitive,” he murmured. “You’re already dripping.”

His cold fingertip slipped lower, collecting your arousal before teasing your entrance. He didn’t push in right away. Just circled lazily, letting you squirm beneath his touch.

You let out a soft, desperate sound. He smirked.

“Patience.”

Then finally, finally, his finger sank into you, slow and deep. You gasped again, the contrast of his chilled skin inside your heat making your thighs tremble. He moved at a steady pace, curling just enough to make you whimper, then pulling back again.

He added a second finger, this one warmer, letting the cold fade as he stretched you just right. The mix of temperatures, his steady rhythm, the sound of your own slickness filling the room, it was overwhelming.

He pressed his thumb gently against your clit, still avoiding full pressure, just letting it hover and tease.

You tugged at the rope instinctively, breath coming in ragged waves.

“Please,” you whispered.

His voice came close, lips brushing your ear again.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Please… touch me more. Don’t stop,” you gasped.

“Good girl.”

Then he started to move with purpose.

His fingers thrust deeper, firmer, curling just right while his thumb finally applied pressure to your clit. Your breath hitched, body tightening, your thighs pressing in toward his wrist.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Look at how you take it, like you were made for this.”

Your body trembled beneath his touch. His fingers worked you open with slow precision, and his thumb circled your clit in just the right way, just the right rhythm. You could feel it rising, the sharp, coiling heat in your belly about to break.

So close.

“Seonghwa–” you gasped, your voice cracking. “I’m gonna–”

His fingers stopped instantly.

You let out a broken cry, hips bucking for friction that didn’t come. Your body pulsed helplessly around nothing.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

You whimpered, the ache between your legs now unbearable.

“I didn’t say you could come.”

He pulled his fingers out of you, dragging them slow and wet over your inner thigh as if to mock how ready you were. Then he leaned forward and kissed your stomach once, a deceptively sweet gesture after what he’d just taken away.

Your wrists tugged at the rope above you, your body twitching with frustration.

Seonghwa reached up and loosened the knot just enough to lower your arms. Still restrained, but flexible now. His hands returned to your waist and guided you toward the edge of the desk, your back shifting across the surface until your ass met the edge, thighs parted slightly for him.

You could hear the soft metallic slide of his belt.

The slow unzipping of his pants.

Then his voice, low and close again.

“Let me show you what good girls get.”

You felt the heat of his cock brush against your inner thigh first, then slide through your folds, hot, heavy, and teasing. He rocked his hips slowly, coating himself in your slick without pushing in.

“You want it?” he asked, nudging the head of his cock right at your entrance.

“Yes,” you breathed.

“Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you gasped, thighs trying to push forward. “Please.”

He pressed in slowly, stretching you inch by inch until he was fully inside you.

Your breath hitched. It was deep, overwhelming, the fullness making your body freeze before you melted into it.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “You feel so good.”

He stayed still for a moment, just letting you adjust. Then he pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting in again with more force.

Your hands clenched in the loosened rope above you, moaning as the desk creaked beneath you from the movement.

His pace built, first steady and deep, then faster. Rougher.

“You were made for this,” he growled, one hand gripping your hip tight while the other slid up your ribs, holding you in place as he fucked you harder. “You’re mine.”

His thrusts deepened, rhythm growing rougher, sharper. The desk creaked beneath you with every snap of his hips, but all you could focus on was the way he filled you, how he hit every spot like he knew your body better than you did.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively. You weren’t even thinking anymore, just reacting, letting the sensations drag you closer and closer to the edge he’d denied you before.

“Please,” you panted, head falling back. “Please, can I come?”

Seonghwa didn’t answer with words. He angled his hips, his next thrust hitting deeper, right there, and his hand dropped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit. This time, there was no teasing. Just pressure and rhythm and raw, desperate friction.

“Come for me,” he ordered, voice low and breathless. “Now.”

You shattered.

Your body tensed around him, thighs shaking, the orgasm ripping through you fast and hard after everything he’d built up. You cried out, fingers twisting in the rope, mouth falling open as your muscles clenched around him again and again.

Seonghwa groaned, his rhythm stuttering as you pulsed around him.

“Fuck– you’re perfect.”

He thrust a few more times, sharp and deep, chasing his own release. You felt his breath catch before he pressed in one last time, his body going rigid. He came with a low, guttural sound, buried deep inside you, one hand gripping your hip so tight you knew you’d feel it tomorrow.

