#thank you for letting me think these things out loud!

[gothcsz]

El Cumpleañero | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~8.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

Tags: friends with benefits dynamic, jealous!javi (can't help myself), flirting, dancing, javi is a little ooc here but idgaf i need him (in my head he's a bit younger in this au), some untranslated spanish, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), back shots for days, a lil bit of exhibitionism on javi's part, creampie, one use of a degrading term (slut), some dirty talk, pussy pronouns, facial, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions of reader, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: hiiii everyone! this is my humble submission to @yxtkiwiyxt's never have i ever challenge with my prompt being never have i ever woken someone else because i was too loud during sex 🙈 kiwi bb tysm for hosting such a lovely writing challenge for us, i hope you enjoy this smutty fic! oh, and i am dedicating this one to @letsmeetintheafterglow, amorcito, you left such me a juicy request in my inbox for javi that i just had to write! so, i merged it with the challenge prompt 🖤 hope you dream of him tambien ☁️ also, i couldn't help but project my fantasy of wanting to dance to corrido/banda music with javier. i feel like he's actually a pretty good dancer! swinging ya around to the beat of the song with his hand at your lower back and a modelo in the other. ugh. the song la niña fresa basically inspired the nickname javi calls reader 🍓 and just sets the vibes, i think. as always, let me know that you think and thank you for reading 🖤

The backyard is buzzing with the chatter and laughter of what feels like half the town, the smoky scent of barbecue wafting through the air and the twang of a corrido blasting from oversized speakers, making the ground shake.

You walk through the fenced yard, the southern breeze grazing your skin as familiar faces nod or wave in passing. Your eyes scan the crowd, skimming past clusters of people dancing and conversing, all of them gathered to celebrate someone who swore he didn’t want a fuss.

Of course his family didn’t listen. They turned his “keep it small” request into a blowout, like they always do, inviting anyone and everyone. Not that he could stay mad—he never really does.

When you spot the man of the hour, the corner of your lips lift instinctively and your feet seem to move on their own accord, pulling you toward him.

He’s by the bonfire, the glow of the flames painting his chiseled features in shades of gold and shadow. He stands with his hip jutting out, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, sharing it lazily with two girls you barely recognize.

They hang on to his every little move, trying to soak up whatever attention he might spare. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed too many times, and you really can’t blame them.

You’ve been in their shoes (still are, truth be told), waiting for even a flicker of his focus to land on you, and you know all too well where that desperation led.

To his bed, on his tongue, his cock—you shiver at the memory, your nipples pulling taut.

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to try to make hearts ache; it’s just who he is.

A walking daydream wrapped in leather and indifference, with that devil-may-care grin that promises trouble and delivers every time.

You roll your eyes and huff sassily, detouring toward one of the coolers instead. You grab a drink, making polite small talk with a couple of acquaintances, though you can’t keep your gaze from wandering back to him.

He’s already looking at you.

It stops you mid-sentence the way his brown eyes are fixed on you, heavy with intention.

The cigarette is at his lips, the faint glow of its cherry pulses when he sucks in then lets out a ribbon of smoke. 

He makes it look so damn hot, it’s almost enough to persuade you into picking up the bad habit.

The curly haired beauty next to him is chattering a mile a minute, but it’s clear he isn’t listening.

His focus remains locked on you, sweeping slowly—mischievously—down the length of your body. You can feel it, as sure as a touch, lingering at the deep neckline of your sweater then on the way your jeans hug your curves. It’s shameless, but that’s him, isn’t it?

Your smile tilts into a puckish smirk. Lifting your hand, you wiggle your fingers in a small wave.

It’s like striking a match. His gaze narrows slightly as if he’s trying to decide his next move.

He hands off the cigarette with a casual flick of his wrist and shifts his focus back to the girl beside him. She’s still rambling, her words tumbling over each other in an eager attempt to hold his attention.

He doesn’t bother pretending to care. Instead, he lets out an indulgent chuckle, shaking his head like whatever nonsense just came out of her mouth is equal parts adorable and absurd.

You almost feel bad for her. It’s hard not to fall for that sleazy charm—especially when it’s attached to a man that’s so fucking handsome.

When she swivels to chat with her friend, his eyes immediately find yours again. A cocky expression paints his countenance, one that practically asks: What the hell are you doing all the way over there?

You entertain the idea of making him wait, savoring the power in holding his attention hostage for just a moment longer. But who are you kidding? The magnetic pull he has over you is impossible to resist. It always is.

The small box tucked snugly in the back pocket of your jeans presses against you as you weave through the crowd, sidestepping a few overly tipsy guests and slipping past the fold-out tables scattered across the lawn. 

���Hey,” you say, sliding yourself effortlessly between the two girls, not caring about interrupting their conversation. Immediately, their sharp side-eyes practically stab you with twin daggers of irritation.

You don’t flinch. You’re not here for them, anyway.

You only care about the pair of deep brown eyes that make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he looks at you. “Happy Birthday, Javier.”

A flicker of what looks like smugness and amusement crosses his face as he licks his lips, taking another measured drag.

He’s dressed in a variant of his signature look—a white button-up with a few buttons let loose to show off his neck and the top of his chest, despite the brisk autumn air, and a worn brown leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders.

However, it’s the ridiculous tiara perched atop his head that catches your eye, and the sight makes you frown ever so slightly when you notice the matching glittery ones on his groupies, like it’s some inside joke you’re not a part of.

For some inexplicable reason—it rubs you the wrong way. You can’t believe you’re slightly jealous of it. How stupid.

“Thank you, fresita.” 

Ugh, that infuriating nickname. You’d been charmed by it at first, assuming it was something sweet and impish. It wasn’t until Chucho let it slip that it’s also used to describe a woman that’s spoiled and picky that you realized it wasn’t just affectionate; it was also dig at your finer tastes.

And so what if you are a little high maintenance?

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though he loves coaxing it out of you. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting a soft undercurrent of flirtation lace your voice as you ask, “Mind if I pull you aside? I’d like to give you your gift.”

His interest is evident in the way his brow raises and the girls bristle slightly, their expressions shifting to thinly veiled jealousy once they realize he’s no longer focused on them. You captured him the moment he saw you amidst the crowd.

“We were just finishin’ up,” Javi says casually, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. He flicks a glance at the two disappointed faces, his smirk widening. “Con permiso, chicas. Thanks for the smoke.”

As he steps away from them, you feel a little triumphant thrill surge in your chest. They look deflated, their pouty expressions almost comical as they watch him leave with you, muttering goodbyes under their breaths.

The curly haired woman stares you down, and you try not to let the smug victory of whisking him away be too obvious… though you can’t help but smile condescendingly before fully turning away. 

“Some fan club you’ve got,” you tease once the two of you are finally alone, near the entrance of the sunroom that’s a part of the house.

He smirks, leaning against the siding and tilting his head, once more eyeing you down like you’re the finest thing he’s ever seen. “You jealous?” 

You scoff, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Absolutely not.” It’s a little white lie, since you had felt a twinge of that pesky envy, but you don’t want him to know that. He’d either give you shit for it, or on the more extreme end, rethink this arrangement he currently has with you.

And you’d rather not lose it. Not right now, at least. You’re having too much fun letting Javier fuck your brains out on a consistent basis. 

Slowly, you close the space between you, your fingers darting up to flick the tacky tiara perched on his head. “Cute.”

Before you can step back, his hands are on you—big and warm as they grip your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

The force of it has you sighing out in satisfaction. There’s something wholly fucking addictive about the way he handles you.

His hands know exactly where to place themselves, his fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure to set the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“No need to be, baby. You know you’re my favorite.” If your friends knew you were hooking up with the town slut, they’d definitely stage an intervention before you could finish your next sentence. Laying out all the reasons why letting Javier Peña into your bed was a one-way ticket to heartbreak city.

They’d call it desperation. They’d call it lowering your standards.

But what they don’t know is that standards start to feel awfully overrated when Javier has you pinned to a mattress, whispering filthy promises in your ear as his hands map every inch of your body. They don’t know what it’s like to have his full attention—his lips trailing worshipful kisses down your skin, his gravelly voice murmuring sweet nothings in Spanish that you don’t fully understand from how he slurs them together but feel all the same.

Being around him is electric, intoxicating, a high you’re not quite ready to give up.

So no, your friends don’t know. And as long as you can keep this thing between you and Javier your little secret, they never will.

“You gonna let me unwrap my gift or what?” His hand slides lower to cup your right cheek with shameless familiarity, giving it a frisky spank that makes you giggle.

This man and his obsession with your ass—it’s borderline ridiculous, and yet, you’re absolutely here for it.

“Later, maybe,” you reply with faux coyness, your finger dragging along his mustache then over to his pouty lips. He purses them, placing a kiss to the tip of your finger, “if you’re not too busy.”

His hold on your backside tightens, voice morphing into something more sultry, raspier, which is your absolute weakness. It makes your thighs rub together. “You know I always make time for you.”

You laugh softly at that. More often than not, you’re the one initiating while he only reaches out when it suits him. It’s not ideal at times, but you don’t get hung up on it.

You’re not about to ruin this by asking more of someone who doesn’t have it in him.

You reach back and pull the small box from your pocket. “Here’s your real gift,” you say, holding it out to him. Your voice softens, but there’s still a playful inflection. “Hope you like it.”

Curiosity fills those dark eyes as he takes the box, eyeing the tacky birthday wrapping paper with a soft smile. The sight of that grin on his face has your eyes morphing into hearts.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” you reply with a shrug. “But I saw it at the thrift store and just knew it had to go to you.”

You angle yourself to press a light kiss to the tip of his chin, your lips brushing against the stubble before you nip at it gently with your teeth. “Open it.”

His nimble fingers pull apart the crinkled folds of the wrapping paper to reveal the small box inside. When he opens it, you see his immediate delight, and your heart does a traitorous little flip.

The golden chain bracelet glints under the string lights strung along the roof’s edge, somehow making it look nicer out here than how it had been displayed at the store.

“Damn, this is nice,” he says, genuinely appreciative. The praise sends a faint thrill up your spine, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him lift the bracelet out of the box to inspect it.

You’ve imagined how good the gold would look while his wrist is flexing as he grips your thighs, holding you open for him. Or when he’s feeling you up, rough and greedy, fingers digging into your soft hips as he takes your pussy how he wants.

“Put it on,” he holds his wrist and the bracelet out toward you. His tone carries that easy confidence, like he already knows you’ll obey without question.

Which you do, obviously. You carefully clasp it around his wrist, your fingers brushing his skin as you secure it, and that little brush feels like you’ve just snorted a line of adrenaline with how amped up your body gets.

“Looks good on you,” you admire your handiwork, though the truth is; he’d make anything look good. Even a paper crown. Or, you know, a tacky tiara.

“Gracias, fresita,” he replies smoothly, that familiar nickname rolling off his tongue.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Nah.”

Before you can come up with a witty retort, he pulls you against him again, One hand at your lower back, the other tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s eager and completely unapologetic.

“Easy there, birthday boy—”

“Can’t help it,” he cuts you off, his voice rough against your lips. “Been waiting for you to show up all night.”

You can’t help but chase after that tasty mouth of his, your tongue licking against his, teeth biting into his lower lip and the slight tickle of his mustache makes you shiver. Then his hips grind against your thigh, his erection prominent, which in turn has heat flaring all over your body. 

“Let’s go inside,” he breaks away, tugging you toward the small steps leading into the sunroom.

You weren’t expecting to fuck him so early on in the night but you’re not about to complain about it. Every fiber of your body yearns for this man—but specifically your cunt. She’s obsessed.

The room looks like it’s in the middle of a renovation—a man cave in progress.

One wall boasts an unfinished bar, complete with half-empty bottles and shot glasses scattered across the surface. A brand-new pool table sits in the center of the room, its felt pristine, untouched by drunken games or spilled drinks. 

At the far end, a set of leather couches and a recliner face the large television set and entertainment center.

The double doors to the house are shut tight, leaving the room dim and private, save for the warmness of the string lights spilling in through the windows.

You’re caught up taking it all in when Javier sneaks up behind you, pressing hot, greedy kisses against your neck as his hands roam your body.

There’s nothing tentative about his touch—he cups your tits with both hands, squeezing them over your sweater as a deep groan rumbles in his throat. His need for you is palpable, a force that makes your knees weak even as he maneuvers you toward the pool table.

“Here, Javi?” you pant when he sucks at your weak spot under your jaw. “Let’s just go up to your room—”

“No,” he growls, spinning you around to face him, his dark eyes alight with lust. “Want you right here on this table.”

Before you can argue, his lips are on yours again. You let yourself melt into it, your hands reaching up to pluck the ridiculous tiara off his head and tossing it aside with a flick of your wrist.

His hair is soft under your fingers as you card through it, tugging lightly just to feel the way his body reacts, the way his kisses deepen in response.

When his tongue slides into your mouth, you surprise even yourself by wrapping your lips around it, sucking gently. You’re greedy and he loves it.

Javier’s grunt prompts your thighs to clench instinctively around him. His jacket hits the floor as he shrugs it off, lips trailing down your neck. You kick off your boots, his hands lifting you with ease to place you on the sturdy pool table.

Your sweater is gone before you know it. He’s in the middle of working on the button of your jeans, his fingers deft and impatient, when your eyes land on something that makes you freeze.

Or better yet, someone. There’s a figure slumped in one of the recliners at the far end of the room.

Your breath hitches, your body tensing. “Javi, stop.” Your words falter into a moan as his lips find your collarbone, sucking on your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, barely pausing as he tugs your pants down your hips. Despite yourself, you lift slightly to help him, even as you frantically nudge your head toward the recliner.

“There’s someone here,” you whisper.

He stops, his head snapping up to follow your gaze. His expression shifts into a frustrated scowl when he sees the figure sprawled in the chair. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling away from you and heading over to investigate.

You watch as he approaches, his boots heavy on the hardwood. It’s his cousin Danny, completely passed out, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open. Javier whistles sharply, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Nothing. He gives his shoulder a firm nudge once, twice—still nothing.

“Out cold,” Javier says, his tone both annoyed and amused as he turns back to you. “Took down almost a whole bottle of tequila earlier. He’s not gonna bother us.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the unconscious form. The idea of hooking up with someone uninvited in the room feels... complicated… exhilarating, maybe? You’ve never done it before.

But your reluctance evaporates the moment Javier closes the distance between you again, his hands sliding your jeans clean off, leaving you in nothing but your mismatched bra and panties.

He drinks you in, and the rest of the party—including the slumped figure in the corner—melts away under the weight of his attention.

No words are needed, not when he roughly tugs the cups of your bra down, letting your breasts spill free, nor when he dips his head, his stubble grazing your skin as his warm mouth captures one of your nipples.

Your breath catches, back arching your breasts into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue lazily circles and flicks over the hardened bud. Then he sucks harder, pulling a drawn-out moan from you before switching to the other side.

You bite your lip, determined to stifle the sighs of pleasure threatening to break. His knocked out cousin in the corner keeps you cautious, even as your body aches to let go.

Javier notices. Always does. He pulls away with a pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his pouty lips to your nipple. “Nu-uh,” he chides. “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m not trying to wake him up,” you counter, though your voice wavers from how good his mouth felt.

“You won’t,” he replies, almost dismissively, giving you a peck on the lips before he drops to his knees before you. He starts at your calves, leaving slow, deliberate kisses that send sparks dancing along your skin.

The faint scrape of his facial hair adds to the wonderful torment as his mouth works its way up, switching from leg to leg.

When he reaches the inside of your right knee, he kisses it almost sweetly, before dragging his tongue slowly in a hot stripe up to your inner thigh. You can’t stop the small shiver that ripples through you, your hands gripping the edge of the pool table for balance.

Javier finally reaches your pussy and you shudder as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed clit. The heat of his breath and the firm pressure of his lips through the cotton of your panties makes your back arch.

He hooks a finger into the fabric and pulls it to the side, diving in immediately. His tongue parts your folds, curling and slithering against your pearly clit before moving lower.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your hips bucking involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth.

He groans, enjoying how reactive you are, his fingers digging into the soft meat of your thighs while he holds you firmly in place. His mouth works with a singular focus, his tongue swirling and dipping into your entrance, then sliding back up to flick over your clit.

The feeling of his stupid mustache makes it that much better, scratching at your cunt lusciously. 

You can’t help it now—a soft, keening moan slips out of you, echoing faintly in the dimly lit room. Your head lolls around on your shoulders as pleasure coils at the pit of your stomach, the tension winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

“That’s it,” he practically purrs. “Let me hear you.”

His lips seal around your clit, sucking gently, and you swear it feels like you’ve been possessed—holding back is impossible. Another moan escapes you, louder this time, your thighs shaking in his grip as he devours you.

Javi pushes you over the edge so effortlessly that a cry of his name spits out of your throat before you can stop it, cutting through the room.

You're grateful this area of the house is directed away from the backyard, where the party celebrating him outside continues on, oblivious of his absence as he indulges in you.

Your orgasm settles like a heavy current, fingers nearly going numb from holding on to the pool table for dear life.

You’re still disoriented and flustered when Javier stands, looming over you, cupping the back of your head and bringing you in to passionately make out.

His mouth is coated in your tangy essence, making you taste yourself as he slips his tongue down your throat.

You whimper, clawing at his chest for more and he pulls away to turn you around, manhandling you onto your stomach on the table.

His hands are firm yet impatient as he grips one of your legs by the back of your knee and hooks it over the edge of the wooden border.

Javi stares down at your sex, partially exposed and glistening for him. Your panties are askew, one swollen pussy lip peeking out while a dark, damp patch spreads over the cotton where his tongue had devoured you moments ago.

“Fuck.” The lewd sight has him hastily undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, his dick hard and ready to bury himself inside your sweet cunt. 

Propping yourself up on your palms, you glance back at him over your shoulder, a teasing, blissed out smile playing on your lips despite the burning heat between your thighs. “I figured you’d want to savor me. Wait for later…” you coo, rolling your hips and causing your ass to jiggle, feeling giddy at how his eyes zero in on the motion.

“I savor you all the time, baby. Even during these nasty, quick fucks.” Him saying that has you over the fucking moon. “You can’t expect me to wait knowin’ this pussy needs me to fuck her real good.”

The hand adorned with your golden bracelet grabs your supple ass, kneading the flesh before landing a stinging spank that makes you jolt and let out a cry. The sharp sound carries, making your eyes flick nervously toward the recliner where his cousin still lies, unaware of the debauchery happening mere feet away.

Javier seems completely unbothered, casually toying with your panties as though you have all the time in the world. He hooks his finger into the soaked fabric, dragging it back and forth against your sticky folds, smearing your slick across your pussy lips.

Your hips move on their own, chasing the friction, and you bite your lip hard, trapping the needy moan building in your throat.

“Can I come over later?”

His question is so nonchalant it nearly makes you laugh, but the way he teases you has you too far gone to do so. You grind back against his touch, desperate for more, your lips parting in a breathy moan.

“Yes.” The thought of him showing up at your doorstep at three in the morning, bourbon on his lips, just for you to sink to your knees and take him down your throat makes your pussy clench around nothing, crying out for his cock as more of your arousal leaks against your panties. “Whenever.”

He hums in satisfaction, stepping closer and reaching for your jaw, tilting your head to the side roughly and meeting you for a kiss. The fabric of his shirt grazes your bare skin and he tugs your panties to the side again while his mouth continues to hold yours captive.

His cock nudges against your waiting entrance, teasing, the flushed head dragging over the fleshy cleft of your clit in languid taps.

When he finally pushes in, there’s no preamble—just the yummy stretch of him filling you to the fucking brim, shoving a strangled whine out of your mouth as he sets a brutal pace immediately, not giving you even a moment to adjust.

Your palms slip against the velvet of the pool table as you struggle to hold yourself up, but it’s no use. The force of his thrusts sends you collapsing forward onto your chest, scattering the neatly racked pool balls across the table.

They clatter and roll in all directions, but Javier doesn’t slow for a second. His grip on your waist tightens, forcing you to fuck yourself back on his dick.

“Shit,” he growls hoarsely, already breathless as he watches your ass bounce with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a loud fuckin’ mess,” he hisses, though there’s no real malice there—just straight horniness.

In one smooth motion, he grabs both your wrists with one large hand, pinning them to your lower back. He then angles your pelvis so that your clit is grinding against the smooth wooden border of the pool table while your tender nipples rub against the green felt.

The effects of that are immediate, your body feeling like it’s burning from the inside out. “Mmm, fuck yeah, keep doing that,” you moan desperately. 

The raunchy sound of your ass clapping against his thighs fills the room, a filthy rhythm accompanied by the feeling of his heavy balls brushing against your cunt. 

The noise feels impossibly loud, your whimpers and his grunts reverberating off the walls. Surely, his cousin will wake up—surely, someone will walk in on the shameless display Javier is putting on with your body.

Or maybe not, since Javier keeps fucking you all hot and wanton, especially when he hits your sweet spot and your ribbed, gushy walls hug around his dick like a vice.

Your forehead presses against the table as you chant his name, your vision swimming.

You try to glance toward the recliner where his cousin is passed out, but your eyes can’t focus. Everything’s a blur—two of everything, indistinct shapes swimming in the haze of your arousal.

The only thing you can truly focus on is Javier: the way his cock breaches your most intimate spaces, the heat of his body against yours, the sharp bite of his belt against the backs of your thighs.

You’re soaking him, ruining the hem of his half-buttoned shirt. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s splitting you open so perfectly, his tight grip on your wrists keeping you pinned and utterly open for him to take.

Your sore clit continues to rub against the smooth wood of the table, now sticky from how shamelessly you’ve been humping against it while chasing your pleasure.

Between the stimulation on your clit, the rough scrape of the felt against your sensitive nipples, and the relentless pounding of his shaft brushing your g-spot—it’s all too much. 

Your body trembles, a loud cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm slams into you.

"Javi!" you spasm in his hold, nails digging into your palms as your wrists remain trapped beneath his firm grip. shoulders burning from his rough hold.

Your pussy clamps hard around him, wet and creamy as you come, soaking his cock and leaving no doubt about how thoroughly he fucked you.

Javier curses through gritted teeth, switching between Spanish and English as he ruts into you, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, fresita, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—just like that.”

He doesn’t falter, fucking you even as your orgasm settles over you like a heavy current.

He hauls you upright, pulling your back flush against his chest, his grip on your wrists unrelenting as he traps them between your bodies.

Both of his arms wrap tightly around your trembling frame, one hand sliding up to grab your tit, kneading it roughly while the other sprawls against your stomach and waist to hold you steady as he fucks up into you.

