#pauses during conversation taking longer

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

for whom good omens is being written

Hey maggots and the rest of the fandom, it's the Good Omens Mascot here. Today I read a post about this tweet:

The accompanying video genuinely made me cry. And I've been thinking about this for a long while, as far back as February, when I saw a lot of conflicting opinions on what people wanted from the third season. It really is true that no matter what you do, some people will be dissatisfied. But what matters is that Neil is writing this for Terry.

And I was reminded of some paragraphs from the Good Omens TV Companion, which I'd read in Amazon's sample excerpt of the book. I know this is a long post, but I really truly do think you all need to read these, I've done my best to select only the most important parts. Here you go:

'His Alzheimer's started progressing harder and faster than either of us had expected,' says Neil, referring to a period in which Terry recognized that despite everything he could no longer write. 'We had been friends for over thirty years, and during that time he had never asked me for anything. Then, out of the blue, I received an email from him with a special request. It read: “Listen, I know how busy you are. I know you don't have time to do this, but I want you to write the script for Good Omens. You are the only human being on this planet who has the passion, love and understanding for the old girl that I do. You have to do this for me so that I can see it." And I thought, “OK, if you put it like that then I'll do it."

'I had adapted my own work in the past, writing scripts for Death: The High Cost of Living and Sandman, but not a lot else was seen. I'd also written two episodes of Doctor Who, and so I felt like I knew what I was doing. Usually, having written something once I'd rather start something new, but having a very sick co-author saying I had to do this?' Neil spreads his hands as if the answer is clear to see. 'I had to step up to the plate.' A pause, then: 'All this took place in autumn 2014, around the time that the BBC radio adaptation of Good Omens was happening,' he continues, referring to the production scripted and co-directed by Dirk Maggs and starring Peter Serafinowicz and Mark Heap. ‘Terry had talked me into writing the TV adaptation, and I thought OK, I have a few years. Only I didn't have a few years,' he says. 'Terry was unconscious by December and dead by March.'

He pauses again. 'His passing took all of us by surprise,' Neil remembers. 'About a week later, I started writing, and it was very sad. The moments Terry felt closest to me were the moments I would get stuck during the writing process. In the old days, when we wrote the novel, I would send him what I'd done or phone him up. And he would say, "Aahh, the problem, Grasshopper, is in the way you phrase the question," and I would reply, "Just tell me what to do!" which somehow always started a conversation. 'In writing the script, there were times I'd really want to talk to Terry, and also places where I'd figure something out and do something really clever, and I would want to share it with him. So, instead, I would text Terry's former personal assistant, Rob Wilkins, now his representative on Earth. It was the nearest thing I had.'

(...) As Neil himself recognizes, this is an adaptation built upon the confidence that comes from three decades of writing for page and screen. But for all the wisdom of experience, he found that above all one factor guided him throughout the process. 'Terry isn't here, which leaves me as the guardian of the soul of the story,' he explains. 'It's funny because sometimes I found myself defending Terry's bits harder or more passionately than I would defend my own bits. Take Agnes Nutter,' he says, referring to what has become a key scene in the adaptation in which the seventeenth-century author of the book of prophecies foretelling the coming of the Antichrist is burned at the stake. ‘It was a huge, complicated and incredibly expensive shoot, with bonfires built and primed to explode as well as huge crowds in costume. It had to feel just like an English village in the 1640s, and of course everyone asked if there was a cheap way of doing it. 'One suggestion was that we could tell the story using old-fashioned woodcuts and have the narrator take us through what happened, but I just thought, “No”. Because I had brought aspects of the story like Crowley and the baby swap along to the mix, and Terry created Agnes Nutter. So, if I had cut out Agnes then I wouldn't be doing right by the person who gave me this job. Terry would've rolled over in his grave.'

And, finally, this paragraph:

"Once again, Neil cites the absence of his co-writer as his drive to ensure that Good Omens translated to the screen and remained true to the original vision. 'Terry's last request to me was to make this something he would be proud of. And so that has been my job.'"

I think that's so heartwrenchingly beautiful, and so I wanted you all to read this, too, just in case you (like me) don't have the Good Omens TV Companion. It adds another layer of depth and emotion to this already complex and amazing story that we all know and love.

Share this post, if you can, please, so that more people can read these excerpts :")

Tagging @neil-gaiman, @fuckyeahgoodomens and @orpiknight, even if you've definitely read these before :)

[retiredteabag]

I’m listening to you

Including: Gojo, Nanami, Choso, Sukuna, Toji, Yuuji, and Megumi

Synopsis: You stop talking because you assume they aren’t listening… how silly of you, but how do they react?

my masterlist

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

Satoru

It would probably be like any other day, he had probably just come back from a mission, laying across the couch and you would be in the kitchen making a snack board as you talked about numerous different things.

The conversation would shift through a multitude of topics as one thing would then reminded you of the next.

As you were getting the chips, you would explain the drama at work after that you would go and get some hummus while you explained the love life of one of your coworkers thereafter you would be reminded of a friend of yours from high school while piling up some cheese cubes.

Throughout all of this, there were very few breaks in your speech. When you finally came to the living room, Satoru would be facing towards you, with his head slightly tilted back on the armrest and his feet dangling off the other edge.

You could see him, just not very well. His blindfold would also be on, not an uncommon occurrence, but it would still be hard for you to see the slight changes in his facial features that typically depicted his emotions to you.

After awhile, you might start to wonder if he was feeling tired from the mission or if he just wasn’t paying attention. It’s okay, getting distracted happens to everyone sometimes.

Your words would taper off.

Believe me when I say it would not take this man any longer than say…five seconds for his head to raise and voice to pipe up,

“Well what happened next?”

And with a grabby hand he would add,

“Aren’t you gonna share those?”

Turning to point at the snacks in your lap.

For such a chatty guy, you would be surprised by how much he enjoyed just listening to others. Especially if it meant listening to you.

Nanami

Let’s be realistic here, this man would never take his undivided attention away from you.

That being said, the situation would be a little bit different with him. You guys would probably be out for coffee. Maybe the both of you had been busy for a while and felt the need to make a day out of catching up.

You know that embarrassing feeling when you get the notion you’ve been talking too much? It would be something like that.

You would have been gesturing and looking around the room while you talked about this and that. Unbeknownst to you, he would have hearts in his eyes while he listened to your ramblings.

That sudden itch would get to you though, the notion that, maaaaaaaaybe you have been talking about yourself too long.

One quick look at your man caused a shiver to run up your back at the eye contact.

There would be a pause in your speech, and he would nod at you to encourage more words to spill fourth, but now you were all flustered.

You would trip over your words, stuttering every so often before eventually apologizing.

“What is it, dear?”

He would ask, after a moment of you trying to collect yourself, he would assume that you had simply lost your train of thought and remind you of the topics you had been previously sharing.

You would thank him even though that wouldn’t have been the issue at all.

How could you not get shy when he was looking at you like that?

Choso

This would have to occur after a long day. Either during nap time or before you both went to bed.

He would be laying his head on your chest as you played with his freed hair. Talking about stuff you had seen online, talking about your plans for the next day, talking about what you were planning to eat for lunch tomorrow, the list could go on.

Every so often he would hum or nod his head. But after a while, you would look down and see that his eyes were closed.

It wasn’t hurtful, or embarrassing. It has been a long day for the both of you, and he was probably just tired. He often fell asleep easily when you combed through his hair with your nails. So you wouldn’t be offended as you go silent.

After you stop talking, though, he would grab your free hand and fiddle with your fingers, saying,

“I like those tacos too… we should get lunch together!”

You would giggle and tug on a lock of his hair, “I thought you were asleep.”

He would spin around onto his chest, chin pressed slightly into you while he looked up at your eyes through those big, long, lashes of his, “But you were talking to me?”

Sukuna

This man :| he would get offended if you insinuated that you could possibly be boring him.

Of course, it would be his fault, too. He would complain and whine all the time about how uninterested he was in your life. Griping that he had better things to do than just sit around and listen to you talk.

But don’t misunderstand, there was nothing he desired more than to watchyou speak about things that impassioned you.

But perhaps one of those instances you would take to heart, he was a busy man after all. It’s not like he had all the time in the world to listen to you yap about nonsense.

So after a long while in his chambers, you would just kind of go silent. ‘Allowing’ him a little time to himself.

Just earlier that day, you would have been telling him a story about one of your fellow workers at the estate. Sukuna had rolled his eyes at the incompetence of his staff as you giggled on about how a man got his hand stuck in a jar full of fertilizer.

You would take his disinterested countenance to assume that he was bored with you. For someone so ancient, he did have an attention span fitting to the times.

He always told you not to make assumptions about him, but after him asking you on several occasions, “and why are you telling me this?” You couldn’t help or conclude that he wasn’t all that interested.

I’ll tell you now. As much as he would like to pretend that was the case, it is far from the truth.

He would frown while laying on his bed. “Why did you stop?”

You would spin around, slightly surprised that he had even been paying attention. “Oh I just thought maybe I was boring you…”

That would cause him to sit up, scowling in your direction, “Did I say that?”

“Well…”

“Did. I. Say. That.”

“…no?”

Undeniably, sassy, he would splay out his arms in a “see??” type of motion. Waiting rather impatiently for you to continue on so he could relax to the sound of his lovers soothing voice while pretending to be impartial to it all.

Toji

This prick.

He wouldn’t do a thing lol

This man would let you assume he isn’t listening, let you think he’s off somewhere else, let you think he’s checked out.

But that could not be more wrong.

Maybe he’s eating his lunch, or watching tv, or texting someone. Whatever the case, there’s nothing he’s more locked into than your words.

In fact, it would take you a while into your relationship for you to realize this, but sometimes you would have to be careful around Toji because once you said something, this man would remember it forever.

You probably wouldn’t even think about it when you stopped talking, deciding to put your efforts into something else. But Toji would notice.

He wouldn’t bring it up though, not for days. But eventually he would crack the conversation back again, flipping the newspaper over and avoiding your eyes.

You would spin around on him, wondering how he even knew the things he was talking about. Then it would hit you.

“Wait… you were listening?”

He would scoff, elbows on the table, finally looking at you over his reading glasses. “Excuse me?” He would point an accusatory finger at you and set down the paper. “Was I listening?”

You would gape at him open mouthed, “Well… how was I supposed to know?”

He would roll his eyes in the most dramatic of fashions, getting up from the kitchen table to stroll over to you. “Please,” he would groan, grazing a knuckle over your neck,

“You’ve always got my attention.”

Yuuji

One might think this would happen early on in the relationship but I would argue this situation would happen after years together.

Why? Well, Yuuji is a super excitable guy, he also just loves talking to you. You both make a great pair because the two of you always converse in a way suitable to each other.

For example, sometimes you’d interrupt one another, never in a rude way, but in a way that shows passion about the topic at hand. That would bring on a whole new discussion and keep the conversation flowing.

Yuuji was a great listener when he needed to be but mainly he was a great conversationalist. Neither of you needed to do heavy lifting when you talked. It was great!

After awhile though, the two of you would become more and more comfortable around one another and more accustomed to the way you spoke.

That’s why it was so weird to see him less active in a conversation. He wasn’t interjecting with his little agreements or experiences. He would still be looking at you, but it was different.

It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he might just be uninterested in the topic so you would get all quiet, focusing on something else until he spoke up.

“No, keep talking.”

Grinning at you, he looked just like he always did.

“You’re not bored?”

He would squint, confused at the notion, “Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seem a little quiet I guess.”

But he would just smile at you, “I don’t know what it is… but recently I’ve been liking just admiring you.”

He would say things like that out of the blue all the time by the way.

“Yuuuuujiiiii” you would groan.

“What? Doesn’t mean I’m not listening!”

Megumi

Inversely to Yuuji, this would happen with Megumi early on in y’all’s relationship, likely pre-relationship when the two of you were just getting to know one another.

Megumi wasn’t really shy at all, he was more reserved, even though you weren’t all that talkative, he could still unintentionally make you feel like a blabbermouth at times.

The two of you would probably have been out on a walk together, or maybe in the cafeteria getting lunch, wherever, you would have been sharing some piece of yourself with him.

It would also probably have been a long time since he had spoke up. Sometimes he wouldn’t even give listening cues so it’s not too unusual to suppose that he was checked out.

Megumi was NOT checked out though. He was filing every little word you said away into his brain, and thinking of the best way to respond to you.

You might not know this though, so after awhile you might get all shy, suddenly looking off, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. Embarrassed that he hadn’t heard a word, that’s when he would turn to you,

“I’m listening.”

Simple as that.

Reassuring but not overly affectionate.

He would do it in public and in private. If you were in a group and he could tell your confidence was slipping he would jump in to let you know that he cared about your thoughts and opinions.

And like in this instance when it was just the two of you, he might reach over to grab your hand, letting you know,

“I’m still here.”

〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰〰・♡・〰

[4linos]

quiet hurts loudest.

han jisung x f!reader

synopsis/request: when jisung forgets your birthday and pushes you away during a moment of vulnerability, silent tension fills the days that follow. as he scrambles to make amends, he realizes the real damage wasn't forgetting the date, but making you feel like a burden.

warnings: angst, silent treatment, emotional neglect, hurt/comfort, miscommunication.

wc: 8,162

The rain had been falling all day. A slow, steady rhythm tapping against the windows, so soft it could almost be soothing, if not for the storm quietly brewing inside you.

The week had been uneventful in most ways. Jisung had been more or less locked in his little creative bubble, something you'd always admired about him. He could get consumed by music, swallowed whole by a single lyric he couldn't quite get right, or a melody that refused to sit still. You loved that about him. Loved the way his eyes got glassy and far away when his brain started spinning faster than he could talk.

But lately, it wasn’t just that.

He’d been distant. Not unkind. Just… elsewhere. Every conversation felt like you were knocking on a door he no longer heard you through.

You chalked it up to work, because it was work. He’d been spending long hours writing, recording, tweaking things late into the night, and barely looking up from his laptop when you came in. You were used to it, in a way. This was Jisung. He went hard when inspiration struck. He burned hot, fast, and completely.

Still, it stung in a way you didn’t want to admit.

Especially with your birthday just a few days away.

You hadn’t said anything about it. You’d made a quiet decision not to bring it up. Part of you thought it would be sweet if he remembered on his own, if he had something planned, something thoughtful, even small. Jisung wasn’t extravagant. He didn’t do grand gestures. But he knew you. He always knew you.

So you waited.

And waited.

Each day passed without a mention. No little comments. No suspicious texts. No asking if you were free. Just his head down, pen scratching across paper, headphones on, a world away.

But today, Tuesday, you couldn’t take the silence anymore. You weren’t going to outright ask him if he remembered. That would be pathetic, you thought. That would make it worse if he didn’t. But you could be subtle. Casual. Just ask if he had Friday off. Plant the seed. Give him a chance.

It was late afternoon when you walked into his studio. You could hear the low hum of a beat looping in the background, his fingers moving fast over his keyboard, pausing every so often to scribble something into his notebook. His back was to you, hunched slightly, hoodie pulled up over his head.

He didn’t hear you come in.

You walked over quietly, wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek lightly against his shoulder blade. He stiffened slightly at the sudden contact, but didn’t pull away.

Yet.

"Hey, baby," you said softly, your voice almost lost in the music. "Do you have Friday off?"

You didn’t mention why. You didn’t want it to sound like a trap.

He didn’t turn around. Just shrugged, his fingers still moving.

"I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve got a lot going on right now."

You blinked. Pulled back a little. That was it? No follow-up? No “why do you ask?” Not even curiosity?

You bit your lip and tried again, stepping around him this time so you were facing him. He looked tired, eyes slightly puffy from staring at the screen too long. You leaned down, gently trying to kiss his cheek, but he shifted just as you did, and your lips landed awkwardly at the corner of his jaw.

You let it slide. Forced a smile.

"Really no plans this weekend? Not even a day off?"

He finally looked up. Annoyed. The kind of look you’d only seen when he was dealing with customer service or slow Wi-Fi.

"Can you not right now?" he snapped, rubbing his temple. "I’m in the middle of something."

You blinked. Stunned for a second.

"I was just asking—"

"Yeah, and I said I don’t know." He exhaled hard, clearly irritated. "Why are you pressing me about this? I’m busy."

That one landed like a slap. You took a step back, arms folding tightly over your chest. You felt like you were shrinking.

"Sorry for bothering you," you said coldly, the tightness in your throat giving you away. "God forbid I ask my boyfriend a simple question."

You turned before he could say anything else, before the anger on your face melted into something worse. You didn’t want him to see. You didn’t want him to know.

The door slammed behind you harder than you intended. The echo rang down the hallway like a warning bell.

You stood there, frozen, in the hallway. Alone.

And that's when it hit you.

He’d forgotten.

He really, truly had forgotten.

Your birthday was in three days.

And Jisung, the boy who once remembered the exact day you first cried in front of him, the boy who had surprised you with ramen at 1AM because you offhandedly said you missed home, had forgotten.

Your chest burned.

You didn’t cry right away. You refused to. Crying meant giving it weight. It meant making it real. And maybe, maybe this was still salvageable. Maybe he’d realize. Maybe this was just a bad moment, a bad hour.

But the more you thought about it, the more the silence over the past week screamed in your ears.

Not one hint. Not one look. Nothing.

-

The house was quieter than usual, but not in a peaceful way. It was the kind of silence that felt like tension stretched too thin. The kind of silence that made the air feel heavier.

You’d noticed it growing for a while now, the slow fade of warmth, like a candle burning down to its last inch of wick. Jisung had been lost in his work lately, immersed in melodies and metaphors, his mind trapped in the small studio tucked at the end of the hall.

He’d always done this. You knew his process. He dove headfirst into his music, sometimes forgetting meals, forgetting sleep. You’d loved him for that. For how deeply he loved creating. For how earnestly he got caught up in the things that mattered to him.

But this time… something was different.

This time, you felt like a stranger to him while he buried himself in lyrics.

And it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

Your birthday was in just a few days.

That tiny fact sat in the back of your mind like a needle under the skin. Small. Sharp. Unshakable.

You didn’t need much. You weren’t the type to demand gifts or parties or posts with long, poetic captions. What you wanted, what you hoped for was that he’d remember. That he’d do something meaningful, something that showed he still saw you.

You had convinced yourself that he did.

Even after the way he snapped earlier that day, the way he brushed you off when you asked if he had Friday free, you still gave him the benefit of the doubt.

You had to. Because if he had forgotten, if he truly wasn’t planning anything… then what did that say about the two of you? About how far you’d drifted without realizing it?

That evening, the house remained mostly silent.

You moved around the bedroom without saying much, folding laundry you didn’t have the energy to care about, rechecking a calendar you’d already memorized. You hadn’t seen him much since the argument. He stayed locked away in his studio, headphones on, music leaking faintly through the door like a barrier between you.

You had hoped stupidly, maybe that he’d come out and say something. Apologize, even a little. Ask what was wrong. Notice that you’d been quiet too. That you didn’t eat dinner. That you didn’t sit on the couch like usual waiting for him to finish work.

But none of that happened.

It was nearly midnight when he finally came into the room. You were already in bed, the blanket pulled up to your chest, your body curled to one side, eyes closed. You weren’t asleep, not even close.

He moved quietly, but you heard every step. The rustle of his hoodie dropping to the floor. The faint creak of the mattress as he slipped in beside you.

You waited.

Your heart thudded.

Then, slowly, you inched toward him.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t push your luck with words this time. You just slid closer and gently wrapped your arm around his waist, your face nestling near his shoulder. A quiet attempt at truce. A silent please let’s forget the fight.

But before you could even settle into the comfort you craved, he flinched.

And then he sighed. Loudly.

“Seriously?”

The word hit you like a slap.

Your body stilled. “...What?”

“When I’m working, I really need you to not be all over me,” he said, voice flat, frustrated. “It throws me off. I was just about to write something important earlier and you came in, touching me, kissing me and I completely lost the line I had in my head.”

You pulled back slowly, staring at him in the dim lighting. His profile was hard. Tired. Detached.

You blinked once. Twice. Trying to process what he’d just said.

“I distracted you…?” Your voice came out smaller than you wanted.

He didn’t answer right away. Just let out another sigh and turned his back to you.

“I just… I’d appreciate it if you could give me space when I’m in work mode. That’s all.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

You lay there, staring at the back of his head, the curve of his shoulder rising and falling slowly with each breath.

There was something hollow in your chest. A yawning emptiness where warmth used to live.

All day, you had been convincing yourself that this was just stress. That he was just overwhelmed. That he didn’t mean to be cold or distant. That it wasn’t personal.

But this, this wasn’t just stress.

This was dismissal.

And that, somehow, hurt more than him forgetting your birthday.

Because this wasn’t about one day.

This was about being made to feel like you were in the way. Like your affection was an inconvenience. Like loving him gently, quietly, earnestly was a problem.

You blinked away the heat in your eyes and rolled onto your other side, facing the wall.

You didn’t say goodnight.
You didn’t touch him again.
You didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Lying there in the dark, you played the moment over and over in your head.

You weren’t sure what stung more:
That he hadn’t tried to fix the argument.
That he’d called your love distracting.
Or that he didn’t even realize he’d hurt you.

You thought about how he used to pull you into bed and kiss you like he couldn’t wait to tell you everything he’d written.
You thought about the nights when he would bring his lyric notebook to the couch just to be next to you.
You thought about the quiet way he used to hold your hand while working, like even in silence, he wanted to be tethered to you.

Now… you were a distraction.
And worse, someone who made you feel too much for wanting to be close.

You clutched the edge of the blanket and closed your eyes.

You didn’t want to cry.
You didn’t want to give it that power.

But the tears came anyway silent and slow, soaking into your pillow like an open secret.

In that moment, you realized something heartbreaking:

It wasn’t that he forgot your birthday.

It was that, lately, he’d forgotten you.

-

You woke up the next morning feeling like you hadn't slept at all.

Your eyes were sore, your body heavy from the weight of unshed words and smothered cries. There was a dull ache behind your ribs that hadn’t gone away since last night, since he turned away from you after telling you that your love was distracting. Since you’d reached out for comfort and got a complaint instead.

You lay still in bed, watching the gray morning light bleed into the room. You could hear him moving around in the kitchen, opening cabinets, the quiet shuffle of his slippers on the hardwood floor. The clink of a mug. A spoon against a bowl.

Your heart didn’t race. It slowed. Because nothing felt worse than knowing he was acting like everything was fine.

And it was then that the decision made itself:
You wouldn’t say a word.
Not out of pettiness.
Not out of spite.
But because you had said enough.
And he had heard nothing.

Let him feel the silence he gave you. Let him hear it this time.

You walked into the kitchen wrapped in a hoodie, your face blank, your mouth a hard line. He was standing by the stove, eating cereal straight out of the bowl, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up briefly.

"Morning," he said, like nothing had happened.

You nodded once, tight, and opened the fridge. You could feel his eyes linger on you for a second too long like he was waiting for you to say more. But when you didn’t, he just turned back to his screen.

You didn’t speak.
Didn’t ask about his schedule.
Didn’t try to sit close.

You took your yogurt and left the kitchen, eating alone in the living room with the TV off and your thoughts screaming.

The silence grew louder as the hours passed.

He didn’t notice it at first. You were usually quiet in the mornings anyway. He probably assumed you'd snap out of it, give him a kiss on the cheek, ask how the lyrics were going, sit beside him with your head on his shoulder.

But you didn’t.

And by mid-afternoon, it had become clear that this wasn’t just a quiet morning.

You walked past him in the hallway when he emerged for coffee. He smiled faintly and said, “I think I figured out that chorus.”
You gave a nod that didn’t reach your eyes. No follow-up.
You didn’t even glance at him.

He paused. Just for a second.
And then kept walking.

By evening, you heard the subtle tone in his voice shift. A flicker of unease.

He called from the kitchen, “Hey… you want me to make pasta or something?”

You didn’t respond.

“...Y/N?” he tried again.

You were in the bedroom, folding the same shirt over and over just to keep your hands busy, your mind distracted.

He peeked into the room, holding the bag of pasta in his hand.
You didn’t look at him.

“I’m making something to eat,” he said slowly, carefully. “Do you want any?”

Still, you said nothing. You didn’t even shrug.

He exhaled sharply, clearly irritated now. “Okay. I’ll just leave you alone then.”

And he did.

The rest of the day passed the same way.
Cold. Wordless. Wide.

You were in the same rooms but worlds apart.
He started watching you more carefully. Furtively.
He asked small things throughout the day "Did you do the laundry already?" or "Hey, have you seen my hoodie?"
Each question met with nothing but the silence you were buried in.