You both stayed still for a moment, just breathing. Skin flushed. Hearts pounding.

Then, slowly, he eased out of you. You let out a soft whimper at the loss.

His hands were warm again when they reached for the scarf, gently untying the blindfold first. You blinked up at him, eyes adjusting to the light, to his gaze now soft instead of dark.

He brushed your hair from your face with one hand, then moved to untie your wrists. Once your arms were free, he brought both your hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asked, voice gentle now.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He smiled faintly and helped guide you upright, hands never leaving your body. One at your back, the other steady at your waist.

“I’ll clean you up,” he said. “Just stay here.”

You didn’t argue. You let him move around you, let him wipe your thighs and skin with soft, warm cloths. Every touch was tender. No rush, no expectation. Just him taking care of you, just as thoroughly as he’d undone you.

When he was done, he grabbed a throw blanket from the nearby chair and draped it around your shoulders, then leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“You did so well for me,” he murmured, pulling you gently into his arms.

You rested your head against his chest, breath finally slowing, and let the silence settle around you, this time soft and full.

[thatstrangegiiirrlll]

Choke Me Out

Seongje x Female!reader smut | jealousy | choking | slapping | praise | aftercare

“He liked the edge of passing out. She liked taking him there.”

The atmosphere in the restaurant is laid back and soothing, right up Seongjes alley. But in this moment, he is anything but laid back.

“It’s really good,” you say softly, loud enough for only Seongje to hear. Your eyes search his face curiously, worry settling in your stomach. He hasn’t touched his food.

“Baby,” you whisper, leaning into the table.

His tense and agitated face softens almost immediately at your sweet voice. You are the only one, genuinely the only one that could bring out that calm and soft side of him.

He turns his face from the direction he is looking in and looks at you. His face is saying a whole book of things. You’re just lost as to which page he’s on.

“Let’s just take this to go,” he says, waving down a waiter to get the check and some to-go boxes.

You pout slightly. What's going on?

“Seongje, talk to me — what is happening right now?”

He gives you a smile and a chuckle you know all too well. He’s livid about something.

“I’m trying to avoid killing someone right now. That’s what’s happening.”

You follow in the direction of his eyes, which leads to a table of men boring holes into your skull.

Some of them even dare to have women accompanying them.

Oh.

You know exactly how your boyfriend can get and you want to avoid that at all costs. You keep your focus on him, scooch back in your seat, and stand up to grab the to-go boxes — fingers fumbling nervously.

Seongje's chair scrapes loudly against the floor, startling you. He nearly launches from the seat to stand behind you, concealing you from wandering eyes.

You’re wearing a pair of your favorite jean shorts. Seongje hates them. Not because you don’t look ravishing in them, but because of all the attention they get. His stone-cold glare is chilling the entire room.

He follows closely behind you until you’ve both made it out of the restaurant, being certain they can’t steal another look at you.

-

The car ride back to his place is heavy with emotion. Quiet but suffocatingly loud with things left unsaid.

Seongje isn't angry with you — not at all. But his emotions have a way of grabbing a hold of everyone around him.

You sigh quietly, eyes focused on his fingers, tight around the steering wheel. His jaw is clenching and unclenching — eyes still manic.

It’s a small gesture, but you place your hand around the back of his neck, thumb caressing back and forth lovingly. Grounding him.

His body responds to the affection well — huffing out a deep breath as some of that strain wears off.

He doesn't say or do anything, just continues driving.

—

Once you arrive, he makes a beeline for the balcony, a cigarette already carefully placed between his lips.

You slip off your shoes and place your bag on the table. You follow behind him, not too closely, but within reason.

He turns unexpectedly, racking his pockets wildly for his lighter — uttering a disgruntled fuck under his breath. He looks around in an attempt to spot one but is essentially unsuccessful.

You stand in front of him now, removing what he’s desperately looking for out of your pocket. He could never keep up with his lighters. If it weren’t for you, he’d buy a new one every day.

“Looking for this?”

The look in his eyes melts into a thankful “what would I do without you” one as he goes to grab it. But you swiftly hide it behind you, giving him a shy but challenging stare.

He smirks, irritated but amused. He stands directly in front of you, eyes glaring down at you.

Your attempt to keep yourself composed is so clearly failing, especially with what he does next.

“Take it,” you dare, eyes darting back and forth, eye contact never breaking.