His mouth is at your ear now, his breath ragged. “Gonna bust inside this pretty pussy baby and you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You nod weakly, biting down on your lip as your eyes flutter shut. “So fuckin’ willing to take my cum like a real slut,” the degrading name makes your clit twitch because he’s right—you are a real slut. Only for him. Always hungry and ready to please, to do anything to satisfy him and he knows it.

“You’re so goddamn perfect—fuck.” His hips jerk a few times before he groans deeply, his cock pulsing as he finishes deep inside you, his hold on your body tightening to the point where you wince but it hurts so good.

“What the fuck?”

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, yanking you back to reality. Your eyes snap open, and panic floods your system as you instinctively try to shield your almost-naked body.

Across the room, Danny sits up in the recliner, his hair a mess and his bleary eyes squinting in confusion. He looks like he’s been rudely yanked out of a drunken slumber, and unfortunately, it’s your fault.

Javier, of course, remains maddeningly calm. “Relax,” his voice still thick with that post-climax rasp as he mumbles in your ear.

Meanwhile, your body is burning—part embarrassment, part leftover heat from the sinful things Javier just did to you on this pool table.

You try to wriggle out of his grip, but his arms are like iron bands, keeping you firmly in place.

Danny rubs at his eyes, blinking hard as if trying to process what’s in front of him. His head tilts slightly, and for one horrifying second, you think he’s piecing it all together. But instead, he suddenly leans over the side of the recliner and starts retching, the sound loud and wet as he empties his stomach onto the carpet.

The sharp, acidic stench of vomit hits the air, mixing unpleasantly with the heady scent of sweat and sex. It’s enough to finally get Javier to loosen his hold.

He pulls out of you with a grunt, leaving you aching and exposed, and you both watch as his release starts to spill out of you, trickling over your swollen folds and dripping onto the table with obscene little plops.

But there’s no time to dwell on the mess. You scramble to grab your clothes, your movements frantic and clumsy as you yank your jeans up your legs and shove your arms into your sweater.

Javier’s doing the same, though far less hurried, like he’s still amused by the whole situation.

When you finally look up at him, his dark eyes are sparkling with mischief, and he throws you a roguish grin that almost makes you laugh despite yourself.

Danny, meanwhile, is still groaning and gagging, his face pale as a sheet. You feel a tiny pang of guilt, but before you can even think about offering help, Javier grabs your hand and tugs you toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low.

“Fuck no,” Javier replies without missing a beat. “Not my fault he couldn’t handle his liquor.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, his lips warm and soft against your skin, and you can’t help but follow him.

You glance back over your shoulder as you’re being pulled toward the backyard, unable to stop yourself from throwing out a half-hearted, “Sorry!”

He doesn’t respond—he’s too busy dry heaving—but you and Javier are already sneaking out, stifling your laughter as the sounds of the party grow louder around you.

The music thrums through the air, its infectious rhythm pulling you in as your dance partner tightens his grip on your waist. His hands are firm, guiding you with confidence, but the musky cologne mixed with the sour tang of sweat is enough to make your nose crinkle if you focus too hard on it.

Still, you’re here out of spite, letting the sway of your hips speak louder than words as your body molds to his. The banda song carries you both across the makeshift dance floor, your movements fluid and natural as though the music itself has taken over.

Javier is just a few paces away, entangled with the curly-haired girl from earlier. His hands rest on her lower back, his body moving with ease. 

There’s a playful challenge in both of your eyes when your gazes finally meet, knowing how this little game of yours will end. 

Neither of you looks away, both determined to outdo the other, even in this small, ridiculous way.

Your dance partner spins you abruptly, breaking the moment. The move is smooth, you’ll give him that, and you find yourself face-to-face with him once again.

He’s not bad looking, honestly—sharp jawline, nice green eyes—but the cologne is killing the vibe, and his wandering hands are starting to push it.

Thankfully, the song winds to a close just as his fingers inch a little too far down your back. The music shifts, a different tune kicking in, and you step back, offering a polite smile as he thanks you for the dance.

“Got a number I can save?” he asks, hopeful and slightly cocky.

You grin, a little too sweetly, and rattle off your number without hesitation. You’ve got no intention of responding if he uses it, but you can’t resist the temptation to stir the pot. As he finally walks away, you feel it—a scorching stare burning into your back.

You don’t even have to look to know who it’s coming from.

“Baila conmigo.”

The familiar rasp of Javier’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps into your space. He takes a swig of his beer, his leather jacket gone, leaving him in just the white button-up that hugs his chest a little too well.

You cock a brow, crossing your arms. “What happened to your dance partner?”

“Sent her away,” he replies easily, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “Poor girl couldn’t catch the rhythm.”

You let out an amused huff, rolling your eyes. Of course, he’d say that. Before you can think better of it, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you toward la pista.

The moment you’re there, he pulls you flush against him, one large hand settling at your lower back while the other still clutches his beer. You fall into the simple two-step with ease, your bodies moving in perfect sync to the music. 

His thigh slots between yours, the friction sparking something electric, and you can’t help but press closer, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you.

“Reminds me of that night at the club,” his lips brush at your ear. It’s a miracle you can still hear him over the loud music. “When you finally let me get between those pretty legs.”

The heat in his words, combined with the faint scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath, floods your senses. He smells and feels like everything your last dance partner wasn’t.

Whistles and cheers ripple through the crowd as you and Javi throw yourselves into the rhythm of the song, your bodies moving like two parts of the same melody.

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good dancer the first time you shared a dance—not until that night at the club. 

And just like his dancing, the way he fucked you afterward had blown every expectation out of the water.

The song comes to an end, leaving you both flushed and slightly winded, sweat clinging to your skin despite the cool night air. The cheers die down as a new track begins, and Javi’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin.

“C’mon, give me another one,” he urges, his voice still rich and sensual despite the exertion.

You laugh, shaking your head as you step back, hands on your hips. You hadn’t planned to stay this long, and now your body is screaming for mercy. “Raincheck, handsome. I gotta head home.”

Javi’s grin falters slightly, but it doesn’t fade completely as your hand drifts down his chest, fingers savoring the firmness of his body.

His broad shoulders and toned frame are just so enchanting, and you can’t resist indulging one last time before grabbing his beer. You take a long, slow sip, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you drain the bottle and set it aside on one of the plastic fold-out tables.

“Not gonna stick around for the cake?” he asks, that boyish charm in his tone as he steps closer.

You flash him a flirty smile. “Save me a piece.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the rowdy chaos of his friends and cousins cuts him off. They swarm him, loud and eager, tugging at his shoulders and shouting for him to take another shot.

He laughs, but his gaze finds yours, his warm brown eyes locking on to you one last time.

“Enjoy, Javi,” you tell him with a wink. “You know where to find me.”

That familiar smirk is at his lips as he’s pulled toward the makeshift bar. You watch him for a moment before turning to make your departure.

You’re cutting across the lawn when you hear a voice behind you.

“Need a ride home?”

It’s the guy you danced with earlier, his cologne still potent even in the open air. His gentlemanliness would’ve been charming if it weren’t for the obvious expectation in his tone.

You decline politely, offering a quick smile before brushing past him and unlocking your car.

What you don’t realize is that Javi sees the entire exchange from afar. He’d caught the tail end of the guy trailing after you, his gaze narrowing as he watched you disappear into the sea of parked cars.

A flicker of irritation tugged at his expression, but he stayed rooted to his spot, letting his friends push another shot into his hand.

Instead of following, he threw himself into his own celebration, his laugh loud and boisterous as if he hadn’t seen a damn thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving with that guy, and the glint in his eyes that had been so bright when you were there dulled just slightly. 

Still, he let it go, for now.

He knew exactly where to find you, after all.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your back arching against the cold tile of your kitchen floor. Javier thrusts into you with a raw, animalistic need, his cock driving so deep inside you that it feels like he’s carving himself into your very being.

The absurdity of the situation is a bit funny—you’re still fully clothed, minus your sleeping shorts having been thrown haphazardly across the room, a stark contrast to earlier when you’d been bare and spread for him on that damn pool table.

Just as you predicted, he showed up at your door in the dead of night, his silhouette illuminated by the dim porch light. You’d barely made it to the door before his desperate, insistent knocking threatened to wake the entire block.  

It felt like he might break it down if you didn’t open it fast enough. Whoever dropped him off didn’t even wait to see if you’d answer.

No words were exchanged when you finally let him in. His brown eyes, dark and searing, did all the talking.

He’d cupped your face with one rough hand, the other holding a plate with aluminum foil covering it, precariously balancing it in his palm as he kissed you with an appetite that left you breathless.

You let him back you into the kitchen, setting the plate on the counter, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go.

And now, here you are, legs spread wide, the weight of him pressing you down into the tiles, his jacket still on, smelling like beer and bourbon as he ruts himself against you.

“Givin’ your number out, huh?” he growls against your lips, his words dripping with bitterness. His hand snakes up to wrap around your neck, firm but not harsh, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his. You feel the subtle coolness of the bracelet against your skin and that only makes it better. “That’s all it takes, fresita? One fuckin’ dance?”

Each word is punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust that has you gasping for air.

Your hands scramble at the back of his jacket, trying to find some sort of anchor while his dick fucks into you over and over, your slick cunt clamping helplessly around him.

If your brain wasn’t fogged with pleasure, you’d call him out on his jealousy, tease him for letting something so trivial get under his skin. At least you were better about hiding it.

But god, it’s too fucking hot—seeing him like this, so undone, so unhinged, all because of you.

Javier, the man who always carries himself with that cool, confident swagger, who never seems to let anything faze him, is now losing his composure right here on your kitchen floor.

And all it took was watching some other guy’s attention on you to make him snap. If anyone is picky and spoiled here—it’s him.

“Answer me,” he demands, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to leave you lightheaded, his thrusts never faltering. His free hand grabs at your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, the angle forcing you to experience every inch of him.

“I—it was nothing,” you manage to cry, though your words are almost incoherent as he’s driving into you. “Javi, I—”

“You what?” he interrupts with a curt laugh, his teeth grazing the underside of your jaw before he bites down gently, making you squirm beneath him. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around, lettin’ some asshole think he’s got a chance with you?”

The thought alone seems to fuel him further, his movements growing rougher and you swear you’re on the edge of unraveling.

And as he watches the way your body responds to him—your nails digging into his back, your moans turning into screams—he knows he’s making his point loud and clear. 

Javi’s grip around your throat tightens, cutting off your breath just enough to stimulate you. The pressure makes you feel somehow, impossibly, even more turned on.

“He can’t fuck you like I can,” he grinds against you, his coarse and damp pubic hairs bristling against your sensitive clit, the friction of it almost too much. “No one can.” His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your mouth falls open on instinct, tiny, wheezy moans spilling out as his nose brushes against yours.

Javier’s dark eyes feel like they’re boring straight into your soul, gleaming with hunger as he watches your every twitch, every little surrender. He leans in and kisses you all demanding and vehement. 

His lips claim yours like he’s trying to eat you whole, his tongue slipping inside to taste every gasp you give him.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs mockingly as he pulls back just enough to let his gaze drop between your bodies, watching your pussy swallow his cock. “Just listen to how wet you are, baby. Think he could ever make you sound like this?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment—and arousal—as the obscene, sloppy sounds of his length plunging into you fill the air, amplified by his words. The drive of his hips is merciless, each stroke drawing you closer with dizzying precision.

Your nails dig into his forearms, bending your body beneath him as your vision starts to be blotched with white spots.

You can feel it, the winding of your orgasm at your core pulling taut, about to burst. When it finally does, your pussy flutters and squeezes as waves of smoldering intensity crash over you.

“Puta madre,” he snarls, his head falling back from how good it feels to have you come around him.

Pulling out, Javier pins you down with his weight to keep you from squirming away. His cock, flushed, drooling, and shiny with your juices, hovers inches from your face as you lay flat on the floor.

Your swollen lips part instinctively, the scent of your own headiness making your mouth water.

“Tongue out, baby,” he commands, his voice rough but coaxing.

You obey, sticking your tongue out lazily, your half-lidded eyes locked onto his. The sight of you like this—wrecked, pliant, and waiting for him—is enough to undo him completely. His hand pumps his cock, the golden accessory on his wrist jolting with each move. 

With a low, rasping groan, he spills over you, thick, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face and tongue.

You moan softly, savoring the warmth, licking your lips and swallowing whatever lands in your mouth. The taste of him leaves your tongue and throat buzzing, and you revel in the messy intimacy of it.

He uses his fingers to wipe the remnants of his release from your cheeks, then pushes them into your mouth without hesitation.

“Suck,” he orders, and you comply, wrapping your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue over them with eager enthusiasm. You get carried away, your tongue flicking and sucking greedily, and he chuckles darkly.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you can’t help but tease, your voice carrying amusement as you both come down from the dazed fucking.

Javier sways a little, his inebriation finally catching up to him. He stumbles, but he steadies himself smoothly, like the world itself wouldn’t dare let him fall.

He wipes a hand down his face before meeting your gaze, still kneeling on the floor. “Not a fan of people playin’ with what’s mine,” he says, the statement edged with that possessiveness he tries to pretend isn’t there.

Usually, a line like that would have you rolling your eyes and telling the guy to take his ego down a notch. But with Javier? You don’t mind. At all. Something about the way he says it—like it’s a fact, not an opinion—makes your stomach flip in the worst (or best) way possible.

“Yours?” you challenge, sitting up on your forearms and arching a brow at him. “I thought this was casual.”

“It is,” he says without missing a beat, bringing his fingers up to caress the side of your face, more calm and sure, like he’s completely unaware of how contradictory his behavior is.

You narrow your eyes slightly, refusing to let him off the hook that easily despite melting under his touch. “Casual hookups don’t go into a frenzy after watching the other dance and flirt with someone else.”

He doesn’t even flinch at your words, doesn’t even bother to defend himself. Instead, he smirks—because of course he does—and stretches his arms over his head like the entire conversation is nothing but a minor inconvenience to him.

He straightens up then stands, extending a hand to you, his palm open and inviting, the gold band of the bracelet glinting in the low light.

You let him pull you up and let out a sound of exertion, your muscles still tense from rolling around on the hard floor with him.

“Dance, flirt with whoever you want. When I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

That’s possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “That so?” You try to sound unimpressed, but your voice betrays you, just the tiniest bit giddy.

“That’s so,” he concedes vaingloriously. “Don’t forget who makes you feel this satisfied.”

As if I could ever. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite.

He leans in, kissing you gently, then his voice drops into that deep, velvety murmur that makes your pussy tingle. “Yet you keep coming back.”

You don’t respond because, let’s face it, he’s not wrong. Especially not when he pairs those words with an affectionate kiss.

Instead, you finally roll your eyes, the most predictable move in your arsenal, and step around him to grab your discarded sleeping shorts.

Sliding them back on, you make your way to the counter, where the lonely styrofoam plate of half-smashed birthday cake waits for attention. Without a word, you pull it closer, grab a fork, and dig in.

Javier watches you with a grin still plastered across his face, leaning his hip against the counter. “Didn’t even offer the birthday boy the first bite, huh? Real cold.”

You stab a piece exaggeratedly, lifting it to your mouth, and chewing slowly, giving him a look that says cry about it.

But when you see the faint pout pulling at his lips—a deliberate act, no doubt—you sigh, scoop up another forkful, and hold it out. “Fine. Even though technically it’s not your birthday anymore.”

He leans in, not breaking the eye contact, and takes the bite straight from the fork, his lips brushing the tines with an unnecessary amount of flair.

You swear he’s showing off, but you don’t call him out on it, not when he groans softly in appreciation and you can’t help but admire him like this, playful and flirty in your kitchen.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Javi,” you say after a moment, softer now.

He swallows, his smirk shifting into something a little more genuine as he meets your gaze. “Gracias, fresita.”

For a moment, the air between you shifts—gentler, almost intimate. Then he reaches for the fork still in your hand and steals another bite, flashing you a look that drags you right back to reality.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz .

[dadvans]

without a base, without a trace

bucktommy (9-1-1) :: 5 medical emergencies buck has after breaking up with tommy + 1 he has when they get back together

slightly based on this post by @epiphainie. for @rcmclachlan. art by @wortwood. verging on crack fic. this is the dumbest thing i have ever written.

ONE.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

It’s a rare day that Josh is working the lines, not that he cares. It’s important to not get rusty in a job like this. And if he’s being a little too honest with himself, the rush he gets on certain calls make his shift fly by way quicker than when he’s supervising or working breaks.

“Josh?”

This is close to his thirtieth call of the day, so it takes him a second to place the familiar vocal fry on the other end of call.

“Buck?”

“Shit,” Buck says, “well, this is embarrassing. Uh, hey. Can you not tell my sister about this?”

“Your sister who is sitting across from me?” Josh glances up, catching Maddie’s attention. Her eyes double in size when he mouths Buck to her and gestures to his own headset.

“Yeah, please, I—Josh—“

“Hey, hey, of course, don’t worry, Buck, I’m still a professional.” He rolls his eyes as Maddie peers over her monitor, and he mouths again I’ll tell you later, before returning his attention to the line. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Buck sighs on the other end. “I have a Coke can stuck up my ass.”

Josh almost chokes. This wouldn’t even be the first call this week where someone “tripped and landed on something wrong,” but the mental image of one of those calls being Buck practically knocks the wind out of him.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that.”

“Coke can,” Buck repeats, and there’s something to be said that his bitchy tone could be genetic the way he sounds so much like Maddie on her last nerve, “stuck up my ass.”

“Oka-a-a-y,” Josh says slowly, logging rectal foreign body and Coke can appropriately. “Can I ask how this happened?”

“How do you think, Josh? My boyfriend broke up with me, I missed him, and Tommy was—he was big, you know?”

“Sure,” Josh replies, trying to keep his tone neutral as possible. “Have you ever heard the adage ‘without a base, without a trace?’ Without a flared base, nearly ten times out of ten you’re bound to—“

“Look, I know, okay? I’ve responded to plenty of these calls myself, I just thought I had a good grip and was feeling desperate, and with all the lube, it slipped, and—“

“You know what, I think I get the picture. Are you at your home address?”

He hears another sad sigh from Buck’s end of the line.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’m dispatching paramedics to your location, okay? And for future reference”—he lowers his voice—“there are plenty of places online, or The Pleasure Chest off of Santa Monica that can provide you with a more appropriate, uh, instrument to help you with your needs, got it?”

He hangs up shortly after, and Maddie immediately rounds their desks to sit on the lip of his. “So?”

“Let me just tell you that you don’t want to know,” Josh says, shaking his head. “But if you piss me off someday, I might tell you.”

TWO

It’s barely a week after Josh takes Buck’s call that another one comes in. Josh is the supervisor on shift when he hears Maddie’s tone go from a measured neutral to thin and tight in seconds.

“Buck?” She says. “Buck, are you okay?”

There’s no possible way, Josh thinks. But just in case, on a hunch, he pulls up a chair and connects himself to her line.

“Buck, this is Josh, I’m acting shift lead.”

Maddie gives him a weird look that he ignores, but Buck says, “Oh, thank God. Maddie, can you let Josh just take this?”

“Um, n-no, no. This doesn’t work like that. What’s going on, Evan?”

“Maddie,” Buck groans, “please?”

“Please, sir, I need you to state your emergency,” Maddie continues, voice settling. Her hands, which had been starting to shake, still on her keyboard.

“It’s an eggplant,” Buck says. “I have… an eggplant.”

“An eggplant?” Maddie repeats.

Josh chokes past a cough so he doesn’t laugh out loud. Real fucking amateur hour. “Buck, what did I tell you last week? Did you completely ignore my advice?”

Maddie turns to him, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother has an eggplant lodged in his ass,” Josh replies, shaking his head. “Am I right, Buck?”

“Look, I did take your advice, or I thought I did. I thought if I started at the smaller side, the other end would act naturally as a flared base, but I got uh, carried away.”

Josh closes his eyes, listening, and counts to three. Maddie may have stopped breathing next to him. “And Buck, uh, what kind of eggplant was it? I’m assuming—“

“Italian,” Buck confirms, “the big kind.”

Damn. Josh is kind of impressed. Buck sure isn’t doing things by halves.

“This time it may require, uh,” Buck continues, “surgical assistance. It feels really deep.”

“Buck, I can’t assure you of anything, but you’d be surprised what the human body is capable of. Just stay calm, and we’re dispatching help to your area. Are you still at home?” Josh asks.

“Yeah,” Buck admits. Josh has had years of faceless conversations across a wide range of disasters, emergencies, human experiences. Someone else, even Maddie, would probably say he sounds embarrassed, but Josh knows sadness when he hears it.

He doesn’t call any attention to it, just nods. “Okay, thank you. Help is on the way.”

When the call disconnects, Maddie turns to him, face distressed. “What did he mean, ‘This time?’”

THREE

Josh is supervising a new trainee’s line when Buck’s third call comes in. It’s been maybe a week and a half, and the first to come so late, almost three in the morning. Josh has just come back from a break, having closed his eyes in the back for forty-five minutes, and is wondering if he’s still dreaming when Buck’s unmistakable voice cracks over the line. Unlike the first two calls, he slurs from the first word and Josh is pretty sure he’s been crying.

Josh rolls his eyes and unmutes his side of the line. “Hi, Buck.”

His trainee almost jumps a foot when he does it. He covers his mic with his palm and turns to her.

“Repeat callers, you’ll get used to them. This one is kind of my regular,” he assures her, hoping she doesn’t work with Maddie anytime soon.

Buck hiccups on the other end of the line and moans. “Josh, I did something stupid.”

“Wait, what was that? Buck, can you tell me what’s going on? Are you safe?”

“I dunno. Did something stupid. Dumb,” he repeats. “Wine bottle.”

Jesus Christ. “Wine bottle?”

“Wine bottle. With wine in it. Neck not big enough. Stuck. Wine is—izza—fillin’ me up but is, it’s, doesn’t feel right.” Half of his words are slurred together. It sounds like he’s saying Dozen-fee-ruh. He says, “Mucus membranes. I looked it up. Too much.”

“Got it, got it, you home, Buck?”

“Yeah,” Buck admits softly. “Alone.”

“I’m sending help to your location.” Josh takes over his trainee’s dashboards and dispatches a team accordingly.

“Not the one-eighteen though, right?” Buck asks. But with the way he sounds, it takes a second for Josh to decipher.

“No, not the one-eighteen,” he says, then sighs. “But Buck, I can’t guarantee that they won’t be dispatched to you next time. And if it’s me on the call, that’s who I’m definitely sending. I don’t expect you to remember me saying this, but if this happens again, you might force my hand if that’s what gets you to stop.”

“Okay, okay. Just miss him. Miss him so much. The way he filled me up—“

Josh abruptly ends the call. Which isn’t great. Help has already been sent out, but still.

