Speaking of our fav six (we added Brett and are very happy about it)
How do u think they would react when you guys are dating and they walk in on you cooking /singing (in panties bc of DRAMATICS) the raye "where the hell is my husband" ?
Okay they were the fierce five but now we have Brett so- sexy six? Slutty six?
‘And he must need me- Completely- How my heart yearns for him- Is he far away? Is he okay?’ your voice cut through Robby’s exhaustion like a knife- walking through the door with a tired expression until he heard you singing along to something that bounced around the walls of his house where you were making dinner for you both. He gave himself a second- leaning against the wall to watch you hop around in nothing but his incredibly ancient Saints jersey from residency. Your back turned to him- oblivious to the hearts in his eyes as he watches you stir whatever smelled amazing and awakened his stomach after a long shift. It wasn’t until you spun around with the spoon in hand to see him standing there- brown eyes soft and smile on his face when you started to dance over to him and pull him around the kitchen with you. Someone to come home to? Someone who’s waiting for him and happy to see him? He could absolutely get used to this.
‘Oh, baby, where the hell is my lover? Getting down with another?’ Okay so you weren’t the most amazing singer- but that morning Jack smiled to himself when he followed your voice and the wafting steam that lead him to the shower where you loudly sang along while lathering your body in whatever soap made his mouth water when he smelled you. “I take offense to that,” Jack’s voice cut in, having already stripped himself before peeling back the curtain- your scream making his ears ring because you did not expect him to be home yet. “I would never get down with another,” he shoves himself in the shower, wrapping his arms around your waist when you smack at his broad, thick shoulder for scaring you half to death. “And what do you call being with your work husband Robby all day after day?” smirking, wrapping your arms around his neck when his lips start to trail along your jaw with a little laugh at your response. “Don’t tell him about us.”
‘Wait 'til I get your heart going, I'ma turn it up too- For how much I'm 'bout to love ya, no one above ya,’ Andrew wasn’t used to someone in his space so much, wasn’t used to having someone around and- he didn’t hate it. Even as you wake him up that morning, music loud and voice wafting through the house but- he smiles a little. It means you’re happy here. It means you’re comfortable here with him. So finally he sits up- walks out of the bedroom to see you making breakfast while wearing one of his shirts and singing along to your music that he’ll roll his eyes at but loves when you sing. “Good morning baby,” you sound excited to see him- happy and dropping whatever you had in your hand to walk over to him for a kiss and to smooth out the mess of curls that got wild in his sleep. With a gentle hand you pull Andrew to the stove- taking the spoon and blowing the steaming food before letting his taste, wanting his approval.
‘Baby, where the hell is my husband? What is taking him so long to find me?’ Sure Charlie wasn’t exactly your husband yet but- you felt crazy waiting for him to do something about it. You’ve moved into his place, haven’t worked because he takes care of everything for you, wake up early and make him breakfast and lunch and have dinner ready for him when he gets home, and you clean- like you’re doing now. Wearing one of his softer button up shirts and his socks, pushing the vacuum along the rug while dancing and loudly singing along to your music- not even noticing Charlie came home early and had been smirking to himself while watching the little performance you were unknowingly putting on for him. But the lyrics struck him- husband? Of course you’re just singing along to the song and not to him but- he likes the sound of it. Charlie likes the sound of being your husband and you being his wife- especially if he gets to come home to this. He’ll have to go ring shopping soon.
‘I would like a big and shiny diamond- That I could wave around and talk and talk about it,’ Sammy has knew he was going to marry you at least 2 months into your relationship- he knew he loved you and yet he didn’t want to scare you off. Freshly divorced and a single father because his ex fucked off with her affair partner as soon as Nate was born. And yeah- your relationship flew by fast and everyone said it would end badly but neither of you cared. It was so hard to care right now as he watched you dance around the kitchen that morning with the baby in your arms- singing along softly to whatever played from your phone while making breakfast and lunch for Sammy. Nate loved you- Sammy loved you. It was hard to believe you didn’t belong together- it was hard to not run back to the bedroom and give you the ring he’s hand stashed in his sock drawer for the last few weeks.
‘Wait 'til I get my hands on him, I'ma tell him off too- For how long he kept mе waiting, anticipating,’ fucking Brett has been gone for three weeks now- acting battalion chief in some station that needs help and you miss him dammit. You miss how he snores in your fucking ear all night, miss how he runs hot and you don’t need a blanket to keep you warm in bed, miss how he wakes you up by either throwing a cat on you or kissing down your body- but you do miss your secret single behavior that would leave you mortified if Brett found out. Like now, putting on your music as loud as it will go while you’re dancing around in nothing but your underwear and one of Brett’s ratty academy shirts- eating girl dinner because ‘not everything needs fucking protein honey.’ But you miss him- and he misses you so fucking much that he decided to surprise you by coming home a week early, flowers in hand and the cats were the first to greet him, running to the door but you were so lost in the music you didn’t hear them. Didn’t hear the door open- didn’t hear him laugh. But you feel arms around your waist and you spend the entire night apologizing for breaking his nose.