He reaches around at the small of your back and tries to pry it out of your hand, but you place it taut in your other one.

Big mistake.

Without warning, he grabs you between your legs, — not harshly, but with enough pressure to take your breath away. The lighter slips through your fingers and to the floor.

Fuck, he knows exactly how to make you crack.

You stare ahead, a small gasp stuck in your throat as he bends down to retrieve it from the floor. Seongje — you bastard.

He lights his cigarette and steps back out, leaning against the balcony. He focuses his eyes on the blue city as he smokes.

You ease your way beside him, slowly peeling the cigarette from his lips as you inhale it in deeply.

You regret the action as soon as you do it, a violent cough ripping through you. Spoiler: you don't smoke. And never have.

“What in the entire fuck are you doing?” Seongje scolds, rubbing and patting your back to help bring some relief.

He takes the cigarette from you and puts it out, giving you time to catch your breath.

“Trying to get your attention,” you finally reply, eyes and face red from nearly choking to death. “I think it worked…”

“Yeah, no shit,” he snaps, dragging his feet toward you. His tall figure towers over your frame. “Don’t do that again.”

Some emotion starts to stir in your chest, a mix of frustration and longing.

“Then just talk to me, Seongje,” you plead. “About literally anything. Don't get all quiet and stuff like you do.”

His chest expands with air as he breathes in deeply. You know how hard he tries, and you love him for it. But you always feel like he’s holding back.

“Touch me,” you say, voice hushed like you're confessing a secret, like you’re too scared to demand his touch; to be hungry for it. “I’m yours. No one else’s. So, please…”

His eyes flicker up to you in an instant and the look makes your heart stutter. You’d never spoken to him like that before, and it threw him. Your normally shy and innocent shell is cracking.

He uses his pointer finger and thumb to hold your chin in place as he French kisses you intensely. His mouth moves like he’s trying to consume you — wild and hungry.

You make small, meek sounds into his mouth and he growls against yours, hand sliding up your body and around your throat.

He bites your bottom lip and then starts making out with your ear — licking, sucking against it.

You grab his arm, knees bucking. You can hardly stand anymore.

Seongje guides you to his bedroom where he undresses, throwing his clothes anywhere.

Your mouth waters at the sight and size of his dick and it twitches at you like it’s waving you over.

He sits down on the bed and pulls you to him by a belt loop on your jean shorts.

Your breath hitches when he tugs them down — rough, bitter, and fast, like he's been dying to get rid of them all night.

It’s the piece of clothing that had so many eyes on you, making his blood boil. Deep down, he knows you’ll get attention no matter what you wear. You're perfect from head to toe.

Still, the action makes him feel somewhat better.

You hold onto his shoulders for support as he removes your clothes. He analyzes every part of you that becomes bare in front of him, fingers tracing into your warm skin.

You blush a deep red like it’s the first time he’s seen you naked. You don’t think you can ever get used to the way he looks at you like he can see everything you’re thinking.

He trails sweet kisses down your tummy, lips hovering over your pussy. He lays his tongue wide and flat against your clit, teasing you.

You grab a handful of his hair out of reflex, body shuddering violently.

He hums on your pussy, placing a gentle kiss there. When he pulls away, his soft, pink lips are glistening from your wetness.

He takes his glasses off and presses his back against the headboard. Your stomach lurches, clit throbbing painfully when he motions for you to sit down.

“Come here.” the way he speaks is yearning, but assertive.

You sit on top of him, thighs on either side of his. His pupils are dilated with an animalistic thrill as he watches your every move.

“Spit on it,” he demands, the tone in his voice gives your belly butterflies.

You do as you're told, letting the spit fall slowly from your wet mouth to his restless dick. You take him in your palm and tug up and down sensually.

He rolls his head back and groans, then grabs your wrist firmly to stop you.

“Put it inside you,” he orders again, flickering his dark eyes between his aching cock and your pretty face.

Your pussy is so dripping wet that he slides right inside as you take him in, the most cathartic sound leaving his mouth. His eyes go white for a moment before he speaks again:

“You’re mine?” He looks at you with a drowsy expression. He says it more like a reminder than an actual question. That quick flash of weakness that he has drives your crazy. Its small — the reassurance he needs to know your his. “Tell me again. Tell me you’re mine while you ride me.”

By this point, you’re salivating. Drool comes out of your mouth and you fail to even notice it. You’re so turned on, it’s beautifully vulgar.