“What just happened?” She asks.

“Something,” Josh says on an exhale, “totally normal in the broad scheme of things. But for my sake? Please pretend this call never did.”

FOUR.

Josh was supposed to be off tonight, but dispatch has been busy, busy, busy since a low five-point-something and several aftershocks slammed everything sideways from Puente Hills. Sue called him in hours ago, and the only thing that’s keeping him alert through the hours-long queue of anxious callers is the promise of that sweet, sweet, time and a half overtime pay.

He’s ready to lose it by the time the calls start to finally die down only to have Buck end up on his line.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” he sighs. He pulls

Buck, on the other end, grumbles what sounds like There have to be more than five dispatchers in all of Los Angeles, right? away from the receiver, before he says closer and direct across the line, “I’m stuck.”

“What do you mean, ’stuck?’” Josh asks, fingers flying over the keyboard. He hasn’t heard of any infrastructure damage near Glendale, but maybe he’s making assumptions. “Are you trapped?”

“No, I’m—not exactly.”

“‘Not exactly,” Josh repeats. “Buck, where are you?”

“My apartment.” Buck doesn’t sound scared, or even urgently in danger. He sounds resigned. “I got a toy, by the way. Like you suggested. Flared base. Suction end, even, so I wouldn’t have any more accidents.”

Josh stopped believing in God a few decades ago, but he finds himself sending out a quiet prayer anyway that none of his calls with Buck have randomly hit the auditor’s desk. “Is that relevant to the call, sir?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t—shit. I was riding it when the earthquake hit.”

“Okay,” Josh says, when Buck doesn’t elaborate. “And?”

“I had it suctioned to my coffee table. And I’d been riding it for a while, so my legs were already shaky and I slipped—you know what, not important. What’s important is that I’ve been glued to my coffee table with a dick in my ass since noon. I can’t get up without the table—everything pulls, I can’t feel where the silicone ends and wood begins.”

“Jesus,” Josh says. Again, he really hopes this call doesn’t get audited.

There aren’t enough first responders to get to Buck right away. Josh lets him know that, in between asking a series of invasive questions where he learns that Buck is also somehow upside down, struggling to reach the poppers bottle he wants to swat out of the line of sight when someone inevitably rescues him.

“We’re experiencing a high volume of emergency calls at the moment, but I’ll get someone to you as soon as I can. But Buck,” Josh continues, “you have my number. Let me know when you’re okay. And then we can talk. Because I never, ever want to get one of these calls again.”

FIVE.

Josh watches as Maddie suspiciously sidles up to him in the locker bay several days later. She’s half-dancing, hips swaying and arms circling in a sad attempt at salsa.

“Do you have bedbugs? Did Howie give you bedbugs?” He asks her. “Because if you have bedbugs and you give them to the rest of us, I swear to God, Maddie.”

“No!” She says. Even when she doesn’t laugh out loud, she laughs with her eyes sometimes, wide and alive and catching all sorts of life. Had he been straight in another life, he would have been in so much trouble. “Okay, remember how we discussed Evan’s, uh, recent maladaptive coping strategies?”

“If by ‘discussed’ you mean ‘completely evaded the subject,’ and I gave him the number of a man whose penis defies God—“

“Yes, yes, anyway. They’re on a date!” She whips out her phone to show Josh the text message confirmation from Buck that not only had he’d reached out to Josh’s friend a few days ago, but was also now on his way to a dinner and movie. “Look!”

Josh’s eyes close with relief. “Oh, thank God. I can finally rest easy for a shift and not worry your brother is going to end up on my line with something stuck up his ass.”

Maddie’s smile fades and her shoulders slump. “Tell me about it. I’d do anything to go back to a time where he was just baking too much and I didn’t have to worry about where all the candles in his apartment went.”

“Stop.” He closes his eyes and throws his head back. “End of conversation. Even if I’m happy you told me, so I won’t have to spend the next twelve hours worried your brother is going to finally puncture his colon and die. Because the past few weeks have been so much.”

“Well, maybe your Prince Charming is the one who will finally break the curse,” Maddie replies, squeezing his shoulder.

Josh really hopes so. He needs Big Dick Eric (the guy’s Christian name, according to how Josh had saved him in his phone after a slightly overwhelming Grindr hookup) to seal the deal with Buck tonight. It doesn’t have to be forever, just as long as it takes for Buck to stop trying to fill the hole in his heart with dick. For Josh’s own mental health.

He wants to be optimistic.

The first two hours of his shift are as normal as normal can be for a seven-to-seven night shift. He handles an ugly domestic call, several drunk teenagers, a broken skate park ankle, and multiple people reporting the same car alarm going off at their apartment complex. His heart rate picks up when a new homeowner calls to report a squatter in her attic, but it just turns out to be a bat infestation.

And then, as if even thinking the word “quiet” is a thought crime that welcomes chaos, Josh takes his next call and is greeted with screaming.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” He asks, voice slightly elevated to challenge the screams warping the call.

He’ll give Buck credit later: when the emergency isn’t necessarily specific to his own bad decisions, the guy is effectively, professionally cool in a crisis, to a degree that Josh doesn’t immediately recognize him.

He requests an ambulance immediately to a residential address for a single adult man who he believes has fractured his penis.

“Can you tell me what happened that has lead you to believe this man has fractured his penis?” Josh asks, trying to discourage his own balls from shrinking back up inside him.

“We were, uh, in flagrante,” the guy on the other end responds, and that’s when Josh knows it’s Buck, because the pitchy, worried waver in his voice haunts Josh’s dreams. “We were—well—there was a popping noise while he was still inside me, and everything got hot and wet different from lube, you know, and I looked down and there was blood everywhere. And then he started screaming.”

Yeah, that sounds pretty fractured. Poor Big Dick Eric.

“Oh-kay, sir,” Josh replies, “Well, I am dispatching help to you right now. While you wait, you should try to treat the afflicted area with ice—“

“—Already on it,” Buck replies, harried, and Josh can hear him roughly digging ice out of a freezer, he thinks.

“Great. Help will be there soon, Buck,” Josh confirms, and then the shoveling sound stops briefly.

“Josh?”

“Yup,” Josh replies.

“Of course, God—hey, please don’t tell Maddie about this one, please? I’ve already traumatized her so much.”

Josh sighs, and professionalism be damned, he can’t stop himself from saying, “Buck, I won’t tell Maddie, but I’m absolutely telling all of Gay Los Angeles to steer clear from you until whatever sex curse you’re dealing with is fixed”

Buck hums sadly. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Josh listens to him return to Big Dick Eric’s side, equal parts miserable and beguiled at the soft, direct way Buck offers a baggie of ice to a wailing Big Dick Eric. He finds himself feeling bad, though he’s not sure who for. All parties involved, maybe. Himself especially.

Despite all his years as a dispatcher, he still ends the call with a migraine.

PLUS ONE

“I think,” Maddie had said between several sips of decaf, halfway through their shift, tone light and bubbly, “that they might get back together. They’ve been talking.”

“‘Talking,’ huh?” Josh had replied, shutting his locker. “God, I hope so. Spare the rest of Los Angeles from whatever in the Grey’s Anatomy that’s become your brother’s life.

The look Maddie had given him, six months pregnant, patience thin, emotionally volatile and absolutely not amused, shut him up immediately.

That was hours ago. Seventeen calls ago. Their shift ends as the sun starts rising outside their windowless floor. Josh shrugs his jacket on thinking about the Egg McMuffin he’s going to get before he returns home and passes out in a sodium coma for approximately seven hours. Maybe he’ll dig through the graveyard of Trader Joe’s meals in his freezer to get the frozen bottle of Absolut that sits in back and make himself a Screwdriver to wash it down with.

“Plans for the rest of your day?” He turns to Maddie, only to find her distracted and scrolling through her phone.

“Sorry, I—I have like, several texts and five voicemails from Evan and I’m trying to read the transcripts first,” she says, brow knitting together with worrying familiarity. “Let’s see, it sounds like—oh. Oh. Oh wow.”

Josh commendably does not scream. “What now?”

She turns the phone to him, expanding the first message.

Hi Maddie, it’s Tommy. We’re—me and Evan—are headed to the ER. Nothing huge, just thought you should know, he said you had plans tomorrow. He kind of got carried away tonight, and, you know what? Doesn’t matter. Not a big deal. He’s having a little trouble speaking right now, but wanted me to call you so you don’t worry.

“What,” Josh says.

She thumbs open the transcript for the next voicemail.

Hey, Maddie. Tommy again. Buck’s voice is still out of commission. He, uh. It sounds like he ruptured his airway. He’s being given the good drugs, but will not be able to meet you tomorrow, and is definitely going to be on a text-only basis for at least a week. At the very least it isn’t bad enough for him to need surgery, so we’re getting discharged soon. I’ve got him for now, and I’ll keep an eye on him for the next couple of days while we’re off. Feel free to give me a call or swing by if you have any questions.

“Did he really—?”

“Yup, yes he did,” Maddie says, swiping over to her texts to open up a selfie from Buck, looking smug and high as a kite while reclining in a hospital bed.

“Jesus, how big is Tommy,” Josh says, before he can stop himself.

“At a certain point it just has to be uncomfortable for everyone involved, right?” Maddie frowns down at the picture of Buck grinning back up at her from her phone.

Josh sighs. “They really found love in a hopeless place. I think this is one of those situations where two people belong together, if only for the public safety of everyone else.”

“I just hope it sticks this time.”

“If it doesn’t, I might just have to quit my job,” Josh says. “Anyway, tell them congratulations for me. I’m going to go drink celebratory screwdrivers until I pass out.”

Maddie’s nose wrinkles and she turns her pout on him, one hand moving to her stomach. “You’re a cruel man, Josh Russo.”

His looks down at the phone she still holds with the other pointedly. “I think you and I both know I could be much, much worse.”

[morganbritton132]

Adding onto Steve's crime spree from this (and this and this)

Eddie has determined that he's not asking the right questions in life.

Is he questioning the man? Yes. Every day.

Is he asking Wayne for help when his van shits the bed on Thursday? No. When his van is still unusable come Saturday, did he ask his friends if he could catch a ride to band practice? No.

Did he ask if he could get a ride home? Also no.

It's raining and Eddie regrets his life choices so hard, he doesn't notice the Porsche 928 until it blows through the crosswalk he was about to step onto. He's hit with a tidal wave of frigid early November street water because, of course, he is.

"Fuck's sake," Eddie swore, pushing his wet hair out of his face. In his perphery, the Porche slams on its breaks and rolls back into the crosswalk beside him, but he barely notices. Talking to the driver, the world, or god, Eddie does not know when he rants, "Thanks! Thanks for that, I really need pnumonia. Thanks for bestowing-"

"Sorry, man," Steve says, an apologetic wince sticking out of the open window of the Porche. "Wanna ride? I can take you where you're going."

Eddie looks at the car, then at Steve, and then back at the car and signs, "...Fine, but only because this car is beautiful and not to expunge your guilt."

"Dude, I don't think a sponge is going to help."

Eddie rolls his eyes but sticks his guitar in the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. He has to physically stop himself from touching everything. He's never even seen a Porche before, wow.

Steve's in the driver's seat looking like he's dying for Eddie to ask about the car so he can talk about it. Honestly, Eddie wants to ask about the car. He probably should have asked about the car but instead, he shakes the water out of his hair like a dog as payback.

"C'mon, man," Steve complains, wiping the water off his face. "Watch the leather."

Eddie gives him directions and then bites the bullet. He asks the wrong question, "You trade in the Beamer?"

"No way. That's my baby," He says. "I'm just borrowing this lady."

The conversation is actually nice. None of Eddie's friends know anything about cars but Steve seems to know a lot. He can almost forgive the guy for being a jock and the psychological warfare he's bestowed onto Eddie's brain the past week and a half, but then-

“It sounds like - shit," Eddie says, echoing the same sentiment as Steve at the sight of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view. A question he should've been asking all along occurs to him, "Did you steal this car?"

Steve gives him an annoyed look and then rolls down his window, smiling that All-American smile, "Heya, Hop. Didn't think you were working today."

"This car was reported stolen."

Eddie swears, sinking into the leather with the hopes that it eats him. Steve doesn't even hesitate, "Let me guess, Mrs. Woolledge? Crazy she knows what all her neighbors are doing but not that her kid's on dope."

Hopper doesn't say anything and the silence is loud so Steve adds, "It's not stolen. It's my dad's car. I have permission."

"From your dad?" Hopper asks, getting an annoyed nod from Steve. "Same dad that's out of town?"

"Well, Hop. There's this thing called a phone."

"You get that MRI...right? Throw the keys out the window," Hopper says. Eddie's mentally preparing on how he's going to explain this to Wayne when he calls from jail. Steve protests. Hopper demands, "Throw. The keys. Out. The. Window. Now."

Steve seems to realize that he's pushing his luck because he does just that. He even gets out of the car when Hopper tells him to. Hopper tells him to get in his truck and Steve straight up lies, "Hop, I'm taking my friend home. We're working on a school project together. At his house.”

Eddie curses Steve's entire bloodline from start to finish when Hopper lookings directly at him still in the car, "That true?"

Say no. Say you don't know him. Say you know nothing. Say anything but, "Yes."

"What subject?'

"History," Steve says at the same time Eddie says 'Art' and then rolls his eyes, "Art history, yeah?"

Hopper nods like he thinks they're full of shit and then tells them both to get in his truck.

Steve protests but more about leaving the car on the street than anything else while Eddie briefly thinks about the psychic his mom used to know. He wonders if she could curse someone for real. Maybe he can call her from jail.

He's fully ready to see the police station that he fails to realize where Hopper's going until they’re in Forest Hills. He turns and looks at both of them and says, "I'd like to know what grade you get on this project."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Steve says with a salute, pulling Eddie out of the car. Once they're inside, Steve peaks out the blinds like, "Yeah, he'll sit there for a while. He thinks I'm lying. Wanna smoke?"

Eddie is baffled, "No."

"Okay," Steve shrugs and flops down on the couch. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and adds, "Spare key. We just gotta wait until he's gone and can circle back for your guitar."

The only thing Eddie can think is, “what the fuck” and he doesn’t even know which part he’s talking about.

[pshbites]

JAPANESE DENIM ━ nrk

pairing : riki x fem!reader genre : fluff, strangers to lovers, yearning, college au warnings : none other than the fact riki is a lovestruck loser synopsis : you find yourself missing the boy from the music store who you dont even know wc : 1.8k a/n : this actually has nothing to do with denim but it IS inspired off the lyric from daniel ceasers japanese denim - you dont even know me, its an interpretation SO i hope u guys like it !

if u enjoyed pls like & reblog, feedback is always appreciated!! also listen to the song linked to get the full experience :)))

“why are we even here man?” riki groaned, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets as he followed jungwon around. 

 if there was anything that tired riki out more than classes, it was probably shopping. with his amazing luck, jungwon dragged him out to get a gift for jays birthday that was approaching. after 2 hours of running around the whole city they were here, at a music store. they sold the usual, records, cds, vinyls, everything of the sort. 

“there’s this oasis record jay really wants, i’m sure it’ll be here” jungwon replied, sifting through the records on the shelf. he stood there, impatiently, hoping jungwon could mysteriously find it but instead jungwon moved to the next section making riki sigh. “just let me know when you’re done” he said, jungwon waving him off as riki navigated through the store. 

he found himself at the all too familiar hip-hop section. that was where he saw you. he didn’t think anyone was in the store when him and jungwon entered but here you were. he tore his gaze away from you and looked at the records in front of him, pretending to look through them. his efforts to distract himself were in vain because he found himself looking at you again. 

you were so pretty. possibly the prettiest girl riki had ever seen, he wasn’t really sure people like you existed. you had this slight pout on your lips, struggling to find whatever it was that you were looking for. he saw the rings on your fingers and smiled softly, you had good taste as well. he could tell that much by your outfit. you were laid back yet still girly, your bag was adorned with keychains of all sorts. he could recognize one being a frank ocean keychain. you had good music taste too. 

his gaze shifted to the records you were sorting through, most of them being kendrick lamar albums but you still couldn’t find the one you were looking for. this was his chance, he could make a move. “some of kendrick’s records could be in rnb.” he mustered up, causing you to finally look his way. he was cute. it was crazy how he looked exactly like your type. you felt your cheeks heating up a little while trying to maintain eye contact with him. “thanks” you replied, smiling softly. 

“dude come on, it’s not here” you heard someone yell out, presumably his friend. you watched the boy turn around and groan slightly. he turned back to you, “nice seeing you” he said, you nodding in return. you watched as him and his friend left, the realization hitting you immediately. you never got his name. 

…

“dani you don’t get it! what if that was my soulmate, what if i never meet him again!!” you groaned out loud in the study room the two of you were. danielle sighed, setting down her pen. “yn come on, don’t be dramatic i doubt he was your soulmate. you spoke like one word to him!” she replied, causing you to look at her. you sat down across from her, leaning over the table.

“yes but what if!” you whined out, making danielle roll her eyes. “yn you have better things to focus on, like our organic chemistry exam. professor jung doesn’t go easy” she sighed out making you frown. you reluctantly sat normally in your chair and pulled out your notebook and laptop. it fell silent amongst the both of you, as you worked on your study material. your mind couldn’t help but wander to the mysterious stranger. 

“do you think he works there?” “yn!! focus!” 

…

riki sighed, sitting down on the couch. all around him was music and flashing led lights. yet all his mind could drift to was you. that’s all his mind has been doing these past couple days. “and now give it up for the birthday boy!” jake yelled out, jay right next to him. riki shifted his gaze to them as he watched everyone cheer for jay. next to him, he felt the couch cushion dip. 

he turned to see sunoo, leaning back in the couch. “what’s up with you?” he said, making riki shake his head. “nothing” he crossed his arms, looking down at the ground. “it’s definitely something, you’re a bad liar” sunoo snickered, shaking his head as he propped his head by his hand, fully turned to riki now. riki looked up and groaned. “it’s just.. is it weird? to feel something for someone you don’t know?” he finally breathed out, looking full to sunoo. 

sunoo furrowed his brows, “not at all” he shrugged, riki nodding. “is this about the record store girl?” sunoo looked to him and riki stayed silent, making sunoo groan aloud. “okay pause you spoke like one full sentence” making riki groan as well. “okay yeah but it’s so weird like.. i don’t even know her yet im like yearning to know her?” 

sunoo sighed and hesitated before speaking up. “who knows, maybe youll see her again and this time actually get her name” he smiled, standing up and walking over to jake who was trying to smash jays face in the cake. he was right. maybe he would see you again. 

…

either sunoo was a psychic or riki finally believed in a little word called fate. because here you stood, looking at the guitar picks. maybe it was fate, that the day jays guitar strings fray and break, is the same day that you chose to come to the instrument store. nonetheless it didn’t matter because this time he was going to approach and talk to you. 

riki cleared his throat softly, looking at the shelf in front of him, something about how to clean your guitar? you looked over to see the same boy from before, clearly not interested in whatever he was looking at. “hi” you spoke, making him turn his head and seem.. surprised? “woah.. what a coincidence you know i didn’t even see you!” riki laughed nervously, scratching the back of neck. 

you smiled softly at his antics, “a coincidence indeed.. i’m yn” you stuck out your hand for him to shake and he smiled, “riki” he replied, shaking your hand, his hand was a bit clammy and he was hoping you couldn’t tell. but you could, and it was adorable. he let go of your hand and walked a little closer to you, now next to you. “do you play?” he asked, presumably asking about the guitar picks. 

“uh no, my friend just recently had a birthday and i didn’t get a chance to go to his party so i’m sort of just buying this as a ‘im sorry’ gift” you giggled a little, turning to face him. riki laughed along with you, then watched as you tried to meticulously pick out the best guitar pick on the shelf. riki hesitated before speaking, “is he uh.. more than a friend?”you turned to face him once more, now smiling. “nosy aren’t you?” you teased, making riki’s cheeks flush pink. 

“uh no- i just um- you know- was curious” he cleared his throat, trying to seem nonchalant which only made you like him even more. “no, i don’t have a boyfriend,” you finally said, making riki smile now. “oh.. cool that’s uh cool” he replied, mentally cheering. you looked back at the picks, choosing one to get for jay. you felt bad enough you missed his birthday party so it was just nicer to get him a gift. 

“so.. do you have any plans after this?” riki hummed, following you through the store as you walked to the register. “hm..” you hummed in thought, making riki even more nervous than he already was. “i guess i’m free,” you replied, smiling. you were already free when he asked you but you just wanted to make him a little nervous. “cool.. cool..” riki said as the two of you reached the register. you handed the worker the guitar pick and reached for your wallet in your bag. 

“riki where were you? i was looking for you!” jay called out, approaching the two of you. jay furrowed his brows as the worker handed you the bag and receipt and you turned around. “oh jay! i wasn’t expecting to see you here.” you said, now making riki even more confused. “how do you guys know each other?” jay pointed to you and riki and you two looked like deers caught in headlights. 

“he’s a friend!” you smiled, looking at him and riki nodding. “yep we are friends” he grinned back causing jay to make a face. “and this is for you, sort of an i’m sorry for missing the party” you handed jay the bag, smiling as he took a peek. “a pick? i lost my old one thanks yn!” he said, smiling back. you nodded in response, now looking to riki who looked to both of you in confusion. “so-“ “i forgot we have plans tonight for dinner, so we gotta get going yn” jay said, before you could even finish your sentence. riki furrowed his brows, about to refuse but jay pulled him by the arm. 

“oh.. uh bye! have fun!” you smiled softly, waving bye as jay and riki left the store, making you sigh. you still had no way to talk to riki. 

riki groaned as him and jay walked down the sidewalk. “i was gonna take her to get food or something man cmon!!” he groaned even more, making jay laugh. “why don’t you first get her number, then take her out on a date” he slung his arm around riki’s shoulder which only made him side eye him. “yeah! i can’t even do that because i didn’t ask her” “you forget i have her number” jay said. riki looked to him and smiled, clearly happier. 

…

you entered your apartment and sighed as you plopped on the couch. it was weird, you didn’t even know riki yet you found yourself thinking about him so often. his smile was so cute and you could tell he was a genuine good guy, something that was rare nowadays. you were also sure he went to your university because he seemed quite familiar. yet at the same time he seemed like a stranger, a stranger you wanted to know more about. ugh you should’ve gotten his number or something. 

you pulled out your phone and just when you did, it buzzed with an incoming message. 

unknown: hey? is this yn?  unknown: it’s me, riki :)  unknown: u know from like the music store unknown: and from the instrument shop unknown: riki also jays friend unknown: same jay you know 

you giggled softly at his multiple messages, quickly saving his contact. now suddenly things were looking up for your relationship with riki.  