You saw confusion start to shift in his face. His brows furrowed. His shoulders pulled taut. He’d ask something, and when you didn’t answer, his eyes would narrow slightly like he was starting to notice that something was wrong but still couldn’t connect the dots.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because to you, the answer was obvious.
You were bleeding right in front of him, and he was asking why the floor looked red.

You were brushing your teeth late that night when he leaned on the bathroom doorframe, arms crossed.

"Are you gonna stay mad forever?"

You blinked once and spat the toothpaste into the sink, wiped your mouth without answering.

He waited.

"I seriously don’t know what I did," he said, his voice cracking a little with frustration. "If you’re not gonna tell me, how am I supposed to fix it?"

You turned off the bathroom light and walked past him.

The door didn’t slam this time.
It clicked shut, soft and final.

By the time Thursday night arrived, he looked exhausted. You couldn’t tell if it was from the studio or from trying to figure out what had changed. Probably both.

You sat on the couch with your arms crossed, the TV playing something you weren’t even watching.

He stood in the doorway for a while, watching you with an unreadable expression.

Then finally, he said it.
“I’m gonna go to the practice room for a bit.”

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

“Maybe you just need space or something,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I don’t want to keep bothering you.”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly bled.

Space?

That’s what he thought this was about?

He thought you were ignoring him because you needed air? Not because he’d forgotten the one day you were silently hoping he’d remember? Not because he’d made you feel like loving him was a chore? Like your affection was an obstacle?

You blinked at the screen, your eyes glassy. The show kept playing. You didn’t even know what episode you were on.

He waited a moment longer.

Then the door shut.

And suddenly you were alone. Again.

The tears finally came, thick and hot, as soon as his footsteps faded. They weren’t quiet this time. You choked on them, the kind that made your chest heave and your throat close. Your hands shook.

Because you were tired.

Tired of giving the benefit of the doubt.
Tired of excuses.
Tired of being too scared to say it’s my birthday tomorrow and you’ve done nothing.
Tired of hoping he would see you, without you having to beg for it.

How could he not know?

How could he be so oblivious?

And still… you couldn't bring yourself to tell him.

Because wasn’t that the whole point?

You wanted to be chosen. Not reminded.

You wanted him to remember, not be told.

And tomorrow…

Tomorrow, when you woke up…

It would be your birthday.

And you had no idea if he would know it.

The practice room lights were dim, buzzing faintly overhead like the last nerve in Jisung’s mind, frayed and twitching. He stepped inside without much thought, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and let out a breath that seemed to deflate his whole body. His legs gave out near the far wall, slumping down onto the cold wooden floor beside Hyunjin, who looked like he’d just finished drowning in sweat and choreography.

Jeongin was sitting criss-cross at the center of the room, stretching lazily with one earbud still dangling from his hoodie. Felix lay flat on his back beside him, chest heaving with tired breaths, while Minho scrolled through his phone like he hadn’t just danced for two hours straight.

The energy in the room was comfortable. Familiar. But the second Jisung sat down, it shifted.

Hyunjin glanced at him sideways. “What are you doing here?”

Felix sat up halfway, his brow scrunched. “Don’t you usually spend your days off with Y/N?”

“Wait—yeah,” Jeongin chimed in, tossing his head back. “Isn’t this, like, a once-in-a-blue-moon thing for you to be here on a day off?”

Jisung didn’t respond at first.

He exhaled hard and let his head fall back against the mirror. “She’s not talking to me.”

That caught their attention.

“What?” Hyunjin blinked.

“Like... ignoring you ignoring you?” Felix asked, scooting closer.

“Yeah. Since yesterday. Full-on silent treatment. Not even a shrug. Just—blank face. No words.” Jisung pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “And I swear to God it’s driving me insane.”

“Damn,” Jeongin muttered under his breath.

Minho looked up from his phone. “Did you do something?”

Jisung shook his head instantly. “No! I mean—I don’t think so? I don’t know.”

Jeongin snorted. “That’s not convincing.”

“I didn’t, though!” he snapped. “Like—okay, yeah, maybe I was kind of short with her the other night, but I was working. She came into the studio while I was trying to get this chorus down and I got frustrated, that’s all. I didn’t say anything bad.”

Minho raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

“She tried talking to me a couple times that day and I just—I asked for space. I was in the zone.” Jisung rubbed his temples, groaning. “She knows how I get when I’m writing. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“And then she just stopped talking to you?” Hyunjin asked, skeptical.

“Yeah. Didn’t even respond when I asked what she wanted for dinner. Hasn’t said a single word in two days. Like, is that normal?”

Felix frowned. “Sounds like she’s hurt.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t get why,” Jisung said, his voice raising without him meaning to. “I didn’t yell at her, I didn’t say anything cruel, I just... I was working! I asked for space!”

Jeongin gave him a long, unimpressed look. “Okay, but did you look at her?”

Jisung paused. “What?”

“I mean... when she came to see you, when she tried talking to you—did you actually look at her? Like—her face? Her energy? The way she was holding herself?”

Jisung frowned, caught off guard. “I mean... not really? I was focused.”

Felix leaned forward, soft but serious. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Silence fell for a moment. The kind that starts to crawl into your chest when people say things you aren’t ready to hear.

“You probably said something you didn’t even notice,” Hyunjin said, wiping his forehead with a towel. “You do that when you’re in work mode. You push people away without meaning to.”

“I was just trying to finish my song,” Jisung muttered. But even he could hear the defensiveness in his voice.

Minho finally chimed in. “Then maybe ask yourself what’s more important—your music, or the way you treat the person who’s always there supporting it.”

The words hit harder than Jisung expected. They weren’t said harshly. Just plainly. Truthfully.

And they made his stomach twist.

He hated the idea that he had done something careless. That while he was focused on not forgetting a lyric, he might’ve forgotten her. Forgotten how hard she tried to love him even when he was too preoccupied to notice.

Jisung leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands knotted together tightly.

“She looked so blank,” he mumbled. “I didn’t realize how... quiet she really was. I thought she just needed space.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe she was waiting for you to realize something.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

Jisung blinked down at the floor, the thought nagging at him like a weight on his back. He hated the way it made his chest feel tight. The way guilt started to form like smoke in his lungs.

And then..

Hyunjin, ever the emotional antenna in the room, turned to him with an almost casual question.

“So, anyway—what do you have planned for her birthday tomorrow?”

Jisung looked up, confused. “Huh?”

“Her birthday,” Hyunjin repeated. “Tomorrow, right?”

Jisung laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Nah, it’s not tomorrow. It’s next week or something. The—uh—the 11th, right?”

“Tomorrow is the 11th,” Jeongin deadpanned.

Jisung froze.

His hands went numb.

He instinctively pulled out his phone, thumbing the lock screen, eyes scanning the date like it had betrayed him.

Thursday, July 10th.

Tomorrow: Friday, July 11th.

His world tilted.

“No…” he breathed. “No way.”

Felix’s face fell as realization hit him too. “You didn’t…?”

Hyunjin stared at him in disbelief. “You forgot her birthday.”

“I—” Jisung's voice caught in his throat. “No—I didn’t—I just—I thought—shit—”

The words splintered into chaos. He dropped his phone. His mind was spinning.

It wasn’t just the date. It was everything. The way she came to him asking if he was free Friday. The way she tried to kiss him, twice. The way she’d softened into his side that night in bed, begging silently for him to hold her. The way she hadn’t said a word since.

The way she hadn’t cried. Not where he could see.
But oh god, she had cried, hadn’t she?

He missed all of it.

He missed her.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

Minho stared at him, arms folded. “Now do you get it?”

“She was trying to see if I remembered,” Jisung muttered, like he was trying to convince himself the sky was blue. “She didn’t even say it out loud. She just… asked if I had Friday off.”

“That’s the worst part,” Felix said gently. “She didn’t want to remind you. She wanted you to care enough to remember.”

A punch to the gut wouldn’t have hurt as much.

Jisung buried his face in his hands.

“I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Jeongin muttered. “Kinda bad.”

He didn't even argue.

Because he could see it now, all of it.
Her silence wasn’t punishment.
It was heartbreak.
It was the sound of someone giving up.

And tomorrow, her birthday, she’d wake up in a house full of silence, thinking the person she loved most in the world didn’t remember or care enough to say a single word.

The second the realization hit, Jisung couldn’t sit still.

He shot to his feet like the floor had burned him, nearly tripping over Felix’s outstretched legs. The others barely had time to register his panic before he was already moving, storming out of the practice room, heart pounding in his chest, the door slamming shut behind him with a crack that echoed down the hall.

He barely heard Jeongin’s “Hey—where are you going?”
Didn’t stop to explain.
Didn’t even breathe.

He’d forgotten.

Your birthday.

Tomorrow.

No, today. It was past midnight now.

He had forgotten your birthday.

The one day he was supposed to remember. The one day you never reminded him of because you always wanted to be seen without having to ask.

And instead of showing you love, he’d brushed you off. Pushed you away. Told you that your affection, your literal presence was a distraction.

It made him sick to think of your face in that moment now. The softness of your voice when you asked him if he was free. The way you leaned in, tried to kiss him. How your touch lingered on his shoulder like you were silently begging him not to let go.

And he had.

Without a second thought.

He hurt you.

The company doors banged shut behind him as he ran into the cool night air.

The streets were mostly empty, the last few buses rumbling past. He tugged his hood up and darted toward the only place that made sense, the only place he could think of at a time like this:

Your favorite bakery.

Even though he knew it was close to closing. Even though the odds were against him.

He didn’t care. He had to try.

He arrived, chest heaving, legs burning, and nearly slammed into the glass door.

Inside, the lights were still on. But barely.

The workers were already cleaning up, putting chairs on tables, wiping down the counters. Their eyes shifted to him the second he pushed the door open.

He could see it on their faces. That “please don’t walk in” expression masked with tired politeness.

“Can I get a cake?” he blurted, breathless.

One of the girls forced a smile. “We’re just closing up, I’m sorry—”

“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I’m really sorry, I wouldn’t be here this late unless it was an emergency. I forgot something really important. Someone’s birthday. Someone I love.”

Something in his voice must’ve hit them.

Because after a beat, the girl sighed, glanced at the display case, and muttered, “I think we have one left. Lucky night, I guess.”

Jisung’s heart flipped.

She returned a second later with a small cake box in hand.

Your favorite flavor.

He could’ve cried.

He ran the whole way home. The cake safely in his arms. Careful. Intentional.

When he got back, the apartment was dark. Quiet.
You were already asleep.

He peeked into the bedroom, you were curled up, turned away from the door, your shoulders tense even in rest.
You looked… small. Worn out.

The guilt twisted inside him like a knife.

He closed the door gently. Didn’t make a sound.

Then he stared at the living room and kitchen like they were a blank canvas.

And he got to work.

He didn’t sleep.

He blew up balloons some crooked, some lopsided. He taped pictures of the two of you on the walls, printed ones he’d taken in secret during your late-night snack runs, your beach trip, even that one where you were brushing your teeth with a scowl.

He strung up a makeshift “Happy Birthday” banner, cut by hand with scraps of colored paper. He’d messed up the “R” three times. It still looked wrong.

He pulled out the small gifts he’d forgotten he had been meaning to give you, the lyrics he’d scribbled in the back of a notebook weeks ago, inspired by something you said while laughing. A hair clip you pointed at in a store once. He wrapped them in old sheet music.

He wrote a letter. Messy. Panicked. Honest. Full of crossed-out words and a giant smudge where he wiped his eyes.

He arranged it all by the time the clock hit 1:00 a.m.

And then he collapsed on the couch mid-balloon. One still half-inflated in his hands.

He didn’t hear the bedroom door creak open.

Didn’t feel the light of the hallway hit his face.

But the moment you moved,
He did.

His body shot up like he was jolted back to life.

There you were.

Standing in the hallway, arms crossed over your chest, the expression on your face carefully blank, but your eyes spoke volumes.

You were still upset.

Rightfully.

You hadn’t forgotten. You hadn’t forgiven.

But he didn’t care if you hated him for another hour, another day, a week he had to show you something real now.

“Wait—don’t look yet!” he rushed, nearly tripping over a balloon.

You blinked slowly, unimpressed.

He walked up to you, gently reaching his hands to cover your eyes. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t soften, either.

He felt the chill in your posture. The hurt still lingering in your shoulders.

“Please,” he whispered. “Just... let me try.”

He guided you, quietly. Carefully.

His hands shook.

He stopped you in front of the living room, heart pounding against his ribs.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Now.”

He removed his hands from your eyes.

The lights were low. The table was covered in flickering tea candles. The little cake, topped with your favorite frosting. Photos taped to balloons hovered above.

Your name was scrawled across the banner in bright colors. The gifts sat nearby. His letter peeking out from under them.

He stepped in front of you.

“Happy birthday,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry I forgot. I’m sorry I hurt you. I know this doesn’t fix it, but I needed you to know, I know now. And I’m not going to forget again.”

You stared.

Expression unreadable. Chest tight.

He could see your jaw twitch like you were trying not to smile. But your eyes were glassy. The corners of your mouth shifted ever so slightly. You nearly cracked.

Nearly.

But the silence remained.

Because what he hurt wasn’t something decorations could patch up.

And still, you stood there.

Looking at him.

Looking at the effort.

The mess.

The truth.

And for the first time in days,

You didn’t look away.

The soft flicker of candlelight painted the room in warm hues, casting shadows over the clumsy decorations, the carefully placed gifts, the melting frosting on your cake.

It should have felt special. Thoughtful. Sweet.

But it didn’t.

Not yet.

Jisung stood just in front of you, his breathing uneven. His hands hung awkwardly by his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He looked nervous. Not in the cute, shy way he usually did when he surprised you, but the kind that made his whole frame feel like it was waiting to collapse.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t move.

Your arms remained crossed, your expression unreadable, carefully neutral, but your eyes were fixed on him. Not the decorations. Not the cake. Not the pictures or the presents.

Just him.

And that silence, heavier than any door slam or raised voice, pierced deeper than either of you were ready to admit.

He finally swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t sleep. I stayed up all night working on this.”

You blinked slowly. Once.

“I ran all the way to the bakery before they closed,” he added, as if that explained anything. “They only had one cake left. I—I begged them.”

Still nothing.

He shifted on his feet, his eyes scanning your face, searching for something, anything to tell him he was getting through. That he hadn’t completely shattered the fragile thread between you.

But your face remained calm. Distant.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he said softly, almost pleading. “I swear I didn’t mean to—”

You finally moved. Not toward him.

Just your head, tilting slightly.

Your eyes flicked over the decorations. The half-deflated balloon on the couch. The misspelled banner. The crumpled wrapping paper around a small box. The cake. The candles, now half-melted.

And then back to him.

A beat passed.

And then your voice quiet, hoarse, deliberate cut through the air.

“You didn’t mean to forget,” you echoed, almost to yourself. “But you did.”

Jisung flinched.

Because hearing it said out loud like that made it feel real all over again.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t accuse. You didn’t cry.

You just told the truth.

And somehow, that hurt more.

“I know,” he whispered, guilt tightening in his chest like a fist.

You finally stepped forward, walking past him, not bothering to ask if you could. You stood before the table, staring down at the small cake in the center. Your favorite flavor.

It looked perfect.

But it felt... wrong.

Uncomfortable.

Artificial.

You were quiet for a long time before you spoke again.

“You know what hurt the most?” you asked, eyes still on the table.

Jisung slowly turned to face you, but didn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t that you forgot the date,” you said, voice trembling just enough to betray your restraint. “It’s that I came to you, twice, and you didn’t even look at me.”

He said nothing.

“I asked if you were free,” you continued, quieter. “And you brushed me off. I tried to kiss you, and you called me a distraction. You said you almost forgot your lyrics like I was in the way.”

The words cut like glass.

“And then you came to bed,” you said bitterly, shaking your head, “and instead of pulling me close, you scolded me again. You didn’t notice that I didn’t say anything back. You didn’t ask why I turned away.”

Jisung’s voice caught. “I didn’t know—”

“I know you didn’t,” you snapped suddenly, turning to face him now, arms still crossed but your chest rising fast, “because you didn’t care to know. You were too wrapped up in your music to notice that I was hurting. That I was right there in front of you, trying everything I could to be seen.”

His mouth opened. Closed.

“I didn’t want cake,” you said, softer now. “I didn’t want decorations or balloons or even a gift.”

Your voice cracked just slightly.

“I wanted you to remember me.”

A silence fell over the room that made even the candles seem to quiet.

Jisung’s heart felt like it had dropped out of his body.

Because now he saw it.

All of it.

This wasn’t about a forgotten birthday.

It was about what that forgetfulness meant to you.

That in the middle of his chaotic, music-fueled mind, you had fallen out of focus. And not just the date, you. Your presence. Your love. Your place beside him.

And the worst part?

You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t begged.

You’d just gotten quiet.

And he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but it sounded so small now. So empty in the shadow of everything you’d just said.

You looked at him for a long, long moment.

There was something raw in your expression now. Not anger. Not even sadness.

Just tiredness.

And then you gave a faint shrug.

“I know you are,” you said. “But I’m still hurt.”

You turned back toward the hallway slowly.

And before you walked away, you added one final thing,

“I don’t need grand gestures, Jisung.”

You paused.

“I just need to know I matter without having to remind you.”

And then you left him standing there.

Alone in a room full of balloons.

-

Morning came heavy.

The early light filtered in through the curtains in faded strips, casting muted patterns across the floor and walls. You were already awake, had been for hours. Lying still in bed, eyes on the ceiling, a dull ache stretching across your chest.

You hadn’t slept much.

Even after he decorated the night before. Even after the surprise. The effort.

The reminder that he cared, but only after he realized he’d forgotten.

There was something deeply hollow in the pit of your stomach. Something disappointment couldn’t fully name.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you.

It was that he didn’t see you when you needed him to.

And you weren’t sure a cake at 1:00 a.m. was going to fix that.

When you finally got up, you didn’t say a word.

You padded into the living room, careful to avoid looking at the decorations still up. They felt… false. Like remnants of something built on guilt rather than intention.

Jisung was already awake, curled up on the couch, eyes half-lidded and red from lack of sleep.

He sat up immediately when he heard you.

"Morning," he said, softly cautiously.

You didn’t respond. Not even a glance in his direction.

He frowned but didn’t push.

You passed him, quiet as ever, and walked to the kitchen. The clatter of a mug on the counter was the loudest sound in the apartment. You poured yourself water. That was it. No breakfast.

He stood a minute later, stretching awkwardly. He hovered, just a few steps behind. Like he wanted to be close but didn’t know if he had permission anymore.

The silence between you was crushing.

He trailed you throughout the day, always within sight. Always trying to stay near you like he could fix the damage just by being close.

He didn’t go to practice. Didn’t write. Didn’t open his laptop or touch his notebook.

Instead, he lingered.

Watching.

Waiting.

Hovering.

When you sat on the floor to organize a drawer you didn’t really need to organize, he sat a few feet away, legs crossed, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes kept flicking over to you. Quietly hopeful. Painfully anxious.

You didn’t speak.

When you changed rooms, he followed.

Not in an overbearing way just enough to make it known he was still there. That he was trying, even if he didn’t know how.

By the time afternoon crept in, you were still silent.

You didn’t eat.

Not out of pettiness, but because your emotions were so knotted, so close to the surface, that even chewing felt like a chore. Food would make this real. Food would be you accepting the day.

And right now, you weren’t ready.

Jisung noticed. Of course he did. But he didn’t say anything.

He just... watched you.

With a kind of quiet panic in his eyes that made it clear he was spiraling inside.

By late evening, the tension had become a third person in the room breathing heavily, sitting between you on the couch, pressing against your sides.

You were scrolling absently on your phone. You hadn’t spoken in hours.

He was next to you, knees pulled to his chest, a small cushion hugged against his stomach. His hair was a mess, his hoodie wrinkled. He looked miserable, but kept pretending to be calm.

Then, in the quiet, your stomach growled.

Loudly.

Painfully loud in the dead silence.

You immediately stilled, eyes widening.

Jisung’s head whipped toward you.

There was a pause.

A long, too-long beat where his mouth twitched, like he was fighting it.

And then he laughed.

Not obnoxiously. Not teasingly.

But a soft, breathless, startled kind of laugh. Like the kind that slips out when the universe plays a joke on you.

He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide like he knew he wasn’t supposed to laugh, but he couldn’t help it.

And for just one second, you cracked.

Your face twisted as you tried to stay stern. Tried to keep the front up. But the ridiculousness of it all, the dead silence, your growling stomach, the haunted look on his face, broke something loose.

You choked on your own breath, and suddenly a small laugh escaped you.

Not a big one. Not even a full sound. But enough.

His eyes softened instantly.

The tension snapped not fully, but just enough for the room to breathe again.

He stood, carefully, like approaching a wild animal that might still bite. Then walked toward you, slow and sure, eyes never leaving your face.

"Hey," he said, voice rough with exhaustion and emotion. "Look, I know you’re still pissed. And you should be."

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either.

“I’ll apologize as many times as you want. I’ll keep groveling for the rest of the year if I have to,” he said, gently, kneeling in front of you now. His hands rested on the couch cushion beside your legs, not touching you. Just near.

“But right now… I need to celebrate you. Just a little. Just today. You haven’t eaten. You haven’t let yourself breathe. And I know I ruined the start of your day, but I’m begging you, please let me try to salvage the end of it.”

You blinked at him. Slow. Guarded.

“I know I messed up,” he said again, voice shaking. “But you don’t deserve to be hungry on your birthday. You don’t deserve to sit here feeling invisible. You deserve cake and your favorite food and someone telling you that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to them.”

His throat bobbed.

“I’m that someone. I swear I am.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t smile. But your lip quivered.

And he saw it.

He saw that flicker. That tiny unraveling.

So he slowly reached out his fingers brushing yours, tentative, waiting for rejection.

But you didn’t pull away.

Not this time.

He let out a shaky breath, and his grip tightened slightly around your hand.

“I’m ordering your favorite,” he said softly. “And I’m not letting you lift a finger tonight. You’re going to eat, and if you want, we’ll sit in silence. Or we’ll watch that show you love. Or I’ll leave after. Whatever you want. Just… let me be here for you. Like I should have been from the start.”

Another pause.

Then, barely audible

“Please.”

The air between you had shifted, slightly, like clouds parting just enough for a patch of sun to warm the skin. Still cloudy. Still heavy. But there was warmth now. And that was a start.

You watched him as he pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over the food delivery app. “Your usual?” he asked gently, cautious but hopeful.

You nodded.

But just before he tapped the screen, you spoke, your voice barely louder than a whisper.

“…Add a brown sugar bubble tea.”

He looked up at you, surprised.

Your eyes met his briefly.

A small corner of his mouth lifted, hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if a smile was allowed, but when you didn’t pull away, it widened with quiet relief. That moment, tiny as it was, cracked something in both of you.

He tapped a few buttons and said, “Large brown sugar milk tea with extra pearls, 50% sugar, less ice. Right?”

You nodded again.

“…Thank you,” you added softly.

His eyes softened, his shoulders dropping slightly as if he’d been holding his breath this entire time. “It’ll be here soon,” he said, setting his phone down on the coffee table.

Then he moved slowly like approaching a fragile edge of ice.

He sat beside you, close enough to feel his warmth again, but not crowding you. Not forcing anything.

And then, gently, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Slowly tilted further down until he was lying across the couch, his legs curled and head tucked carefully against your side. One arm draped loosely across your lap, his grip feather-light. His face pressed into the hem of your hoodie.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered against you. “God, I’m so sorry.”

The words were hoarse. Choked.

Not dramatic. Not performative.

Just real.

Repeated again, like a mantra. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You ran your fingers through the sleeve hem of your hoodie for a moment, eyes staring past him, before you finally said, “I know.”

He turned his face a little, just enough to glance up at you.

“I forgive you,” you murmured, after a beat. “But I need you to know that you really, really hurt me.”

His breath hitched, but he nodded slowly.

You kept your voice steady. Firm but not harsh.

“I wasn’t even upset about the birthday anymore,” you said quietly. “You know I’ve never cared about birthdays that much.”

You paused.

“But when I asked if you had Friday off, you barely looked at me. And then I tried again, and you told me I was distracting you. Like I was bothering you. Like I was some kind of obstacle in your way.”

Jisung’s eyes dropped. His fingers curled tighter against your lap. He stayed completely still.

“That’s what hurt,” you said, voice finally cracking slightly. “Not the forgetting. But the pushing away. Like I was too much. Like I was getting in the way of your real priorities.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he whispered, desperate. “I wasn’t thinking. I was overwhelmed, I should’ve stopped and seen you.”

“You didn’t even notice when I stopped talking to you,” you added, looking down at him. “I was right there. And you didn’t even ask.”