“I’m yours,” you croak, rolling your hips into him — gradually, deeply, wanting to feel every part of him inside you. “I promise I’m yours and only yours.”

Seongje uses his thumb to wipe the drool off your chin, bringing it to his own mouth to suck it off.

“Look at how you drool for me,” he says, teasing you. He smacks your cheek — not harshly, but in that way that you like it. Enough to leave a sting that makes your pussy ache. “Slut.”

He puts his thumb inside your mouth.

“Suck,” he says sharply, tracing his fingernails on your side as you continue to ride him.

You clasp a weak hand around his wrist and suck his thumb, swirling your tongue around it as you lock eyes with his.

He is dangerously turned on by the gorgeous mess you are in front of him. He can't believe what he's witnessing.

“Holy fuck,” he groans, breath quivering and unpredictable. He slips his thumb out of your mouth and uses it to rub your sensitive nipples.

Your body forces out a broken gasp in response to touching you there. It's your weak spot. Touching your boobs alone could make you cum.

You bite back whimpers as he guides your hand to his throat. Seongje loves to orgasm with a lingering effect. He wants to feel it for the next several days. Whenever he thought of it, whenever he saw you or smelled your scent on his sheets. Reminiscing it will be bliss.

“Squeeze,” he insists. The neediness as he says it nearly shatters you. “Choke me while you fuck me, y/n.”

He's thrusting faster, the tightening of your hand on his neck heightening his pleasure. It feels like his pent-up anger from earlier at the restaurant is being pounded into you through his hips.

You can't even keep up as your pace becomes weaker, stomach filling with that explosion soon to come.

His hands remain on your chest, rubbing circles around your buds and massaging your breasts in handfuls. You become more undone. More overloaded by sensations out of your control.

You cover your mouth and look away, muffling your sounds into your palm. He quickly removes your hand and lightly taps your cheek to correct you.

“Don’t you look away from me,” he warns, giving you a serious but loving smile. “Stare in my face when you fuck me. Look at me when you cum, sweet girl. I mean it.”

You whimper, hand still firm around his throat but you can hardly keep your heavy eyes open.

“I can’t.” Your voice is so small he almost doesn’t catch it. Your hips cease to roll, fatigue taking over you. “I can’t, baby — I’m coming, God, I feel it…”

“Just look at me, hm?” He encourages, grabbing your hips and giving everything he’s got to these final thrusts. “Keep your eyes on mine. I’ve got you.”

You place a hand on his chest to help keep your body stable. Hes fucking into you with so much desperation, but tries to keep it together. But you know him; you know his body. And he's crashing down just like you are.

Your whole body bounces — the sounds of your soaking wet pussy slamming down on him. Over and over. Seongje's mouth hanging open and his semi-wet eyes send you over the edge.

Your release comes, knocking the air straight out of you. Your mind goes blank as a scream ripples through you.

You struggle to find your breathing again, a small panic surging through you as you grab your chest to try and breathe.

Seongje is so skilled at satisfying your body. It both scares the fuck out of you and thrills you.

“Seongje,” you call out his name, gaining some strength to help him finish off.

You bring both your hands around his throat now, knowing how much he likes to be close to damn near passing out when he cums.

The fact that choking him turns you on so much, makes you feel dirty. But you can't help it. He's so fucking beautiful.

You are determined to give him a mind-altering orgasm, despite your own worn-out body. Even though his pounding beneath you resumes, nothing compares to you bouncing on his thickness.

Nothing can compare to the intimacy that grinding into him while he digs you out brings. It's chaotic and raw.

It screams “I want you as much as you want me. Maybe even more so.”

It's not long at all before he tips over, thrusting hard one more time. His stomach flexes in and out as he spills deep inside you — eyes rolling back like something taken over him.

He holds himself there inside you, guttural moans and breaths coming from the deepest places within him. Watching him climax makes you blush in heat. You're extremely close to coming again, simply by the sight of it.

Your face is stuck in adoration when he brings you down to his lips and kisses you; soft and tender.

You lay your head on his chest, his heart beating rapidly in your ear. He wraps his arms around you and shuts his eyes tight, still needing time to come down from the high. He might act cool and unbothered, but the truth is, you fucked the shit out of him. And it wore him out.

He manages to find the energy to gently flip you over on your back with him on top of you. He rubs your sensitive clit and kisses your cheek then your lips.

You moan against his mouth and try to stop his hand between your thighs. Your body can't handle it.