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[harryspurpleloofah]

Just next door

Summary: the guy who just moved in next door invited Y/N over for coffee and she saw a sex toy. Him hearing her touch herself later that day evolves into phone sex

Warnings: swearing, female and male masturbation, fingering, phone sex, guided masturbation, mentions of reader hearing moans from Harry’s apartment while he hooks up with someone, I think like a tiny bit of swearing?

The warm scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the small apartment as Y/N set two steaming mugs on the table near the window. Across from her, Clara perched eagerly on a chair, her fingers drumming against the ceramic mug in her hands.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Clara said, leaning forward like she was about to deliver life-changing news.

Y/N arched a brow. “What? Did someone steal your parking spot again?”

Clara shook her head, a grin already tugging at her lips. “No, it’s way better. I was coming up the stairs earlier, and guess who I saw?”

“Unless it’s Freddie Mercury, I’m not guessing,” Y/N replied dryly, taking a sip from her cup.

“A man,” Clara said, her grin growing wider. “A hot man. Like, ridiculously hot. And he was moving boxes into the apartment right next to yours.”

That got Y/N’s attention. She straightened slightly, setting her cup down. “The apartment next door? The one that’s been empty like…forever?”

“Exactly!” Clara practically squealed. “And let me just tell you, this guy is no ordinary neighbor. He’s tall, has this messy, curly hair, and..oh my God—he was wearing a sleeveless shirt while carrying all those boxes. His arms, Y/N. His arms. I swear they look like they belong in a museum.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a flicker of curiosity was in her. “Sounds like someone’s trying to show off.”

“Um, if you had arms like that, wouldn’t you?” Clara quipped. “He’s a walking thirst trap, I’m telling you. You should bake him cookies or something, just so I have an excuse to come back and see him again.”

“Yeah right,” Y/N scoffed. “The last thing I need is to deal with a cocky neighbor who probably spends more time flexing in mirrors than unpacking his boxes.”

Clara snorted, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don’t write him off just yet. You haven’t even met him. What if he’s sweet? Or mysterious? Or—”

“Or obnoxious,” Y/N interrupted. “Or loud. Or the kind of guy who blasts terrible music at all hours.”

“Or the kind of guy who’s so hot you won’t care,” Clara shot back.

Y/N shook her head, laughing softly. “Let’s just hope he keeps to himself and doesn’t cause any trouble.”

Y/N was halfway through folding laundry on the couch when she heard a knock at the door. Her brows furrowed as she glanced at the clock—7:30 p.m. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Clara had left hours ago, and most of her neighbors preferred to keep to themselves.

She padded over to the door and opened it. There he was.

The first thing she noticed was the curls—a messy tumble of dark brown waves that framed his face just right. Then her eyes caught on the white T-shirt stretched across his chest and the tattoos that peeked out along his arms, ink twisting down his skin like art in motion. He had a lazy, easy smile, the kind that could disarm anyone without trying.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm, slightly raspy. “Sorry to bother you. I’m Harry—just moved in next door.”

Y/N blinked, forcing herself to recover. Of course, he’s stupidly attractive, she thought, Clara’s earlier words ringing in her ears.

“Oh,” she said quickly, gripping the edge of the door. “Hi. Welcome, I guess.”

His smile widened a bit, his dimples appearing. “Thanks. Umm, I hate to be that guy, but do you happen to have a screwdriver I could borrow? I can’t find mine in all the boxes, and my bookshelf is dangerously close to collapsing on me.”

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not she wanted to prolong this interaction. But then she caught the faintest trace of hope in his eyes, like he wasn’t entirely sure she’d help. That, and the hint of an accent lacing his words, made it hard to say no.

“Yeah, I think I’ve got one. Hold on a second.”

She left the door slightly ajar as she went to the kitchen drawer, rummaging around until she found the toolkit. When she came back, Harry was leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Here,” she said, holding out the screwdriver. “You can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

He took it, his fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Thanks. Lifesaver.” He paused, tilting his head slightly as if studying her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Y/N,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Well, Y/N,” he said, his smile turning just a touch more charming. “I owe you one. First favor in the books already. You’re making it hard for me to be a bad neighbor.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, even as she tried to suppress it. “Let’s see how long that lasts.”

He grinned, taking a step back toward his door. “I guess we’ll see. Thanks again, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing in the doorway with a slight flush creeping up her neck and an unfamiliar warmth buzzing in her chest.

A month later, the café was buzzing with quiet chatter as Y/N stirred her iced coffee, the clinking of the ice against the glass the only sound between her and Clara for the moment. Across the small table, Clara was mid-bite of her sandwich, but the look in her eyes told Y/N she was just waiting for the right moment to drop something.

“What?” Y/N finally asked, narrowing her eyes.

Clara grinned, swallowing quickly before leaning forward. “Nothing. Just…how are things with your very hot neighbor?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though she felt the faintest blush creep up her neck. “They’re fine. He borrowed a screwdriver the other day. That’s the extent of our interactions.”

She smiles, “Well when I pulled into the lot, your new neighbor..Harry, right? He was coming back from a run.”

Y/N looked up, her fork hovering in the air. “A run?”

“Uh-huh,” Clara confirmed, grinning now. “And let me tell you, it was a sight to behold. He was wearing these black running shorts and a tank top, and he was like, glistening in all the right places. I swear it was like watching one of those slow-motion workout montages in a movie.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her fork onto her plate. “Clara.”

“What?” Clara said innocently, though the glint in her eye betrayed her. “I’m just saying, the man has no business looking like that while casually jogging. And he looked so…relaxed about it, like he didn’t even realize every living being with eyes was staring at him.”

Y/N took a sip of her iced coffee, trying to hide the heat creeping up her neck. “Okay, you’re being dramatic.”

“Oh, am I?” Clara shot back, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The guy looks like he walked straight out of a Calvin Klein ad. How are you living next door to that and still functioning?”

“He’s just being neighborly.”

“Neighborly, my ass,” Clara said with a snort. “If he comes knocking again, you better invite him in for more than a tool. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Clara!” Y/N yelled.

“What?” Clara said with an exaggerated shrug. “I’m just looking out for you. If I had a neighbor like that, I wouldn’t waste a second.”

Shaking her head, Y/N stabbed at her meal, hoping to steer the conversation elsewhere. But Clara’s words lingered, teasing at the edges of her thoughts.

Because as much as she hated to admit it, there was something about Harry that made her wonder just how long she could keep pretending not to notice.

Lunch wrapped up soon with banter, but as the pair strolled back toward Y/N’s apartment, Clara looped her arm through Y/N’s, still buzzing with energy.

“So,” Clara said, bumping her shoulder. “What’s the plan for the rest of the day? Because I don’t know about you, but I’m not ready to go home yet.”

Y/N smiled, unlocking the door to the building and holding it open for Clara. “What are you saying? You want to stick around and steal all my food again?”

“Obviously,” Clara replied with a grin. “Your popcorn is better than mine, and you know it. Besides, it’s been ages since we had a proper movie night. You’ve been sooo busy.”

Y/N rolled her eyes as they made their way up the stairs. “I’ve barely been busy. You’re just dramatic.”

“Whatever you say,” Clara said breezily. “So…movies? Wine? Popcorn?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, fine. But you’re in charge of picking the movies this time. If I pick, you’ll just complain the whole time and then end up watching them anyway.”

“Fair point,” Clara said, shrugging. “Alright, deal. I’ll find something good.”

They reached Y/N’s apartment, and as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, she glanced over her shoulder. “Just don’t pick anything sappy, alright? I’m not in the mood for tearjerkers.”

She opened the cabinet where she kept the popcorn. “Butter or kettle corn?”

“Both,” Clara said, plopping onto the couch and grabbing a pillow. “Oh, and maybe I’ll grab a blanket in case it gets cold. Can’t be too prepared.”

Y/N smiled. Clara’s energy was infectious, and as much as she liked having her space, she was glad for the company.

“Alright, movie marathon it is,” Y/N said, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter.

As the familiar hum of the TV filled the room and the scent of freshly popped popcorn wafted through the air, Y/N couldn’t help but smile. Despite Clara’s endless teasing, she was glad for the distraction.

Soon Y/N and Clara were sprawled on the couch, surrounded by empty bowls of popcorn and half-finished glasses of wine. The action movie Clara had insisted on watching blared from the speakers, explosions and dramatic one-liners filling the space.

Y/N shifted under her blanket, stifling a yawn, when Clara suddenly sat up straighter, her head tilting to the side.

“Wait,” Clara said, holding up a hand to shush Y/N.

“What?” Y/N asked, frowning as she paused mid-sip of her wine.

Clara’s eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of confusion and amusement. “Do you hear that?”

Y/N froze, listening. For a second, there was nothing but the sound of the movie. But then, faintly, she heard it—a muffled rhythm, like the creak of a bedframe, punctuated by soft, indistinct noises.

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.”

Clara’s mouth dropped open, and she slapped a hand over it to stifle a laugh. “Oh my God,” she whispered, leaning toward Y/N. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Shh!” Y/N hissed. Clara ignored her, pointing toward the wall that separated Y/N’s apartment from Harry’s. “It’s coming from his place, isn’t it? Your neighbor?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N muttered, gripping her glass a little too tightly.

But Clara wasn’t letting it go. She reached for the remote, pausing the movie mid-explosion. The silence that followed was deafening, except it wasn’t really silent at all. The noises became clearer without the distraction of the TV, and there was no mistaking it now. A low, breathy moan filtered through the thin walls, followed by another creak of the bed.

Clara gasped, her eyes wide with delight. “It is him!” she whispered dramatically.

“Do you think it’s…like, a one-time thing?” Clara whispered, barely able to keep a straight face.

“I don’t want to think about it at all,” Y/N whispered back, sinking deeper into the couch and covering her ears.

Clara grinned, clearly reveling in Y/N’s discomfort. “I mean, hey, at least you know he’s good at something. Not that you’ll ever find out, of course.”

Y/N grabbed a throw pillow and smacked Clara with it, eliciting a loud laugh. “Shut up!”

The next morning, Clara had left at about 9 AM and now Y/N had just settled on the couch with a mug of coffee when a knock at the door startled her. Setting the mug down, she padded over to open it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw who was standing there. Harry.

He was leaning against the doorframe, holding her screwdriver in one hand. His curls were disheveled, and there were faint shadows under his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t slept at all, but somehow he still managed to pull it off in a way that was unfairly attractive.

“Morning,” he said, his voice low and scratchy, like he hadn’t used it much yet. “Thought I’d return this before I forgot.”

“Oh, thanks,” Y/N said, taking the screwdriver from him. She hesitated for a second, her eyes scanning his face. “You okay? You look… tired.”

He chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, you could say that. Had a bit of a rough night.”

She leaned against the doorframe, curious despite herself. “Oh? Something happen?”

Harry hesitated, his lips twitching in what might’ve been embarrassment or amusement. “Let’s just say I had one too many drinks… and some questionable company.”

Y/N blinked, her stomach doing a strange little flip. “Oh.”

He gave a dry laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s not exactly my proudest moment. Went out to blow off some steam, ended up bringing someone back. She left early this morning, and now I’m regretting pretty much everything about it.”

Y/N tried to ignore the sudden tightness in her chest. It wasn’t her business..he was an adult, and hookups happened. But still, the thought of someone else being with him, hearing those same soft, raspy tones directed at them, made her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“Well,” she said, keeping her tone light, “I guess everyone has those nights, right?”

Harry smiled faintly, leaning against the doorframe. “Guess so. Just…doesn’t feel great, y’know? She was nice enough, but it was all a bit…empty.”

Y/N tilted her head, surprised by his honesty. There was something raw about the way he said it, like he wasn’t just brushing it off as a joke or a casual story.

Harry chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a tiny flutter through her chest. “Lesson learned,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly my proudest decision. I guess I was just…blowing off steam, y’know?”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “Rough week?”

He hesitated, leaning against the doorframe. “Something like that. Moving’s been a bit of a whirlwind, and… I don’t know. I guess I’m still getting used to being here. New city, new place, no familiar faces. It’s a bit… lonely.”

Her expression softened. “I get that. Moving can be tough. When I first moved here, I didn’t know anyone either. It took me ages to feel like this place was actually home.”

He smiled faintly. “Yeah? What changed?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just…let myself settle in. Met a few people, got into a routine. Eventually, it started to feel right.” She paused, feeling a pang of sympathy. “You’ll get there. It just takes time.”

Harry’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air between them felt heavier, more intimate. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Y/N cleared her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. “Anyway, you should probably get some coffee if you’re running on no sleep. It might help.”

He smirked, tilting his head. “You offering?”

She managed to keep her voice steady. “Sure, if you don’t mind instant coffee and a very stubborn coffee machine.”

Harry laughed softly. “Instant coffee sounds like heaven right now.”

“Well, come in then,” she said, stepping back and gesturing for him to enter. “It’s the least I can do after you brought back my screwdriver.”

The apartment was warm and filled with the lingering scent of fresh coffee. Harry glanced around, his gaze landing on the cozy setup in the living room. “Nice place,” he said.

“Thanks,” Y/N replied, heading into the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I’ll get the coffee started.”

As she fiddled with the coffee machine, Harry leaned casually against the counter, watching her with an easy smile. “You’re sure I’m not interrupting anything? I don’t want to mess up your morning.”

“You’re not interrupting,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at him. “It’s nice to have some company, actually. Most mornings it’s just me and my to-do list.”

Harry chuckled. “Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it’s the height of excitement,” she deadpanned, pressing the button on the coffee machine—only for nothing to happen. She frowned, pressing it again. Still nothing.

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, stepping closer. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Yeah definitely not.”

“Is if broken?”

“I think so,”

He smiled softly, “No worries we can go to mine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides, I really need that coffee.”

Harry’s apartment felt like stepping into a place that was truly lived in..a home, not just a space. The walls were painted a soft, warm cream, and natural light poured through sheer curtains, casting golden streaks across the wooden floors. Potted plants thrived in every corner, adding bursts of green to the room. A woven throw rug lay beneath a large, overstuffed couch that was piled with mismatched cushions, some knitted, others patterned with earthy tones.

The coffee table was a mix of practicality and personality, a stack of books with worn spines, an old mug filled with pens, and a half-melted candle that smelled faintly of cedar and citrus.

In one corner, a record player sat atop a weathered wooden stand, surrounded by a scattering of vinyls leaning casually against the wall. Above it hung a cluster of Polaroid photos strung on twine with tiny wooden clips, each one capturing moments of laughter, travel, and faces Y/N didn’t recognize but instantly envied.

The kitchen blended seamlessly into the living space, its counters lined with signs of use: a ceramic bowl of fruit, a drying rack with a couple of dishes, and a cheerful tea towel hanging over the edge of the sink. The faint scent of fresh coffee wafted through the air as Harry stood at the counter, pouring steaming liquid into two mismatched mugs.

“You’ve got a really cozy place,” Y/N said, her voice soft as she took it all in.

Harry glanced over his shoulder with a small grin. “Thanks. Took me a while to get it feeling right. Guess I’m a sucker for a homey vibe.”

“You nailed it,” she said, her gaze drifting again.

She wandered over to a small shelf tucked beside the couch. It was cluttered in the best way…books stacked horizontally and vertically, a framed photo of what looked like Harry and his family standing on a windswept beach, and a small globe with the paint chipped in a few places. Everything about it felt warm and personal, like every item had a story.

“You can sit if you want,” Harry called out, his voice easy and light. “Promise I won’t be offended if you don’t want to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.”

Y/N smiled. “I’m fine. Just…looking.”

She continued her slow circle, her eyes catching on a door slightly ajar at the end of the short hallway. The bedroom, she guessed, though she quickly looked away, not wanting to seem like she was prying.

But then, as her gaze traveled to the other side of the room, something caught her attention.

It was on the floor by the edge of the couch, partially hidden beneath the throw blanket that had slipped off the armrest. At first, she thought it was just a random object—a stray remote or maybe some kind of gadget, but as she stepped a little closer, her stomach flipped.

A sleek, unmistakable shape came into view. It was a vibrator.

Small and simple, but undeniably there, lying just slightly out of place amidst the cozy, domestic warmth of his apartment. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly looked away, her face burning. Had he seen her notice it? Did he even realize it was there?

“You okay over there?” Harry’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, and she turned to see him leaning against the counter, a mug in each hand, his expression amused.

“Fine!” she said quickly, her voice a little higher than usual. She walked toward him, hoping he didn’t notice her awkwardness. “Just…admiring your plant collection. They’re very..healthy.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but too polite to push. “Well, thanks. They get all the credit. I just water them and hope for the best.”

As he handed her a mug, their fingers brushed briefly, and Y/N swore she felt a spark. She took a sip, letting the warmth of the coffee ground her as she avoided glancing back toward the couch.

But no matter how hard she tried, the image of the toy was burned into her mind, along with the unwelcome but undeniable thought of Harry using it on someone.

“So,” Harry said, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts, “tell me about yourself, Y/N. What do you do for fun when you’re not rescuing broken coffee machines or lending out screwdrivers?”

Y/N forced a smile, hoping he couldn’t see the pink still dusting her cheeks. “Oh, you know. The usual. Reading, bingeing bad TV, trying to keep my plants alive…” She trailed off, her voice softening as she met his eyes. “Nothing as interesting as this place, though.”

Harry shrugged, his lips quirking up in that easy, lopsided grin. “Guess it depends on your definition of interesting. My life’s not as exciting as it might look.”

Harry followed her line of sight, his brows furrowing in confusion at first. But then his eyes landed on the object partially hidden beneath the blanket on the couch, and his expression changed instantly.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…you saw that, didn’t you?”

Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly looked away, trying to pretend like she wasn’t dying of embarrassment. “Yeah, I did.”

“Damn,” Harry said, his voice soft with a mix of awkwardness and apology. He stepped around the counter, closing some of the space between them. “I didn’t realize—I mean, I should’ve—I didn’t know it was just sitting there. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Y/N said quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss it. She could feel the heat crawling up her neck and cheeks, and she desperately wanted to escape the situation before it got any more mortifying. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I wasn’t—”

“Still,” Harry interrupted, running a hand through his hair. “That’s…not exactly something you want to stumble across when you’re just trying to have a cup of coffee.”

She laughed nervously, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “It’s fine, Harry. I promise.”

For a moment, he hesitated, his green eyes searching her face like he wasn’t sure if he should drop the subject or keep apologizing. Then he sighed, shaking his head.

“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, a small, sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “I swear I’m not like having sex 24/7. It just…happens to be there, and I didn’t think—”

“Harry, seriously,” Y/N cut him off, her voice firmer this time. “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain yourself.”

She glanced toward the door, her heart still racing, and gave him a tight smile. “I should probably get going, though. I’ve, uh, got some stuff to do.”

Harry’s smile faded, and for a second, something flickered in his expression—disappointment, maybe? But he quickly masked it, nodding as he stepped back to give her space.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, his tone light and casual, though it didn’t quite match the look in his eyes. “Thanks for, you know, not freaking out.”

She smiled faintly, already moving toward the door. “It’s not a big deal. Really.”

He walked her to the door, his hands shoved into his pockets as they reached the threshold.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the frame, “thanks for the company. Even if I managed to completely ruin it.”

“You didn’t ruin it,” Y/N said, her smile softening. “It was…nice.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his grin returning, though it was smaller this time. “Good to know.”

She hesitated for half a second before giving him a quick wave and slipping out into the hallway. As the door closed behind her, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, her heart still pounding.

Y/N leaned back against the headboard of her bed, her room dimly lit by the soft glow of her bedside lamp. The book she’d been trying to read lay forgotten in her lap, her mind betraying her with images of Harry—standing in his kitchen, the sleeves of his T-shirt stretched over his toned arms, that damn crooked smile on his face.

Her face burned just thinking about him, but no matter how hard she tried to shake it, the memory of the vibrator on his couch kept flashing in her mind. She bit her lip, her fingers idly tracing the edge of the blanket draped across her lap.

It was reckless, she knew that. But the way he’d looked at her earlier..the way his green eyes had lingered, the way his voice had dipped when he said her name, it had left her feeling more restless than she wanted to admit.

Her hand slid lower, beneath the blanket, her breath catching as her fingers grazed her skin. She closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the fantasy. She pictured him leaning over her, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and teasing as he murmured her name.

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the sound sent a shiver through her body.

On the other side of the wall, Harry froze. Their rooms must be back to back because he could now hear faint moans of Y/N.

He had just stepped out of his shower, towel slung around his hips, when the faint sound reached his ears. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then it came again, soft, breathless, unmistakable. His name.

From Y/N’s apartment.

He stood there for a moment, completely still, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders as he listened. The sound came again, and this time, there was no mistaking the hushed moan that followed.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding.

It wasn’t intentional..he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. But now that he’d heard it, he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. The wall separating their apartments was thin enough to carry the faintest sounds, and the realization sent heat rushing through his body.

He leaned back against the wall, torn between guilt and an intense, undeniable arousal. He should stop. He knew he should stop. But the sound of her soft, needy gasps of her whispering his name was doing things to him that he couldn’t ignore.

Inside her apartment, Y/N was oblivious, completely lost in her own world. Her breathing quickened, her movements becoming more urgent as she pushed two fingers in and out of her pussy and imagined his hands on her, his lips trailing down her neck, his voice rumbling in her ear as he told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.

“Harry,” she whimpered again, her body trembling as she edged closer to cumming.

He shouldn’t call her. He knew that. It was crossing a line, stepping into territory they hadn’t even begun to discuss. But the memory of her soft gasps, the thought of her lying in her bed, touching herself while thinking about him…

It was too much.

With a low groan, he grabbed his phone and scrolled to her name in his contacts. His thumb hovered over the call button for a second before he muttered, “fuck it,” and pressed it.

The phone rang once. Twice.

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice was soft, hesitant, and he could hear the slight tremor in it, like she wasn’t sure why he was calling.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I was…I’m awake,” she said quickly, though there was something breathless about her tone that told him she hadn’t quite recovered from what she’d been doing.

He let out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the couch. “Good. Because we need to talk.”

There was a pause, and he could almost feel her tension through the line. “About what?”

“About what I just heard,” he said, his voice dipping lower, more serious.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Oh my God,” Y/N finally said, her voice barely audible. “You heard that?”

“I did,” Harry admitted, his lips curving into a small smile despite himself. “Walls are thin, love.”

She groaned, and he could hear the embarrassment in the sound. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted, his tone firm but gentle. “I’m not mad. Not at all.”

“But—”

“Y/N,” he said, cutting her off again. “Listen to me. You don’t need to be embarrassed, okay? I’m not judging you.”