His chest rose sharply, his lips pressing into a thin, broken line.

“I’ve been kicking myself for that for two days,” he said quietly. “I kept thinking, ‘Why is she being so cold?’ And I didn’t even consider that it was because I had gone cold first. I made you feel like a burden when you were just trying to love me.”

You didn’t say anything, but your eyes softened at that.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“You’re not a burden. You’re my peace. My home. And I treated you like you were noise.”

That hit something in you. Hard.

Because that was the truth you had no words for until now. You hadn’t wanted flowers or presents, you’d wanted to be met. To be held in mind and heart like you always did for him. You were asking to be cherished, just for a moment. And he hadn’t shown up.

But now, here he was.

Curled around you like an apology with a heartbeat.

You let your hand fall gently to his hair, fingers brushing through the soft strands.

And you finally said, “Just… don’t let me feel like that again.”

“I won’t,” he said immediately, his voice thick. “I swear, I won’t.”

You tilted down slightly to meet his gaze. His eyes were red. Teary. He looked so small, so ashamed, but so present.

“I love you,” he said, his voice cracking. “Even when I’m stupid. Especially then.”

You gave him a small, tired smile.

“You are stupid,” you whispered.

He exhaled a breath of a laugh. And then looked at you again, this time with a question in his eyes.

You didn’t answer with words.

You leaned down, cupped his cheek gently, and kissed him.

Not soft.

Not dramatic.

But real. Lingering. Quietly desperate.

His arms wrapped around your waist instantly, pulling you closer, holding you like something he thought he’d lost. He kissed you back like he was still apologizing through every movement like he didn’t deserve you, but would spend the rest of his life making it up.

When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breathing shallow.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, barely audible.

You closed your eyes.

And for the first time all day, you smiled.

“I still want that bubble tea,” you whispered.

He laughed into your shoulder, voice warm now, full of the relief he hadn’t dared hope for hours ago.

“You’re getting it,” he said, kissing your temple. “I’ll buy you ten. I’ll buy the whole damn shop.”

“You better,” you muttered, resting your hand over his.

And for the first time in days, the silence between you didn’t ache.

It simply held.

//

a/n: for 🌺 anon.

masterlist.

[official taglist: @alisonyus @lenfilms @captainchrisstan @anastasiiiiaaaaa @emilyywhyy @ready2readnwrite @nyxaluna @tricky-ritz @tsunderelino @wickedbutlovely @delulumel @shinygubbins @hhwangsmoon lmk if you’d like to be added/removed 😙 ..]

[logansdoll]

hammered

you get a little too turnt during girls night, and logan comes to your rescue.

CW: heavily suggestive, profanity, Logan's your white knight, Ororo's gettin lit, men are creeps, you're actually drunk as a skunk, etc.

"You guys got together?! Why didn't you tell me?!" Ororo gasped, loudly, sitting up straight in her seat.

Your brows furrowed, eyes widening at her volume, a few passing party-goers sharing concerned looks.

"Say it louder. I don't think the rest of the city heard you..." you grumbled, face burning as you took a sip from your strawberry daiquiri.

She sat next to you on the little leather couch situated at the back of the club near the bar, which had began to trickle with activity.

The three of you had been there for only about thirty minutes, the buzz of the night starting to pick up, the dance floor packed with dancers and drinks flowing.

And the eyes, still staring.

"Ignore her, (n/n)," Jean smiled, kindly, as she rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I think it's sweet you two took it at your own pace. It shows how serious you both are about this."

The three of you were having easy conversation, drinking and gabbing about whatever came to mind, when you and Logan were suddenly brought up.

And Ororo nearly died of shock when she found out you two were official.

"And speaking of seriousness... I believe we have an audience..."

Another group of three in particular, whose gazes were piercing you and your friends from across the way.

The three intense pairs of eyes belonged to three men in their best designer.

They each had their own outstanding feature: the tallest one sitting on the right had long, black hair, while the one on the left had arms roped in tattoos and lip piercings, the final one having a buzz cut and a snaggle-toothed smile.

Their lustful stares all but ignored by the two sitting next to you, your mind preoccupied with downing your second daiquiri that soon turned into a third.

You barely paid the men any mind, already knowing a man ten times hotter than all of them combined.

You actually missed him a whole damn lot.

You both were supposed to have a date night, but he got called last minute to round up Rogue and her friends who were causing havoc at some far off arcade.

So the girls dragged you out to the club, much to your protest.

'The kids just had to choose tonight of all nights...'

Ororo scoffed, gulping down another jell-O shot, "Waiting on him to come?" she chuckled, the flashing club lights making her light eyes sparkle.

You flushed in your mini dress, feeling hot despite the blasting AC and your exposed skin.

"You'll be waiting a while," she sighed, crossing her smooth legs over one another. "I heard Scott over the phone... those kids are in serious trouble."

You'd be lying if you said you weren't disappointed that he wasn't there, resting his hand at the small of your back, giving you those lustful stares on the dance floor, and complimenting your outfits in his own Logan way.

You'd done so much to make sure you looked hotter than hot, too.

You had raided your closet and pulled out a short, backless mini dress that made your legs look longer and showed off the curve of your spine sliding down towards your ass.

You loved, loved, loved it—how beautiful the black fabric looked against your skin; how sexy it made you feel.

Not to mention it was one of Logan's favorites.

He'd torn it off you many times.

Combined with your stiletto heels, fresh mani-pedi, the perfume adorning your wrists and the back of your knees, and hair that gracefully caressed your shoulders, you felt like a damn vixen.

Ororo sat up, taking your hand in hers, "No sense in sitting around while you wait, eh?"

She smirked at you, mischief in her eyes.

"Let's dance."

You paused a moment, hesitant.

But in that instant, those three daiquiris hit you like a truck, and all inhibitions went out the window.

'Fuck it.'

You stood up, chugging the last of your drink before taking her hand.

"Let's do it."

Famous last words.

Smoothly, you glided your fingers up your body, swaying your hips in rhythm with the beat as Ororo danced with one of the men.

You two had been dancing so well, you called the attention of the entire club. And with you about seven daiquiris in, it felt as if the music was coursing through your veins and melding with your bones.

The men of the establishment were hounding you both relentlessly—Jean having escaped to the bar to strike up some friendly conversation with the bartender—and even with your inebriated state, you fought them off vigorously, smacking away hands and returning advances with a sharp tongue.

Though the novelty was beginning to fade, and the urge to go home had began to set in.

As if on que, your phone began to buzz, taking your attention away from your thoughts.

"Hold up! I'm getting a call!" you laughed. "I'll be right back, 'Ro!"

She gave you a wink before you went stumbling off the dance floor, tugging a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

You decided to go to the nearest ladies' room, leaning against the wall where the long line started, before flipping open your phone.

You looked down at the caller ID, grinning to see the name of your favorite guy on the screen.

"Heyyyy, Logan," you sang into the phone with a drunk giggle.

"There you are," Logan let out a sigh of relief from the other side of the phone. "I've been tryin' to reach ya. I just finished roundin' up the kids and droppin' 'em off back home, so I'm free for the rest of the night if ya still wanna go out."

"Oh!" you chuckled, "Sorry!"

As you paused, Logan suddenly became confused.

"Where the hell are you? It's so loud, I can barely hear ya."

You placed one foot up on the wall, leaning your back flush against the cool tiles. "'Roro 'n' Jean took me to the club 'n' these guys tried to join us," you slurred. "Oh, they bought us drinks, too. And one said he liked my dress. He wasn't as good looking as you."

"You wearin' the backless one?" he asked, sounding intrigued.

You giggled giddily in response, finding humor in his quiet curse.

"Damn... ya had to pull that one out?"

"Oh, you should see me, Logan... I look gooood," you smiled, looking down at yourself. "But it's not the same... s'not as fun without you."

You lowered your foot back down to the ground and crossed your arm over your midsection, suddenly feeling cold and small.

"I miss you, Logan," you said, quietly. "Could you pick me up, please?"

His chest warmed at your tone, unable to fight the smirk on his face.

Despite the fact that you were absolutely sloshed, your mind still drifted to him, and even missed him when he was away.

It was adorable.

"Sure, sweetheart. Where are—?" "Wait!" you shrieked, a smile blooming on your face as you got quiet.

Logan cocked a brow.

'Huh?'

It was your favorite song.

"Logan! It's my song! I'll be right back!" you smile into the phone before hanging up, scrambling back to Ororo.

When you shimmeyed back onto the dance floor, she happily greeted you, moving in sync with the rhythm as you began your own moves.

"Oooo, what's that?" you asked, pointing at the glass she was holding.

It was orange and topped with ice and chopped oranges and strawberries, reminding you of a tequila sunrise.

"Want it?" she giggled, holding it out for you to take.

Which you gladly did, tossing it back lie it was water, humming approvingly at the taste as you licked the remnants off your lips.

The two men next to her were close to falling out from the scene.

"Fuck," one of them groaned. "Can you do that to me?"

You turned to them, brows furrowed. "Fuck off. My guy's gonna be here anyyyyy second."

Ororo gasped as she threw an arm around you, pulling you close to her perfume-soaked neck, "He's coming? That's great!"

You both cheered together, throwing your hands in the air as you continued to dance.

"C'mon," a man smirked from behind you. "What's he doing leaving a pretty lil' thing like you alone?"

Your face fell, expression annoyed as you turned to him, "Didn't I tell you to go somewhere? He's gonna show up sooon..."

The man had gotten closer, so close that you could see him lick his lips, expectantly.

He scoffed, leering down at you under the strobe lights, "But he ain't here, is he?"

"I wouldn't put money on it, bub," Logan replied from behind him.

Your eyes lit up like stars as soon as you laid eyes on your dark, handsome bodyguard.

He stood there behind the man with his thick, leather-clad arms crossed over his broad chest, which was covered by his white tee.

And he looked less than pleased.

"Logan!" you smiled, moving to stand by his side like a magnet.

The man turned to face him, watching as Logan snaked an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"This is the boyfriend?" he laughed, amused.

His words hardened Logan's expression tenfold, and it took everything in you not to giggle.

"Yeah, I am. And why the fuck are you still here?"

His words forced the man's expression to meld into one of frustration, and you bit back an amused smile at the sight.

You were drunk out of your mind, but you knew better than to interfere.

The man swallowed thickly, "I was just—"

"Harrassin' my woman."

You felt your heart flutter at the nickname.

He'd been calling you that for a while, but somehow it always felt like the first time.

"I didn't know she was yours—"

In a flash, his Logan's fist was up, his claws were on display and right in front of the man's face, scaring the shit out of him.

"I don't like repeating myself," he spat, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Fuck. Off."

You both watched the man scatter, eyes wide as he scrambled toward the bar.

Damn.

'What a bitch...'

"You alright?" Logan asked, taking off his leather jacket as he glared around the room, taking notice of the other leering men on the dance floor. "This place is full of fuckin' sleazeballs."

You shrugged, running a hand through your hair, "Eh, I managed."

Wordless, he handed over his jacket, your nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What's that for?"

"You're shivering, (n/n)."

You looked down at yourself, realizing that you were, indeed, shivering.

"Oh."

"C'mon," he sighed, draping the jacket over your shoulders before resting his hand at the small of your back, steering you toward the exit. "I think that's enough fun for one night."

Glancing back at Ororo, he gave a small look, slightly concerned.

"Scott's on his way for you two... You gonna be good?"

"Tipsy, but okay!" she gave him a thumbs up, along with a little wink. "Have fun, you two!"

He ignored the innuendo, but nodded, going back to ushering you out the back door.

"I missed you, Logan," you confessed, a slight whine to your voice as you practically clung to him.

"I know you did, sweetheart," he sighed, approaching one of Cyclops' cars. "Let's get you home."

The moment you hung up the phone, he sped over to the club, breaking about fifteen different traffic laws in the process.

An annoyance he decided to deal with the next day.

Without warning, you grabbed him, shoving him up against a wall of the alley you were in, interlocking your fingers as your free hand traced mindless shapes in his chest.

"You look so good, Logan," you purred, eyeing him up and down with hungry eyes, heating him from the inside out. "So good."

Suddenly, your lips attached to his neck, lazily peppering the flesh with kisses and pecks, with the occasional nip.

"(n/n)... you're drunk," Logan stated, moreso for himself, as he weakly tried to pry you off.

"I'd do this anyway," you grinned into his skin, pulling back to look at him, gaze half-lidded. "You look so sexy..."

Slowly, your lips curled into a hazy, loving smile, your eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing in the world.

Fuck...

You'd think he was about to go into cardiac arrest.

'This woman's gonna be the death of me...'

"What's wrong?" you asked, lips pouty and eyes glassy as you looked up at him, your expression one of hurt. "You're not touching me..."

"Doll," he sighed, voice slightly strained. "As gorgeous as you look... and as much as I wanna pin you against this wall... you're fuckin' hammered. And I'd like to feel you up when you actually know what yer doin'."

He pulled back to see your reaction, only to find you were already out like a light, softly snoring and drooling all over his shirt.

A soft smile fell onto his lips at the adorable sight, the man brushing some of your hair out your face before scooping you up in his arms, pressing a long kiss on your forehead.

'Somethin' else...'

[reidsism]

➳ DON’T WORRY — S.R

to nav ��� to s.r mlist

spencer reid x fem!reader

in which spencer is having a tough time, and penelope garcia decides to take matters into her own hands, by sending him on a blind date

wc: 3.3k

warnings: none, just wine! all fluff and awkwardness and a shy blind date that’s not really a date but definitely feels like one (also my overabundance of italics)

a/n: my first spencer fic omg hi!!! pls go easy on me, i haven’t written in like three years and im still only on s9 of cm :,) also not beta’d lol

Spencer’s in a slump. He can’t deny it, even with the forced smiles and the constant “I’m fine”s to the team, day after day.

He knows the lack of sleep has manifested itself in his appearance—his undereyes are so dark he looks like he’s been punched, his hair is more unruly than usual, his clothes are rumpled. He’s even been having trouble focusing.  Stumbling over his words. Mixing up numbers when he rambles, which isn’t even all that often anymore.

He knows the team’s been concerned, too.

Hotch has been glancing at him more during briefings and keeping an eye on him when on cases.

Frankly, Spencer’s getting a bit annoyed by it all.

And then, when he’s staring through the report on his desk, Penelope strolls into the bullpen like a woman on a mission, planting herself next to him, her hands on her hips with a wide grin.

Spencer sighs. “Garcia—”

She interrupts him. “I have a proposal for you.” She’s not hiding her excitement well; her legs are jumpy, her heels stuttering in place on the linoleum where she stands, and she’s even slightly shaking, positively vibrating with eagerness. Spencer holds in a groan. “I feel like the Good Doctor needs a bit of a pick-me-up. So, I’ve done what I do, and made some calls, and oh,” she grins impossibly wider. “Long story short, you have a date!”

Spencer blanches. “What…?”

Garcia just nods. “I set up a reservation for you two at Gianni’s—it’s this totally adorable little Italian place, you’ll love it.”

He can’t quite make out the rest of her rambling. He feels like his hearing is going again, like his headaches have come back full-force. He coughs, successfully ending Garcia’s rant. She just looks at him, a flicker of worry crossing her bright features before she sighs, taking a seat on the corner of his desk. She sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Spencer, you can’t lie to me, like, at all. I know you,” she wiggles his shoulder with a cheeky grin. “You’re, well… you’re struggling. We can see it, and, hey,” she leans down to smile softly, more reassuring. “You don’t need to treat it like a date if you don’t want to. I just know someone who I think you’ll click with, and I think it’ll be fun. Y’know, to let loose for a bit? Eat some good food, drink some good wine, have a fun, not death-slash-kidnapping-slash-totally-terrible-things-based conversation? I mean, honestly, Reid, when’s the last time you had a normal conversation with someone outside of us?”

And, well… that makes Spencer pause. He thinks—really, genuinely thinks. About two weeks and four days ago, he made a call to a semi-local bookstore to see if they had a first-edition copy of The Outsider by HP Lovecraft in stock. (They didn’t.)

Since then, cases have taken up most of his time. He mostly spends his days working on cases at the BAU or reviewing the files at home.

Garcia knows she has him beat when Spencer hangs his head. She grins and claps her hands like she’s won a prize. “Yay! So, head home before it’s dark out, yeah? I’ll text you the details! It’ll be fun, don’t even worry about it!” She grins before heading back to her office down the hall, and Spencer sighs, putting his head onto his desk.

***

Spencer stands outside of the restaurant for, probably, longer than socially acceptable. He really would’ve rather not come, but then he started feeling guilty. He didn’t want to hurt Garcia’s feelings by refusing her, and he didn’t want to potentially hurt whoever she had set up to meet him by standing them up, even if he had no idea who they were.

The sign over the door says Gianni’s in blinking red neon, and he thinks the establishment seems… painfully fine, from his view into the windows. It’s not overly fancy, not exactly the vibe of a romantic first date. He mentally thanks Garcia for that.

He wrings his hands one final time before pulling open the glass door and stepping inside.

The hostess smiles brightly at him. “Hi! Welcome to Gianni’s,” she glances around him for a moment. “Party of one?” The smile turns to pity.

Spencer purses his lips in a tiny smile. “Uh, no. I have a reservation actually, under, uh…” he blinks. “Under Garcia?”

God, this is awkward. Spencer nibbles on his lower lip, glancing around the room as the hostess takes a look at the book beside the register. She nods. “Of course, sir. Right this way,” she grins, leading him to the back of the dining room, to a small table nestled in the corner right beside a huge window, the lights of the city nightlife shining through the glass.

He takes a seat with a small smile. The hostess says she’ll have someone over to take care of him shortly, and Spencer just nods before looking outside. It’s started to rain slowly tonight, small round droplets pattering the concrete sidewalk. He follows the lines they leave on the glass like a lure.

When the waitress comes over, she simply introduces herself—Sasha. She says she’ll come back once he’s settled, before leaving two laminated menus on the table and, strangely, taking the wine menu with her.

Spencer starts skimming over the menu, lower lip locked between his teeth. He worries the corner of the laminate between his fingers. Why is he so nervous? It’s not like this is a real date, after all, Garcia even told him it would just be something casual for him to get his mind off of work for a while. But he can’t help the strange stuttering in his chest when he thinks about it, meeting someone he doesn’t know for dinner. It’s not that he’s worried, no, he trusts Garcia. Even if her methods are, well, blunt, he knows that she knows him well enough not to drop a bomb on his lap in the form of a conversation partner.

He’s lost staring through the laminated cover of the menu when he hears footsteps nearing his little alcove in the corner. He glances up, and, well. Is it dramatic to say his breath catches? He’ll deny it if—or rather, when—Garcia asks.

You’re standing with a slightly nervous smile, the remnants of small raindrops clinging to your hair, with wet streaks shining on your skin. You wave shyly at him. “Hi, uh, are you Spencer?”

Spencer’s standing before you can even finish speaking, the chair scraping against the hardwood. He cringes. “Yeah- yes. Hi,” he smiles. 

You extend your hand to shake before pulling it away quickly. He frowns. “Penelope mentioned you don’t really do handshakes,” you chuckle. “Can I sit?” You point at the chair across from him. Spencer nods, sitting back down in his seat, watching as you shed your coat and hang it on the back of the chair, before taking a seat across from him. You smile at him, introducing yourself. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long? I didn’t expect the rain to hit when it did, and I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh; just the barest exhale from his nose. “Uh, no, don’t worry. I just got here. And I didn’t bring an umbrella either, so,” he grins back at you. “Don’t worry.”

“You said that twice,” you grin, all teeth. Spencer can feel the warmth flush his neck. “Don’t worry,” you echo. “Maybe the rain’ll let up by the time we leave.” You pick up the other menu, so casual, and Spencer watches you like a creature he’s never seen before.

His phone buzzes from its place on the table. You don’t look up from your menu, but Spencer can see a faint smirk on your face with a hint of mischief or mirth in your eyes. He scrambles to look at the screen, only to be met with a text from Garcia.

PG: Is she there yet? Call her pretty! And don’t forget to smile! You’ll be fine, Einstein <3

Spencer sighs, turning his phone off and tucking it into his messenger bag, hanging off the back of his seat. He murmurs a small apology, and you simply shake your head before lowering the menu. “Was it Pen?” At his guilty look, you grin and shake your head. “She was badgering me, too. Don’t worry.”

Spencer can't hold back his tiny smile. “We’re saying that a lot.” You just laugh. Any tension that might’ve lingered over the evening seems to dissipate into thin air.

It doesn’t take long for the waitress, Sasha, to return to the table, this time carrying a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of wine sticking out of the top.  Spencer’s eyes widen comically, and you can only laugh as Sasha sets the bucket down. “A 2003 Pinot Gris,” she explains as she takes the bottle out and begins to fill both your glasses.

“I- I didn’t order any wine,” Spencer says, a strange, pathetic tinge to his voice as he helplessly watches his glass get filled. He hopes it’s not too expensive.

Sasha shakes her head. “It was requested when the reservation was made. Miss Garcia said she had your bill covered tonight.” She places the open bottle back into the bucket, the ice shifting around it. “So don’t worry. I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders,” she winks before stalking off.

You both stare at each other for a breath. The silence is broken with your contagious laughter, picking up your glass and raising it for a toast. “Well then. To Pen!”

Spencer grins, slowly raising his glass to gently clink it against yours. “To Garcia.”

Conversation flows naturally, more easily than Spencer had expected. Even when he went on an unintentional ramble about how fettuccine alfredo isn't really Italian, and how the word “pesto” literally means “to crush”, and how Pinot Gris is a French wine, not Italian like Pinot Grigio, even though they’re basically the same thing, and how a wine like this tends to pair well with pasta because of its dry, acidic profile that can cut through thick, creamy sauces.

When Spencer cut himself off to take a full, proper breath, he freezes. You have the sweetest smile on your face, your head resting on your hand like you’re really listening, like you’re actually interested in his long, unnecessary rambling. He takes a gulp of his wine and cringes. God, he hates wine.

When the food gets to the table, you grin at him. “I thought fettuccine alfredo wasn’t really Italian?” It’s a tease, yes, but Spencer doesn’t hear a trace of malice in your voice.

He shrugs, twirling some onto his fork. “I mean, it was technically invented in Rome, but it’s not the same. This version of fettuccine alfredo is an Americanized recreation from 1920s Hollywood,” he says, taking a bite. “Still, that doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

You chuckle, taking a bite of your own food. You grin at each other across the table like teenagers with a secret. It’s nice. Comfortable.

“So,” you start, pouring the last bit of wine, splitting the amount between your glass and his. “Aside from your impressive knowledge of the wine menu, what do you do when you’re not reading about Italian cuisine?”

Spencer shrugs, setting his fork down. “I, uh, I read. A lot.”

You smile. “Yeah, you seem like a reader. Anything that’s not like, work or Italian food-related, though? I’m sure you have hobbies outside of… well, the obvious.”

He nods. “I guess. I’m kind of a nerd about a lot of things, honestly. Not that that’s a hobby,” Spencer clarifies, his shoulders relaxing at your chuckle. “I’m really into old, out-of-print books. You know, the ones that—”

“The ones that cost a small fortune and have that weird, dusty smell?” You cut in, simpering. Your eyes crinkle. Spencer finds it painfully sweet.

He smiles. “Exactly,” he exhales a laugh before taking a sip of his wine. “I like to collect them. It’s kind of… calming, I guess.”

“That’s really cool,” you grin. “Y’know, I used to be super into photography when I was younger. Like, just… taking random pictures of random things.”

Spencer tilts his head. “Really? Like a hobby, or—?”

“No, no,” you laugh. “Just random moments. Sometimes the best things happen when you’re not looking, y’know?” And if there’s a part of Spencer’s heart that flutters in understanding, that whispers “you, you, you,” like an echo in his chest? Well, that’s between him and his internal organs. “Anyway, I haven’t even touched a camera in years.” 

“Why not?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Life got busy, and now it just feels kind of silly to start again. I do kind of miss it, though, I guess. The idea of capturing something, like… pure. Unfiltered? That’s still pretty appealing.”

Spencer smiles softly. “Don’t worry,” and oh, there’s a warmth in his gut that has nothing to do with the wine. “You still have time.”

“You think so?” There’s a far-off, wistful look of something not unlike hope that swims in your eyes.

He nods, and Spencer wonders if it’s too early to consider buying you a gift.

By the time you’re done, you’ve shared a small plate of tiramisu between you both. The rain outside the window hasn’t let up; if anything, it looks like it’s only coming down harder now. You and Spencer are still mindlessly chatting as you stand, and he helps you put your coat on. You look back at him and smile like a fool.

You walk outside the restaurant, and Spencer stops at the hostess’ station at the front, slipping a fifty to Sasha, and smiling softly as she balks.