He smiles against your lips, finding your whimpers of protest adorable. He kisses your forehead before going to retrieve a warm cloth to clean you up with.

Seongje may not be the “mushiest” guy ever, but he always takes care of you. He dotes on you.

He is your caring, loving, very psychotic (for you), overly protective boyfriend. And sometimes he needed to be reminded you’re his and no one could take you from him.

— ✦ —

a/n: Writing for him was so fun 😚 I cannot wait to write more.

[shibusawaz]

how to stop being miserable while studying (from a guy in five ap’s who is suffering at the moment)

- MAKE EVERYTHING YOU DO INTO A CHECKLIST. EVERYTHING. i cannot stress how much less overwhelming it makes projects and assignments. divide each assignment into its own steps and make a checklist of each of them. extra dopamine every time you cross out a little box!! yaaay

- have something else to do while you study. i always found pomodoro timers insanely boring, so instead i’ve been logging onto roblox grow a garden and checking it every 20 minutes. more fun. just have something else running in the background, especially if you’re someone who works better with split attention.

- if you’re taking soul-sucking notes, PLEASE try color coding them after your favorite character. i’ve started using a teal pen on all my assignments and it genuinely helps my motivation and enjoyment.

- if you’re having an extra bad focus day, reward yourself for small stuff. every time you get a task done, eat a piece of candy. if it’s an extra, EXTRA bad focus day, try a smaller piece of candy or a chip for every question you get done. this works for me 90% of the time

- BRAG ABOUT IT. if you have socials you’re active on, BRAG ABOUT WHAT YOU’RE DOING. it definitely gave me an ego boost that helped me study more.

- offer to give people your notes/study tools. it feels good to help people!!! yay!! we are all friends here!!

- feel some sort of strong emotion towards it. i’ve heard a lot of people romanticizing studying, but i personally like to frame it as an act of spite and hatred. i am a warrior who will defeat this class. i am a GLADIATOR.

- can’t bring yourself to study, like you PHYSICALLY can’t because your motivation is so low you might as well be a rock? listen to videos or podcasts about your topic on repeat while you do something you enjoy. i know people on here hate stuff like that, active recall is everything blah blah, but if you can’t get out of bed you can at least do this. you might at least pick up one or two things.

- don’t do it the night before. get it done early if possible so that you can stop worrying about it!!

- pretend you are a mad scientist. or play pretend about it in some way. give yourself a little story to add some flavor.

- lastly: good luck!!! yaaaaay

[radioactivatedspider]

Maternity Leave

Main Masterlist Big Sky Masterlist

Pairings; Beau Arlen x pregnant wife!reader

Genre; action-comedy, domestic humor, light drama

Warnings; gunfire, injury(minor gunshot graze), mild language, comedy in high-stress situations

Summary: Beau's pregnant wife gets grazed by a bullet and finally agrees to maternity leave—much to his panicked relief.

573 words

Beau Arlen had exactly three rules when it came to his very pregnant wife joining him on field assignments:

1. No running.

2. No ducking behind things.

3. No getting shot at.

She broke all three before noon.

The morning had started out normal enough—coffee, some hormonal tears over a cereal commercial, a quiet drive into the canyon to follow up on a tip about illegal guns being run through an old trailer park. It was supposed to be low-risk. In-and-out. Look, ask questions, go home, kick his boots off, and rub cocoa butter on her stomach while she fake-slept through Jeopardy.

But of course, of course, something had to go sideways the moment he turned his back.

“I told you to stay in the car!” Beau barked as she crouched next to him behind his cruiser, bullets zipping past like angry bees.

“And I told you I’m not made of glass!” she snapped, wincing slightly as she pressed a hand to her side. “It’s just a graze.”

“Graze?!” he squawked, nearly breaking his neck trying to check for damage. “You were shot. That’s a bullet wound! That's a literal gunshot wound! You're growing a human and you just took a round like you're John McClane!”

“I am barely bleeding.”

“You have blood! That’s one hundred percent more blood than I want coming out of you!”

She looked down at her side. It did sting. But in her defense, the guy was a terrible shot, and she’d seen worse paper cuts from assembling nursery furniture.

Beau was already pulling out supplies—bandages, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water, a protein bar, and possibly a defibrillator. “You are going home. You are going home and sitting on the couch with your feet up and watching Love It or List It until your due date. Do you understand me?”