She didn’t respond, but he could hear her breathing on the other end of the line…quick, shallow, and uneven.

“Are you still in bed?” he asked, his voice softening.

“…yes,” she admitted after a moment.

“Good,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch. “Stay there for me.”

“Harry…”

“You were saying my name,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Weren’t you?”

Her breath hitched, and he smiled, knowing he’d caught her.

“I—”

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone soothing but commanding. “You don’t have to lie. I liked it, Y/N. Hearing you like that…knowing you were thinking about me…”

Her breathing quickened, and he could almost picture her lying there, her cheeks flushed, her body tense with anticipation.

“Harry,” she said again, her voice a mix of nerves and something else..something needier.

“Let me help you,” he said, his hand drifting down to his cock as he spoke. “Let me show you how good it can feel. Can I do that?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, he thought she might say no. But then she whispered, “Okay.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice like velvet. The words sent a thrill through him as much as they did her, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.

“Are you touching yourself right now?” he asked, his tone low and deliberate.

“No,” she admitted, her voice shaking slightly.

“Then start,” he said. “Slide your hand down, just like you were doing before.”

He waited, his own hand slipping below as he imagined her doing exactly what he’d asked.

“Touch your clit,” he murmured, his tone thick with heat. “I want to hear you as you feel the warmth of your own touch.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her body still trembling from the intensity of their conversation. But his voice was like a magnet, drawing her in, and before she knew it, her fingers were moving against her skin, tentative at first, then more sure of themselves as she followed his instructions.

“Good,” Harry whispered, his voice growing rougher. “Now, gently slide your fingers in and out, slowly. Feel every fucking inch.” “Good girl,” he murmured, his words sending a thrill through her. “Just like that. You’re so good for me, Y/N. I can hear how much you’re enjoying this.”

“Now add a third finger for me.”

She did as she was told, she let out a slightly louder moan this time.

“That’s it baby just like that. I know you can handle it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so desperate for my cock would you? How are you gonna take it all for me if you can’t even take three of your own fingers? That would just be pathetic.”

She breathes out as she fingers herself deeper, just trying to forget theyre her own and imagining his ringed ones instead. “Harry..”

“That’s right love just like that,”, he started moving his hand up and down his own cock, holding back moans. “You wanna come over to my apartment tomorrow? So I can actually fuck you good?”

She barely even comprehends what he’s saying with the feeling of being stuffed with three fingers, win the reassurance that soon it would be even more filling than that with his dick. All she can muster is a soft hum of affirmation.

“Yes or no?”

“Y-yeah of course. Just text me what time.”

He sighs, adjusting himself to get more comfortable as he feels the orgasm coming. “I will. I’ll use that same vibrator on you then will you like that?”

“H-”

“And trust me it wasn’t the only thing I have at my house. I have a whole drawer you can have. Pick anything you want out of it tomorrow yeah, baby?”

“Yes Harry, fuck-oh god I’m cumming.”

“Just like that baby.”

Harry almost cums instantly as he hears her moans and then her clamming down afterwards, her breath heavy. And soon enough he does, groaning himself as the hot ropes shoot out of his cock to the towel now underneath him.

After everything settled into quiet, Harry’s voice, still thick with desire, came through once more.

“Good girl,” he murmured, and she could hear the satisfaction in his tone. “You did so well.” His words lingered in her ear, and she could feel the warmth of his praise seeping into her skin.

Y/N’s breath was still uneven as she slowly, hesitantly, lifted her fingers to her lips. “Lick them for me, love,” Harry coaxed, his voice soothing but laced with a hint of command.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, the request sending a shiver down her spine, but the sound of his voice, so commanding yet affectionate, left no room for doubt. Slowly, her fingers moved to her lips, her tongue darting out to meet them, and as she did, a soft gasp left her mouth.

“Good girl,” Harry said, the words slipping out in a near whisper. “So good for me. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

The promise of tomorrow hung in the air between them, leaving her pulse racing, her thoughts swirling with the anticipation of what was to come.

“I’ll make sure we have a good time, baby,” Harry reassured her, his tone still warm and low. “You deserve it. You’re perfect.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh of contentment, still basking in the afterglow of everything they’d just shared, and though she felt a lingering desire, she could also feel the weight of satisfaction in the quiet moment.

“I should let you go now,” Harry said, his voice now gentle, as if sensing her need to breathe. “But tomorrow, we’ll have all the time we need.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Y/N said softly, her voice barely a whisper.

“Goodnight, love,” he replied, his voice lingering in her ear as if he was right there with her. “Sleep well.”

The call ended, leaving Y/N with a soft smile on her lips, her body still buzzing from the connection they’d shared.

[midnite-c6]

I also wpuld like to be thanos' and nam-gyu's dog ngl! idk nam-gyu just seems like a regular to pet shop and the cashier asks how's your precious girl how's your puppy!! as he's buying some treats and he's muttering yeah real lovely we've been doing some obedience training because she's been troublesome lately.. nam-gyu getting you a dusty pink collar and leash save me..

WOOOF PURRR HISSS BARKK YOURE SO RIGHT its actually so filthy the things id let these two do huhuhuhuhuhu . feral rn.

nam-gyu x hybridpuppy!reader | thanos x hybridpuppy!reader warnings: 18+, DARK content, degradation, sex, READER HAS EARS AND A TAIL!!

nsfw below already -> !!

nam-gyu ʕ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

he sighs, "she's been making more messes lately." the pet supplies owner would just laugh at the statement, "oh, sir, you should get used to it by now. but, i thought you've already trained her?" she asks, considering he was a regular, afterall. "i did, but she's been acting a bit more stubborn recently, maybe she just needs a collar now, it's been long overdue." the shop owner would only nod and smile. "ah yes, you should've bought her one when you first got her! a collar helps the dog know who it belongs to, and who is its owner." he chuckles, seemingly lost in thought as he grabs the plastic bag with the pretty pink collar and the matching leash he generously bought you, he bows his head. "well, miss, i'll get going now, thank you." as he heads out the door, the woman could only think how much of a sweet boy he is, taking in the responsibility in taking care of a cute puppy..

except, the puppy was you! like it always has. you'd see him come back, opening the door as you immediately cling onto him, "on your knees, go." he orders, and you immediately comply! you love him so much! and when he puts the pretty collar he bought for you, seeing how his name was engraved on the pendant, you'd truly know who you belong to. now he's easily gotten you into a doggy (ironically) position, he wasn't even moving, the only thing he was doing is tugging on your leash to get you to push in and out of him. you'd obviously choke, but he knows he's trained you at taking a lil' bit more. "ah.. fuck, move will you? my hands are getting tired from tugging you around." but it takes all your energy to move, you were too sensitive down there.

"you don't want me to donate you to the doggy pound, would you now?" "n-no, sir .!" you didn't want that!! you loved nam-gyu as your owner :< "then, do as i say, dog."

nam-gyu was a bit cruel on you, yes, but he wouldn't go as far as be careless with you... he's kept you to be a home dog, only meant to be sheltered.

thanos ʕ⁠•⁠ᴥ⁠•⁠ʔ

thanos- on the other hand, oh this man is careless with you:< he'd literally treat you like a puppy on the street! he's too busy with clubbing, partying, smoking weed, and being a famous rapper, he forgets his time with you. the nicest thing he does though is he'd buy you pretty clothes, pretty lingerie, but sadly you barely catch glimpse of him when he's sober. he's always high and thankfully happy, but when he's high and not-so-happy... well...

when he comes back from clubbing all night, you'd hear the door finally open, it was your beloved su-bong!! you'd immediately pepper kisses all over his cheeks but he'd push you to the ground. it seems he might've gotten into a fight at the club, or worse, he'd meet the person that scammed him, and you could only whimper, knowing that the best stress reliever is you. and whenever you wag your tail in excitement for anything, it just makes him hard as hell.

he'd have you face down, ass up, so he'd have full view of the wagging tail that was wagging just for him! he doesn't need a leash, he could just painfully tug on your tail! now his hand was pressing a vape past his lips, whilst the other was pressing your head down to the pillows, he loves hearing your muffled moans because you're still so loud even with them! volume down, will you? his dick wet with your slick, his thrusts going from fast and rough to slow and still rough, "are you in heat?" you'd try your best to shake your head. "jeez, you bitch like one" he complains, a particularly harder thrust than the last. even leaning in to take a painful bite onto your puppy ears. "i should definitely train you more, right, princess?" wasn't having his cum dripping out of both your holes enough?? D:

bonus:

you'd obviously only be loyal to one, but if they raised you together, then.. they've trained you to be loyal for the two of them, you can't have one without the other, and when you're too impatient, already humping su-bong before nam-gyu gets home, he'd punish you for that !

HEHEHE I REALIZED I HAVE SM HEOMWORKS THAT I have NOT DONE BYEE.

[grillthegridmydear]

Oscar and number 7 🫶🏻 Thank u so much!

Spotify Wrapped - No. 7

Jackie and Wilson ~ Hozier

OP81 X Reader

Oscar spends his winter break on an extended holiday in Ireland after Lando and Logan decide they want good beer, good culture and a (hopefully) White Christmas.

Meeting her was the last thing he was expecting.

A/N: Kicking it off with Hozier is terribly on brand, set in Dublin cause it's my hometown.

The sheer volume of people trying to battle their way through Grafton Street could have filled a grandstand. This was the only thing that Oscar could think as he tried his best to follow Logan and Lando down the busy street, trying desperately to avoid bumping into passing strangers, their arms loaded with shopping bags as they dart between stores trying to get last minute gifts as the snow fell above them. It was December 17th and instead of spending Christmas at home with his family in Australia or even in his new home in Monaco that he has been living in for less than a year, Lando essentially made the decision for him.

Oscar was added to a groupchat with all of the remaining single drivers and Lando dropped the bomb that he was organising a trip for the winter break to let off steam and enjoy themselves before the 2025 season kicked off. Logan was going because he had recently signed to drive with a new team in a different series, so it would probably be the last time they would be able to see him for a while due to everyones busy schedules. Everyone else had plans with their families or another convenient excuse not to attend, but Oscar was still riding the high of their Constructors Championship victory over Ferrari, and with the promise of spending time with Logan he was very quickly sending a thumbs up to the plan and booking a plane ticket. A month in Dublin, Ireland so that they could be close enough to home that if Mclaren called them back to the MTC they could be there within a few hours. What could go wrong.

After apologising to the third person he bumped shoulders with in the last five minutes Oscar was beginning to regret agreeing to leave the apartment they had booked. It was cold and crowded and honestly he would have been happy with going to a quiet dinner with the boys before relaxing. Lando finally managed to guide them to the mouth of the street and across the road to stop somewhere out of the way of traffic. "Pub anyone?" Lando voiced their collective opinion out loud, the cold was starting to eat through their jackets and honestly with the amount of sightseeing they had been doing since they arrived a week ago, just sitting down with a drink sounded great to Oscar.

Logan started trying to google where they should go while Lando was arguing that they should just start walking in a random direction. Looking back to that moment Oscar was sure that it wasn't a coincidence that they managed to stop directly outside the gates of Trinity College University (a place Oscar only remembered the name of because of the tour they took a few days prior, to look at some old book, it was Logan's idea) because just as they finally seemed to settle on a place Lando immediately searched for the first person he could see to ask for directions. "Excuse me love, could you tell us how to get to The Temple Bar?"

Oscar heard her laugh first, but once he turned to look at the poor girl his teammate was harassing he was a goner. She was dressed far better for the cold than they were, her long black wool coat matched her boots and by the smile on her face he could tell that she thought the question was ridiculous. There was a sparkle of recognition in her eyes as she took in the trio of racers stood in front of her. "I could, but you'd be spending outrageous money for a shit pint and its so crowded this time of the day you might not get a table for hours." Out of the corner of his eyes Oscar could tell that Logan and Lando were content to start looking for other people to ask but he bet them to it. "Would you know somewhere better we could go?" His voice made the other two boys stop in their tracks and look at the her expectantly, and good god Oscar was not ready for her to aim that megawatt smile at him, he could physically feel his heart stutter and begin racing. "I might, I'm actually heading there myself if you boys want to join me?"

That was how they ended up on the other side of the big river that Oscar couldn't care to remember the name of right now, joining a table of four people in the beer garden of Fibber Magees. They had been there for two hours but he wouldn't have been able to tell if not for the fact that the band that was playing music inside the pub when they arrived had ended their set, another one quickly taking their place. Lando had disappeared with one of your friends to grab another round of drinks, and Logan was too busy talking to another one about the NFL. But Oscar, he was completely captured by her. The night stretched on with the Aussie hanging onto her every word, learning about her studies, her hobbies, the man was so whipped that by the time the bar was calling for the last orders of the evening he knew her favourite bands by name and had the names of her dogs (Jackie and Wilson) comitted to memory.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ ✦

As the group tumbled out onto the streets that were started to become littered with snow, everyone was having a blast, and clearly, no one wanted the night to end. However, the promise of early engineering lectures and a date with that absurdly old library from earlier in the week had the girl that Oscar was sure he could sketch in perfect detail deciding to retire for the evening, but not before she whipped her phone out of that obscenely warm coat she wore and held it out to him.

It took a beat before Oscar figured out that she wanted his number, and despite how cold his fingers had now gotten he triple checked that he had in fact not mis typed the wrong digits, the name 'Oscar (from Fibbers)' being his final addition before he handed it back to her. The laugh that left her was warm, so much so that his nearly frost bitten fingers were completely forgotten in that moment. She started typing on the screen and when she pivoted the screen back to him so he could read it, where his contact name had originally sat on the top of the now open chat a new name took its place, 'lucky number 81 🧡' now filled the space and before he could think about how he hadn't ever actually told her that he was the famous Oscar Piastri that drove for Mclaren F1 and not just Oscar the Australian tourist that had been slowly falling in love with her for the last 6 hours, she stood on tip toes to land the softest kiss on his cheek. And with that, she gathered her friends, and before he could move from the spot he was rooted to, the group had already turned the corner at the end of the street and was gone.

When the trio finally made their way back to the apartment and stopped making fun of him for his smitten behaviour, Oscar was distracted by his notification tone. The text was simple, and attached was a Google maps link to Irish International Circuit Mondello Park.

Unknown Number: you did really well last season, but I want to see if you've still got those karting skills. Friday at 12, don't be late!

Fibbers girl xx

. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The season had officially drained Oscar and best believe that he was ready for his winter break to start, the final laps of the Abu Dhabi GP had his entire life's dream in its grasp, Mclaren has already secured their fourth constructors championship in a row and now he and Lando were neck and neck for the drivers championship. Not starting from pole was not ideal for the aussie but after an intense back and forth overtaking fight with Max and Lando and a red flag pitstop from Esteban in his Haas, Oscar found himself leading the final lap of what has to be the drive of his life. Tears welled in his eyes and the rumble of screams from the grandstands could be heard over the throttle. The last corner was finally behind him and before he could process that his championship fight was finally over, with him victorious, he was out of the car, weighed for the FIA and being hoisted onto the shoulders of his team.

But the moment that finally grounded him to reality was when he finally managed to escape from the clutches of Zak and his extreme enthusiasm and let his eyes fall on his family still stood crowding the barriers. His sisters finally managing to hop the fence and tackle him into the biggest hug the three girls could muster. There were times that Oscar felt like the worst brother in the world. Leaving his home and family to chase what seemed like an impossible dream, leaving Mae Edie and Hattie behind only experiencing them growing up through photos in family group chats, late night face time calls and flying visits to his home between races. They were proud of him though, he could see it in their eyes as they finally relented their vice grips on him.

His mother stood in place behind the barrier, the tears in her eyes and the smile on his face telling him that all their sacrifice was worth it, that her pride in him would never waver and that before he was the new world champion, he was her son.

Finally, his eyes landed on her.

The warm wool winter coat that he met her in that day was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a papaya dress that did absolutely nothing to hide her growing belly, or the ring on her finger. The smile on her face split his heart in two the same way it did in the freezing cold years ago, and for a second, he considered pulling a Rosberg. He was world champion, he had nothing left to prove, so disappearing from the racing world to spend his life wrapped up in you, in your growing family, and Jackie and Wilson who were no doubt snoozing on their couch at home in Monaco.

Well it didn't sound bad, not one bit.

. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Did I start this over a month ago?? Yes.

Life got busy for a hot sec so I'm extending this event until the season starts in March.

Hope you enjoyed xx

A xx

[delusionalwh6re]

if you do an anon list (I’m not good with tumblr talk so I hope that’s the right term lol) then can I be 🛸 ?? If you don’t no worries!

Taste was so good… you did in fact nibble a lot

Do you think you could do something with Thanos? Smut or no smut! I think fluff or enemies to lovers would be sooo good - either way your writing is great!!

Thank you <33

thank youuu so much 🥹 i love anons like you so ofc! and yes i can, you ask and i deliver 🙏🏽

࿐࿔ ⋆ ｡˚ prove it

࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ choi su-bong (thanos) x fem!reader

warnings: violence, mentions of drugs, cursing, teasing, fluff, angst, suggestiveness & thanos flirting 😂

summary: you get teamed up with none other than the legend ‘thanos’ and he’s almost as insufferable as you imagined

authore’s note: ngl i ain’t fw thanos at first, he was an annoying ass druggie and namgyu was a fucking follower with no mind of his own.. but they both grew on me unfortunately and i kinda love them LMAOO

“The second game will begin momentarily” the voice of the loud speaker rang through your ears.

You let out a loud sigh. You should be home right now, in the comfort of your own peace and presence.

But no, you weren’t because a bunch of dumbasses were so money hungry. You looked down at the red ‘X’ patch at the corner of your jacket. A reminder of the fucked up position you were in. A reminder that you might not make it out.

Your heart stung a bit at the thought before chaos caught you out of your trance.

“You fucking asshole!” a male voice angrily spoke.

You turned your head to see player ‘333’ and a purple haired guy getting into it. Him and his friend tag teamed on the man.

You winced when player ‘124’ held him back as the purple haired guy punched him right in the face. You rolled your eyes at their behavior, were they seriously gonna jump him?

If there was anything you hated more than an idiot it was a bully. You couldn’t grasp the fact that there was people out there who would pick on others just because they did something that has nothing to do with them. You would never give a bitch the time of day.

A laugh left your lips when an older man approached the scene. Player ‘001’ saved the day as he fought against the duo and essentially saved player ‘333’ from his beating.

After that… mess. The second game started. Everyone was required to join groups of five. You were off to the side waiting for gravity to pull you towards a group. You were never good with these things. Anxiety and fear of rejection constantly holding you back.

“What about her?” you heard a murmur only a few feet away from you.

Your attention was caught and you turned your head to look behind you. You caught sight of a group of four looking at you.

A shy player ‘125’ was the one who pointed at you. You observed his group. It was him, he looked really shy as he stood there, like he somehow didn’t belong but the woman next to him ‘380’ stood protectively and made him somewhat comfortable. The other two were the most annoying people in here.

‘Fuck no’ you thought as the group of four slowly approached you.

So this just HAD to be the group that gravitated towards you.

“Hi” player ‘125’ waved at you shyly before looking at ‘380’ essentially waiting for her to pop the big question.

“Join our group?” she softly smiled.

You peeped behind them at the two crackheads who were all up in each others face giggling clearly on something, or maybe they were just naturally like that.

The two pleaded at you as they were clearly the only normal ones out of their group. Your eyes flickered between them, they even gave you those puppy sympathy eyes that made you feel bad so..

“Yes, not like I have much of an option anyway” you murmured that last part under your breath but clearly they heard it as they both let out chuckles of relief.

Everyone learned that you guys would be playing five games, hence why their needed to be five people in each group. After the robot like woman voice explained the directions, it was time to decide who would be playing each game.

“Let me take ddakji, I did pretty good when I played with the salesman” you shrugged as you were the first one to speak in the group

Players ‘125’ and ‘380’ nodded at you in agreement with your choice before discussing what they were gonna play

“And what if I wanted to play ddakji, señorita?” an annoyingly flirtatious voice caught your attention.

You rolled your eyes “Well I picked it first so deal with it”

Thanos smirked at you “Ouu, you’re a feisty one, I like that” he playfully growled at you.

This man… he better pray those guards take him out before you do.

“Fuck off weirdo” you cringed at his actions.

He laughed at you “I’m just messing with you girl” he paused to take a good look at you. His eyes trailed up and body your seated body. Your hair was laid neatly on top of your head. But what caught his eye were your lips.

“You have pretty lips” he whispered leaning towards you crouched as he kept his eyes locked onto your lips, occasionally back up at your eyes.

Your breath hitched as he inched closer. You took some time to observe his features too. You would definitely be lying to yourself if you said the man wasn’t attractive… because damn he was.

But every time he opened his mouth…

“Wonder how pretty the other ones are” he smirked causing you to let out an “Ughh” and with that you pushed him away from you before turning away angrily. The audacity of men.

But it wasn’t long until his puppet decided to get on someone’s nerves too. Apparently he was being rude to player ‘125’ who obviously had a hard time with sticking up for himself, he said something that caught ‘380’s ear and she wasn’t having it.

You took sides with the woman, obviously, and urged player ‘124’ to stop being annoying so your group could focus on winning and getting out of here.

“Bitch” he muttered under his breath

“Fuck you say?” you jolted your head towards him “I know you ain’t talkin’ all you do is follow around after that pervert” your sentence was cut short by the purple haired man shouting a “Hey!” in defense

“You’re the real bitch” you squinted your eyes at him

“Hey, hey calm down” player ‘380’ rubbed your back and slightly pulled you away before you smacked some sense into the men “he’s not worth it” she whispered

“Let’s just focus on winning, okay?” you nodded at her words, your temper cooling down

“What did I do?” Thanos held his arms up in a childlike manner as he frowned still not getting over your pervert comment.

“Shut up” you and player ‘380’ hissed at the same time

After a couple rounds of player participating, it was now time for your group to go. The tension from before was nothing compared to the one now. This was life or death — and none of you wanted to die.

Player ‘380’ who stood right next to you suddenly spoke up “Se-mi. My name’s Se-mi”

You were caught off guard by her sudden comment and you looked over at her. You could tell the girl was nervous as you felt her arm that was hooked around yours shake a little.

Before you could reassure her, player ‘125’ spoke up as well, “My name’s Min-su” the boy looked at the both of you with a sympathetic yet sad face.

You smiled softly at the duo before telling them your own name and looking at them with nothing but hope gleaming in your eyes “Guys, we can do this okay? I believe in the both of you”

“What about us?” the purple haired man spoke up at the sound of your voice causing you to roll your eyes

“Fuck you guys” you caught an attitude before checking yourself from the words you said before

“That’s not nice, señorita!” Thanos pointed at you firmly, the pills he popped before clearly kicking in.