The rain is pouring. You groan, “I took the metro here,” you say, raising your voice over the sounds of fat droplets hitting the sidewalk.

Spencer nods, tugging his coat tighter around himself. “Me too,” he glances towards the street. “We can get a cab?”

You nod, watching as he rushes into the rain, out from the cover of the awning, to wave down one of the yellow cars driving past. He beckons you over as one slows to a stop at the side of the road.

You follow Spencer, sliding into the backseat behind him and sitting beside him as the driver turns. “Where to?”

Spencer clears his throat. “Uh, two stops, if that’s alright?” The driver simply nods, and you tell him your address, a faint nervous tremble in your voice.

The ride to your apartment is almost silent, save for quiet murmuring from the backseat. Like you two can’t help the conversation, like you can’t bear not talking to each other for even five minutes.

When the cab pulls up to your apartment complex, you grin at Spencer, about to speak, when he climbs out of the car behind you. He mutters to the driver that he’ll only take a minute. “What’re you doing?” you ask, looking up at him in confusion.

Spencer shrugs, leading you to the doorway to the building. “I wouldn’t be a very good date if I left you to walk to your door alone.” He says it so simply, so easily, it almost shakes him. He can’t believe how nervous he was, not that long ago, refusing to even think of this dinner as anything more than a way to get his mind off work.

You grin widely up at him, letting yourself inside and holding the door open for him. “I suppose you’re right,” you lead him to the elevator. “You wouldn’t be a very good date. But I wouldn’t hold it against you,” you tease, pressing the button for your floor—eight. Spencer tucks that information away. “Don’t worry.”

You wink, and Spencer can’t hold back his soft laughter. He’s quiet on the elevator ride, too busy just looking at you. You’ve managed to shatter every one of his expectations and preconceived notions in no more than a couple of hours. It’s strange, but welcome. You’re welcome, now. Always.

When the elevator opens, and you lead the way to your apartment door, you turn around to face him fully. “Thank you,” you smile softly, looking up at him. “I had a really good evening, Spencer. Thanks for not running off.”

He purses his lips, smiling back at you. “I had a really good evening, too.” His hands start to wring again. “And, I wouldn’t have run off. Don’t worry.”

You chuckle, a glint in your eyes. “Well, still. Thanks. For the company, tonight. And the conversation. And all of the new facts I’ve just learned about Italian cuisine.”

Spencer blushes. He shrugs, his hands moving to clutch at the strap of his messenger bag. “Glad to provide newfound knowledge, then,” he chuckles.

And before he can overthink it or second-guess himself, Spencer bends slightly, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss to your cheek. Your eyes go wide for just a moment before warmth floods your cheeks, and a grin that surpasses even sunshine itself takes over your face. You inhale shakily and unlock your door. You keep your eyes on Spencer as you step inside. “Thanks again,” you breathe. “I’ll um, I’ll text you?”

Spencer nods before beginning to walk backwards toward the elevator. He wishes you a good night and watches you slowly close your door.

He doesn’t step onto the elevator until he hears your door lock, and then he’s rushing back outside, into the pouring monsoon, before throwing himself into the backseat of the taxi.

The driver just laughs at him, at his cheeks all blotchy and red. Spencer clears his throat and awkwardly gives him his address.

He’s inside his apartment and toeing off his shoes when he realizes he never got your number.

Spencer freezes. He yanks his phone out of his bag with all the decorum of a deer in the road, and notices the abundance of missed texts from Garcia.

PG: How’s dinner going?? Is it awkward??? Did you say anything weird yet????

PG: Guess things are going well!! Don’t worry about the bill, it’s on me!!

PG: And DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT THE WINE!!!!!!!

PG: Oh I’m SO excited to see your face tomorrow, Reid! I told you this was a good idea!

PG: Here’s her number, in case you were too stunned and totally in love with her to ask for it ;)

Spencer sighs, grateful for the inclusion of your number that saves him the awkward embarrassment of asking for it. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he adds it to his contacts, and types out a quick message. He sends it before he can talk himself out of it, and leaves his phone on the couch as he heads into his room to change.

Spencer: Hi, this is Spencer. Have a good night, and thanks again for dinner! It was really enjoyable. Hope you don’t mind me getting your number from Garcia, I only just noticed we hadn’t exchanged contact info :)

If Garcia ever asked, Spencer would deny it, but he runs out of his bedroom with his shirt still in his hand when he hears his phone buzz on the couch.

You: hey spencer! you have a good night too, dinner was super fun. you’re a fun conversationalist. and if you hadn’t gotten my number from pen, i would’ve asked her for yours, so don’t worry :)

He grins down at his phone before turning it off and pulling his shirt on. He brushes his teeth with a smile on his lips, crawls into bed with his face sore and his cheeks cramping, and begins to fall asleep to the sound of heavy rain pattering on his window.

It’s not until he’s curled up between the sheets, half asleep, that he realizes he hasn’t thought about work or cases all night.

Well then. Thank you, Penelope Garcia.

[dearlenore]

HIS FAVORITE DOCTOR • S.REID

SUMMARY: when Spencer realizes just how serious his diuladid addiction has become, he requests the help of his favorite doctor to get through the withdrawal process.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: angsty fluff, established relationship (not romantic yet) flirting, addiction, drug usage, withdrawal, vomit, suicidal ideation, usage of baby, angel, love and honey

a/n: medical reader is my favorite and I’m gonna be writing a lot more spencer addiction content because omg…I’m rewatching season 2-4 and I’m obsessed with this concept.

w/c: 1.6K

THE LIGHTS IN the BAU’s bullpen buzzed faintly, flickering just enough to give Spencer Reid a headache. He blinked hard and focused on the papers in front of him, but the lines blurred together. His fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, a nervous rhythm he couldn’t seem to break.

He hadn’t slept much the night before. Or the night before that. Each time his head hit the pillow, memories clawed their way to the surface — the cold rush of a needle, the dizzying relief that followed, and the shame that always lingered after. He’d fought so hard to distance himself from that part of his life, yet lately, the temptation had been gnawing at him with a sharpness he couldn’t ignore.

“Reid?”

He startled, his pen clattering against the desk. J.J. stood beside him, concern etched into her face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said too quickly, forcing a tight smile.

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press. “Hotch wants to see you in his office.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded. The last thing he needed was a conversation with Hotch right now, especially when his mind felt like it was unraveling thread by thread.

Hotch’s office felt colder than usual, the blinds half-drawn to block out the morning sunlight. Spencer stood stiffly by the door, clutching the strap of his satchel like it was an anchor.

“Reid.” Hotch’s voice was steady but firm. “Have a seat.”

Spencer hesitated before sinking into the chair across from him. His chest felt tight, his breath too shallow. He wasn’t sure where to begin.

“You’ve been… distracted lately,” Hotch said carefully. “Your reports are late. You’ve been zoning out during briefings. Something’s going on.”

Spencer’s heart pounded. He could lie — say it was stress or exhaustion, maybe blame it on too much caffeine — but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t keep doing this.

“I need some time off,” Spencer said quietly.

Hotch’s brow furrowed. “Time off?”

“I…” Spencer faltered, his fingers curling into his palms. “I’ve been struggling.” He took a breath, pushing past the shame. “With… Dilaudid. Not — not using it,” he added quickly. “But thinking about it.” His voice cracked, and he hated how small it made him sound. “I thought I was past this. But lately, it’s been… harder.”

For a long moment, Hotch said nothing. His expression didn’t soften, but it didn’t harden either. He just listened.

“I haven’t relapsed,” Spencer added, his voice almost desperate now. “But I’m scared I will. I don’t want to put the team at risk.”

Hotch leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk. “I’m glad you told me,” he said quietly. “That’s not easy.”

Spencer felt his face flush. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

“You’re saying something now,” Hotch said. “That’s what matters.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I think you’re making the right decision. If you need time, take it. Whatever it takes to get your head clear.”

Relief hit Spencer like a wave — unexpected and overwhelming. The tension in his chest loosened just enough to breathe.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re part of this team,” Hotch said firmly. “And I expect you to come back when and only when you’re ready.”

Spencer nodded, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I will.”

He stood, clutching the doorknob for a moment longer than necessary before stepping out into the hallway. The bullpen buzzed with the usual noise — agents chatting, phones ringing — but for the first time in weeks, Spencer felt like he could breathe.

He wasn’t okay yet — not even close — but for now, he’d taken the first step. And that had to count for something.

The knock on your door came late — so late you almost didn’t hear it. The sitcom buzzing from your TV masked the sound until you caught the faint tapping and glanced at the clock — 11:27 PM.

You walked to the door, clutching your phone just in case. But when you peeked through the peephole and saw Spencer’s face, you gasped.

“Spencer?”

He barely looked like himself. His hair was tangled and messy, his eyes glassy and red-rimmed. His skin — normally warm and golden — looked sickly pale, and the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed carved into his face.

“Hey…” His voice cracked, and his weak smile faded before it fully formed.

“Oh my gosh!” You yanked the door open, grabbing his arm when he swayed on his feet. “Spence, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” he muttered dryly, but his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You know what I mean,” you huffed, pulling him inside. His legs nearly buckled beneath him as you guided him to the couch.

“Did you eat?” you asked.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you drink anything?”

He shook his head.

“Honey…”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he murmured, eyes flicking downward. His fingers trembled in his lap, curling against his thighs like he was holding something invisible.

“Talk to me,” you said softly. “What’s going on?”

“I… I asked Hotch for time off.”

Your brows shot up. “Wait, you asked for time off?”

“I needed it.” His voice was barely there. His hand dragged down his face, fingers twitching against his jaw. “I… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You knew what it was. The Dilaudid.

“Spence…” Your chest tightened.

“I was fine,” he said shakily, his voice breaking. “I was doing fine. But I can’t stop… I can’t stop wanting it.” His hand clenched against his knee, knuckles white. “I was just sitting there… staring at it. For hours. I couldn’t — I couldn’t stop thinking about how easy it would be.”

His voice trembled. “I almost did.”

Your heart sank.

His breathing hitched, and his face twisted — like he was trying to swallow down something ugly.

“I thought about just… ending it,” he mumbled, barely audible. “If I couldn’t stop thinking about it, what was the point? What’s the point in fighting if I’m never going to win?”

“Hey,” you said firmly, reaching out and gripping his face with both hands.

His bloodshot eyes blinked up at you, wide and scared.

“You are not alone,” you promised. “I know it feels like it, but you’re not. I’m here, okay? I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

His face crumpled, and you barely had time to pull him against your chest before he broke. His fingers twisted into your shirt, clutching like you were his lifeline.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.

“Don’t say that,” you murmured, rubbing his back. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His body shook against you, his breathing ragged. You didn’t rush him — you just held him tight, whispering soft reassurances into his hair.

When his sobs finally faded into quiet sniffles, you gently pulled back. “Let me help you, okay?”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you cut him off with a soft smile. “But I want to.”

He nodded weakly.

“You’re sweating,” you pointed out, brushing his damp hair off his forehead. “I’ll grab some towels and a change of clothes. You’re about to feel pretty gross for a while.”

He grimaced. “Great.”

“Don’t worry,” you teased, squeezing his knee. “I’ve seen way worse.”

After setting him up in the bathroom with clean towels and a shirt that was at least two sizes too big, you filled a glass of water and grabbed a bucket — just in case.

When Spencer emerged, his hair still damp and clinging to his forehead, his skin looked even paler. His hands were shaking worse now.

“I’m fine,” he said weakly, but you didn’t believe it for a second.

Less than an hour later, he wasn’t just shaking — he was shivering. He lay on your couch beneath three blankets, his face scrunched in discomfort.

“I…” His voice was thin, barely audible. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“I’ve got you, angel.”

You knelt beside him, bucket at the ready. He barely made it upright before his body lurched. You rubbed soothing circles on his back, murmuring soft reassurances as he retched.

“I’m here,” you whispered between sobs and coughs. “I’m here. You’re okay.” You continued, more for yourself this time.

By the time it was over, his entire body was shaking. His face was pale, and his breaths came in shallow pants.

“Hey,” you said softly, pushing damp hair from his face.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t.” Your hand moved to his cheek, thumb brushing against his fevered skin. “Don’t apologize. You’re doing so well, love.”

His tired eyes blinked up at you. “You’re really sweet, you know that?”

You laughed quietly, smoothing the blanket over his chest. “I try.”

“I mean it,” he mumbled. “You’re like… an angel.”

Your heart melted.

“I guess that makes you my favorite patient,” you teased, brushing a hand down his arm. “But you already knew that huh?”

He grinned — weak, but real — and something in your chest tightened.

“Seriously,” you murmured, “I’m really proud of you.”

“Because I didn’t die on your carpet?” he joked dryly.

You shot him a look. “Because you’re fighting, Spencer. Even when your brain’s screaming at you to give up, you’re still here. That takes strength.”

His fingers fumbled for your hand beneath the blanket. “I wouldn’t have come here if I didn’t…” His voice faltered. “I trust you.”

Your heart squeezed painfully.

“You’re safe with me,” you promised, tightening your hold on his hand. “And you always will be.”

He gave you a tired smile, eyes drooping. “Thank you, angel…” he mumbled as he drifted off.

Your breath caught.

“Love you, Spence,” you whispered, running your fingers through his hair as he finally fell asleep.

[ghostedgwen]

but I knew you | j.potter [part three]

note : Thank you all so much for the love and support on the two previous parts! I am still trying to get back into writing and getting my old style back but it is still a work in progress. Really happy you lots enjoyed them and are asking to even be tagged in the next parts!

warning : more angst but some cute moment as well, Remus is an mvp on this one I love him, mentions of blood and injury, violence, there's a nasty fist fight, a brief moment of a man being a man and some misogyny.

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still  in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

It's been weird. Actually, that's an understatement. It has been absolute hell ever since that Quidditch accident, no one knew how to act around either you and James.

By now, the whole school knew and with how the school is quick to absorb gossip like greedy sponges, it was quick to be the topic of every conversation.

Girls would throw pitiful looks your way, and it grated your nerves to receive them. You didn't need their pity, not even one bit.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," you groan into your hands, pressed into your closed eyes. "This fucking sucks."

Remus gives you a tight-lipped smile that might as well be empty. "How about retracing your steps?"

You frown, taking your palms off your face and turning to Remus who began putting his book down.

"I'll talk to him, I'll convince him to practise with you."

"Practise what?"

"Remembering. You should know the core memories you two have made throughout your relationship, just recreate those moments with him," Remus shrugged. "Might work."

"It might not." You shake your head, giving up hope before it could even exist.

Remus makes a face at you. "This is so not you, you're not a quitter, ____."

A pregnant pause.

You heave a sigh. "Okay," you give in. "Bloody hell."

.

You watch as James casually approach you. Same mannerisms and all that but he feels unbelievably strange, you almost didn't recognize him with how he regarded you so casually. Curtly nodding and crossing his arms.

"Moony convinced me to humor this," he huffs. "Where are we off to?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, willing yourself to go through with this despite not wanting to do this. This was the only solution that made somewhat sense, and it was ultimately better than waiting it out while you try to act like the problem did not exist.

You click your tongue. "Where you first fell for me," you answered. "In your own words, of course. A bit cheesy for me, in all honesty."

He chuckles at that and you gesture him to follow you which he did. He walks beside you, not too far but also not close enough. You have to constantly remind yourself that it's not his fault. If he had met your James, he would've been pissed at himself right this very moment.

You didn't mind the distance much and continued your strides to the spot. You both pause, he looks around the empty hall with a frown.

"Sirius said he'd make sure the hall was clear for us." You tell him.

How he made it happen doesn't matter to you, but you had a few guesses. No time to dwell on that when he turned to look at you expectantly. You scan him, before speaking again.

"What do you feel when you look at me?"

"Honestly?" he licks his bottom lip with hesitation. "Nothing."

Wow, ouch. Okay.

You were about to speak again when he continued - "At first, because I really don't know you. . .but the more I look, the longer I stare at you - I have this urge to hold you."

That brought a small smile out of you. "Seems my James is still in there somewhere."

He didn't react to that, pretending he didn't feel a clutch in his heart at that. You shake your head, forcing the smile away and turned to the very spot you two stood on that day. 

"Muggles science did say that love is in the head, not exactly the heart," you tell him with a bitter chuckle. "I guess you don't abide by that law. You still feel for me, despite not knowing me. I just badly need you back."

You can only imagine how much harder this is on him. While it absolutely hurt to be forgotten by your lover, you can empathize with his situation. How confused he must be to be a 14-year-old in the body of a 16-year-old James.

"How does it feel?" You ask him.

"Weird," he answered truthfully. "I feel weird. Like every inch of my body is on fire but it doesn't hurt. Uncomfortably warm."

You cannot even begin to image what that feels like. "I'm sorry, by the way. I have been too focused on the fact you forgot about me to even realize you lost a whole lot more than that."

He blinks. Your voice was comforting, and your words were kind. He still does not know how he pulled away from Lily, but he can see the appeal of why he fell for you. Your words, how you carried yourself and that confidence that oozed out of your every action without trying hard.

"I'm sorry too." was all he said.

You cleared your throat. "This is where I slapped you, by the way." You laugh humourlessly at your own words. "You had the absolute audacity to imply that you'd buy me, what a right git you were."

You look at him and see him blink in confusion, "What's your last memory before waking up in the infirmary?"

He gives you a huff, dropping his shoulder and walking to the wall with a wide open window. He sat there, leaning against the stone wall with his head hanging low. "I remember just returning to Hogwarts, I had asked Li- Evans out again during the welcome dinner, got rejected again - and I went to bed after arm wrestling with Pads."

You followed him, sitting across him while listening attentively. "Then I woke up, and here I am."

A moment of silence passed, you just watched him. You can see the gears turning in his head, a faraway look in his eyes as he gets lost in his thoughts. "It must be extremely hard for you too."

James nod. "It is, because I can see that I'm hurting you - and the lads, but I can't force it out of me. I feel a bit unwanted."

You scoot closer, hesitantly putting a hand on his shoulder. "That's not true, we're all just struggling as well. You don't know it yet, but Sirius - he could never unwant you, you two are basically soulmates and I am the thirdwheel."

"Does something happen? To him?"

You nod when he lifts his head to look at you. "Yes, but that's not until you both are 15."

"When do you come in?"

You smile bitterly. "Today. The second day during our fourth year, I enter the story."

James' jaw dropped. "I remember everything - until exactly the day I meet you?"

You laugh humourlessly, nodding to his words. "What a cruel joke."

.

"How's it been?" Remus asked, settling beside you on the couch. You had a book propped on your lap and was getting lost in the words when he pulled you out and grounded you back to reality. "You've been at it for a week. What timeline are you in now?"

"Just about finishing up fifth year," you answer him casually. "He's compliant, and behaved. Would you believe that? He's behaved, around me."

Remus laughs. "That's good at least, he's willing to try."

"He said he felt unwanted by us," you tell him, watching his jaw drop. "We got too busy minding the fact he forgot."

"Merlin - " Remus runs a hand through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"He's 14, right now and he must feel so scared to be in this familiar - yet strange environment he has ended up in. I didn't wanna tell you, he confided in me but I can see how he's been struggling throughout the week. He needs his brothers too, not just me."

Remus slowly nod along your words. "You're right. We thought to give you some space. Pads is still in shock and Peter is just depressed at this point."

You heave a sigh. "We'll get him back, no worries."

.

"____!" You turn to the voice that called you, you spy a familiar boy clad in black and yellow uniform run up to you. He had on a bright grin as he greeted you, a bookbag hanging off his shoulder. "Glad I finally caught up to you."

You frown at him. "You've been looking for me, McLaggen?" 

"Yes," he nods and gestures to you. "But you've been with Potter this whole week."

You blink in confusion. "Of course I will, he's my boyfriend." You answer him bluntly, but he only shrugged at that with a tilt of his head.

"Whole castle knows by now that he's forgotten 'bout you, I thought you two had broken up."

You felt an eye twitch at that. "Nevermind that, why were you looking for me."

"Was hoping I could ask you to be my study partner, for the upcoming Ancient Runes quiz. You are pretty much a genius at it, wouldn't hurt to be tutored by you."

You cross your arm. He's never once had the courage to approach you before ever since James took an interest in you. He introduced himself so confidently when you transferred and even offered to show you around the castle - that was until James entered the picture and everyone steered clear.

No one wants to mess with the Marauders.

"Why would I do that for you?" You ask, having nothing to gain from his proposal whatsoever. He's demanding you help him study in a subject you excel in without even offering anything in return. 

McLaggen flashes you a bright grin. "I'll treat you on a date on the next Hogsmeade trip."

You scoff at his words. "A date? You think I'd accept tutoring you for a bloody date? I'm taken, in case you forgot."

He laughs. "Your boyfriend doesn't even remember you, babe. I'm your next best bet, he's technically just a little boy right now, yeah? What age is he mentally? 12?"

"He lost two years, he's 14, you dumbass." You corrected him.

He shrugged. "Don't matter now, does it? He's just a little boy right now, you'll do well with a man."

You hold back a laugh at his words. "You think you're a man then?" You step back, providing more space between you and not once did his height intimidate you throughout the exchange as he address you while looking down. "You are a pig. Take your offer elsewhere, you disgust me."

"____-" he grabs your arm as you turn to leave but another voice also called out your name.

"____!" You turn to find James fast approaching, the rest of his gang trailing after him. "What's going on here?"

You tug at your arm and he finally released it. You fix your posture and glare at McLaggen, "We were just talking." you tell him and can see the anger bubbling in him with the expression on his face.

You turn to meet Sirius' eyes and gesture to James, he acted fast, grabbing him by the arm. "Calm down, mate. She said they were just talking."

"Didn't look like talking to me." James spat.

McLaggen stepped back, raising both hands in surrender. "My bad, mate. You don't even remember ____ anymore, the least you could do is let someone else have her."

You felt your jaw drop at his words, talking about you like you were an item to posses and freely give awya - like you had no say in the matter and you couldn't even process a reaction to his vile words when James swung for his face.

His fist colliding with McLaggen's face and he drops to the ground on the impact. He would have jumped on him as well if Sirius didn't pull him back with Remus who were desperately trying to calm him down.

"The fuck?" McLaggen hissed, clutchinng his now bruised cheek in disbelief. "Fuckin' hell!"

You turn to James, and it all happened so fast. The two boys lost grip on him and he slipped out - jumping on McLaggen to throw more punches but this time, the other boy got to react and returned the favor.

The two exchanged blows while the other three boys tried their best to pull them apart, you were only grateful that the halls are empty or this would be another spectacle for the whole castle.

You run to them, figuring that the three boys' attempts were not working - but it was too late. McLaggen pulled something out of the bookbag he carried - an ink bottle? And smacked James right across the head with it.

"Prongs?" Sirius called out to James who dropped after the hit, McLaggen appeared shocked at the result of his actions. He threw away the bottle and scrambled to get up. 

"James!" You called out and dropped to his side, Merlin - he's out. He's breathing but he is out. The hit must have gotten him good. You angrily turn to see McLaggen running away from the scene. You can deal with him later, you turned your focus to the passed out James. "Bloody fuck, not again."

to be continued . . .

part four | masterlist

[withahappyrefrain]

Ruin the Friendship- Bob Floyd

Warnings: Best friends to lovers trope, it’s so obvious they love each other they’re stupid, language, filth, some angst (why not?), unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), Bob being pussy drunk.

Summary: The night before Bob leaves for Boot Camp, he's learned no one has gone down on his best friend. He's determined to fix that.

Words: 4.8K

This is for @attapullman's Bob Fucks celebration!

When you've been friends with someone since preschool, you get to know them like the back of your hand. Certain quirks and sayings that no longer surprise you. 

“God, I wish that were me.”

It wasn't the first time Bob heard you say that. Usually there was a cute dog around, or a sushi boat being delivered at a restaurant when you said it. 

But saying it during an oral sex scene in a movie was new. 

It also brought up many questions. 

Questions Bob shouldn't ask, considering he's known you since preschool. Questions Bob couldn't ask right now, because he was too preoccupied looking at you. 

Your eyes were fixated on the screen, focused on the actress withering. Occasionally, they would dart to the other actor who was between the actress’ thighs. Bob noticed the increased rise and fall of your chest, how your front teeth dug into your bottom lip, how when you lean forward, the v-line cut of your shirt showed off the tops of your breasts. The soft glow of the lamps highlighted the beautiful features on your face. 

All things he shouldn’t be noticing about his best friend. But then again, best friends shouldn’t be watching a French film together whose plot line focused on sexual liberation before he went off to Navy boot camp. 

Granted, you and Bob haven’t had a conventional best friend relationship in a while, if at all, considering both sets of parents claimed you two promised to marry each other at the age of four. 