“I can’t just sit around and knit until this baby shows up. I’m still a federal agent.”

“You’re an adorable federal agent with a fetal sidekick. You should be nesting. You should be comparing crib sheets and arguing about paint swatches. Not dodging bullets!”

She shrugged. “Well, I did bring a color palette. It’s in the glove box.”

Beau stared at her.

Then he stared at the bullet hole in the truck behind her.

Then back to her.

“I swear to God, woman, I love you so much it makes my teeth hurt, but I am this close to zip-tying you to a La-Z-Boy.”

She gave him a tired, sheepish smile. “Okay, okay. I think I’ll take that maternity leave now.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back against the truck with a groan. “Bullets are nature’s way of telling you to take a damn nap.”

Beau let out a long, strangled sigh, then gently helped her up. “Thank you. And after this baby’s born, we’re gonna sit down and have a long conversation about career boundaries and the appropriate time to start working from home.”

“Sure,” she said, smirking. “Right after I teach our kid how to shoot straight.”

Beau froze. “What?”

Jenny's voice came through the radio: “Arlen? Suspect’s in custody. We’re clear.”

He lifted the mic. “Copy that. Also, bring the first-aid kit and maybe a tranquilizer dart. I’m gonna need one.”

His wife patted his chest with exaggerated sympathy. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just didn’t know I was marrying Rambo with a baby bump.”

[kryannoy]

i loved your headcanons of reader taking care if sakura!! can you do one with Sakurs taking care of the reader?? thank you in advance!!

HE TAKES CARE OF YOU

genre: fluff, sfw

characters: sakura haruka x reader

a/n: i was thinking of writing this even without the ask, but thank you for being the catalyst <3

You got his fever right after he recovered (because I always do when someone else in the house gets sick).

And typical Sakura blames himself for it when it's only normal things like that happen.

He troubled you with taking care of him, when he doesn't need it but he won't admit to you it mattered to him so much, and now you got the sickness?

That day when he came back home from school and saw you in such a weak state, borrowing his bed and blanket to bundle yourself up, he's already cursing himself.

He hesitantly checks your forehead with the back of his hand and becomes even more guilty to feel it so hot.

He tries to remember his hazy memory, because he was half asleep at that time, of how you took care of him. You put a cool fever on him, you closed the curtains for him, you prepared him medications, food and an energy drink for him.

He starts off by searching where you put the remaining cool fever from yesterday. Once he found it in one of his empty kitchen cabinets along with the strip of pills, he took those and brought them back to the room.

He sat cross-legged next to you and opened up the box, gently not making much noise. He figures out how you made it stick to his forehead, carefully making sure none of your hair gets stuck to it.

You wince from the sudden coolness and peaked through your eyelids. As soon as you stir awake, you can feel and hear the thumping of feet going further away from you. You see Sakura pretending to busy himself with all the stuff his classmates gave him yesterday that he hasn't finished putting them back in his kitchen.

You chuckle at this and go back to sleep so he can do what he was going to do without being so embarrassed. He didn't hear it and he didn't know that you were pretending to go back to sleep until finally you actually fell back to sleep.

So, you knew he spent the next hour sitting next to you, waiting if you needed anything, sometimes texting back his friends, sometimes mindlessly watching you. And that's pretty much what you can remember.

You didn't catch him became very much aware when the sudden thought of brushing your hair away like you did slips in his mind.

He became so aware that his face turned bright red all the way down to his neck that he had to get up and leave his house to buy you food because he just remembered that.

He was quick with it because his front door doesn't have a lock. He doesn't want bad guys to break into his house especially when you're present in there but in a vulnerable state.

When he comes back, you're on your phone weakly scrolling through.

"Did you just get home from school?" You ask, pretending you didn't remember who put you the cool patch on your head.

"Uhh . . . no. I went out to get you food. I assume you haven't eaten?" He really mumbles a lot when he's telling a nice thing he did for you.

You shake your head no.

He brings the food to you and you sit up.

"Sorry I didn't ask if I could sleep in your bed."

" . . . Sorry I got you the fever." His head is down and he looks like a child who did something wrong.

"Nonsense! It's only natural that these things happen, Sakura."

He looks up to see you smiling like you didn't care he troubled you. Well, of course you didn't. You just said it was nonsense.

"Thank you for buying me food. And the cool fever."

He blushed again and denied that he wasn't doing this for you but it was just he felt guilty.

But you both know that's not true.