“I believe in you guys too” you pressed your lips together at the two men with an encouraging nod

A few seconds later and it was time. Anxiety filling all of your bodies with each step you took — reminding yourself that you were closer to the finish line with each movement.

You were up first, taking the folded up red flap, with some quick motivation to yourself you used all your might to hit against athe blue one.

‘Passed’ was all you registered as you closed your eyes, too scared to see the results — a wave of relief washing over you

“LETSSS GO!!” you heard Thanos scream out

Se-mi and Min-su cheered you on before the five of you continued playing. Se-mi was a pro as she got hers on the first try as well. You guys were halfway done once youreached Min-su’s turn — four minutes left on the clock. You were definitely gonna make it.

“Get off him! We’re never gonna win as a team if we start to go against each other” you shouted at player ‘124’ as he shook Min-su for accidentally messing up during gonggi

“Yeah man” Thanos shoved him with a pout “don’t hurt Min-su, he’s trying just like the rest of us” he pointed around the room.

You slightly smiled before nodding your head at your team, reminding them that you guys work together — no matter what.

“I got your back my love!” Thanos of course ruined the moment with his poor flirting. You rolled your eyes at the air kisses he sent you with a big smile on his face.

And finally, it was over. After Thanos made the fifth hit and your group passed the finish line. It was a success. Everyone cheered as yet another group had the chance of making it out of here. The support meant everything and you could burst into tears of joy.

On the way back, the mini celebration continued. Se-mi and Min-su trailing ahead of you as they showered each other and you with compliments.

You smiled as you heard “You did amazing, where’d you learn to play like that?” from Min-su

You brushed them off as you went to go your separate ways as soon as you hit the dormitory. Not 100% ready to open up until you guys were officially out of here, if this previous game didn’t push people to leave you didn’t know what would.

“Hey! Señorita don’t go” the familiar voice followed behind you as you mad your way to your bunk

“What do you want?” you groaned completely exhausted by just his presence

“You” he protested with his arms crossed

“Well you don’t get everything you want in life! Isn’t that why you’re here in the first place?” you snapped

“You know I’m getting really sick of your attitude” he rushed towards you with sudden speed

“And I’m sick of YOU!” you gestured angrily towards him

“You don’t even fucking know me!” he raised his voice at you

“Oh and my life has been great up until this very moment” you tilted your head with a smirk

“Clearly not if you’re in here” he laughed in your face

“You’re so insufferable, go back to your little puppet”

“You know what” he chuckled angrily pressing his tongue on the inside of his cheek

Don’t even think about it…

“What?” you shoved him slightly pushing his buttons

“I HATE YOU” he looked down at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read — he was definitely lying

“I HATE YOU MORE!” you yelled just as loud as he did

“Why?” he tilted his head in frustration

“Because you’re a bully! You walk around here like you own the place, picking on people smaller than you”

“First of all, that little scamming motherfucker had it coming-” he pointed before you cut him off

“It doesn’t matter, you obviously don’t care about anyone but yourself!”

“And what if I don’t just care about myself” he looked you up and down with a bit of hesitation

“Then I’d honestly think you’re just a liar” you sighed

“I care about you” he suddenly spoke just above a whisper

“What? You don’t even know me” you rolled your eyes getting ready to throw yourself in the bed to end this conversation before you caught a migraine

“Then let me get to know you” his words made your heart stop for a second

It was depressing but not many people wanted to get to know you off rip. Your personality being too much for some people — you just didn’t take any shit.

“Goodbye Thanos” you were about to walk away

“I’m serious, let me take you out once we get outta here” okay now he was pushing it

“We?” you questioned with more aggression than what you intended

“Yes, we” he smiled placing a hand on your shoulder

“Ha, get back at me when you’re not high” you smiled back at him sarcastically

“This is me being serious, no drugs talking. I really am interested in you if you couldn’t tell” he tried his best at reassuring you

“Just yesterday you were flirting with another girl! Who died because YOU said something to her might I add, that sounds like bad juju” you shook your head at him

“Look, you clearly don’t believe me. So when it’s time to vote again, I’ll show you. I’m gonna change my vote to ‘X’ just to prove it” his words being nothing but sincere

“Mhm, you’d really do that?” you tilted your head

“For my future wife? Of course!” he put an arm over your shoulders. You couldn’t help but laugh at him, he was annoying but hilarious in his own way.

“We’ll see” you whispered in his ear

“Oh yes we will, my señorita” he smirked bringing you closer to his side as the two of you waited for voting to begin

i feel like this was more of a one sided enemies to lovers thing.. thanos is such an unserious character he cant even have any real enemies 😭 plus the man was on drugs most of the time

plus we all know y/n a baddie so who resisting that 🙄

and why is he kinda… i was giggling during some of these parts lol, this man really grew on me yall 😫😫💔

[twoplayergaymers]

A Sign Of Affection—

Part One// Part Two// Part Three

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ a note before you begin: wow finally the last part! Thank you so much for all the love I’ve received! Same thing applies to dialogue as the last part, angst..sorry, barely proofread

Hours later, you’ve paced your living room so much there’s practically a permanent path in the carpet. You’re replaying today’s events over and over and as much as you want to pretend it’s nothing, Talia’s words are still in your head.

“That man doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t do shit to be nice”

You’re biting your nails as the knock on the door pulls your from your thoughts

The door swings open and reveals Talia, paper bags in arms. “I’m here!” She says. “Your text was so vague ‘please come over it’s important!’ I didn’t know what the vibe was so I think I got everything? Wine.. ice cream.. bunch of junk I dunno” she giggles out the last part but the serious expression on your face brings her back to reality “oh shit..”

You step aside wordlessly to let her in, closing and locking the door behind her and she’s already putting the ice cream into the freezer and grabbing two glasses and the wine opener as you’re throwing yourself onto the couch.

She places the glasses on your coffee table while she makes work of the bottle. “So.” she says casually, the cork popping loose, “start talking”

You groan into your throw pillows. “I like him.”

“come again?” she asks, tone teasing and you can hear the smirk in her voice without even looking up at her. “Please don’t be a bitch right now I know you heard me”

Talia laughs as she pours the wine, shaking her head. “Oh, I definitely heard you. I just wanted to make sure you heard you.” You sit up, grabbing one of the glasses she sets down. “Talia, I’m serious. This isn’t funny.”

“That’s why it’s funny,” she replies, taking a seat beside you and giving you a knowing look. “You’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Weeks. And now you’re finally admitting it.” She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “So? What happened?”

You take a long sip of wine, debating how much to share. “It’s just… he’s so frustrating, and he drives me insane, and yet somehow he still manages to—ugh!” You groan again, gesturing wildly. “He signed that I was pretty to me today during a press conference, Talia. And I cannot stop thinking about it.”

Talia’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops. “No way. During the press conference?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, slumping back into the couch. “I was a mess this morning, late to work, and he still… he said I was pretty. And then had the nerve to smirk about it like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Because he does know,” Talia says simply, swirling her glass. “He’s not stupid, you know. He’s Bakugo. Dynamight. he doesn’t do anything by accident.”

You groan again, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s the problem, Talia! He’s… him! And I’m… me! This shouldn’t even be a thing, but here I am losing sleep over it.”

Talia grins and nudges you with her elbow. “You’re losing sleep because you like him. Admit it. Fully. Out loud.”

You glare at her but know there’s no escaping it. “Fine,” you mutter. “I like him. Happy?”

Talia clinks her glass against yours. “Ecstatic. Now, let’s figure out what you’re gonna do about it.”

You stare at her. “What am I gonna do about it? Nothing! I’m going to do nothing!”

She takes a long sip of wine and raises her eyebrow at you “so what? You’re going to sit there everyday and pine? Please, y/n, you’re much too pretty for that sad shit.”

You shoot her a look. “I’m not pining. I’m just… processing.” She snorts. “Processing? Sure. Totally healthy to pace holes into your carpet over someone who called you pretty.”

“It’s not just that,” you snap, running a hand through your hair. “It’s everything. He’s complicated and stubborn and way too good at getting under my skin. And then he does something sweet, like making a little girl’s entire life just by talking to her, and I—” Talia leans in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you melt. Admit it.”

You groan, pressing the glass of wine to your forehead. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t. You hate that I’m right,” she teases. “So what’s stopping you? He clearly likes you too.”

You sit up straighter at that, shaking your head. “He does not.” “Oh, please,” Talia scoffs. Talia snorts, setting her glass down as she fixes you with a knowing look. “This man signed that you were pretty during a press conference, in front of millions of people. If that’s not bold, I don’t know what is.”

You shake your head, desperate to downplay the moment before your face bursts into flames. “He knows nobody else there knew sign, and he wasn’t even on camera at the time. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Talia gasps, mock-offended, clutching her chest. “Not that big of a deal? Are you kidding me? That makes it more of a deal! It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was just for you.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you blink at her, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find a rebuttal. “I—no, it—it wasn’t like that. He’s just…” “Just into you,” Talia finishes, her tone smug as she leans back on the couch, wine glass in hand.

Your cheeks burn, and you down the rest of your wine, hoping the flush on your face can be blamed on the alcohol. “Even if he is—which he isn’t—it doesn’t matter. We work together. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated is just an excuse people use when they’re scared,” Talia says bluntly, pouring you another glass. “So what’s the real reason?”

You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass as you try to put the knot of emotions in your chest into words. “I just… I don’t think I’m what someone like him wants. Or needs.”

Talia’s expression softens, and she places a hand on your knee. “Hey. Stop that. You’re amazing, and anyone would be lucky to have you. If Bakugo can’t see that, though I’m pretty sure he does, then that’s his problem, not yours.”

You glance at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “When did you get so wise?”

She grins, holding up her glass. “Hey I’ve always been wise! You’re just finally listening!”

You clink your glass against hers, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thanks, Talia.”

“Anytime,” she replies, leaning back on the couch with a satisfied smirk. “Now, let’s strategize. Step one: stop denying your feelings. Step two: figure out how to get Bakugo to admit his. Step three—”

You groan loudly, cutting her off. “Talia, I swear—”

She laughs, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. No step three. Yet. But I’m telling you, this is gonna work out. Just wait and see.”

You roll your eyes, but a small part of you—a hopeful, stubborn part—wonders if maybe she’s right. You push the thought aside for now; overthinking won’t solve anything tonight. Right now, you just want to enjoy the time with Talia.

Scooting closer, you grab the blanket draped over the arm of the couch and spread it across both your laps. “Alright, no more of this. Let’s focus on something less complicated,” you say, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the movie options.

Talia grins, leaning into you as she sips her wine. “Fine by me. Something cheesy and predictable? Bonus points if someone has a dramatic airport chase scene.”

You snort and select a romcom that promises exactly that. The opening credits roll as you settle back against the couch, the tension in your shoulders finally easing.

The rest of the night passes in laughter and shared commentary about the movie’s ridiculous plot twists. The bottle of wine empties quickly, and by the time the credits roll, both of you are drowsy under the weight of the blanket.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. Whatever’s going on with Katsuki, it can wait. Tonight is for you and your best friend, and that’s more than enough.

You walk into the office the next morning with a strange, uneasy feeling you can’t quite shake. It’s not like you expect anything to change—admitting you like Bakugo to Talia doesn’t magically alter the dynamic between you two. But now that you’ve acknowledged your feelings, every glance, every moment with him feels heavier, like you’re hyper-aware of his presence.

And you are.

Maybe you’d admit the way you feel, but every single voice of reason is screaming at you not to. Don’t do it. It’s a mistake. It’s just a crush and it’ll pass.

When you get to your desk, you glance toward his office out of habit, finding the door slightly ajar. You can just make out the blonde spikes of his hair behind his chair, his broad shoulders hunched over paperwork. He doesn’t look up when you walk in, and for some reason, that stings a little. Usually, he at least gives you a curt nod or some kind of acknowledgement, but today… nothing.

Shaking it off, you settle into your seat and get to work. Maybe he’s just focused.

But as the hours tick by, that feeling doesn’t go away. He’s quiet—too quiet. No sarcastic comments when he passes your desk, no requests for coffee or updates, no snarky remarks during meetings. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that he’s just having an off day.

It’s not until the next day, when lunch rolls around, that your suspicions start to feel like reality.

“Hey, you still good for lunch today?” you ask, poking your head into his office. You try to sound casual, like you haven’t been overthinking every interaction since you walked in yesterday.

He doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Can’t. Busy.”

The response is so abrupt it almost feels rehearsed.

“Oh,” you say, blinking. “Uh, okay. Another time then?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

His tone is clipped, dismissive, and he’s still not looking at you. You linger in the doorway for a moment, waiting for… something. A glance, an apology, anything. But it never comes.

You nod to yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat, and step back. “Alright. Let me know.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and the uneasiness from yesterday flares into something sharper.

By the third day of his weird behavior, the uneasiness has settled into a constant weight in your chest. Every time you try to reach out—whether it’s a quick message, a casual question, or even just passing by his office—he’s distant, vague, and uninterested. You text him that evening, hoping to clear the air.

You: “Hey, everything okay? You’ve been kinda off lately.”

The reply comes almost an hour later, short and unhelpful.

Katsuki: “Fine. Just busy.”

You frown at the screen, debating whether to push further, but something stops you. Maybe it’s the flatness of his response, or the way he’s been acting, but you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

And then, just as you’re about to respond, you notice something.

The text thread is gone.

You stare at your phone, disbelief flooding your veins as you realize what just happened.

He blocked you.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe his phone glitched. Maybe—no, you stop yourself. There’s no justifying this. He’s been pulling away, piece by piece, for days now, and this feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone still clutched in your hand as you try to make sense of it. What the hell just happened?

Was it something you did? Something you said? You replay every interaction in your head, searching for where things went wrong. But no matter how much you analyze it, you keep coming back to the same conclusion: you didn’t do anything. This is him.

And it hurts.

The next morning, you’re determined to act like everything’s fine. It’s not, obviously, but you refuse to let anyone in the office see you crack. Especially not him.

When you walk in, you don’t even glance toward his office. You focus on your desk, your work, anything to keep yourself occupied. But ignoring him is easier said than done when his presence looms so large, even when he’s not in the room.

The tension builds all day, and by the time you clock out, you’re emotionally drained. You make it home, kick off your shoes, and collapse onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You’re trying not to think about him—trying so hard—but every quiet moment drags your mind back to the same place. To the way he called you pretty, the way he made you feel seen, the way he’s been acting like you don’t exist.

And that’s when you decide.

You need a distraction.

You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts until you find the number you haven’t used since you’d seen it on that note. The guy with the easy smile and the bad pick-up lines. The guy you barely even remember

You: “Hey, are you free tonight?”

When he texts back almost immediately, you hesitate for half a second before replying. You set up the date—nothing fancy, just drinks at a casual spot downtown, maybe an appetizer if you’re feeling adventurous and then toss your phone aside, already second-guessing yourself.

You don’t like him. You know that. But maybe you could. Maybe spending time with someone who isn’t Katsuki Bakugo will remind you that the world doesn’t revolve around him.

Hours later, you’re at the bar, sitting across from the guy who’s trying way too hard to make you laugh. You’re smiling, you’re nodding, you’re even sipping your drink like you’re having a good time, but your mind is elsewhere.

It’s not working.

You’re halfway through the date when you feel it—that prickle on the back of your neck, like someone’s watching you. You glance around the room, and your stomach drops when your eyes land on him.

Katsuki.

He’s sitting in a booth on the other side of the bar, surrounded by a few pro heroes you recognize. He’s not looking at them, though. His gaze is locked on you, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Your date says something, but you don’t hear it. The noise of the bar fades as the two of you stare at each other from across the room.

You look away first, heart pounding in your chest. What the hell is he doing here?

The bar is too loud. The kind of loud that drowns out every coherent thought if you let it. Katsuki doesn’t let it.

He’s leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, but his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t even realize how hard his jaw is clenched until Kirishima nudges him with an elbow.

“Yo, you good?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mind is a tangled mess, and it all leads back to you. Sitting there with that guy. Laughing, even though Katsuki knows damn well it’s not real. He can read it all over your face.

And yet, he can’t look away.

His drink sits untouched on the table, condensation pooling beneath the glass, but he doesn’t notice. His thoughts are too loud.

Why does it bother me so much?

It’s not like you’re his. You never were. And yet the thought of you smiling at someone else, laughing at someone else’s stupid jokes—it makes something inside him twist in a way he can’t name.

And then, there’s that other thought. The one that’s been festering since the moment you walked into his life.

She has too much power over me.

He grips his thigh under the table, grounding himself. It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve taken up space in his head he never meant to give you. It’s not just the way you make him feel—it’s what you represent.

He used to think his Deafness was just another part of him. Like his quirk, like his temper. Something he’d learned to live with.

And then you came along.

You, with your easy understanding and your patience and your damn compassion. You didn’t just see him. You knew him, in a way that made him feel vulnerable, and he hates it. He hates the way you make him feel exposed, like you can see right through him.

That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Power.

You have it, and he doesn’t. Not over himself, not over his own damn identity.

His grip on the glass tightens. He doesn’t need this. Doesn’t need you.

Kirishima’s voice cuts through his thoughts, though it’s muffled and distant, and he knows Eijirou knows he can’t hear him. Katsuki doesn’t bother trying to piece the words together. He just stands, shoving his hands into his pockets and muttering something about needing air.

You’d excused yourself to bathroom, feeling your hands go clammy and your heart race and you needed the relief of cool water. You don’t know how long you stand there, trying to pull yourself together, but when you finally leave the bathroom, he’s gone.

And somehow, that’s worse.

The rest of the night is a blur. You go through the motions, nodding along to your date’s stories and laughing in the right places, but your heart isn’t in it. Your thoughts are with Bakugo—his expression, the way he looked at you, and the fact that he just… left.

By the time you get home, you’re emotionally spent. You collapse onto your couch, replaying the night in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Why was he there? Why was he watching you?

You don’t have any answers, but one thing is clear.

Ignoring this was not going to be as easy as you thought.

The next morning you go through the motions, deciding fine, he wants to be that way and he can. You’re here to do a job and you will even if you hate the way there’s an ache in your chest.

You arrive at the agency, scanning you badge like usual only to be met with an unfamiliar red light and accompanied beeping. “Weird” you whisper to yourself, banging on the door a few times. You can see Talia at her desk and she walks over and opens up the door for you

“Sorry, my badge wasn’t working” you furrow your browns and shake your head in frustration. “No problem, girl,” she says with a small shrug, holding the door open for you as you walk inside. “It’s probably just a glitch. Happens sometimes.”

You nod, but you feel the weight of something off in the air as you head into the building. As you walk through the familiar halls, the quiet feels a little too heavy. You’re not sure why, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s different.

You make your way upstairs, the thought of Bakugo weighing on your mind. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on. His behavior has been so strange lately—so distant. But you don’t have time to dwell on it. You sit down at your desk, hoping the distraction of work will ease your mind, but it doesn’t. Not when you keep thinking about him.

You glance around the office, everything still the same on the surface. But something about it feels off.

And then, you see him and it’s like a slap to the face.

Bakugo. Dynamight. Standing there, right across the room, and the moment your eyes lock, your breath hitches. There’s something different in his gaze—a cold, calculated look that doesn’t soften when it meets yours. The same gaze he gave you the first morning you’d arrived, when you were so sure you were about to help him in ways that mattered..and you see them. His hearing aids, it makes your heart drop

It’s like the whole world shifts with the realization.

He doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t need an interpreter.

Your feet move beneath you before your brain even catches up and you’re grabbing him, pulling him into his office and shutting..no slamming the door. You huff and your eyes search him for something, anything but you see nothing but his cold, crimson eyes.

You swallow hard, finally finding your voice again. “You… you got your hearing aids fixed?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The silence says everything.

“I’m not… your interpreter anymore, am I?” He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “No.”

It feels like the room falls silent, even though it isn’t. The words and hands are heavy in the air. Your mind races, your chest tightening with each passing second. You can feel your heart breaking

You hold your dominant hand up beside your head, making a motion as if your flicking up into the air as you shake your head

DON’T UNDERSTAND.

“W-what about all your progress?” You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes and your voice is cracking almost pathetically. You can’t cry. You can’t cry because you don’t have a reason to, interpreters who get fired don’t cry.

Except… you’re not just an interpreter.

You’re something more. And you’re so damn tired of pretending you’re not.

He says nothing in return, but his eyes linger on you for a moment longer. You wish you could read him, but it’s impossible now. You can’t help but feel like you’ve lost something important, even though you don’t know what it is.

“Can we.. still have lunch together?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you can’t help the way your chest tightens in that small flicker of hope. Maybe… maybe this isn’t all over. Maybe this rejection of his learning isn’t a rejection of you.

He looks down hesitating, taking a breath and opens his mouth to speak. His eyes flicker to you, and that’s when you see it—the flicker of recognition, the briefest trace of something almost human. He shuts his mouth with another shake of the head.

You notice the flicker in his eyes but It’s not enough to stop the ache inside you from spreading further, tearing at something you didn’t even realize would hurt you this much until now.

So he just didn’t want you. That harsh truth weighs on you like nothing else. It’s not just the physical presence of the hearing aids—it’s everything that they represent. The end of something you thought was real. Something you thought mattered to him.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Instead, you just stand there, feeling the weight of what he’s done. Feeling the weight of what he’s taken from you without a single word, without a single explanation he leaves the room.

He doesn’t need you. And in that moment, you realize, you never really mattered to him.

You hold yourself together—barely. Your nails dig into your palms as you fight to stay composed, forcing the tears to wait. But the second the elevator doors close behind you, it’s like a dam breaks. Hot tears streak down your face, silent but unrelenting, as you descend. You can’t stop them, can’t stop the way your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

By the time you reach the lobby, your sobs are quiet but persistent, the ache in your throat growing unbearable. Talia’s voice calls out to you from the front desk, a mixture of concern and confusion. “Hey! Hey, what happened? Wait—”

You don’t stop. You can’t. You push through the front doors, ignoring her voice, knowing she can’t leave her station to follow you. The cold air outside hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ground you. You’re too far gone, your mind replaying the scene over and over like some cruel, inescapable loop.

He doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t care.

You don’t even remember how you get home. The walk is a blur of noise and tears and a weight pressing down on your chest so heavy you’re sure it’ll crush you. When you finally make it back, the silence of your apartment is deafening. It surrounds you, suffocates you, fills every corner like it’s mocking your emptiness.

Your bag hits the floor, and you follow it, sinking to your knees as another sob tears its way out of you. You clutch your chest, trying to hold yourself together, trying to keep yourself from falling apart completely. But it’s no use.