Promises or not, best friends shouldn’t be one another’s first kiss. Or make out practice partners. Or each other’s New Year's kiss when y'all were single. Or spend Valentine's Day together at the local dinner. 

The line between friends and something more was blurry, saved by a comment that ensured the other to think that the feelings that had been brewing weren't reciprocated. 

“You’re a good kisser. Kelsey McCoy is going to think so too.”

“If Tommy Delaine doesn't like you, he's a dumbass.” 

“I’m sure next year you’ll have someone.”

“If I had to spend it with anyone, I want it to be with my best friend.”

“You’re an amazing friend, you know that?”

Why say that if you harbor romantic feelings? Surely, all those kisses and talk of marriage meant nothing to them. 

At least that's what the other thought. 

It's because of this blurry line that Bob doesn't bite his tongue, doesn't throw away the comment to be forgotten. Instead, he speaks up. 

“Been awhile?” 

And because it's Bob, the guy you've known your whole life, the guy you tell everything to, your response rolls off your tongue without a second thought. 

“Try never.” 

It takes Bob a moment to process your words as the way your lips wrap around the beer bottle is far too distracting. But just like processing a car accident, once it registers, your words bring his brain to a screeching halt. 

“Wait, never?” The shrug you give isn’t satisfactory. He grabs the remote to pause the movie, ignoring your cries of protest. 

“Real talk; are you saying that no one has ever gone down on you?” 

You sigh, regretting saying anything in the first place. One would think that after years of friendship, you’d know well enough that once Bob set his mind to something, he wouldn't relent until satisfied. 

You down the remnants of your beer, mentally preparing for this conversation. 

“No Robby. I've never had someone eat me out. Happy now?” Reaching for the remote was all in vain, as he just held it further away from you. 

Darn those long limbs. 

“But you've been with people…..so what did they do?” When you looked at him, there was no malice, just Bob looking genuinely baffled. His gentle blue eyes put you at ease, giving you the comfort to explain. 

“They would touch me,” you motioned to the lower half of your body, “And like finger me. Enough to get me ready, I guess.” 

Bob raised an eyebrow, “You guess?” 

College was supposed to be a time for you to explore, to figure yourself out, to interact with new people. 

And yet, when it came to the relationship aspect, everything had fizzled. You were now going into your junior year having yet to experience a meaningful romantic relationship. 

Did you just have shit luck? Or was it because your mind would wander back to a bespectacled best friend when you were in bed with someone else? 

“So instead of eating you out, which would actually be enjoyable on your end, you're telling me they just stuck their hand down there and hoped they were rubbing your clit? You didn't ever ask them to do something else?” 

Bob didn't have the pristine mouth that parents thought he possessed. You knew, and had known for a while. And yet, hearing him say the phrase your clit in his deep, slightly twangy voice felt different. 

You rubbed your thighs together. 

“Are you shaming the people I've been with or me?” 

Bob closed the difference between you and him on the couch, placing a hand on your bare knee. 

Have his hands always been so big and veiny? 

Fuck, did you have a thing for hands? 

“I'm not shaming you. I’m shaming the people you've been with because well,” he ran a hand up and down the back of his neck, “Well, I enjoy giving….I like doing it. So I guess I'm surprised other people don't?” 

His statement was shocking because everyone else you had been with viewed it as a chore, as something to use every excuse in the book to avoid doing. 

Too tired. Takes too long. Wet enough so what's the point? 

“You…like doing it?” 

The tops of his cheeks reddened, despite a smirk beginning to form, “Yeah. I like giving and I like making them feel good. It's also a confidence booster, being able to make someone fall apart with your mouth.” 

It shouldn't come as a surprise, it was Bob after all. The same Bob who always brought an extra pencil with him to algebra, in case you forgot yours. The same Bob who shared his Dunkaroos because your mom refused to buy them. The same Bob who made his dream of serving his country finally come true after years of hard work. 

He was selfless. But this didn't feel like selflessness. Hearing him talk about giving pleasure, making someone fall apart with his mouth, was different. Even his voice when he said it was different, raspier than usual. 

“Well,” you scooted closer to the edge of the couch, trying to widen the gap so he couldn't feel how hot your body was, “I can't wait ‘til I meet someone who feels the same way.” 

“You don't have to wait.” 

The grip on your beer bottle tightened, the alcohol getting caught in your throat. There's no way he could have just said that, no way he could be implying what you're thinking. 

But when you look at Bob, he was staring back with raised eyebrows and thin lips curled into a little smirk. The same look he’s given you countless times before when he mumbles a smartass comment only your ears were privy to hear. 

You heard me. 

“What-are you…” You stared at him, mouth agape. Bob appeared unphase by it, like he had just offered something totally normal and rational. 

Perhaps it was the three beers he had downed. Perhaps it was the rush of adrenaline kicking in after realizing this was his last chance at making a move before he left. 

“Wouldn't that be like crossing a line?” Your head was racing, alternating between flashbacks of when you kissed Bob and imagining what it would be like to have his mouth on your body. 

“Wouldn't be much different from what we’ve already done.” 

All the air was sucked out of the room by his comment. Because of course he wasn't doing this because he wanted to, because he wanted you. This would be meaningless, just like everything else. If you went through with this, you’d wake up the next day to Bob leaving with nothing changed, still in this seemingly endless limbo. 

Long, nimble fingers hooked themselves under your chin, gently forcing you to look up. 

The look he gave you was unfamiliar. His eyes remained focused on your face, though it seemed like they were searching. 

For what, you couldn't tell. 

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you want it to be different?” 

What good was telling him if he didn’t feel the same way, thus ruining a great friendship?

“Do you want it to be different Robby?” You countered back. 

He leaned in, his breath hot on your face, “I asked you first.”

He thought he had the upper hand. But you were like a lightning bug, faster.  

“I asked you second, Robby.”

Like a rubber band, the tension snapped as Bob was unable to hold back a snort of laughter. The tension left your shoulders, the sight of him laughing familiar and safe. 

“I’m going to really miss your resounding maturity,” Bob deadpanned after gaining the ability to compose himself, though a sweet crooked smile remained. 

It was now your turn to roll your eyes, though it didn’t stop the smile currently forming on your face. Seeing this side of Bob was always fun; most folks thought he was quiet and meek. The truth was that he liked to observe and didn’t find value in speaking when it wasn’t necessary. He didn’t hold back with you, didn’t feel the need to sit and observe. He truly conversed with you and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel special. 

He was never that way with the other girls he dated. 

“You love me,” you teased back. It was a comment you've said countless times, always with that sweet, albeit mischievous smile that made Bob's heart flutter. 

But this time instead of shaking his head or rolling his eyes, he leaned forward until your foreheads were touching. 

Seeing him up close took your breath away. You could see how his roots were beginning to darken, the blonde fading as he got older. The little scar on his chin from a BB Gun incident when he was ten. Eyes bluer than the ocean. The ends of his hair were beginning to curl, something you'd greatly miss when he'd get the military mandated buzz cut. 

“Yeah, I do.” There was no teasing in his voice. No mischief in his eyes. Instead of playfully shaking your shoulder, his hand found its way to the back of your neck, fingers cupping your warm skin. He was moving quickly, making you unable to truly process what he had just said. 

Despite it being new territory, he was handling it beautifully. You, on the other hand, were torn between wondering if your increased heart beat was medically concerning and how large Bob’s hands were. 

“You gotta….if you want to stop, tell me,” His breathing had increased, like it did when he had finished his part in the marching band. But this wasn’t marching band practice and y’all weren’t on the high school field. You were in your parents’ basement, with Bob’s lips quickly closing the gap between yours and his. 

It wasn’t your first time kissing Bob, but it might as well have been. Years of experience had given him more confidence. He knew where to put his hands now, one still on your neck to guide you, the other gripping the soft flesh of your hip. He didn’t hesitate to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, successfully driving you wild. 

When the rounded tip of his nose brushed against yours, a soft laugh escaped your lips. Bob didn’t mind, using the chance to let his tongue explore your mouth. Your body leaned towards him, hands gripping the soft fabric of his old Warped Tour T-shirt. 

“I thought you,” your words were slurred, a weak moan interrupting your speech due to his lips moving down to your neck, “Thought you were gonna eat me out.” 

Bob’s moan vibrated against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hands traveled to your breasts, gripping them through your T-shirt. It wasn't a hard squeeze, which is what you were used to. 

It was pleasurable. Bob was pleasurable. 

“Did none of the guys you were with do foreplay?” He asked, his hands continuing their ministrations. 

“I-fuck- yes they did, it just never took this long,” you grunted against his lips. 

“God, you have terrible taste in men.”

You wanted to let Bob know that he was now included in that group. But then his fingers hooked themselves around the band of your shorts, pulling them down. Had you known what tonight would entail, you would have opted for underwear that wasn't so worn. The long hairs on his arms tickled your sensitive skin as he moved to kneel on the floor, the cool basement air making you realize just how wet you were. 

How could he do that so quickly? 

He pinned your hips against the soft couch cushions. With anyone else, you would complain with how hard he was gripping your soft skin. But with Bob, you’d love it. It meant hand-shaped bruises that would stay after he left, reminding you of tonight. 

When his sharp nose nudged your clothed slit, a loud gasp erupted from your mouth. 

Thank god your parents were on vacation. 

His tongue was so wide as it stroked the quickly dampening fabric. How was he able to find your clit so quickly? Most struggled to find it even after your panties had been taken off. 

Bob couldn’t help but chuckle upon hearing your strained whimpers. You were practically squirming, hips erratically jerking with every touch. 

“Wha-why did you stop?” You whined, looking down to find him staring up to you. 

“Are you-I just need to know, do you still want this?” God, he was so fucking considerate. In any other moment, you’d find it endearingly sweet. 

But if his tongue felt that good against your covered cunt, you were dying to feel it without the barrier. 

“Robby, I swear to god, if you don’t eat me out, I’m going upstairs and using my vibrator,” Your voice was strained, your knuckles turning white from gripping the couch cushions.  

He laughed.  Bob knew you were bluffing. He had just gotten started and you were already so wet. 

Slowly, he took his glasses off, placing them on the coffee table behind him, making a show of it. 

“Won’t need those. I’m nearsighted after all.”

“You little-” The insult remained unsaid, as Bob pushed your underwear to the side, his mouth instantly latching onto your swollen clit. 

His mouth was warm. The pressure wasn’t too much, just enough to make you wither in pleasure. It felt so good, so fucking good. When Bob looked up, he found your mouth open, despite no sounds coming out. 

Good. 

You deserved to know what it was like, to have someone care about your pleasure, to focus solely on making you feel incredible. 

God, he could feel his cock throbbed. You looked so pretty with your eyes glazed over, mouth agape as you watched him, completely enthralled. 

And he had just gotten started. 

He wanted to do more than make you come, he wanted to blow your mind. Call it selfish, but Bob wanted to ruin you for anyone else. He had always held back his tongue when it came to the people you dated, knowing sooner or later you'd realized they weren't worth your time. 

But now he had his chance and Bob sure as hell wasn't going to let it slip away. 

The loud sound of fabric ripping broke you out of the pleasure filled haze you were in. Before you could make a sound about your now ripped underwear, your knees were pinned to your chest, giving Bob complete access to your soaked core.

“So fucking sweet,” He groaned against your cunt, sending vibrations all through your body, “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Robby.” 

To say Bob dreamed of hearing you moan his name would be the understatement of the fucking century. 

Your whole body was on fire, unable to do anything else but take everything Bob was giving. 

A resounding moan fell from your lips as Bob thrusted two fingers inside you, your walls struggling to accommodate the unexpected stretch. 

Was he this thick elsewhere?

You wanted to find out. Wanted to feel it inside you, in your mouth. You shamelessly wanted it all. But you couldn’t even voice that because Bob was tracing figure eights on your clit, his fingers brushing against a spot you thought Cosmo had made up. 

Fuck, he was doing a number on you. His soft hair threaded through your fingers as you gripped the strands. Your hips involuntarily jerked upwards, desperate to get as much of Bob as possible. 

You kept expecting him to stop, considering you were wet enough for him to fuck you. That's what everyone else did. 

But Bob Floyd wasn't like everyone else. Far from it. 

He was fucking delighted to hear all the cute, strained noises coming from you as he continued.  Each time you tugged on his hair, a groan would fall from his lips. It was the prettiest sound you had ever heard. 

Why did either of you wait this long? 

You tried to communicate, to let him know you were close, tugging on his hair, trying to move away from his mouth. 

But Bob was deceivingly strong, using his free hand to pin your hip back to the couch, his mouth firmly on your pussy. 

When you looked down, you were in awe of how blissed Bob looked. His eyes were closed as his mouth remained latched to your clit. The sounds of your own wetness were obscene, but barely audible over the moans Bob was letting out. 

He really did enjoy it.

“Come. Wanna taste ya,” His voice was muffled as he added a third finger inside you. 

Worried thoughts of coming on his face left your brain as pleasure coursed through your veins. Without any warning, the band that had been tightening came undone.

Bob used both hands to hold your hips firmly in place, his tongue lapping up your release. 

You don't recall coming this hard or this long before. It wasn't a small wave, it felt like the whole damn ocean was taking you under. 

His fingers continued to stretch you open, prolonging your high. The Navy was the perfect fit for him, considering he could apparently hold his breath for an impressive amount of time. 

The soft fabric of the couch cushions brushed as the back of your head, your eyes half closed. You couldn't even voice an acknowledge when Bob’s mouth and fingers withdrew from your abused cunt. 

“You're so pretty when you come,” Bob murmured, his lips brushing against yours. 

Your hands tugged on the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. 

“M-my turn,” you whined, hips jerking up towards his. 

Bob shook his head, “Wanna be inside ya.” 

How was this the same guy who feared clowns as a kid? 

Before you could even question it, Bob had sat down on the couch, gripping your hips to help you straddle his lap. When had he taken off his jeans? How was he so quick- 

Jesus Christ, he was huge. 

“Fuck, she was right.” 

Bob looked up from where you two were about to connect, a very confused look on his face, “Excuse me?” 

“Betsey Thomas said you had a huge dick,” you confessed, wishing that you'd think before speaking for once. 

Bob’s brows knitted together in confusion, “Betsey Thomas has never seen my dick, the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Said she could tell you were packing because of the gym shorts you'd wear for PE class.” Bob signed, shaking his head as he muttered something about the required uniform. 

“I….we can unpack this later-” 

You snorted, “Why? Too busy packing here?” 

Your laughter was cut short by Bob rubbing his cock against your soaked cunt. Memories of high school escaped your brain, the only thing you could focus on now was Bob and his huge dick. 

Curious wasn't accurate. Frankly, you were desperate for him. Had been since middle school, if you were being truthful. 

“Woah, hey. Easy baby, easy,” his voice made your thighs clench, made you whine into his shoulder as you tried to line your aching hole with his cock. 

Finally, you felt him at your entrance. Slowly, he filled you up inch by inch. Every time you tried to urge him to go faster, Bob would simply shake his head before pressing a kiss against your cheek. 

“Don't want to hurt ya darlin’.” 

Darlin. You were his darlin. 

He made you feel so full, and you didn't even have it all inside of you yet. All you could do was cling to him as he whispered praises in your ears. 

Once you reached the base, it felt like you and Bob were the only ones in the world. At least, that’s what you pretended. It was better than thinking about how he would be gone for who knows how long after tonight. After boot camp was done, he would be off to train for the Navy. 

Even he didn't know when he would return home. 

It wasn't fair, finally expressing your feelings for one another just to be separated immediately after. You wanted him to stay, to go on dates with him, to visit him on the weekends when school started, just like everyone else in a long distance relationship. 

“Hey, what's wrong? Do you- we can stop if you want, it's okay.” Bob’s voice was soft, full of concern. 

His hand lifted your chin up from his shoulder, revealing your watery eyes. 

“I don't want you to go.” 

“I know,” his voice was barely a whisper, matching your volume. Long fingers gently traced over your face, as if he was trying to memorize them. 

“I know it's horrible timing, but we'll figure it out, okay? I want to figure it out with you, I promise,” He peppered your face with soft kisses, earning a small smile out of you. 

“But for now, can I make ya feel good? Because I'm willing to bet no guy has made you come while fucking ya.” 

Unlike in the past, where Bob’s smartass comments earned him a shove, you pressed your lips against his. 

“I'm gonna start moving now, okay?” Even though he warned you, nothing could have prepared you for how full Bob made you when his hips thrusted upwards. 

“You're-fuck- you feel so good, oh my God.” 

Your fingers tangled into Bob’s hair, trying to commit the feeling to memory. 

Bob was trying to do the same, his hands roaming over your body as he took in your scent. Maybe if he asked nicely, you'd let him take a bottle of your perfume with him. 

He was going to need it for the next few months. 

Your mouth clashed against his, tongue desperate to taste him. Wandering hands desperate to feel everything everywhere. 

“When-fuck- when I come back, wanna take you out. W-we can go to that Italian place by your school. The one where you have to wear a tie.” How Bob was able to talk coherently while fucking you was beyond comprehension. 

The Navy will be lucky to have his great ability to multitask. 

“Gonna bring ya flowers too. Sunflowers ‘cause they're-oh my god- you're favorite.” You didn't think you could recall your full name with the way Bob is thrusting into you, much less favorite things. 

Your walls clench around Bob’s thick cock, eliciting a desperate groan from him, rather than the instant ejaculation you were used to. 

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna come,” Bob whined into the crook of your neck.

“That’s-shit- the point,” you grunted, your hips picking up speed. 

Bob shook his head, “Need you to come first.” 

Confusion caused you to still your hips, “Bob, I already-” 

“Don't finish that sentence, don't you dare,” Bob ended his command with a strong thrust that made you feel as if he was splitting you open on his cock. 

Your head dropped down to the crook of his neck. His skin was so warm and the smell of sage was nearly overwhelming. You knew exactly what body wash he had used, as it was the same one he wore ever since junior year, when you commented on how nice it was. 

In hindsight, it was painfully obvious. 

His lips found yours, capturing them in a desperate kiss. When you felt his fingers draw circles on your clit, you saw stars. 

You didn't know it could feel this good with someone. This was more than a quick fuck, as you actually felt cared for. It was intense, the sensitivity of your first orgasm still echoing every time the thick head of his cock brushed against your walls. 

It's audible how wet you are for Bob. He can feel it at the base of his cock, which makes him wonder what it would be like to have you on your knees, or better, your back, all spread out for him. 

“C’mon sweet girl,” he’s panting, voice desperate and raspy, “Wanna-fuck! Wanna feel you come s’bad, please, please baby.” 

Each circle drawn on your clit causes the band in your stomach to tighten. Combined with Bob’s words, you knew you wouldn't last much longer. 

“You're incredible, shit, I-fuck. All yours. Wanna be all yours. Fuck fuck fuck, clenching me so hard, fuck, don't stop.” Obscene was not a word many, if any, would use to describe Bob Floyd. 

Up until thirty minutes ago, you would have considered yourself part of that group. 

But now? Now you were falling apart on his cock. The rush of pleasure had hit like a brick, coursing through your veins. It hit harder than anything else, harder than the now banned alcohol caffeine combo drink, or any controlled substance doctors had prescribed to help you focus. 

His finger-fuck, usually you had to use two of your own- didn’t stop rubbing your clit, nor does he stop thrusting in and out of your pulsing cunt. It's almost as if-no, you know Bob’s enjoying making you feel euphoria. 

That's what blows your mind. His laser focus on your pleasure, rather than his own. Truthfully, he could have come already and you wouldn't have thought twice about it. 

But now it was all you could think about. How much he cared, how good he felt. How incredible it was for him to pull your hips flushed against his, filling you to the brim with his cock. 

“Holy shit you're so tight-I, sh-should I pull out?” 

Instead of answering, you used all your strength to rock your hips against him. Considering he made you come twice, the least you could do was help him find his release. 

Your fingers gripped his hair, tugging on the strands as your mouth clashed against his. 

The downright guttural groan he releases against your mouth has you clamping down on his cock. The motion finally leads to Bob’s undoing, causing him to come deep inside you, warmth flooding your body. 

His arms are wrapped around your body, clinging onto you as if he thinks you'll disappear if he lets go. 

You’d be a damn fool to. 

The basement is now quiet, apart from the heavy breathing coming from both you and Bob. 

After several minutes pass by, you gather the courage to break the silence, “Did you mean all that? Taking me out on a date and being mine?” 

Bob’s cheek burned a bright red as he timidly nodded his head, “I….yeah. I didn't mean to say it when we were, you know. I'm sorry.” 

You pressed a reassuring kiss to his warm cheek, “Robby, what do you feel the need to apologize for?” 

He looked up to you, those earnest blue eyes sparkling, “Shit timing?” 

“You're not wrong about that, but like you said earlier, I want to work it out with you.” Your words brought comfort, giving Bob the confidence to place a sweet kiss right on your lips. His smile was burning into yours, causing your stomach to flutter. 

“I know it's not that Italian restaurant, but can I take you out to breakfast tomorrow?” 

The local diner had been a go-to since y'all were thirteen. But this time would be different. This time you wouldn't feel the urge to look away when he caught you staring. This time neither one would correct the waitress when she'd make a comment about y'all being a cute couple. 

The soft call of your name pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“Uh can I….eat you out again? Tomorrow obviously! Like before we go to the diner?” 

Good Lord this man was going to be the death of you.

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

@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @attapullman @ryebecca @sio-ina-bottle @rhettabbotts @callsignspark @roosterforme @lewmagoo @hangmanapologist @justabovewater20 @theharddeck @cumholland @bobfloydsbabe @sometimesanalice @heartfairy @auroralightsthesky

[nemisuki]

Behind The Walls

Zombie Apocalypse AU | The society you used to know was long gone when the outbreak started. You were supposed to be worrying about what to wear at your graduation, not about what house to scavenge for supplies. You find yourself sticking together with your blonde classmate, only to be separated from him soon after. Living in a world without humans was isolating, but a world without him is just lonely. 

᧔o᧓ || Katsuki Bakugo x f!reader, no manga spoilers, no nsfw, no quirks, kinda depressing at first ngl, minor gore and blood mentioned bc zombies duh, angst but happy ending, first kisses, love confessions, minor time skips, starts as third years and ends around 19-20 yrs, tamed bakugo bc he's mature yet still feisty, 5.7k word count

According to the tally marks scribbled down in her flimsy notebook, it's been exactly three months and 10 days. 

Three months and 10 days of being on her own. 

Everyday it gets harder to think about the past, so she chooses to ignore it as her day goes on. She tries to avoid leaving the house as much as possible. Not leaving her temporary base, unless it's time to scavenge for supplies like food or water. 

When she does go out, she can only hope that she’ll find something edible. Majority of the time getting lucky by finding rusted cans of food or forgotten granola bars. It's been a few weeks since she ate her last fruit. A package of dried mango. 

Due to the sudden transition from fall to winter, it was hard to find such delights. Not leaving her much time to cherish it for a future occasion. 

It’s winter now. 

Years ago she would've been happy at the sight of snow. 

But the world is different now. 

Instead of feeling joy at the sight of the first snowflake, she quickly made her way back to her hideout. Grabbing her bookbag and packing all her essentials in it, which wasn't a lot in the first place. 

She couldn't stay much longer in this house during the winter. The structure was practically crumbling by the day and certainly wouldn't hold up in the cold climate. Honestly, she was lucky that it held up till now. 

It was at night where her mind constantly wandered back to the past. 

Back to him specifically. 

(∩˃o˂∩) flashbackᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

In a single day, society lost all aspects of humanity. 

But moments before that, came the main topic of discussion — romance and crushes. Typical girl talk. 

It didn't take long for her classmates to notice how quiet Y/N had gotten. Seemingly extra shy all of a sudden. They all squeal knowingly and nudge her to “spill the beans” on who she has her eyes on. Though everyone already knows. Hell, the whole grade probably knows. 

She dismissively waves her hands around trying to deny such silly assumptions. But her eyes go on autopilot and land on the destination – his desk. 

The blonde who seems to be slouching in his seat, is spewing curses towards the ‘extras’ who come up to him so casually as if it's any other day. The infamous hot head has definitely mellowed out over the three years. Yet his temper never disappeared completely, well not like anyone minds it now. 

Spending 8 hours around complex personalities such as his, makes you immune to their empty threats and insults. Anyone who spends much time with him, such as his classmates, knew he didn't mean harm.

As everyone waited for the teacher to arrive, that's when the screams started in the hallways. 

Y/N could never forget the scene of everyone collectively pausing their conversations to listen. To question what exactly is going on. 

Soon the odd noises started multiplying. Students began running down the hallways, yelling at the top of their lungs with complete fear displayed on their faces. 