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you can’t explain, in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s not just the loss of a job or the suddenness of it all—it’s him. It’s the way he looked at you, like you were nothing. Like everything you’d worked on, everything you’d shared, meant nothing to him. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe you were foolish to think it ever did.

You sit there for what feels like hours, your tears eventually slowing, replaced by a numbness that leaves you hollow. You’re not sure when your phone starts buzzing, but you glance at it long enough to see Talia’s name lighting up the screen. You don’t answer. You can’t. Not right now. Not when the sound of her voice will break you all over again.

You toss the phone onto the couch, curling up against the cushions and pulling a blanket over you like it might shield you from the world outside. But even as you close your eyes, the ache in your chest lingers, reminding you of what you’ve lost.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure how to move forward.

It’s dark out when the front door opening makes you jump and there you see Talia, still fully adorned in her work clothes and a panicked expression kicking off her shoes in your front entry way. She closes the door behind her and crushes to your slumped form on the couch.

“You don’t think I know you keep the key under the mat? I’ve been calling you for hours!” She says, her tone sharp with worry but she softens when her eyes meet your puffy, red ones.

“It’s fine,” you mumble, barely lifting your head from the couch cushion. Your voice is hoarse, raw from hours of crying. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Stop it. Clearly, I did,” Talia shoots back, dropping her bag on the floor before sitting beside you. She sighs as she takes you in, her brows furrowed in concern. “What happened, babe? I’ve never seen you like this.”

You shake your head, willing the tears not to start again. “It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.”

“Stop that,” she says firmly, reaching out to grab your hand. “You’re not stupid. Something happened. Talk to me.”

You don’t respond right away. Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you think about brushing her off entirely. But the way she’s looking at you, like she won’t let you get away with it, makes you cave.

“It’s Bakugo,” you finally admit, your voice breaking on his name. The tears you were holding back spill over again, and you quickly wipe at them, frustrated with yourself. “He… he doesn’t need me anymore, Talia. He got his hearing aids fixed, and he fired me.”

Her face shifts from worry to disbelief, her mouth falling open. “He what?”

You nod, pulling your knees to your chest. “He didn’t say it outright, but my badge didn’t work this morning, and he… he told me I’m not his interpreter anymore. I think he knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Are you kidding me?” Talia’s voice rises in outrage, and she looks ready to storm out of your apartment and march back to his office. “That’s insane. You’ve been there for him every step of the way. You’ve helped him. And now he just—what? Tosses you aside?”

You shrug helplessly, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater. “I should’ve known better. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe it meant something. But it didn’t.”

“Oh, hell no.” Talia stands up, pacing the room as her anger radiates off of her. “This isn’t about you. This is his problem. You’ve done everything you could for him, and if he can’t see that, then that’s on him—not you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t really make it hurt any less.”

Talia stops pacing and sits back down, pulling you into a tight hug. “I know it doesn’t. But you’re not gonna sit here and blame yourself for this. You’re amazing at what you do, and if he can’t appreciate that, then he’s the one who’s losing out.”

Her words offer a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remains. You lean into her, closing your eyes and letting the silence stretch between you. For now, you’re grateful she’s here, even if nothing else makes sense.

She rubs your back for a few short moments before getting up and leaving the room, reappearing minutes later and helping your weak form to your feet, guiding you to the bathroom where she’s drawn you a warm bath. Steam rises, and the faint scent of lavender fills the air.

“Relax, love” she smiles. “Breathe, okay? Take your time in here. Call me if you need”

Tears prick your eyes at her thoughtfulness, and you manage a small nod, unable to speak. She squeezes your hand before leaving, and you lower yourself into the bath, the warmth wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. For the first time all day, you feel a sliver of peace creeping in, though it doesn’t quite reach your chest. You let the water carry you for a while, letting yourself simply exist.

When you finally rinse off and step out, you make your way to your bedroom to find fresh sheets neatly made on your bed and your softest pajamas laid out. The sight makes your throat tighten, but in a different way—there’s comfort in knowing someone cares this much.

there’s a faint smell wafting through your small apartment and you, now dressed search for her to find her in the kitchen. humming softly to herself. She glances up the moment she notices you, her face lighting up.

“There she is! Feeling a little better, love?” she asks, setting down a spatula.

You give a small nod, though the heaviness in your chest hasn’t fully lifted. “A little,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

She smiles, turning back to the stove to plate the food. “So… I’m not the greatest cook. You know I’m no Bakugo, but—” She cuts herself off when she sees you wince at his name, muttering a quiet apology. After a beat, she places a plate in front of you and gestures toward the couch. “Come on. Let’s sit and eat.”

You feel bad, the meal looks delicious and you know she worked hard on it but you can’t bring yourself to eat it, there’s an emptiness, a hollowness but it’s not hunger. Talia watches as you push the food around your plate. Her smile fades, replaced by concern. “You need to eat,” she says gently but firmly. “I know you. You skipped breakfast this morning. Don’t try to deny it—I can tell.”

You shrug, your fork barely scraping the surface of your food. “I’m just… not hungry.”

“Babe, you have to take care of yourself,” she insists, her voice softening but still insistent. “I know today was awful, but you can’t keep running on empty.”

You don’t respond, your eyes fixed on the plate in front of you. The emptiness in your chest feels too big, too consuming to let anything else in. Talia places a hand on your knee, grounding you. “I know it hurts,” she whispers. “But you can’t let this break you. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than him.”

Her words stir something deep inside you, but the ache remains. You take a small bite, more for her than for yourself, and she offers a small, encouraging smile. “That’s my girl,” she says quietly.

The two of you sit in silence after that, the only sound the faint clink of her fork against her plate. Even though the pain doesn’t go away, having her there makes it feel just a little more bearable.

When you finish eating, Talia wordlessly takes your plate and hers, rinsing them off and placing them in the sink. She hums softly to herself, the sound grounding in its normalcy, as she washes the dishes. Afterward, she disappears into the bathroom to take a shower, calling out a quick, “I’m stealing your sweats!” before you hear the water turn on.

You crawl into bed, exhaustion weighing down your every move. The fresh sheets feel cool against your skin, the faint scent of lavender fabric softener lingering from earlier. By the time Talia returns, her damp curls are tied up, and she’s wearing your oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. She’s carrying a pint of ice cream in one hand and two spoons in the other.

Wordlessly, she slides into bed beside you, popping the lid off the ice cream and offering you a spoon. You take it, and for the next hour, you cuddle together, legs tangled beneath the blankets as you watch a lineup of terrible romcoms on your laptop. The kind of movies with cheesy dialogue and over-the-top plots that you usually roll your eyes at but now somehow find comfort in.

Every so often, Talia sneaks a glance at you. She doesn’t say anything when the tears start to fall again, silently wiping your cheeks with her sleeve and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “But you’re not alone, okay? You’ll never be alone.”

You nod, leaning into her warmth. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe her. Even if the ache in your chest still lingers, you let yourself be held. Let yourself cry. Let yourself exist, just as you are, in that moment.

As the night drags on, the ice cream long forgotten and the romcoms playing in the background, you feel yourself start to relax in her arms. And though the pain hasn’t gone away, the weight of it feels a little less unbearable with her there by your side.

Bakugo sighs, staring at the ceiling above his bed His jaw clenched as the memory of her face flashed in his mind. The way you eyes had widened in confusion, then crumpled into something raw and broken when you realized what he was telling you. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the way your hands moved, shaky and uncertain, as you signed don’t understand.

You didn’t understand. Of course you didn’t. He’d made sure of that.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he muttered to himself, fisting the comforter around him

The truth was simple, but it was too ugly to say out loud. He couldn’t handle you anymore. Couldn’t handle the way you made him feel seen in ways that scared the shit out of him.

He’d spent his whole damn life being the best. Strong. In control. And yet, somehow, you had this hold over him. This power.

It wasn’t just you. It was everything you represented.

Being around you made him feel exposed, like you could see all the cracks he worked so hard to hide. And when you signed, when you looked at him like he was worth the effort, it was like you were holding up a mirror to all the things he didn’t want to face about himself.

You made him weak. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of his bedroom.

He had his hearing aids now. He didn’t need to rely on anyone anymore. No interpreters. He could go back to being the Dynamight the world expected him to be. So why did it feel like he’d just thrown away something he couldn’t replace?

Bakugo stopped in front of the window, staring out at the city below. His reflection stared back at him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t recognize the man in the glass.

“This is for the best,” he muttered, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

You feel a bit hollow as time goes on, your heart still tethered to the past despite the passing months. Every morning you wake up, you get dressed, and you go through the motions of your day. You’ve found yourself in a routine, one that doesn’t require too much emotional investment. But still, that ache—the one that first blossomed the day you left Bakugo’s office—hasn’t faded. It may have softened a little, but it’s still there and you find it pathetic

Talia is there, Her comforting presence fills the empty spaces in your life, and though you don’t deserve the kind of loyalty she gives you, she doesn’t care. She’s your friend, your rock, and for all the hurt you’ve experienced, her kindness is a balm for your soul. Even though this job broke your heart it brought you to her and for that you couldn’t be more grateful.

It’s been three months since you left the office that day. You get a new interpreting job at Red Riots agency, the same work, interpreting press conferences and such while working for the VRS. It gets you by.

Red Riot is calmer, and has this softness about him that comforts you. You like this job, everyone is kind and you have staff lunches together. It’s a far cry from the tension that always seemed to hang in the air at Bakugo’s agency, and you’ve started to find comfort in the mundane, in the simplicity of working with good people who care about each other.

But still, there are days when you find yourself staring off into space, the memories of Bakugo haunting you. It’s strange—how someone you once thought was nothing but a client could leave such an impression on your life. You shake your head, trying to push away the lingering thoughts. You’ve moved on, right? You’ve found someone else.

Mason.

The relationship is casual—something that started with an easygoing vibe, no expectations. He’s a good guy, in his own way. But there’s something missing. You don’t feel the spark, the connection you once thought would be there when you found someone else. He’s just filling the void left by someone else’s absence. And when he eventually leaves, when he decides he wants something more than you’re willing to offer, you don’t blame him.

He deserves more, just like you do.

You can’t love Mason—not in the way he needs you to. But you can’t love anyone the way you loved him either. That part of you is broken, fragile, and still stuck in the past. And when Mason walks out of your life, it stings, but it’s not the gut-wrenching pain you once felt. Instead, it’s a quiet acceptance that you can’t force something to be what it isn’t.

You’ll heal. You have to.

Days go by, and you settle into the rhythm of your new life. You’re getting used to being on your own, to not having that constant pull of someone you can’t reach, someone who made you feel like you were worth something and then yanked that validation away. The job, the quiet comfort of Red Riot’s agency, even the stillness in your apartment—it’s all a small, healing process.

Talia notices the change. You’re not as sad as you were, but there’s a quiet in your eyes, a space where something used to be. She’s not the type to press you about it, but you know she’s there, always. And sometimes, in the stillness of your shared moments, she asks about your day, about the people you’re meeting. It’s gentle, but the concern is there, too.

One afternoon, as the sunlight filters through your apartment, Talia shows up with her usual enthusiasm.

“I was thinking,” she says, her voice light, “that we should take a weekend trip. Just to get away, y’know?”

You look up from the book you’ve been skimming, surprised by the suggestion. “Where would we even go?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “but I thought it might be nice to shake things up. A change of scenery. You’re kind of… in this zone lately. I mean, I get it, but maybe it’s time for something new.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, but you don’t resist. You nod slowly. “Yeah… maybe.”

So you do, you book a little weekend get away to somewhere that might me warmer at the end of March. Somewhere remote and peaceful, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself get excited about something. It’s the promise of something different, something that doesn’t carry the weight of your past.

The day of the trip comes, and you pack with an ease that surprises you. You’ve never really been the type to just leave, but the idea of doing something just for you, for the sake of your peace, feels right. The car ride is full of chatter and laughter, the way it used to be before everything changed.

You spend the next few days enjoying the quiet. Talia insists on cooking meals, and you both take walks in the crisp air. Evenings are spent curled up by the fire, watching movies or talking about anything and everything. It’s healing, in its own way. You still think of Bakugo sometimes, but not with the same desperation. It’s more of a quiet recognition of what once was.

On the last day, just as you’re packing up to head home, you find yourself alone outside, staring at the horizon, the sunlight filtering through the trees. There’s a soft breeze that cools your skin, and for the first time in months, you allow yourself to feel a bit of peace. You breathe in deeply, letting go of the tension that’s built up in your shoulders.

“You okay?” Talia’s voice breaks the silence, and you turn to find her standing there, leaning against the porch rail.

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. I think I am.” She grins. “Good. You deserve that, you know? To feel… okay.”

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve been able to say that, and the fact that she’s right makes you feel something you haven’t in a while

Bakugo stands in the crowd, a frown etched on his face as he tries to power through yet another community event. He’s here because he has to be. This is part of the hero work—the appearances, the press, the smiles for the public. But none of it feels real. His mind keeps drifting back to that day, three months ago, when he’d decided to sever ties with you, with the very thing that had helped him feel whole again. If you were here maybe he wouldn’t feel nearly as uneasy.

“Dynamight!” He blinks and turns. there she is. Emma. The small Deaf girl he’d encountered months ago.

She’s bouncing up and down with excitement as he strides over to her, hands up to sign with her. Something he said he would do but never stopped doing. Because even though he’d told himself he was done, part of him knows it’s a lie. Not completely. Not for Emma.

For her. He tells himself, pushing the thought away. Deaf kids should get to talk to their favorite hero too.

“Hey, kid” he greets her with a rare, softened tone. He crouches slightly, offering her a small smile as she holds something up excitedly.

“I wanted to show you something!” Emma exclaims, her hands moving rapidly in excitement. She opens a small notebook in her hands and flips it to the first page.

On it is a crayon drawing of the two of them, him dressed in his hero suit and her dressed in her own, future hero suit

“It’s us together as heroes!” She beams. “Yeah…” he murmurs, his hand hovering above the drawing but not quite touching it. There’s an unexpected warmth in his chest. “It’s… great, Emma.”

“This is you,” she signs, pointing to the crayon version of him in his hero costume, “and this is me, when I grow up! I’m gonna be just like you!” Her hands move quickly, her enthusiasm clear, but Bakugo can see the spark in her eyes—a trust, an admiration, something that feels different than what he’s used to.

For a moment, Bakugo doesn’t know how to respond. He hasn’t been sure of himself in so long, especially in moments like this—when people, when kids, look at him like he’s a hero they want to emulate. He stands, not quite sure how to bridge the silence that lingers.

“You’re gonna be a great hero,” he says, the words feeling like something he’s wanted to say to someone for a while, but could never quite get out. “You’re strong.”

She beams again, her smile lighting up her face. “Really? You think so?” She signs the question with wide eyes.

“I know so,” Bakugo replies, and this time, it feels like he’s speaking the truth. His gaze softens as he looks down at the drawing again, and for a second, he can almost see it—the future she imagines, the one where they both stand side by side. The idea lingers in his chest, but then Emma pulls him from his thoughts again.

“You’re a good kid,” he tells her, then signs, “Be careful. Heroes gotta be smart.”

She nods vigorously, her small face serious, but only for a moment before she’s grinning again. “I will! I promise!”

Then for a second, her brows lift with her widening eyes, she reaches up to lightly brush her small fingers at his ears.

ME, YOU, SAME?

His breath hitches and he releases a shaky breath, looking down at this little girl, so innocent and full of hope.

YES

And in that moment, something shifts inside him. Something he’d tried to bury, something you had stirred, but he’d resisted. For the first time in a while, Bakugo doesn’t feel like he’s convincing himself of something. He’s simply… doing. Simply being.

Maybe he doesn’t have all the answers, but for Emma, for the hope she carries, he’ll show up. He’ll be the hero she sees in him.

Later that night, alone in his apartment, Bakugo stands in front of the mirror, his hands hanging at his sides. His mind runs back to Emma’s simple words, her unguarded, honest look at him.

Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.

Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.

He’s been living in the shadows of his own self-doubt, letting fear drive him to keep his identity a secret, to avoid confronting the truth of who he really is. But Emma… she’s not afraid. And if she can embrace who she is, maybe he can too.

The decision comes suddenly, but he knows it’s right. He reaches for his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he types out a message he’s been avoiding for months.

It’s time to tell the world.

you wake up on your day off to the buzz of your phone going off relentlessly. You groggily reach over, blinking the sleep from your eyes, to see an array of notifications lighting up your screen. The headline of every major news source, from social media to the morning news, reads something like:

“Dynamight Comes Out as Deaf: A Hero’s Journey to Self-Acceptance.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You stare at the words, barely able to process them. He—Bakugo—has finally done it. The world now knows. You scroll through the articles in a daze, seeing snippets of his speech at a press conference. Your eyes narrow as your heart aches. The weight of the moment is suffocating, but you can’t look away.

The conference has already aired live, but you pull it up on your tv and your eyes widen as Bakugo steps up to the podium. His usual arrogance and gruffness are there, of course, but there’s a noticeable change in his posture. A shift. The man who once shielded himself behind his bluster is standing there, claiming something that you knew all along. His truth.

His voice is as brash as ever, but there’s a vulnerability to it that you’ve never heard before.

“I know you all love to make a spectacle out of things,” Bakugo growls into the mic, his usual arrogance never wavering. “But let me make one thing clear: I was always Deaf.” He pauses, a brief, almost imperceptible shift in his eyes.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to go on. Then, he says it. He finally does.

“And, uh,” he starts again, his tone softening just a little. “There was someone who helped me get to this point. They taught me a lot. Gave me the space to be me. They didn’t coddle me, didn’t make me feel weak—just helped me find my strength. You know who you are.”

Your chest tightens as your mind races. You can hear the unspoken words. The gratitude he hasn’t voiced directly to you, but you know it’s for you. You can see it in his eyes, even through the stubbornness he wears like armor.

The rest of the press conference carries on with Bakugo making his usual gruff remarks about being the same hero, just with a little more transparency. “I’m not any less of a hero. I’m the same as I was yesterday. Only now, maybe you all can stop treating me like some damn novelty. I’m a person, this is who I’ve always been”

But in between his words, you can feel something—a small shift in the way he’s holding himself. Maybe he’s not just talking about his Deafness anymore. Maybe he’s talking about everything. About being seen for who he truly is. You’re not sure if he’ll ever admit it, but the way his words hit, the way he doesn’t shield the vulnerability behind his usual tough exterior—it feels like progress.

And though his words are blunt, as expected, there’s something softer there, something you thought you might never see.

Bakugo clears his throat, voice slightly rougher now, but the words are still sharp.

“There’s been a lot of talk lately, a lot of assumptions about who I am and what I’ve done. And yeah, I’ve made mistakes. I pushed people away. People who were trying to help, who saw something in me that I couldn’t see for myself. And… I regret that. Maybe more than anything.”

His gaze falters for just a moment, a fleeting vulnerability before he steels himself again.

“I’ll finally admit it, I’m not perfect. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be perfect. But I’ve learned. I’ve learned that the people who matter—the ones who care about you—they don’t just disappear. You make the mistake of thinking you can push them away and that they’ll just stay gone, but deep down… you hope they’ll come back.”

He pauses, a flicker of something deeper crossing his face, before he looks out at the crowd again, the familiar fire returning to his words.

“I’m the same hero I was before, but I’m not the same person. And I hope that someone out there can see that.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest as you try to process it all. You know what this means for him. You know how hard this must have been to say, and asu much as you want to hate him, you can’t help but feel proud of him, you can’t help the way your heart leaps in your chest

Talia starts blowing up your phone, repeatedly asking if you’re ok but there’s one message staring back at you, from Bakugo

“I’m sorry”

Your hands tremble as you stare at your phone, the words glaring back at you like a challenge, like a wound you thought had finally started to heal.

“I’m sorry.”

Two simple words, but they’re heavier than you can handle. You don’t even know why he’d send it. What’s he sorry for? Pushing you out of his life? Acting like you never mattered? Or is this just another layer to his guilt, something he’s doing for himself and not for you?

Your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with a string of messages from Talia.

Talia: “Hey, are you watching this? Are you okay?”

Talia: “Please tell me you’re not ignoring this. You need to see it.”

Talia: “HELLO? BITCH, ANSWER ME!”

But you can’t bring yourself to type a response. Your thumb hovers over the screen, frozen, before your gaze drops back to his message.

“I’m sorry.”

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Sorry doesn’t fix the nights you cried yourself to sleep. It doesn’t fix the emptiness he left behind. It doesn’t make up for the way he made you feel so small, so disposable.

The TV is still on, now muted, but you glance at the screen, the image of Bakugo standing at a podium plastered across every news station. His face is unreadable—hard, almost—but there’s something in his eyes, something you know too well.

Regret.

You pick up the remote, unmuting the TV just in time to catch the end of his speech.

“…And yeah, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. People I wish I hadn’t. But I’m not here to dwell on the past. I’m here because it’s time I stopped pretending to be someone I’m not. This is who I am. I’m still Dynamight. I’m still the same damn hero I’ve always been. I was always Deaf—you idiots just never noticed.”

He steps back from the podium, and the reporters erupt with questions. He doesn’t answer any of them, simply turning and walking offstage with his usual sharp determination.

Your phone buzzes again, snapping you out of the daze.

Talia: “Please tell me you’re okay. Do you want me to come over?”

But you can’t think, can’t process, can’t breathe past the knot in your chest. The words on your phone screen blur as fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the last thing you wanted to hear from him, but maybe it’s also the one thing you needed.

You sit there for what feels like forever, the world moving around you while you stay frozen. His voice from the conference echoes in your mind,

Sorry for what? For firing you? For shutting you out? For breaking your heart? Your chest feels tight, and you take a shaky breath. You tell yourself not to overthink it, not to let him back into your head, but it’s impossible. That press conference wasn’t just an apology to the world; it felt like an apology to you.

Your phone buzzes again, and this time you force yourself to look

Talia: “Okay, I’m coming over if you don’t answer me in the next five minutes. I’m not kidding.” You type back quickly, fingers shaking.

You: “I’m fine. Don’t come over.”

Her reply is instant.

Talia: “You’re lying. Be there in 10.”

You groan, tossing your phone onto the coffee table. You’re not ready to talk about it yet, not even with her, but you know she won’t let you avoid it.

The knock on your door comes exactly ten minutes later. You don’t even bother pretending you’re not home. You open the door to find Talia standing there, arms crossed and a bag of snacks in her hand.

“I knew you were lying,” she says, pushing past you into the apartment. She drops the bag on the counter and turns to face you, her eyes scanning your face. “You’ve been crying.”

“No I haven’t, I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, brushing past her to sink down on the couch. You know she’d know if you’re lying but you do it anyway. Who are you really lying to? Her or yourself?