It was then when panic kicked in. 

The speakers soon switched on in each classroom and hallway. The principal's voice echoed throughout the school, clear unease in his tone.

“ALL STUDENTS AND STAFF LEAVE THE PREMISES NOW! A UNKNOWN VIRUS HAS SPREAD THROUGHOUT THE BUILDING. PEOPLE ARE GOING FERAL AND BITING ONE ANOTHER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PLEASE SAVE YOURSELF-” 

The sudden announcement was cut off by screams of pain and unknown groaning from the attacker. Not much longer, anxiety surged through everyone's body. Everyone ran out of the classroom trying to get away from an unknown threat. 

Y/N rushes out alongside her classmates, attempting to make her way through the crowd. Students pushing one another to reach the closest exit quickly. She yells out to her friends who are farther up ahead for help. Her height comes to be a disadvantage for her as she gets shoved around left and right. 

Making no progress whatsoever, her classmates make it out of her sight. Unable to hear Y/N's voice due to the screams and chaos around them.

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her heart starts beating at an uncontrollable rate, complete dread taking over her body as she's left alone in a crowd of unfamiliar faces. Her mind is going on loop, praying to whatever god out there, to save her. To help her. 

She can feel her vision get glossy as tears start to form. And then not a second later, she feels a warm hand wrap around her waist. Pulling her out of her spiraling thoughts. 

Her body jumps at the sudden contact and she quickly looks up to her side, only to see those red eyes staring back down at her. 

“There you are” he says while inhaling a deep breath of what seems to be relief. His eyes quickly looked over her figure, seemingly to look for any sign of injury or pain. 

“B-Bakugo-” 

“We don't have much time. C'mon, we're leaving another way, this crowd is doing us no good” he says, cutting her off before she could even reply. Using his arm that was resting on her waist to easily lift her off the ground. 

She yelps in shock and quickly wraps her arms around his neck to stabilize herself, not wanting to fall from his grasp. He shoves past the mass of students and runs towards the library, the room now empty of people and eerily quiet. 

Y/N wanted to ask why he brought them here, but her question answered itself when he ran towards a window and set her back down on the floor. A fire escape visible on the other side of the glass. 

“Stand back nerd” he yells in her direction as he picks up a chair then starts to continuously hit the window with all his strength. 

Only after a few tries does the glass shatter with a loud crash. He uses the silk curtains to dust away the shards from the window frame for an easier path. With ease, he hops over the open wall and stands on the ground of the metal fire escape. 

He looks back and beckons for her to approach quickly. She can still hear screams coming from behind her in the hallway, making her legs move immediately to the shattered window. She was about to climb over when he looped his hands under her arms, picking her up like a doll and pulling her outside with him.

Once again, setting her down beside him. 

“Let's go. And don't move so fast, this fire escape might be old as hell and fall to the ground with us on it” he says while starting to walk down the steps first. 

“Do you know what's going on? There were some students in the hallway with blood on their uniform” she says, completely frightened as they started to descend down the steps in a quick yet careful manner. 

“No damn idea. But what I do know is that we’re getting the fuck out of here” he grumbles as he’s seemingly in thought. Likely trying to come up with a reason as to what's happening.

They both pause in their steps when they look towards the front of the school. Y/N gasps and covers her mouth in horror of the sight. While Bakugos eyes widen as he looks ahead at the entrance gates of UA. 

It was a massacre. Screams of pain and terror echoing around the area. Corpses of students and staff members are on the ground, bloodied and missing chunks of their bodies. Some of the dead now standing up, and moving around sluggishly to attack those who are running by. Eating eachother alive. The walking corpses only multiplied in numbers by the minute.

The movies became reality that day.

An unfortunate reality.

“Zombies” Bakugo says as his fists clenched at his side while looking at the scene playing out before him. He mutters a variety of curses under his breath and quickly takes out his phone to check if he has a signal of any kind.

“No damn signal. Of course!” he groans and puts his phone back in his pocket. He quickly looks in her direction as he tries coming up with a plan, “Nerd listen up. We’ll go to my house since its nearby then-” 

Bakugo pauses when he sees the expression on her face. Her fearful face and glossy eyes with tears already spilling out as she looks at the sick scene of zombies tearing into others flesh. Recognizing a few students from other classes or by passing them in the hallways. 

A few seconds later his hand lifts up to turn her head to face him, and not at the gruesome sight below. She can see the neutral expression on his face, and she bites her bottom lip to avoid more tears falling down. Not wanting to seem so weak in front of him. 

“Can we stick together?” she says with a wavered voice while wiping her tears away. 

“Tch. What kind of stupid question is that? Of course we're gonna stay together. Don't need you running off and getting yourself killed” he says quickly with furrowed brows, as if he's offended she'd even think he’ll leave her alone. 

He can still see the fear in her eyes and he sighs. Resting his hand on her cheek as he speaks in a confident manner, “Alright, pay attention because I'm only gonna say this once. Me and you are not going to be separated. Do you know what I did when we all dashed out of that shitty classroom? I looked for you. Because I knew your ass was gonna be scared as shit.” 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Her breath wavers at his words and admission. It made her body feel warm all over. Her tears are no longer present anymore. She notices how quickly he lets go of her chin and averts his gaze. Suddenly embarrassed by his own words, as the tips of his ears turn red. 

“So uh, don’t cry or whatever. You're with me from now on. What, you don’t trust my abilities to protect you or something? I ain’t weak ya know” he huffs scratching his head and avoiding her eyes. 

“I trust you” the words exit her mouth before she can even think. 

She does trust him. More than anyone.

Y/N knows how much he’s changed since their first year at UA. And she can't help but to have fallen in love with him along the way. Though that’s for another day, for now they’ll need to survive.

“…Good. Now c'mon my house is a few minutes from here. We'll stay there and come up with a plan” he says quickly grabbing her hand all of a sudden as they walk down the fire escape. He doesnt turn around or talk much after that. But his flushed ears say otherwise. 

The journey to his home was mostly silent, but their hands stayed intertwined. When she asked him about it, he simply spoke about her being “a notorious klutz” and having to keep tabs on her. 

Both of them avoided the topic after that, to focus on getting somewhere safe for now. Maybe one day, when things settle, they’ll finally talk about this tension between them. It’s long overdue anyways. 

✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ  ⎯⎯ ✦

That was a year ago. And they never did have that talk about romance. 

Months went by and the two were on their own. It almost felt as if they were the last survivors on earth. Not another human to be found. 

Then everything changed when they were on a scavenger run. 

There were just too many zombies. A huge hoard came out of nowhere, almost as if they were collectively migrating west like the birds in the sky. 

Both of them ran towards the forest, assuming their best chance of survival was to camouflage alongside the patches of green. Yet neither of them could escape the corpses' line of sights. 

Bakugo mutters curses under his breath as they run, “Oi! Y/N I need you to run east, find a house and stay hidden til I find you. I’m going to distract these bastards away and run in the opposite direction-” 

“W-what?! No, I can't leave you!” she quickly says, looking at him as if he lost his mind. 

“Damn it Y/N! At this rate we’ll both die out here. Now go!” He practically shoves her to change courses.

“B-but-” she looks back at the hoard and then to him again. That's too many to take on his own, not even he could…

“GO YOU IDIOT!” 

Y/N looks at Bakugo one last time as she grits her teeth in pain and frustration, “Don’t die you dummy! I-I love you!” 

His eyes widened at her sudden declaration of love. It took him a moment to react but his lips curve very slightly upwards, “Hah you idiot, as if I’ll die to these weaklings! Now go!” 

With a pain in her heart, she changes directions and starts running towards the city as instructed. Some zombies break from the pack and continue chasing her but Bakugo yells out to get as many as their attention as possible. 

She feels sick to her stomach despite the smile he gave her. Wanting nothing more than to turn back around to find him. But she knows it’s best to listen to him. To trust him. So she runs east. 

Runs, runs and runs. 

Y/N enters the first house she sees and quickly shuts the door. Sliding against the wall as she inhales gasps of air, trying to recover her energy. Other than her own racing heartbeat and breaths, it’s quiet.

Too quiet. 

She’s gotten used to Bakugos loud presence around her, only feeling more lonely now that he’s gone. But he’ll be back soon. Right? 

Quickly she shakes her head of any negative thoughts. He’s completely capable on his own. 

She grabs her baseball bat and proceeds to walk around the house. Thoroughly checking every room for potential threats. Thankfully finding nothing in the home. 

She remembers the survival tips he taught her and quickly gets to work. Making sure every door is locked, boarding up the windows and picking a resting place where there’s always two exits if needed. 

Her stomach growls and she sits down, unwrapping a granola bar from her pocket. Eating in silence as she waits. 

Days will soon pass and no sign of him. 

She wants to go out. Look for him. Maybe he’s lost. But what if she leaves and he comes to an empty house? 

After some thought, Y/N decides to track the days in an old notebook she found in one of the rooms. If he doesn't show in 2 more days then she’ll head out. 

When the time comes, she leaves the house to look for him in the woods. For any clue or sign. Leaving behind a note at the house in case he shows up while she’s away. Bold writing stating ‘Bakugo stay here. I’ll be back’. 

She came back that evening, empty handed with no clues. Coming back to the house exactly as she left it. That night she could only curl up in the old mattress she found, cuddling into a blanket as she cried herself to sleep. Missing Bakugo. And thinking the worst.

(∩˃o˂∩) flashback over & back to present  ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Y/N continues walking east, using the sun to guide her in the right direction. A tip she learned from none other than Bakugo. It’s been 3 months and 10 days according to her journal. 

No human interaction. No sign of Bakugo. 

She left another note at the house, in case he did manage to make it back one day. Telling him that she’ll continue heading East. 

Overnight it snowed a tremendous amount, much to her disappointment. It’s freezing and she didn’t have good quality clothing. Using a bunch of old ragged clothes to bundle herself up in layers.

What’s worse is that she’s low on supplies. It’s harder to scavenge during the winter. Animals go into hibernation and there’s no berries growing in the forests. The only food in her bag currently is a single can of beans and some crackers. 

She continues walking east, taking occasional breaks and hiding from zombies who she avoids contact with at all costs. The only good thing about winter is that they slow down the zombies' movements. 

Y/N doesn’t continue her journey anywhere else but East. It has to be East. Her legs take her as far as they could, til the sun starts setting. She looks around and sees nothing but trees around. No shelter in sight. But thankfully no zombies either. 

So she keeps going. Yet soon she notices the wind start to pick up, snow falling down heavier than before. Just her luck. 

A blizzard. 

Her body battles against the harsh winds and she shivers uncontrollably. This isn’t good. She genuinely might freeze to death out here. Tears want to fall yet it’s so cold that her body is unable too. Her body feels so heavy, so weak. 

After a few more hours, in the pitch black forest, she sees it. Smoke floating up into the air, the sound of engines in the distance. People. 

Her heart nearly stops right then and there. People? Survivors? 

It’s been over a year since she’s seen other humans who aren’t Bakugo. She doesn’t have any other choice, it’s either ask for help or die out here in the cold. 

With newfound hope in her heart, she continues walking forward. Her eyes slightly widening at the sight in front of her.

A military base. 

Oh my god. A campsite of what looks to be soldiers with vehicles. Concrete walls are all around the perimeter, snipers are on watch towers as they walk around. 

She tries taking multiple steps forward but her legs are so shaky, “E-Excuse me…” she says as her teeth chatter, she definitely won’t get their attention like that. Even if she ran it would take her minutes to reach the base. 

Slowly with weak arms she lifts her flashlight and flicks it on and off in the direction of the watchtowers. Hoping to get someone’s attention, anyones whatsoever.

After a few tries, someone on the watchtower seems to notice. They talk to the other guards and a few minutes later, the gates soon open. A military car zooming out and coming into her direction. 

Her knees give out. Due to relief or fatigue she doesn’t know. She falls onto the ground of covered snow and her eyes struggle to stay open. 

She hears the vehicle pause nearby and a man shout “It’s a survivor!” 

Her eyes squint trying to regain her sense of sight, yet all she can hear is mumbles all around her. Then soon, feel herself being picked up and loaded into the back of a truck. 

“She doesn’t seem to be infected!”

“Quick check her vitals!”

“She's freezing to the touch!” 

“Ma’am? Can you hear me? You’re safe now”

“What's your name?”

Her eyes slowly start closing against her will but she tries answering, “Y-Y/N…”

Everything is a blur after that. All she could remember is the feeling of warm blankets being draped over her. Then just darkness. 

(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ time skip⋆｡𖦹 °✩

It's been a while since then. Two weeks since she's been temporarily situated at the main base. 

For a few days she was in and out of consciousness, fighting against her hyperthermia and malnourished body. But after much treatment from the medical team, she was able to finally wake up and adjust to her new surroundings. 

It was so different, yet so familiar.

She resided in a tent with other survivors who had similar stories. Though she tended to keep to herself, despite feeling joy at no longer being alone, it wasn't the same as with Bakugo. 

The survivors in her tent often spoke around the campfire as they ate the food that the soldiers provided for them. Then the topic of discussion suddenly switched. They went around speaking of their past loved ones or companions they lost along the way when the outbreak started. 

“And you Y/N? Did you have anyone before the world went to hell? You don't have to share if you don’t want to of course” 

All eyes look in her direction, waiting for her to speak. She hesitates but stares at the fire as she speaks, “I was at school when the outbreak started. We heard screams in the hallways, and an evacuation announcement soon after. I ran out of the classroom, lost my friends in the crowded hallway. Honestly I felt like I was gonna get trampled at some point-” she weakly chuckles at the thought and a small smile forms on her face. 

“But then a classmate found me. We managed to get out of the building in time. Spent a year together after that… just the two of us” she says while a wavered voice towards the end. She clears her throat trying to regain herself and speaks quicker.

“We got separated after that. There were too many zombies chasing us, so he ran another direction to lead them away. Haven't seen Bakugo since that day-” she cuts herself when she hears silence. Too much silence. 

She looks up from the fire and around at the group. Noticing their widened eyes and stunned expression. 

“W-What?” she says awkwardly scratching the back of her head, not knowing why they reacted so differently to her story in specific. 

“Did you say Bakugo?” an older man asked her quickly with furrowed brows. 

Honestly she didn't even realize she let his name slip out of her mouth, “Oh.. yeah his name was Bakugo-” 

“As in Katsuki Bakugo?!” another woman jumped in with a curious expression. 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

Y/N could almost feel everything freeze at that exact moment. Her eyes widened at the woman's words. Everyone seemed to notice her sudden look of shock and another man quickly interjected, “A blonde guy with red eyes and a grumpy as hell temper right?!”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“Yes! Do you know him?!” Y/N says nearly jumping out of her seat and dropping her plate of food. Newfound hope in her eyes. 

“That guy was brought here a while ago! The soldiers found him in the woods all exhausted and bloodied up. Apparently the guy took on a hoard of zombies himself. He kept refusing to come here, saying that someone was waiting for him back home. But he passed out from exhaustion before he could refuse. The soldiers returned with him after and he's been here ever since” the man says as the others smile at the realization. 

“Where is he now?!” she quickly says, grabbing her boots and tying up the laces. Already feeling her heart rate skyrocket at the revelation. 

“He works here as a soldier! His group should be coming back from an expedition any moment now at the front gates!” 

“Go get him girl!” 

“You got this Y/N!” 

She shines the brightest she's had in a while and nods at the group, “thank you all!” 

Her legs ran as fast as she could towards the front of the base. Her smile never leaves her face. She knew it. She knew he was alive. 

In a matter of minutes, she makes it towards the front gate and runs over to join a group of awaiting survivors. “Excuse me, did a group return from an expedition just now?” she says to a woman as she tries to steady her breathing. 

“Hm? Not yet, they're opening up the gates now. You made it just in time. I'm waiting for my boyfriend, are you as well?” a female says as she smiles at her. 

Y/N feels her cheeks heat up at the question, suddenly growing flustered. She didn't even know what type of relationship she had with Bakugo. 

Sure they were alone together for a year and had clear feelings for one another, yet they never did establish anything between them. The woman notices and chuckles, “So you are! Then let's pray for everyone's return hm? Oh look, here they come!” 

The gates slowly open up, revealing a large group of soldiers on the back of trucks and cars. People cheer as the vehicles pull into the base and the gates close back up once everyone is in. Soldiers scatter around to find their families or loved ones that are waiting for them. 

Y/N walks around the crowd looking in every direction trying to find him, that blonde hair that she misses so dearly. With no luck, she can feel her heart sink to the bottom of her stomach. 

Til she spots it and freezes in place. 

That spiky blonde hair that she hasn't seen in months. 

His back is to her as he speaks with other soldiers, “Restock on supplies and take the injured to the medical tent. And someone get me a report tomorrow on the number of casualties we faced on the expedition” he says in an authoritative cold tone as he walks towards a tent. 

“Yes Captain!” 

Her eyes don't leave his figure as he disappears behind a large green tent. He looks both healthier and stronger now, she can tell by the increase in his back muscles through his uniform. 

And captain? He's captain of a squad… she shouldn't be so shocked. Of course he is, given his incredible leadership and survival skills. 

She shakes her head to get out of her thoughts, now running towards that tent with purpose. Her hand shakingly hovers over the tent curtain to move it out of the way-

“I told all soldiers to not bother me after the expeditions. Stand down soldier” he yells out as if he sensed her presence. 

Y/N smiles at the sound of his voice and pushes past the curtain. It was clearly his tent. Where he slept and resided after missions. Her eyes land on his back as he is taking off his gloves, he pauses and tosses them down on a nearby desk. Turning around to face her for the first time. 

“Oi. State your name and rank, for disobeying orders you shall be-” 

His whole body stiffens as he looks at her. His eyes widening and his words wavered towards the end. Their eyes meet instantly. He looks like he's seen a ghost. 

“Y/N-” 

“Katsuki!” 

Her legs moved forward before she could think. The gap between them lessened by the second. Tears were already beginning to spill out of her eyes. He quickly closes the distance, meeting her halfway. 

She wraps her arms around his neck, clinging to him so hard that her hands shake. Crying into the crock of his neck. His familiar scent invades her nose and sends warmth throughout her entire body. 

He's not doing much better. As soon as she reached him, his arms immediately wrapped around her waist. His breath came out in shaky breaths as he held onto her. 

“How- thank the gods. You're alive. Thank the fucking gods” he says in a hoarse mumble to himself or her, she doesn't know. He quickly pulls away to give her body a full scan for any injuries. When he sees nothing he lets out a loud sigh of relief.

“Katsuki-”

He lifts her head with his hand and leans down immediately. His lips finding hers in a desperate searing kiss. Her breath hitches but her eyes slowly close at the sensation. His hands find her waist yet again to pull her body flush against his. 

She's reminded of how warm his body was. His palms feel like it's burning his mark on her skin through her clothes. She can feel his fast heart rate against her chest, and she knows he can feel hers too.  

The kiss increases as time goes on. Only after a minute does he part away from her lips. They gasp for air, yet only for a few seconds at best. Because his lips were back on hers shortly after. 

But it wasn't lust filled whatsoever. His left hand trailed up her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. This kiss was more soft. More tender. 

He slowly pulls away and his hand reaches her cheek, wiping away the remaining tears from her face. With this close proximity, she can see those red eyes she's missed so much. Her hand gently rests against his cheek, wanting to feel him. 

Making sure this is real life and not one of those hopeful dreams she's had in the past few months. 

“What happened? You went missing for months, I was looking all over for you. I thought you had…” she doesn't dare finish her sentence. Biting the inside of her cheek to avoid the tears resurfacing. 

“Some people told me that soldiers found and took you in. But it's been months and you're some sort of captain now? Were you ever gonna come back to me-” 

“I never stopped looking for you Y/N” he quickly says with furrowed brows. Still cradling her face. His other thumb massaging small circles on her hip to ease her nerves. 

He sighs and runs a hand through his spiky hair, “Shit- I wasn't supposed to stay here that long. Wasn't even gonna join them til I fucking passed out. I woke up here a few days later. Tried to leave but I had an injured leg, so they kept me here til I healed up. After a week or so, I realized how safe it was here. Safe for you.” 

His eyes meet hers again and the grip on her hip tightens. Guilt showing in those red irises. 

“I joined the soldiers immediately after that. I went out on every expedition near the east to keep an eye out for you. Did my best to show off my strength so I can quickly climb up the ranks. I knew if I left this place, it would've been near impossible to find you. They had vehicles and people I could use. I managed to become a captain in no time, and got my own group. Practically had to beg the leader of this place to give me the east section of patrols.”

He rests his forehead against hers and lowers his voice in a softer tone, “I promise. I have never stopped looking. I didn't just become captain to look for you. I'm making this place safer. For the other people here sure. But mainly for you. So we don't have to be separated ever again. I don't know how the hell you found me first, or what you've gone through on your own and you can tell me later but… I swear to you-”

His warm hand grabs hers as he kisses the back of it, “I will never let you be alone ever again. Because you're mine now. Got it nerd?” 

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“Mhm…” she lets more tears fall down her cheeks, smiling at his words. Looking into his eyes as she forces every detail in her brain. During their time apart she was terrified she’ll forget his face. But now she won't have to worry. 

Bakugo scoffs and the corners of his lips turn up, “Cmon we're getting some food in you. You're thin as hell.”

She couldn't help but to laugh at his words, “I was eating a bit earlier, i'm not that hungry” 

“They have real mangos here-”

“Mangos?!” 

He lets out a rare chuckle and ruffles her hair as they start walking out the tent, “Yeah they do. Though I haven't tried them yet.” 

Her head snaps in his direction at his words, “What?! You're telling me you've been here for months and never tried the mangos?!” 

Bakugo hums and intertwines his hand with hers. She can feel her cheeks heat up as the people around stare at them with shock. 

“Didn't want to have the mangos” he grumbles as he leads her to the building. 

“Why not?” she says tilting her head in confusion. 

“They reminded me of you.”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“O-Oh… I see” she says softly with new found happiness. “Um Bakugo, why is everyone staring?” she whispers to him trying to change the subject. 

“Hah? Oh…. well I don't really have the nicest reputation here. The extras are probably shocked I'm holding your hand or something” he mumbles as his ears turn pink. But he doesn't let go of your hand. She doesn't mention it, thinking it's cute. 

Eventually they made it to the canteen, and all eyes were on them. But one glare from Bakugo caused everyone to look away and go back to their private conversations. 

Y/N follows him to a private room for the both of them, sitting down as he orders soldiers to get “the best mangos” they had. They sit in that room for hours. Both of them giving updates on the time they were away from each other. Happily eating a countless amount of the tropical fruit. The sweet taste rejuvenates both of their taste buds. 

“Um so about back then… I think about the last time I saw you everyday. Thinking about how I should have done things differently. I have many regrets in my life, but my biggest regret was not saying it back” he mumbles as he stares at her, not breaking eye contact. 

“Huh? Say what?” 

“I love you”

 ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ 

“I love you too” she says shyly looking at him and resting her hand over his hand.

He rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Yeah I know nerd. Now give me that rest of your mango if you're not gonna finish it!” 

“What?! No way!” She tries taking another piece yet she only sees Bakugo steal the plate. 

The two start going back and forth, stuffing their faces with fruit. Completely content with where they are right now. Now safe behind these walls, together.

✦ ⎯⎯⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨ masterlist || taglist || intro || socials ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⎯⎯ ✦

[niceutossu]

Observant | Sakusa x Reader

Of course you charmed Hinata first, always matching his energetic and early morning greetings. Although the wing spiker was also easy to impress and even easier to like so it wasn’t too surprising.

Similarly, Sakusa wasn’t that shocked when Bokuto became putty in your hands. He always perked up like a little flower whenever you’d shower him with praise, your tone sincere but words firm; never going as far as to baby him but helping him get back up when he dramatically fell down.

Atsumu did take a bit longer than he had anticipated to come around. At first, he was acting like a high schooler with a crush, avoiding you at all costs until you offhandley mentioned having lived abroad. Afterwards, he easily became the most smitten.

Despite all your newfound connections, you had kept your distance from Sakusa, which he preferred and appreciated. During the brief moments you two did interact you always kept it professional, offering a polite greeting followed up by helpful advice. There was no pressure to become fast friends and you were already really good at your job, having been handpicked by Iwaizumi himself.

While he did come to silently admire your professionalism, and Iwaizumi-seal-of-approval, he found your ability to seamlessly switch gears between him and his teammates to be a bit…off-putting.

How was it that you could get along with him and Atsumu? It was unprecedented and you also were the newest addition to the team, so he couldn’t help himself from questioning your true intentions.

-

“Hinata-san is always so lively, huh?”

Sakusa paused upon hearing your voice, not wanting to intrude on you and Iwaizumi’s private conversation about his teammate. While he’d normally be one to mind his business, he couldn’t help but stand still for a moment to find out what you really thought behind the scenes.

“I guess you could say that.” Iwaizumi responded, having known the ginger longer than he had worked with him.

Sakusa slightly frowned at his tone, assuming you had broken your professional streak and were engaging in petty gossip. Of course you had been faking all those cheerful greetings, just as he had-

“Well, I like it.” Your clear voice interrupted his thoughts, tone firm as if challenging Iwaizumi’s previous comment and his own negative thoughts.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, feeling a brief sense of relief wash over him before he felt shame slowly replace it. What the hell was he doing eavesdropping and why did he feel guilty? It’s not like being a people person absolved you of anything, you were bound to show your true colors sooner or later.

-

Weeks later during your first ever team meeting, and Sakusa’s umpteenth, you catch him off guard yet again as their power-hungry assistant coach goes to make the same tired comment about Bokuto’s inconsistency.

“You’re just not very reliable during high-pressure moments.”

Glancing over to look at his teammate, he could already see his two-toned hair begin to droop when suddenly your hand shot up and all eyes turned to look at you.

Your expression was calm but your eyes were glazed over with purpose, so unafraid it almost seemed like this was your umpteenth meeting.

“Bokuto-san has always been someone who performs best when he’s supported. I’ve seen firsthand how well he steps up under pressure when he’s in the right headspace, and that’s something we can easily help him with.” You speak up, voice firm but polite.

Glancing over at his teammate again he can see the tip of his hair now standing tall, his amber eyes filling with overdramatic tears as he tried to start bounding towards you, barely held back by Atsumu and Hinata who knew better than to disturb a team meeting.

The tension in the room, despite Bokuto’s incessant wailing, was thick. Even though you were both assistants, you were younger which meant the assistant coach was technically your senior, and he had taken your comment as direct disrespect. Thankfully, Iwaizumi came to the rescue, not only agreeing with your point but adding a few of his own to de-escalate the situation.

Afterwards, Sakusa couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you during the rest of the meeting. The smallest part of him even hoping to catch your eye which surprises him.

Why would he ever want such a thing?

-

It’s their first big home game and nothing is going right for Atsumu. Sakusa can tell by the sloppy passes and frustrated grunts during rotations. Everyone was bound to have an off-game, it was human nature. Except Atsumu was anything but human— or at least he pretended to be.

Bokuto’s ‘don’t minds’ and Hinata’s ‘next times’ fell upon deaf ears as the setter finally began to crack. Before he could blow up on court the whistle was blown and a timeout was called.

The blond angrily made his way to the bench, brushing off his teammates encouragement as he sat down with his eyes locked onto the floor. He put his hands on his knees as he breathed heavily, clearly lost in thought over his minor but costly mistakes.

Even though the setter was a pain in Sakusa’s ass, he would never deny his skill when it came to the sport. He was annoyingly prideful but he had every right to be when it came to his precision and control during games. Any time he couldn’t show off these assets, his meltdowns were inevitable.

As such, Sakusa simply swipes the sweat from his brow while glancing over at his aggravated teammate from the sidelines. He knows it’s better to leave him alone to collect himself.

Just as he thinks this, there, from the corner of his eye, he sees you walking over to them. You stand right in front of Atsumu and he can tell the whole team is holding their breath as they wait for you to say something.

Over-the-top encouragement was a guaranteed way to piss Atsumu off, and also the go-to for inexperienced trainers. Sakusa can’t help but feel a little bad for you when the blond finally glances up at you, his eyebrows knit tightly and mouth parted as if ready to tell you off.

Before he can say anything though, you kneel down slightly to meet him at eye level, voice steady but soft enough for only him to hear as you speak. From his spot on the court, Sakusa couldn’t hear what you were saying but he does notice something strange: Atsumu is actually listening to you.

A few moments pass and you stand back up, offering him a small nod before going to stand at the sidelines. The setter isn’t staring at the ground anymore and the previous frown on his face has eased up. Whatever it is you had said, it had clearly resonated with him.

A few points later, Atsumu delivers a perfect set to Hinata who spikes the ball and wins them the rally. Afterwards, the blond turns back to look at you in the sidelines, flashing you a smile Sakusa had never seen before.

It’s not the annoying grin he puts on for fans or the one he’s practiced for pictures, but something more real and subdued: a genuine token of appreciation.

When Sakusa catches the exchange he feels stupid. Really stupid. You were authentic and true and he was a pessimistic asshole. At least, that’s what it felt like the universe was telling him as the rest of the match goes smoothly. Never once during it do you bring any more attention to yourself, despite having been the one to break through to their setter.

Later, during their time in the locker room and after having won, Sakusa overhears Bokuto ask Atsumu what you had said to him. Normally, Sakusa would be in and out, repulsed by the environment and wanting to avoid these sort of post-match conversations all together. This time though he stayed put, taking his time to pack his things.

Why did he even care?

“Nothin’ that hasn’t been said before.” Atsumu responded simply, and Sakusa can’t rationalize why he feels a pang of disappointment when everyone but him seems to know what that means.

He knows you had probably gotten closer to his other teammates, while he himself could count the amount of times you had spoken to him on one hand. But were you really that much closer to everyone else but him?

After he had seen the moment shared between you and Atsumu, he had silently accepted defeat. There was no need to question your intentions or gauge for your reactions anymore. He decided then and there that he could finally let it go. You weren’t like any of the trainers before, you were better in every way and then some.

But now, knowing that he had missed out on whatever magic you seemed to carry, he felt more on edge than he had waiting for you to fail.

He stuffs the rest of the things in his bag unceremoniously, clicking his tongue in annoyance and unintentionally gaining the attention of Hinata who gives him a curious look.

“You’re not really that close to Iwaizumi jr. are you, Sakusa?” The ginger asked, simply making a harmless observation but landing a critical blow on whatever remained of his fellow spiker’s composure. Honestly, Sakusa should’ve told him to stop calling you that ridiculous nickname but instead, all he could muster was a head shake ‘no’ before leaving.

-

The next few days during practice, Sakusa still can’t keep his eyes off you. Now without any judgement to cloud his mind, he’s started noticing things he hadn’t before.

Like how your hair always seemed shine when you would stand by Iwaizumi during morning meetings. Or how you smelled when you walked by, clean but never overpowering.

He feels like a creep for being able to pick up on it but he manages to convince himself he’s still merely observing, making sure you’re doing well for the good of the team.

Over time he discovers that if he gets you to meet his gaze you’ll tense up when your eyes meet his own, with you quickly feigning ignorance afterwards as you look anywhere but him.

Your subtle antics were starting to become a bit too endearing for his peace of mind. And before he knew it, getting you to meet his gaze became like a game of sorts. He felt a little mean at times but nothing excited him more than to see someone who was usually so composed, become so flustered.

You weren’t a serious person per say, he had overheard you cracking jokes even he found himself nose exhaling at. But you also weren’t so easily swayed. Hinata’s friendliness and Bokuto’s frequent touches usually went unnoticed by you. Even Atsumu’s blatant flirting left you unfazed (despite some of the lines making even Sakusa’s stomach flutter…).

So why was a little eye contact making you so nervous? He knows he can be an intimidating guy but he also can’t help himself from letting his thoughts drift to more interesting possibilities.

What if he made you nervous for…different reasons?

That thought alone led to a week of sleepless nights. He remembers the whole ordeal well because he had terrible eye bags. Or at least terrible enough for you to leave energy packets near his water bottle, neatly boxed and sanitized to his liking.

Yet again you kept him thinking of you without even saying so much as a word to him.

How cruel.

After that incident, he finds all of his thoughts drifting back to you, with his eyes now unconsciously following suit. He felt a little ashamed at times, given that you were an innocent bystander who had gotten caught up in his uncharacteristically messy emotions. The two of you weren’t even friends.

You were a stranger, charming and capable yes— but still a stranger. He was only seeing you through a rose-colored lens, he rationalized, having heard nothing but high praises from his peers. You definitely had your own germs and quirks he’d find annoying, a deadly threat to his very way of life.

But if he was being honest with himself, truly honest, you had your own gravitational pull. A sort-of welcome weight that went directly against his usual sound logic and reason.

He only truly noticed it when he saw the way you lit up talking to anyone and everyone. That’s when he thinks he’s starting to get it, to get you. And the patience and passion you have for the sport that rivaled his own.

The one he could see it in the hours you put in and the minute details you remembered, things that made you stronger and infinitely better than anyone before you.

Your quick wit was also a nice touch but these were things he didn’t even get to experience, merely yearn for from the sidelines for almost a year before he feels himself finally begin to give into your weight.

The old rickety dwellings of his heart creak at the thought of making room for another person. Especially after having spent his entire life trying to put space between him and the entire world.

Relationships with his teammates were a given, an unwritten rule in the countless contracts he had signed throughout his career. He could deal with people if it meant he got to play volleyball.

This, you, were different though. There was no need to pursue anything outside of daily niceties, simple hellos and goodbyes. You had given him the space to, the chance to live his life without another person’s germs to deal with.

But he didn’t want that, he hated that. He also hated that you had made the choice for him before getting to know him, even though you had only done so because you did get to know him through Iwaizumi. He feels stupid when he really thinks about it; how his feelings were just one big paradox.

If nothing was going to make sense, then there was no need to be logical. At least that’s what he decides when he catches himself searching for you during public events, never once actually spotting you among the crowds.

And it shouldn’t have been that surprising given your role, things he would have normally taken into account being such a rational guy. But all he can focus on for the rest of night is the disappointment he feels, and the heavy ache in his chest. It should’ve irritated him, should’ve made him push you further away but instead it left him wanting more.

Yes. He wanted more, even if it came at the cost of social interaction. If you were going to keep him up at night and occupy his thoughts 24/7, it was better to break his own rules than lose his mind thinking about you. And, if you were going to keep your distance, then maybe he’d to be the one to close the gap.

-

Whatever you were in the middle of writing down is suddenly forgotten when you feel his gaze on you again. It’s getting heavier each time, lingering longer, more insistent. It made it a bit difficult to focus on your work, especially when it was practically non-stop now.

Sakusa was an observer, that much was clear from the day you met him. He was a lot more laidback than the trio you had become well-acquainted with, preferring to stay back with Meian or Inunaki.

You never minded his gaze, noticing how his eyes closely followed anybody from his teammates to coaches. Except just like him you were also an observer, immediately picking up on his increased glances.

In the beginning it felt like he was judging you, gaze passive and discerning. There was no real interest behind it past cold calculation. Despite the heaviness, it was bearable then. You weren’t a stranger to doubts and Sakusa was just another person to prove wrong.

Except, his eyes on you feel different now: they’re searching, watching and impossible to ignore.

The first few times you had pretended not to notice despite the way his eyes burned into you, as if studying you. It made it harder to focus on the clipboard in front of you, your racing heart thrumming loudly in your ears. Why was he looking at you?

You kept telling yourself that you didn’t care, that you were imagining it, and that it didn’t matter either way.

But it did matter.

You had been trying so hard to convince yourself it didn’t, that Sakusa was just another player—albeit a more complicated one—and that whatever you were feeling were just misplaced nerves.

After all, you were surrounded by men like him all the time: strong, talented, and painfully good-looking. Bokuto’s infectious enthusiasm and Atsumu’s flirtatious antics didn’t make your pulse quicken. Even Hinata, with his boyish charm and relentless optimism, didn’t throw you off like this. So why Sakusa? What was it about him that had you so unsteady?

Perhaps it was the way he stood apart from the others, always watching from the sidelines, but never fully engaging unless he had to. He kept his cards close to his chest, making him difficult to understand and even harder to approach. His sharp jaw and dark eyes definitely didn’t help to ease your nerves either.

Honestly, it was a bit frustrating how much he was affecting you. Half the time you couldn’t even see his entire face but when you did, you’d always have to take your lunch then and there to collect yourself in the break room.

You had been so careful to respect his boundaries, so determined to keep things strictly professional, and yet here you were—practically stumbling under the weight of his gaze.

What made it even worse was the fact that he knew. He had to know, didn’t he? You weren’t that great at hiding it, despite your best efforts. It felt like every time he looked at you, he was waiting for you to slip up, to betray some part of yourself you’d rather keep hidden.

Despite this, you wanted him to acknowledge the tension that had been building between you for months now. Because at least if he said something, you’d know where you stood. You could finally stop playing eye tag, stop wondering what he thought of you, and stop second-guessing yourself every time his eyes lingered a little too long.

Except you doubted he’d ever comment on his effect on you and a part of you honestly preferred to live your life without him ever saying anything about it. Perhaps you were overthinking it, and there was a logical explanation waiting to be revealed.

Like your hair being messy or how he found what you thought was thoughtfulness to be overbearing. You were someone who usually prided themselves on their people skills but Sakusa had left you utterly perplexed. It was well-known he was a complicated person but this was way beyond your scope.

Normally, he would stare from afar but this time he was approaching towards you, and quickly. You turned your head to meet his obsidian eyes and flash him a friendly smile, doing your best to ignore the nauseating way your stomach flipped and heart squeezed.

What why what—

“Do you need something, Sakusa-san?” You ask, putting on a brave face despite your crumbling composure.

It wasn’t the first time you had said his name but it was the first time he noticed how sweet it sounded coming from you. It was like even your voice was attentive, carefully curling around the syllables of his name.

“Do you have a handkerchief I could borrow?”

You immediately freeze at his question, eyebrows almost knitting together in confusion before your expression turned neutral again, remnants of hesitation still evident in your eyes.

What the fuck.

From the first day you had met Sakusa, you had also learned another thing about him; he was a germaphobe on the extreme end of the spectrum. Iwaizumi had warned you to steer clear of his belongings and ‘let him come to you’.

You remember cracking a joke that he was kind of like a cat but Iwaizumi hadn’t laughed, or even smiled for that matter.

“Well, no, cause cats eventually warm up to you.”

You waved it off awkwardly before changing the topic, silently making a mental note of Sakusa’s habits. You didn’t mind having to accommodate to him or the fact you wouldn’t be able to get close to him period. This was your job after all, you’d respect any and every boundary of your new teammates.

So why, why was he standing right in front of you, close enough to where if either of you reached out your arms you’d touch, asking for something so…unclean. You blinked up at him, head still reeling at having been so caught off guard.

It was a well-known fact Sakusa would rather be caught dead than use anyone else’s, so he can’t even feel offended at your stunned reaction. If anything, he feels embarrassed that this is the only way he could think of getting closer to you.

You feel your spine tingle as his scent invades your senses. There was an expected cleanliness to it but behind that was a hint of sweat; salty but inviting like the sea. Normally you’d gag at the smell but the fact that it was Sakusa made it gratifying. You manage to hold yourself back from taking in a deeper breath and getting fired for sexual harassment.

You only realize you’ve failed to say anything for too long when he suddenly cleared his throat, now mortified from your earlier gaping. You let out a string of apologies, stumbling over your words as you hastily make way to the bench where you had set your things, looking over your shoulder to make sure he was following you.

Despite seeing you in this flustered state constantly, it never failed to make him feel excited. You never acted this way with other team members, never threw them such coy looks. But even if that was true, he was still himself.

Aside from the excitement of being around you, he was also nervous. Completely unsure of what he would do when he was forced to take what he asked for. Even though he was interested in you he was also not about to get over years of ingrained habits like it was nothing.

When you went to hand him the cloth, his eyebrows raised ever so slightly in surprise. You had his exact brand and style of handkerchief. He could have sworn you used a different brand, having seen you offer all his other teammates a checkered red and white one.

“I haven’t used it for anyone else or even myself yet, so,” you said, voice the least confident he had ever heard it. He knew you were well-acquainted with his germaphobic tendencies but thinking about how you had been holding onto something like this, for him, was almost too much to process.

He stared down at you, expression hardened as he remained unmoving. Your hand remained outstretched to offer him the cloth, still neatly pressed in the packaging. Had you been observing him as much as he had been observing you? If so, he had never noticed your keen eyes on him.

“This brand,” he started, unsure of what he wanted to say.

‘This brand…is my favorite?’ Stupid.

‘This brand…is the best.’ God what is he, Hinata?

‘This brand…isn’t what you normally use.’ Absolutely not.

“I saw you using one like it once and so I tried them out.” You stated, unknowingly saving him with your shy confession.

“What did you think?” He asked, refusing to let your first real conversation end despite the awkward pauses and stiff flow.

At his question there was a sudden beat of silence, your eyes scanning over his face with an unreadable expression. He felt his heart stutter in his chest at your gaze, wanting to run away and hide before you could find whatever you were looking for.

On your end, you were taking your time to admire his features up close. He was handsome, moisturized skin and matching lips. His eyebrows were well-maintained, and you felt your hand twitch at sight of duo moles above his right one; fingers longing to trace over each one individually.

If this was going to be one of your only conversations with Sakusa, and the closest you’d ever get to him, you wanted to savor it despite the tense atmosphere.

“You have a good eye.” You complimented, voice so sweet and honest it made him smile, a small one that he followed with an amused exhale.

At the rare sight you gave him your own unique expression, eyebrows knitting together with a pretty red tint blooming across your cheekbones. Your eyes were searching his own for some sort of explanation, as if you had read him wrong but when he let his smile fully reach his eyes your blush only grew deeper.

Sakusa wasn’t some sort of alien, he smiled when he felt like it just like anyone else, and between knowing you noticed him and having you compliment him, he just couldn’t help himself.

“Thanks, you have a good eye too.” He said, eyes twinkling with some sort of double-meaning that you didn’t quite pick up, evident in the way you cocked your head to the side.

Maybe you hadn’t noticed him the way in the same way he noticed you.

He waved his last statement off, opting instead to take the package from your hand, making sure your fingers touched despite your best efforts to avoid it. He felt himself tingle at the brief skin-to-skin contact, eyes meeting yours as if to say ‘that was on purpose’.

“I’ll be sure to return this.” He states in his usual cool tone as you remained in a bit of a daze, cheeks still slightly flushed with your mouth pulled into a tight line.

He had never seen you show any of the other guys such a vulnerable expression and he felt his chest swell with pride at the thought. The red on your cheeks began to fade as you composed yourself, looking less and less coy but just as alluring.

“You can keep it, I bought it just for you.” You admitted, your voice once again brimming with newfound confidence as you bowed slightly.

Now it was Sakusa’s turn to be stunned. He had not expected you to be so honest. This brand was expensive and the store was out of the way. Had he really been worth the trouble?

The piercing sound of a loud whistle and squeaking of sneakers cut your exchange short. Without saying anything he met your eyes again with an intensity you finally understood the meaning of. At least enough to not look away this time, firmly holding his gaze despite the weak feeling in your knees and loud beating of your heart.

A few moments passed between the two of you, eyes locked onto one another’s in a silent confirmation of sorts, an unspoken I see you. After no more than a couple seconds he gave you a small thanks and wave goodbye. As he approached his teammates he felt himself wanting to look back at you, at your eyes more specifically. He always thought the way you avoided eye contact when he stared was amusing, but having you finally hold his gaze nearly killed him.

Had he been looking at you that intensely? He pressed his lips together tightly, swallowing down hard as the image of your glossy eyes staring into his own filled his mind. Before he could think about it any further he remembered the brand new handkerchief in his hand, gripping it slightly before deciding to pocket it, having no real intention to use it then it there.

It had been a gift after all, and a thoughtful one at that. He’d have to save it for some special occasion, just like he’d also have to get you to look at him like that again.

[sturnioz]

confident!reader wants fratboy!matt to apologise to her in a certain type of way.

you stare at matt unamused, your eyes narrowing into sharp, evil slits. your arms remain stubbornly crossed over your chest, your eyebrows furrowed in storm and rage as he stands in front of you.

the smile of his face only fuels your anger, and it takes everything in you not to wipe it off yourself as he steps closer, trying to snake his arms around you waist.

but you don't let him.

not this time.

his words are meaningless to you right now as your blood boils, replaying the moment in your head on loop of the audacity of that girl—the way she dismissed you during the entire conversation while shamelessly throwing herself at your boyfriend, like you didn't exist.

it isn't the first time this has happened. it happens all the time, and usually, you found it amusing—almost laughable—watching girls stumble over themselves to catch a sliver of matt's attention. you'd roll your eyes, sit back, and let his disinterest speak for itself.

but this one?

this one got under your skin.

this one hand your fingers curling into your palms, nails digging into your skin, and your patience hanging by a thread.

"c'mon, baby," matt drawls in the way it always does when he's trying to coax you out of your moods. his hands wrap around your wrists, gently tugging in an attempt to uncross your arms. "don't be like that, c'mon."

you don't budge, standing firm as a stature. "she was disrespecting me, matt," you speak, tone low. "acting like i wasn't even part of the conversation, and you—" your glare sharpens. "you played into it."

"i didn't play into anythin'," matt counters, his tone still maddeningly calm which pisses you off even more. his hands are still persistent, tugging at your arms with determination. "i didn't know she was flirtin' with me, sweetheart."

"you're not dense, sweetheart. you knew she was flirting with you." you scoff, your scowl deepening as the memory flashes vividly in your mind.

"i didn't, i didn't, i didn't," matt murmurs repeatedly, his voice dropping quieter as he finally manages to uncross your arms, his hands sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

he pulls you into his chest so easily that it makes you want to resist, but his warmth surrounds you before you can think twice. his lips find your jaw, brushing against it in soft, deliberate kisses.

"got my eyes on you always, yeah? don't give a fuck about them."

you huff, "didn't seem like that earlier—"

"kitty," he interrupts, his voice a little firmer now as he nips gently at your jawline, just enough to make you flinch at the sudden action. his hands move to your face, cupping your cheeks as he tilts his head back to meet your gaze. "i'm sorry. i'm sorry she disrespected you. i'm sorry i didn't notice it sooner. 'n i'll say 'i'm sorry' a thousand more times if that's what it's gonna take for you to forgive me, baby."

his words apologies linger in the air, and you remain blank faced. you want to hold onto your anger, to let your frustration simmer just a little longer. but the way he's looking at you, the way his hands feel against your skin—it's enough to make the fire in your chest sizzle, just for a moment.

and he knows it.

he always does.

"what can i do?" he asks you. "want me to apologise to you again? 'cos i will."

you pause for a moment to think, and then, and idea flickers in your head. a slow smirk spreads across your lips as you tilt your head to the side, watching him intently.

"get on your knees," you say, tone smooth but commanding. "and apologise to me."

matt's eyes darken instantly at your request. his eyebrow quirks up slightly, as though he's testing you, but he doesn't question you. he doesn't even ask if you're serious. instead, to your surprise—and satisfaction—he lowers himself down, slow and deliberate, keeping his gaze locked on yours the entire time.

his hands slide from your face as he goes south, trailing down your sides until they rest firmly on your hips. there's a weight to his touch that pleases you, but you stand your ground.

the corners of your mouth twitch upward into a grin, a rush of power surging through you as you take in the sight of him kneeling before you.

his hands drift lower, brushing over your thighs, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt to rub over your skin, as though he's savouring every second of this—as though he's worshipping you.

then, he leans forward, his lips pressing soft, open-mouth kisses to the sensitive skin of your thigh, each kiss slow and deliberate, his breath hot against you.

he peers up at you through his lashes, his gaze half-lidded but intense, and he murmurs softly. "i'm so sorry, baby... was stupid, 'n an asshole."

The words roll off his tongue with ease, and you can feel the tension between you, the air crackling with unspoken energy.

and there's something about the sight of matt like this—on his knees, completely at your mercy—makes you feel like you could set the world on fire.

his fingers grip your thighs tighter, digging into your flesh, “please...” he murmurs, his lips returning to the skin of you thigh—he slowly moves up higher, mouthing at your pussy over the fabric of your lacy panties. “forgive me...”

divider credit. @issysh3ll

© STURNIOZ

[bugstuff4ever]

headcannon gimli likes to sleep near to legolas while the elf is on night watch. bc he’s immortal and needs less sleep, lego is literally assigned watch all the freakin time, so he usually just finds a tree to lean against and posts up. but once he and gimli start becoming closer, he notices the dwarf will stay up to talk with him (chatting about everything under the sun. family, grief, art, music, legends,jokes) and they’ll converse late into the night. lego finds it very sweet how he sacrifices his precious sleep just to talk to him.

he can always tell when Gimli is getting tired bc his words will slow down and he’ll start to lean forward. Once that happens, it usually doesn’t take very long for him to excuse himself to go sleep.

but one night its warm and the crickets are chirping and the stars are out and they’re talking and it’s just so good that gimli pushes through the exhaustion just to hold onto the moment a bit longer. During a pause in the conversation, legolas notices soft lil snores coming from him, and looks over to nudge him and help him to his bedroll a few feet away,,,but he sees the dwarf is beginning to lean and lean and leannnnn until his head is resting on lego’s shoulder.

oh. wow.

he ignores the butterflies in his heart, and instead focuses on remaining as still as possible so he doesn’t jostle the sleeping dwarf.

carefully, he rests his head atop gimlis. they remain this way for hours, leaning into each other, with legolas awake, trying not to think about how much he likes this.

When the sun crests the horizon and the dwarf wakes up, he blushes at the closeness

legolas spends the whole of the next day worrying that he overstepped somehow, but when they settle down that night for his watch, gimli sits as close as ever. And when his speech begin to slow and his head begins to nod, the elf braces for the “well I really must be going now”. Instead, gimli leans his head on his shoulder, nestling close, and immediately dropping off into sleep.

this time, legolas can’t ignore the butterflies

[inthelibrarybtw]

you want me to pretend? | twelve

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: college!basketball!captain!rafe x college!student!reader content: fluff, angst, college au, smau/irl, mentions of medical procedures, surgery, hospitals, medicine, jealousy, breastfeeding mentioned once.

summary: You were trying to make one problem disappear. You were tired, so you lied. That small lie led you to contact the last person you wanted to ask for help. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Rafe; only that you didn’t want to deal with his constant teasing more than you already did. Also, you two weren't that close, but this one lie was going to bring you two closer and maybe help some truths come to light.

word count: 1.9k

authors note: it took me longer than I wanted but my health wasn't cooperating. This wasn't supposed to be a flashback but if I had added this to last chapter it would've been too long. We will be back to the present time line next part, I just needed to get this out of the way. ENJOY 🙂‍↕️

11 | 12 | 13

Sophomore year - Spring Break 2023

“Look, it’s not packed, I told you,” you said to Kelce.  

“Yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t want to come to the beach, but you and Angie did, and he was tagging along because it was his only day with nothing planned.  

“You know you are crashing, right?” you teased him.  

“Excuse me for wanting to spend time with my best friend.” Kelce rolled his eyes again as you laid out something for the three of you to sit on.  

“I am spending time with my best friend,” you said with a little smirk, referring to Angie and not him.  

“Just say you hate me,” he said, putting a hand over his chest and pretending to be hurt. Meanwhile, Angie was just chuckling and setting down some of the items she had brought for the picnic at the beach.  

After the three of you were settled, you took some pictures as you always did and started talking. The conversation began with Angie telling you about Ethan and what had happened with him in more detail, and that he had tried to explain why he did what he did, but only made things worse. Kelce gave his opinions when asked; he knew better than to interrupt the two of you during your catch-up session. The conversation shifted to Kelce and Nikki, the girl he was seeing. She was nice, and you didn’t have much to tell him about her, just that sometimes she was a bit too jealous, but he knew that and liked it.

After eating and having a lighthearted chat, Kelce decided to probe a bit about the Jordan and Rafe topic. He wasn’t asking to get something out of it, but after the party and the date a month ago, he had been wanting to ask some things, though he had held back, not wanting to piss you off. You had reacted a bit badly to his lack of enthusiasm when you told him about the date, so he had refrained from asking why you had suddenly decided to give all your energy and attention to Jordan when you had been feeling unsure about him.  

“So, how are things with Jordan? Any plans for this week?”  

“No, we have been talking here and there. He wants to go out again, but our schedules keep clashing.”  

“It’s spring break; shouldn’t he be free?” Kelce tried to sound supportive, but he didn’t like Jordan; there was something that didn’t sit right with him. The only person he had admitted this to was Rafe because he knew he also didn’t like him, though Rafe’s reasons were completely different. Kelce just didn’t like the guy, while Rafe didn’t like Jordan because you liked Jordan. Jealousy.  

“He has plans with his family,” you said, taking a sip of your Coke. 

“Okay, yeah, I get it…” he paused. “But besides that, everything is good, right?”  

“Yes, after the date, he has been even sweeter, mentioning things I told him, and he always brings up the date. I’m taking it as a good sign.” You said, and Angie nodded as if to reassure you.  

“No regrets on going on the date then?” Kelce stated rather than questioned.  

“No regrets at all,” you said with a smile. “Why? You thought I was regretting it?”  

“No, no, just making sure you feel okay with him.”  

“I do, thanks for asking.”  

“So Rafe?” he said, not knowing how else to bring it up. You knitted your eyebrows.  

“Rafe? What about Rafe?”  

“You don’t like him anymore?”  

“What?” You asked, even more confused; he had caught you off guard. You hadn’t told him you had a crush on him. Angie had been the only one who knew about what you called a silly crush.  

“Or did I get it wrong?” Kelce asked, trying to read your reaction. You sighed, giving up.  

“No… I did have a little crush on him for a while, but it’s over now.” He smirked at your answer.  

“When?”  

“When what?”  

“When did you get over him? Was it before or after you saw him kissing Sofia?” He was testing you, and you hated it.  

“Who is Sofia?” Angie asked, a bit confused.  

“High school friend of Kelce,” you explained to her. “And that kiss is not relevant.” It was; you knew it had been relevant. It had been the whole reason you decided to move on.  

“If you say so.”  

“Kelce, I don’t like him anymore, okay?”  

“Thought it was a silly crush,” Angie added, grinning.  

“Angie!” you huffed and rolled your eyes.

—

This time, the family spring break trip had also been a family reunion; older cousins and other relatives had tagged along. There were more kids around this time, and Emily was over the moon to have cousins her age and even nieces and nephews who were her age or close to it to play with. Rafe mingled and talked to everyone, but at the end of the day, he always returned to what he felt comfortable with: Sarah. They were that pair of cousins who did almost everything together since childhood, and people mistook them for siblings. His mom and Sarah’s mom had been best friends since college, and by luck or destiny, they had married brothers, which led them to share a last name. Later on, it resulted in Sarah having her aunt’s name as her middle name.

So, as with any other dinner, Sarah and Rafe were sitting next to each other, ready to comment on whatever would happen during the meal or had happened earlier. 

“Who do you think will end up drinking more tonight?” Sarah asked. 

“Grandpa, maybe; it’s always him. Watch him make toasts for nothing to excuse his drinking,” Rafe said, chuckling under his breath. 

“I think it's gonna be Liliana. She officially stopped breastfeeding, and she said she wasn't looking after the baby today.” She chuckled, and Rafe rolled his eyes. 

“I know; she almost threw Theo at me today.” 

The dinner went on normally, just as they had expected. At one point, it was just the grown-ups at the table, but they were not interested in that talk, and Sarah had wanted to ask Rafe something for a while but hadn’t had the chance to do so. 

“So… how are you feeling now about the Y/N situation?” she asked, a bit scared of how he was going to react. 

“What situation?” 

“Your feelings for her.” 

“I’m okay; she’s with Jordan, so I don’t care anymore.” He said it was nothing, but Sarah knew better. This time, she didn’t want to push him to say more, or he would shut her off entirely, and that was not her intention. 

“So that’s it?” she asked, a bit concerned. Rafe sighed.

“Yeah, that’s it…” 

“Want to talk about it?” 

“No, she’s just a friend, I guess. I don’t know; we never got to talk or hang out one-on-one, so I guess she’s just part of the friend group but not my friend.” Sarah noticed the resignation in his voice, and it made her feel bad. She knew Jordan a bit, and she didn’t feel like he was a bad guy. Of course, between Jordan and Rafe, she would choose Rafe for you, but you were happy with Jordan. 

“I’m sorry…” 

“Look, she’s with him, and I just don’t care anymore. It’s her life; she can do whatever she wants, and that’s it.”

Coming out of the anesthesia was hell. You didn’t remember anything you had done. You thought you had just passed out, but according to the nurses, you talked a lot. You even fought with one of them. You apologized, and she said she was used to it; she knew patients didn’t mean it. 

As your mom had gone out of your room to check on you and see if the insurance was covering this, a nurse helped you shower and get ready to go home. Even though you knew it didn’t matter how you looked, you styled your hair and did your makeup because you wanted to look presentable. 

“Is your boyfriend waiting for you at home?” the nurse asked in a gentle tone, just trying to make conversation. 

“Oh no, no, I don’t have a boyfriend,” you chuckled softly. 

“Oh, I’m sorry for asking. I just assumed from the way you were talking about this guy when you were coming out of the anesthesia.” 

“Oh, did I say his name?” you asked, curious about what you had said. 

“No, honey, I’m sorry, but you were saying how nice and thoughtful he was at your birthday. I don’t interrupt when patients are like that; I just let them talk,” she said gently, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Rafe. 

“Probably just one of my friends,” you lied. You didn’t have to lie to the nurse who didn’t know about your life, but you did. 

“Well then, you have amazing friends,” she said.

—

When you got back home, you stayed in the living room, not wanting to walk up the stairs. Jordan had called you, asking if he could drop by to see how you were doing, and you had agreed. When he arrived, you two talked, and he met your mom briefly. You were listening to music and just hanging out when the doorbell rang.

“Don’t even try to stand up,” he said in a warning but caring tone. He wanted to go answer the door, but your mom went first. You heard a soft, “Thanks,” before she closed the door.

“What was it?” you asked loud enough for your mom to hear.

“Sarah sent you a get-well-soon basket.” She placed the basket next to you so you could see what was inside. 

“This is too cute; I need to text her.” Jordan smiled at your reaction to the gift from Sarah. “Oh, look at the card! It has a band-aid,” you chuckled softly as you looked at the front of the card. It was a band-aid with googly eyes, stick hands, and legs, and it read, “Get well soon.”

After texting Sarah, you grabbed the card and checked what she had told you. It was signed just as she said it would be: Sarah and Rafe. You felt something tug at your heart as you read the handwritten note, but you had to ignore it.  

“Jordan, can you change the song, please?” He nodded and went to grab your phone to change the song.  

“Of course.” He didn’t mean to see the texts waiting there for you to read, but he did. Rafe Cameron. He knew Rafe as one of Topper's friends. You had mentioned him a couple of times when you two had started talking, but it never made him worry.  

Jordan didn’t think of himself as a jealous guy, but when he read what Rafe had bought you, it made him want to hit the guy. Why was he buying you things? Wasn’t this supposed to be just from Sarah?  

“Can I see the card?” he asked. You nodded and passed it to him. When he opened it, he suppressed a huff. He had seen your reaction to the card, and now that he knew Rafe was in it, something just didn’t sit right with him. He was sure his eye was going to start twitching if he didn’t calm down.  

Jordan tried to ignore the feeling for the rest of the time he was there. He canceled a plan he had just made to stay there in a way to compensate for not buying you anything like Sarah and Rafe had done. He didn’t tell you how he felt; you needed to focus on your recovery, and he had to focus on not feeling jealous of Rafe.

taglist: @zyafics @maybankslover @niaunoffical @marleymarleymarleymarley @rafesbabygirlx @akobx @papercranesandinkstains @winterivory @my-name-is-baby @drunkinthemiddleoftheday @drewrry @ursogorgeous13 @pr3tty-pink @lmaowhatt @xoxosblogsblog @ayy1234567 @congratsloserr @moonywhisp3rs @iamheretoread1234 @rafesdrew @pogueprincesa @cokewithcameron @landososcar @drewstarkeyslover @wintersoldierslover @rafecqmeronslove @defnotayonna @wintercrows @letstryagaintomorrow @rafestoothbrush @angelicameron @dreamybabbyy @percysley @sideboobrry11 @diasnohibng @charchartumb-lr @mariamadison6-blog @drewstarkeyswife-7 @memoirofasparklemuff1n @wtfisastiles @lcversvoid if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything I write

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.

[wonderjanga]

I May be a Kid but I’m not a Kid Kid.

When Billy’s secret identity was revealed, he started getting treated like a little kid. It really annoys him whenever these guys try to baby him.

Supes: “Billy, uhm… we were wondering if you would like to be moved to the Teen Titans.”

Marvel: “What…?” *sounds absolutely horrified at the thought of that* “Why?”

Supes: “You’d around kids your age.”

Marvel: *stares and blinks rapidly* “Are you saying you’re gonna demote me to the Teen Titans of all things? No offense.”

Supes: “Billy, it’s not a demotion.”

Marvel: “But it is. I’ve been on this team for what? Four years- almost five. You guys are acting like my age automatically means I can’t be a good hero anymore.”

Supes: “We’re not saying that. We just think it’d be good if you were on a team of heroes around your age.”

Marvel: “But you are. You’re literally all but saying it. I like those kids but not enough to want to be on a team with them.” *doesn’t know if he’d like listening to Robin’s condescension in more than small doses* “I prefer you guys. We’re still friends, aren’t we?”

Supes: “Of course!” *happy Billy is still somewhat comfortable around them*

Marvel: “Good.” *smiles* “Besides, I do hang out with kids around my age. Mary and I are the same age while Junior’s a year older than us.”

Supes: “He’s the oldest?”

This conversation got them to back off about kicking him off the team. That didn’t stop them from poking their stupid adult noses into other parts of Billy’s heroics though.

Marvel: *helping someone at like 2am because he patrols as much as he can*

Supes: “Captain! Whatcha doing up this late, champ?”

Marvel: *makes a face that being called champ, but doesn’t say anything about it* “Uh… patrolling? *finishes helping the person*

Supes: “Patrolling? It’s a little late- er early for that. Isn’t it?”

Marvel: “I guess…? I still have a couple more hours.”

Supes: “Shouldn’t you be turning in earlier?”

Marvel: “No…?”

Supes: “Aren’t you tired though? Kids need plenty of sleep.”

Marvel: *a little irked at being called a kid but brushes it off* “Stamina of Atlas, remember?”

Supes: “Oh.” *silence* “Well, maybe you could still turn in earlier?”

Marvel: *looks around for any hidden cameras* “No.”

Supes: “Oh okay…” *doesn’t really want to seem controlling so he just sulks while flying back to Metropolis*

Don’t worry, Superman trying to give him a curfew isn’t the only thing a nosy adult tried to do.

Marvel: “Mr. Batman Sir? Are the new long term mission signs up sheets out yet?”

Batman: “Ah, yes.” *hands him the sign up tablet* “There are three new ones.”

Marvel: “Great! Any potential overlaps?”

Batman: “Only these two.” *points to two missions*

Marvel: “How long would these two last?” *points to one of the overlapping missions and the one that doesn’t overlap*

Batman: “Together would be about a month and a half or longer.”

Marvel: “Cool.” *is about to sign up for them*

Batman: *remembers school exists* “And school?”

Marvel: *pauses so he can look at Bruce confused* “What about it?”

Batman: “If you sign up for these, you’ll miss at least a month or two. You’d be stuck catching up.”

Marvel: *laughs* “You say that if I actually go to school.”

Batman: “You don’t?”

Marvel: “No.”

Batman: “I see.” *takes the tablet away before Billy can sign* “Well, you’ll go now then.”

Marvel: *thinks he’s joking* “What?”

Batman: “I’ll enroll you in a school in Fawcett.”

Marvel: *stares for a solid minute* “Mr. Batman Sir, you’re not sending me to school.”

Batman: “Yes, I am. William-”

Marvel: “Don’t call me that.”

Batman: *sighs* “Billy, education is important. You shouldn’t put it off for heroics. Even Robin goes to school.”

Marvel: “Okay? I’m not a Robin though. And that only works because you guys patrol at night. If I go to school I’ll miss my day-patrol.”

Batman: “I’m sure there are plenty of other heroes in Fawcett who patrol during the day. Why not leave it to one of them?”

Marvel: “Because I don’t want to. I like saving people. The more heroes who are out in Fawcett, the less likely somebody might get glossed over and hurt because a hero wasn’t there in time to save them. I don’t wanna be the person that failed them just because I was busy with school or because I went to bed early… I say that last part because no matter what Supes thinks, he’s not subtle about wanting me to have a darn curfew.”

Batman: *stares in silence because he now feels a little bad and also empathizes with that “what if I’m not there mentality*

Marvel: *thinks that silence is Bruce still not understanding him* “Look, if you still don’t get what I’m trying to say, imagine if someone came into Gotham and tried pushing you out of the superhero business just because they thought you unfit to be hero. That’s how I feel in this situation. I don’t tell you guys how to your jobs, so why are you trying to tell me?” *reaches over to grab the tablet a sign up for the two missions he wanted to take*

Yeah… Batman started treating him normally after that. Supes also did because his superhearing caught the convo.

Then, there’s his relationship with Flash and GL. They’d taken to treating him like a little kid or nephew even though Billy doesn’t want that.

Marvel: “Could you guys uh- stop treating me like a kid?” *sounds disappointed them*

Flash: *somehow still feels dread at the disappointment even though, NO, this guy is younger than him, why does Barry still feel like he disappointed his dad?* “You are a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, I know, but you didn’t used to do this before.”

GL: *also dislikes that he’s bothered by the Dad Disappointment™️ radiating off of Marvel* “That was before we knew you were a kid though.”

Marvel: “Yeah, well I don’t care. I don’t need you to act like this. I don’t want you to act like this. I want friends, not chaperones or parental figures or anything stupid like that. I don’t like that you’re treating me differently now.” *sounds bitter* “You guys seem to forget that I’ve been doing this since before most of you were even, excuse my language, sperm cells. And sure, there was suspendium, but I fought Nazis, commies, and my own villains on top of that, all without being treated like a defenseless little kid and I ended up just fine. So I don’t need any of you acting like I’m a stupid little baby.”

That shut them up. It didn’t make any of the relationships between Billy and them go back to normal though. Not completely anyways. At least it was somewhat better though.

By the way, Billy, throughout all of this, just sounds bitter about being treated like this. He misses his friends guys :(.

[wendichester]

Hiiiiii!!!! I love your stuff- you’re a really amazing writer!!! I was wondering if I could request a Cas x Reader, where he’s confused about reader’s relationship with a friend or one of the Winchesters and is disheartened about his feelings for R. Take all the time you need, and make sure you’re drinking water and eating regularly.

Lots of Love- Ophelia xx

₊˚⊹♡ you mean more,

summary. castiel gets jealous of the way you interact with dean.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. slight angsty, slight fluff

wordcount. 469

notes / warnings. jealousy/confusion, unspoken feelings, emotional vulnerability, bittersweet tone with a soft resolution // thank you so much for requesting sweets 🩷

Castiel watches you laugh.

It’s not a new thing—he’s watched you laugh before. He’s watched you laugh with Sam, with Dean, with Charlie, with a coffee cup in your hand and a sunbeam across your cheek. But this laugh—the one echoing through the map room now—it’s different.

Because you’re laughing with Dean. And you’re leaning into him. And Dean is leaning back like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

And maybe it is.

Cas’s hands stay folded behind his back, rigid. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. (Not that he needs to.) But there’s a sharp, stinging twist in his vessel’s chest that he’s learning to associate with something frustratingly human.

Jealousy.

He doesn’t understand why it’s happening again. He’d thought, maybe foolishly, that things between you two had meant something. The late-night conversations. The way you’d look at him when he didn’t understand a joke, then explain it so patiently, grinning like it was cute. The way you’d casually brush your fingers against his when passing the salt, or when your knees knocked his under the war table and you didn’t pull away.

But now? Now you’re laughing with Dean like the world only exists in that little space between the two of you.

Castiel turns quietly, the trench coat swaying around his calves, and disappears down the hall before he can watch any longer.

Later, you find him in the library, standing between the stacks, staring at a book he isn’t reading. His eyes don’t even flick to you when you approach.

“Cas?” you ask softly.

“Yes.”

“You okay?”

A long pause. Then, “Why are you with Dean?”

Your eyebrows lift. “What?”

“I saw you laughing with him,” he says, as if the observation explains everything. “You seemed… very happy.”

Your heart dips—then stutters.

“Oh,” you say, the realization settling. “Cas… I’m not with Dean.”

He turns his head slightly, confused. “You’re not?”

You step closer, voice softer. “Dean’s like a brother to me. He was telling me about this time he got stuck inside a port-a-potty during a hunt and tried to use holy water as mouthwash. I was laughing because—well, you’d laugh too, trust me.”

Castiel blinks. His shoulders lose some of their tension. “I see.”

You study him for a second, then ask gently, “Is that what’s been bothering you?”

His silence says enough. You reach out, fingers brushing against his—intentionally this time.

“Cas,” you whisper, “I care about you.”

His eyes meet yours. Blue, stormy, full of questions.

“You’re the one I look for in a room. The one I talk to when I can’t sleep. The one I miss when you're gone.” You offer a small, hopeful smile. “You mean more.”

His voice is soft. “You mean everything.”

And this time, when your fingers curl around his, he doesn’t hesitate.

Not even a little.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[jxwl4k]

Hii!! May I request an angst to fluff? But if you don't take angst request pls feel free to ignore this!! So Katsuki and fem reader who dated for half a year between almost end of first year then half of their scond year but then Katsuki breaks up with reader cuz she was a 'distraction' and of course left her heart broken. And then on third years, in the middle of their semester, he then realizes he still loves reader and like tries to reconcile with her. Idk what else to add so I'm just leaving the rest to you!! Love your works btw they're so good!!

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Still yours .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. angst to fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Bakugou broke your heart. He came back. You made him earn it. He did.

1st Year, End of Semester

You and Katsuki Bakugou were never loud about your relationship.

He wasn’t the type to hold hands in public or shout about how much he loved you. But in the quieter moments in between training and studying he’d slip you his hoodie, walk you to your dorm without a word, or rest his forehead against yours after a long day.

It started in the last stretch of your first year, grew steadier into second year. Six months of something real. Something gentle despite him being the most explosive person you knew.

But it ended with a bang.

2nd Year, Halfway Through

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You stood in the training room, the air cold, his words colder.

You blinked. “What?”

Bakugou’s hands were clenched. His jaw was tight.

“You’re a distraction,” he muttered. “I need to focus on becoming the best. I can’t afford to waste time… worrying about you all the time.”

You stepped back like you’d been hit. “So I’m a waste of time now?”

“That’s not what I—” he paused, growling. “I just—this is what’s best.”

For who?

You didn’t cry then. Not in front of him. You just nodded, whispered “Okay,” and walked away. You didn’t see the way his eyes followed you until the door shut behind you.

3rd Year – Mid-Semester

You weren’t the same girl from a year ago.

You smiled less, laughed with your friends more, focused harder on your studies. You’d built walls around your heart high and unbreakable.

Bakugou had noticed.

From across the classroom, during missions, in the dorms. He saw how you no longer looked his way, how your smile didn’t pause for him, how you didn’t flinch when his name came up in conversation.

You’d moved on or at least, that’s what it looked like.

But him?

He was stuck.

Stuck in the memory of you smiling in his hoodie. Of how you cheered him on after training. Of how you looked at him like he was already the best, even before he believed it himself.

He had pushed you away for his dream, only to realize… you were part of it.

One Night After Training

He found you alone by the vending machines. Hair still damp from your shower. Hoodie zipped up to your chin.

He swallowed. “Hey.”

You glanced at him. “Hey.”

God, it was like you didn’t even see him anymore.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. “I’ve been… thinkin’.”

“About?”

“You. Me.” His voice dropped. “Us.”

You froze.

He rubbed the back of his neck, frustration creeping in. “I was a damn idiot. Thought cutting you off would help me focus. But all it did was make everything harder.”

You didn’t speak.

“I miss you,” he whispered. “All the time. Every day.”

Still, silence.

His heart thundered in his chest. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. Hell, I wouldn’t if I were you. But… I just needed you to know that I’m sorry.”

Your voice was soft. “You really broke me, Katsuki.”

He flinched. “I know.”

“I thought I wasn’t enough. That I was holding you back.”

He stepped closer. “You were never the thing holdin’ me back. You were the thing keeping me grounded.”

You looked up at him, eyes full of pain he wished he could erase.

“Why now?” you asked.

He exhaled. “Because it took me losing you to realize I don’t want a future where you’re not in it.”

You stood there, heart aching with all the love you’d buried. He wasn’t asking for much. Just a chance. A beginning.

“I’m not saying it’s easy,” you murmured. “But I still… I still love you, Katsuki.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You gave a small nod.

He hesitated, then reached out slowly, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.

“Then let me make it right,” he said. “Day by day.”

And this time, you didn’t let go.

Bakugou didn’t win you back with flowers or grand gestures. He showed up every day.

He trained with you, walked you home again, left you little notes before exams. He asked about your day and actually listened. He never interrupted. Never raised his voice at you, not once.

He remembered things you didn’t think he would your favorite drink, the way you hated thunderstorms, the way you liked your rice crispy instead of soft.

He gave you space, but never made you feel alone.

He didn’t rush your heart back to him.

He waited for it.

And slowly, it came back.

Not all at once but gently, like the kind of love you had at the very beginning.

© jxwl4k 2025