“Seriously? You just watched your ex-boss—and let’s be real, the guy who broke your heart—go public about being Deaf and basically admit he screwed up with you. You’re fine?” She sits next to you, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “Talk to me, y/n. You know I’m here”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Did you see the part where he said he hopes someone comes back? Because if you didn’t, I’m pulling it up right now.”

Your stomach twists. “I saw it.” “And?”

“And nothing,” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “What do you want me to say, Talia? That I forgive him? That I’m ready to go running back to him? Because I’m not. He doesn’t fucking deserve that. I want to say that, because I’m not, but there’s still a part of my heart that’s aching right now.”

Her expression softens. “I don’t want you to say anything you’re not ready to say. But I think you need to figure out what you do want, because from where I’m sitting, it seems like he’s trying to make things right.”

“Are you seriously defending him right now? Like he can just say “I’m sorry” and that’s it? And I’ll come running back? Do you think I’m that pathetic?” you spit back

“Hey!” She snaps, with a tone you’ve never heard her use. “Do not put words in my mouth, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to like that right now, but let me remind you—I’ve been here with you for months. I’ve held you while you cried over that asshole. Of course I’m not on his fucking side. I’m just stating the facts.”

Her words hit you like a slap, the room falling silent as her glare softens ever so slightly. She crosses her arms, her brows furrowing in that way that shows she’s more hurt than angry. “Don’t take your anger at him out on me.”

You bury your face in your hands, her words sinking in. You don’t know what you want. Part of you wants to scream at him, to tell him he doesn’t get to just say he’s sorry and expect everything to go back to normal. But another part of you… another part of you misses him so much it physically hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re right.” You lift your head, meeting Talia’s gaze with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. Reaching out, you grip her hand tightly, as if grounding yourself in her presence. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, the apology carrying the weight of your frustration and pain.

“I don’t know, Talia,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. She wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Then don’t decide right now. Just… sit with it. And maybe, when you’re ready, you’ll know what to do.”

You lean into her, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But as you sit there, one thought keeps replaying in your mind.

He hopes they’ll come back.

And for the first time in three months, you wonder if you might.

The next few days are a blur and as much as you want to ignore the situation bakugo’s face is still plastered on every news outlet, every social media platform, he’s even in conversations you overhear. He’s haunting you. Everyone’s talking about him—about his “coming out” as Deaf, about his gruff yet surprisingly heartfelt press conference, about how he’s still the same Dynamight.

And, of course, there are people who don’t feel the same, suddenly questioning his capabilities—despite thinking he was more than capable just a month ago when they had no idea he was Deaf. It makes you understand, at least in part, why he kept it a secret for so long. Ignorance is frustrating, and it’s easy to imagine how much he worried about his rankings taking a hit. Though, ironically, you suspect his popularity is about to skyrocket. You’re caught in the middle of it, carrying a secret that no one else knows.

He’s apologized to you. Privately. While the world cheers him on for his public bravery, you’re left staring at that two-word message on your phone every night, as if it’s some kind of puzzle you’re supposed to solve.

Talia’s been supportive, always checking in and trying to distract you, but she doesn’t push. You’ve thrown yourself into work at Red Riot’s agency, hoping that the busy schedule will drown out the thoughts of Bakugo that seem to creep in every time you let your guard down.

But it doesn’t work.

On your lunch break one afternoon, you find yourself scrolling through videos of the press conference again. You’ve watched it so many times that you practically have it memorized. The way he stood there, shoulders tense but head held high. The way his hands moved as he simultaneously signed, bold and unapologetic.

The way he said he made mistakes.

The way he said he hopes “they” come back.

Your chest tightens as you pause on the frame where he glances at the camera, his eyes full of something raw and unguarded. Regret? Hope? You don’t know, but it’s enough to stir something in you.

You don’t know why you do it, but your fingers move to open the message thread with him. His “I’m sorry” stares back at you like it’s mocking you.

You start typing a reply. Then delete it. Then type again.

Finally, you send something simple. Something neutral.

You: “I saw the press conference.”

The three little dots are almost immediate and your practically chuck your phone across the room when you see them.

Bakugo: “I figured.”

You stare at his response, waiting for him to say more, but nothing comes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. What are you supposed to say to that?

You: “It was brave of you to do that.”

You say the truth, because as much as you’re torn in a battle of wanting to run back to him, to tell him how you felt and how you felt or punch him square in the jaw. You still are proud. You know what that took for him.

Bakugo: “It was overdue.”

He’s right. It was overdue. But the fact that he’s admitting it so openly feels… different. The Bakugo you knew never admitted he was wrong, never apologized, never showed vulnerability.

You don’t know what to say next, so you leave the conversation there. But for the rest of the day, you can’t stop thinking about him. About what it would mean to go back. About whether you even could.

That night, as you’re lying in bed, your phone buzzes again.

Bakugo: “I meant what I said. I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. You know he’s not just apologizing for firing you. He’s apologizing for shutting you out, for breaking you, for making you feel like you didn’t matter.

You don’t reply. Not yet.

Instead, you set your phone down, staring blankly at the wall as the weight of everything crashes over you. The apology sits in your chest, heavy and unresolved. It’s not enough, not after months of silence, but it’s also everything you’ve been longing to hear. You let it linger in your mind for the rest of the next day, mindlessly going about your routine until you lie awake in bed the following night

The city hums faintly outside your window, but your thoughts are louder. You think of Bakugo—of his press conference, of his apology, of everything you’ve been through.

And finally, as the clock ticks past midnight, you pick up your phone.

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You could ignore him. You could let him feel the same silence he left you with. But a small, stubborn part of you wants answers. Wants closure. Wants him.

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response, your hands trembling slightly.

You: “I don’t know if sorry is enough. But if you want to talk, really talk, you know where to find me.”

You stare at the message for what feels like an eternity before hitting send. The moment it delivers, you toss your phone onto the nightstand and bury your face in your pillow.

Now, all you can do is wait.

The days after the message are unbearable. He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if you even want him to, and he’s terrified of screwing things up more. Every time he picks up his phone to reply, he freezes, his mind racing with things he wants to say but can’t bring himself to. He leaves the conversation on read, knowing it’s making things worse but unable to stop himself.

Then there’s the interview. His PR team insists on it, saying it’ll help smooth over the public’s reaction to his “big reveal.” He doesn’t care about the opinions of people who didn’t matter a month ago, but he knows he can’t avoid it forever.

During the interview, the topic shifts to his Deafness and how it’s impacted his relationships—both professional and personal. He hesitates, his jaw tightening, but then, without meaning to, he brings you up.

“There was… someone who taught me a lot,” he admits gruffly, his hand clenching into a fist on his knee. “I pushed them away. I was a fuckin’ idiot. They deserved better.”

It’s the most anyone’s ever heard him talk about feelings, and when the clip circulates online later that day, everyone’s talking about it, people are guessing it’s you.

You don’t see the interview live, but Talia sends you a link with like ten exclamation points in the message. Reluctantly, you open it, and there he is on your screen—Bakugo, looking uncomfortable but honest. Hearing him admit he was an idiot feels… surreal. He’s not one for public displays, so for him to acknowledge you in an interview like this? It’s huge.

But still, it’s not enough. A few days pass. The tension lingers. And then, late one night, your phone buzzes. A voicemail. When you check it, your heart stops at the sound of his voice.

“Shit…” His words are slurred, and you can hear the clink of a bottle in the background. “I… I don’t even fuckin’ drink, but I needed… I don’t know, somethin’ to stop me from thinkin’ about you. But it didn’t work, and now I’m here, drunk as hell, leaving this dumbass voicemail because… because I’m a goddamn coward, and I can’t stop fuckin’ missing you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, and it’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time. “I’m sorry for everything. For bein’ an idiot, for not tellin’ you what you fuckin’ mean to me before I ruined it all.” There’s a long pause, and you can hear him breathing unevenly. “I don’t deserve you. I know that. But… I can’t stop hopin’ you’ll come back anyway.”

The voicemail ends, and you’re left staring at your phone, your heart pounding. The familiar sting of hurt and anger still sharp, but something deeper lingers: an aching sense of loss. The person who had once made you feel seen, understood, is now the one who’s broken that bond beyond recognition.

You want to ignore him. You want to erase him from your life completely, but you know you can’t and deep deep down you know you want him in your life again.

The next afternoon you’d been needed at red riots agency agency, the familiar chime of your phone breaks the stillness. It’s a message from the front desk, telling you a delivery has arrived for you.

You stand up, confused but curious, as you walk to the lobby. The package is large, wrapped in simple brown paper, with a handwritten note affixed to the top in elegant script. You turn the note over, your eyes scanning the words.

“I’m not good with this shit. I don’t expect this to fix everything, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I can’t keep pretending. I fucked up, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry. You mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to say.”

The signature at the bottom, written with shaky confidence, is unmistakable.

Bakugo.

Your heart skips. But it’s not the excitement you once felt when you’d get a text from him. It’s something else, something heavier. The flowers, fresh and vibrant, are beautiful—a sharp contrast to the flowers the guy from the bar had sent you. It’s clear this wasn’t a rushed thought or just a generic gesture. Bakugo took the time to choose something meaningful, something you’d actually like. It’s a reminder of who he can be when he tries, of the man who’s not only a hero but someone who truly knows you.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over your phone screen for a moment before you type out a simple but sincere message:

You “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. And the note… I appreciate it.”

You hit send, your stomach twisting in anticipation. The dots appear almost immediately, and then his reply comes through.

Bakugo: “I meant what I said. I’ve been running from this for too long, like a fucking coward and I’m sorry for that. I’m ready to talk. I should’ve done it sooner, but I’m asking now. Can we meet?”

Your heart races. The words hit you harder than you expected, like a punch to the gut, but it’s also the closest thing to an apology you’ve gotten. You close your eyes for a second, letting the feeling settle before you type out your response.

You “We can meet. But I need you to understand, I’m not going to make this easy for you. It’s not just going to go back to how it was. I have to think about this too.”

You hesitate before hitting send, but then, your finger presses the button. The message is out there now.

A few seconds pass, and then his reply comes through.

Bakugo: “I get it. I’m not asking for it to go back to how it was. I just need to talk.”

You meet him late afternoon in a dimly lit cafe, he’d requested the private back room for the two of you. You see him his back straight, posture tense, but there’s a softness in his eyes that you didn’t expect. The sight of him makes your chest tighten, and for a split second, all the hurt floods back, threatening to break through. But you swallow it down, pushing the emotions back where they belong, at least for now.

Your usual coffee order was sitting in front of the chair when you arrived, he’d remembered.

When he sees you, his jaw clenches, and he stands up. His gaze is apologetic, but guarded. He says nothing as you sit down across from him. There’s an unspoken distance between you, both of you unsure of how to start.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkward. You glance at him, not knowing whether to wait for him to speak first or if you should just get it over with. It’s him who breaks the silence first.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” he admits, his voice low and rough.

You give him a pointed look, your arms crossed, but you don’t say anything. You want him to go first.

“Look, I know I fucked up,” Bakugo continues, his words rushed, his voice catching slightly as he forces them out. “I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back.” His eyes shift down for a moment, but when they return to you, there’s something raw there, something he’s been holding back for too long. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was scared. I thought… I thought if I shut myself off, I wouldn’t drag you down with me. But I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

His hands are clenched into fists on the table, like he’s trying to hold himself together, but the vulnerability is leaking through.

“I was an idiot, and I know it,” he continues,

“I don’t know how to fix this,” his hands gripping the table tightly. “I don’t know how to make it right. But I… I’m willing to try. I’m ready to try.”

You swallow hard, unsure of how to respond, but his eyes are so desperate now. Not just for your forgiveness, but for something else. Something deeper.

“I don’t know if I can just forgive you, Bakugo,” you say softly, but firmly. “You hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. And it’s not something that just goes away with a couple of words.”

He flinches, the sting of your words landing harder than he expected, but he nods slowly. “I get it,” he mutters. “I don’t expect you to just forget. I don’t deserve that. But I… I’ve spent the last few months regretting the way I treated you. I’ve been a fucking mess.”

The silence stretches out, thick and uncomfortable, before he adds, almost like an afterthought, “I’m not saying this because I think it’ll fix anything… But I care about you. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know if I’m ready to say all the words… but you should know, I—” His voice hitches, and he grits his teeth, frustration flashing across his face. “I fucking need you. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, pushing you away. I can’t keep running from it.”

There it is. He’s not saying it outright, not yet, but it’s clear. It’s written in the tension in his voice, in the way he’s looking at you. He needs you. But that’s as far as he can admit right now. He’s too scared to say the words, but it’s all there in the way he’s speaking.

You exhale, looking down at your hands. The silence stretches between you like a heavy weight, but it’s different this time. It’s not suffocating, just… thick with everything unsaid. You want to push him further, but you’re not sure how much more he can take.

“Did you know?” you ask, voice trembling a little, though you try to keep it steady. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Did you know about my feelings for you?” you push, meeting his gaze, watching his expression shift as if something inside him clicks.

He hesitates, then lets out a frustrated breath, looking away for a moment. “I had a feeling,” he admits, voice low, almost reluctant. “But I told myself I was wrong. I let my own doubts cloud my mind… I was trying to convince myself it didn’t mean anything.”

You swallow, the words hitting deeper than you expected. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything? You just pushed me away, Bakugo.”

He stares at you, his expression torn, jaw clenched tightly. “I didn’t want to feel weak,” he says, barely above a whisper. “And I sure as hell didn’t want you to have power over me.” You furrow your brows. “What do you mean by that?”

He lets out a breath before continuing. “I don’t… like feeling like I’m not in control,” he admits, voice rough. “Everything about me has to be under my control. My strength, my image—everything. And then you… you came into my life, and everything just got… confusing. You made me think about everything differently and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

You remain silent, taking in his words. The rawness in his admission shakes you, but there’s still a part of you that wants him to go further, to say the things you need to hear. But he’s still holding back.

“You make me weak, you know?” he finally adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, giving a small awkward laugh with the shake of his head. “And I hate it.”

The vulnerability in his voice hits you harder than you expect. It’s the same Bakugo, the one who once seemed invincible, but now, you see the cracks beneath it.

For a moment, you let the silence linger between you, trying to digest everything. “But you were never weak,” you say quietly, your voice softer now. “You just… didn’t want to let anyone in.”

His gaze softens, but he doesn’t say anything. The weight of the moment settles in, and you know that you’re both standing on the precipice of something—neither of you fully ready, but maybe, just maybe, willing to step forward.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing. “I’m not saying yes, Bakugo. I can’t just forget everything and run back into your arms.” You hold his gaze, steady. “But… I’m not saying no either.” You smile slightly, your hand reaching for his.

Bakugo grabs your hand. His grip is firm, but it’s not forceful—just a silent plea for you to understand. A glimmer of relief flashes in his eyes, though there’s still a heavy weight of uncertainty. He exhales sharply, relief mixed with a heavy dose of uncertainty in his eyes. “I get it. I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

The words hang between you, heavy but hopeful. There’s a long road ahead, and neither of you knows what’s at the end of it. But there’s a crack in the door now, a glimmer of possibility that you can’t ignore.

For the first time, Bakugo isn’t just pushing forward on instinct. He’s waiting for you. And for the first time, you’re not running away from him either.

And just like that, the lunches start again.

The first lunch is simple, a quiet little café tucked away in a corner of the city, far enough from prying eyes but close enough for comfort. Neither of you wants to make a big deal of it. No cameras, no expectations. Just two people sitting down, eating a meal, and talking like they used to.

Bakugo fidgets with his napkin, clearly not used to this kind of calm, but he’s trying. There’s a sense of hesitation between you, like neither of you wants to be the first to break the quiet. But then, unexpectedly, he asks you about your new job. The question is casual enough, but you both know it’s more than just small talk.

You smile, feeling the weight of his words in a way that feels like a first step, and you respond with a little more than you normally would. And for the first time in months, you both get lost in the conversation—just two people sharing a meal, no pretenses.

The next lunch is a bit easier. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where silence feels heavy, but the air between you has softened. Slowly, but surely, you’re both learning how to be around each other again without the need for words to fill every moment.

Another month passes, slow but steady. Every lunch feels like another brick being removed from the wall between you and Bakugo, but there’s still something unspoken between you. He’s still Bakugo—gruff, proud, and a little closed off when it comes to talking about what he feels.

But in his own way, he’s been complimenting you more than he ever has before. He praises your work, your passion, the way you handle yourself when you talk about your dreams. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat each time.

Then, one evening, you invite him over to your place for dinner. He doesn’t know what to expect, and honestly neither do you, but he agrees. The silence between you isn’t heavy this time—it’s comfortable. You’re both so used to the quiet now, to the small moments that don’t need to be filled with words.

You made one of his recipes—the one he’d hastily shoved into your arms with the muttered excuse of “making too much” all those weeks ago. You’re eating casually, and he’s telling you a story from his latest mission, grumbling about his hero friend Chargebolt and his antics. You can’t stifle your laughter

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, gasping to catch your breath but when you look back up his eyes are on yours, watching you and his hands move again

BEAUTIFUL.

You feel your face flush and you try to hold back the smile that wants to plaster itself on your face, but you know he sees it. You quickly change the subject. “I need to meet him one day. Chargebolt”

After dinner he helps you wash dishes and it’s all.. oddly domestic in a way that gives you butterflies, and you have no idea how he feels, only the way sparks ignite when your fingertips brush as you hand him dishes to dry. The tension is thick, and you can’t take it anymore. Before you know it, you flick the water from your hands onto him. He shoots daggers at you with his gaze, but then, unexpectedly, he smiles. you’re laughing and you do it again but he grabs your hands

And.. you stand there, frozen for a minute with his hands holding yours, his crimson gaze meeting yours and it’s softer now, nothing like the harsh intensity you saw back in the conference room all that time ago.

His hands and eyes fall from your and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, he goes to open his mouth but hesitates, shaking his head and raising his hands instead

He brings his two closed hands together, fingertips touching and bouncing off each other lightly.

KISS.

Can I kiss you?

Your eyes immediately shoot to his and you nod and that’s it. The tension that’s been building over the past month snaps. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re in each other’s arms. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s both desperate and tender, all the words neither of you has been able to say spilling out in that single moment.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands trembling slightly as he cups your face. “Please… I can’t keep pretending I don’t need you,” he admits, his voice raw, the weight of everything he’s been holding back finally pouring out.

Bakugo’s hands hover near your sides, as if unsure whether to pull you closer or give you space, like he’s waiting for you to tell him what comes next. You both stand there for a moment, the silence enveloping you again, but this time it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like the calm after a storm, like the tension has dissipated, but there’s still more to work through.

You smile softly, reaching for his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, squeezing his fingers gently.

He nods, like he’s trying to process the weight of that assurance. “Good,” he mutters, and for once, the sharpness in his tone is gone, replaced by something softer. Something a little uncertain, but real.

Without thinking, you pull him down to sit with you on the couch, your bodies close but not quite touching. You both need time. Time to catch up with each other, time to figure out how to navigate this new phase of whatever this is between you two.

“So… what now?” you ask, voice small, but hopeful.

He leans back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if he’s thinking. When he finally speaks, his voice is gruff again, but there’s a flicker of something else there. “Now, we take it slow,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “I’m not asking for a lot. I don’t know how to do all the shit I should’ve said before, but I’m here now. For real. And I’m not running away from this.”

It’s the most honest thing he’s said in weeks, maybe months, and it means everything to you. It’s not perfect, and it’s not a fairytale, but you can see the cracks in his armor, the rawness that’s finally coming through. He’s not pretending anymore, and that’s the first step.

You nod, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m not asking for perfect either. Just… just us, okay?” “Yeah,” he replies, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “Just us.”

And with that, it feels like the tension between you has finally broken. You’re not all the way there yet, and you know it’ll take time. But for the first time in a long while, you feel like there’s hope. Not a perfect solution, but something real, something worth fighting for.

As you sit there, quietly, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. Neither of you speaks for a while, just feeling the comfort of each other’s presence. There’s still a long road ahead, but for now, you’re okay. And that’s all you need.

You’re both in this together.

You move closer, and he instinctively moves to hold you in his arms. Everything feels right, and you relax into him, letting his presence comfort you until your soft breaths even out, and you drift to sleep.

He glances down at your sleeping figure, careful not to wake you as he shifts slightly. He takes a picture, knowing you’ll probably kill him for it later, but he can’t resist. With a soft smile, he posts it on his Instagram story.

“🤟@ y/nsigns”

I LOVE YOU.

—-

A/n: its my birthdayyy!! This is my present to yall tho

bakugo saying ily first?? Idk if the ily is too soon but at the same time they’ve known they each had feelings the whole time idc lmao. I really hope yall enjoyed the series! This is the first thing I wrote on tumblr!! I’m so appreciative of all the nice comments and everything love u guys <3

Tags: @poemeater @mimzyu @beebunsx x @v3n7s

@cielito--lindo @starrmage @unabletonotlovesatoru @beabamboo

[luvdazqi]

☆ ( hate fucking⠀ ) — 🌸

featuring: rival!chuuya x pm executive!reader

warnings: female reader, afab, cervix fucking, cursing, name calling, degrading, edging, creampie, hair pulling, spanking, fingering, rough sex, no protection, mentions of the word 'p' and 'd', kinda filthy(?).

notes: this lowkey took me a few days to write cuz i barely had any ideas.. but i hope you enjoy!

at any chance you'd get, you'll always find a way to make chuuya's day go even worse. despite the two of you both being powerful executives in the port mafia, needless to say that you and chuuya hated each other. you two would always bicker like children and were always at each others throats. but you'd have to admit that seeing chuuya angry over the smallest things was quite amusing for you. you'd always pull small little pranks on him just to annoy the shit out of him, and he'd always know it was your doing, because no one else would have the courage to piss of chuuya after all.

no one else dared to step into you and chuuya's bickering, they'd all sit idly and watch. but beside all that hatred, there was always some type of tension between the both of you, even if one of the two would never admit to it.

"fuckin' hell.." chuuya muttered in irritation, slamming his fist on his desk. his eyes flashed with a hint of anger as he was a victim of your silly pranks yet again. you had been bothering him all day and you decided it would be funny to slip some type of aphrodisiac into his wine, and now his body was feeling all hot and bothered thanks to you. "bring her to my office." chuuya gestured to one of his subordinates to bring you to him, oh he wasn't definitely not gonna let you slide this time like he always did.

once you finally got to his office, leaving the two of you alone in the room, it practically filled with tension, so thick that you could cut through it with a knife. chuuya practically pounced onto you when you arrived, a visible flush on his cheeks and his pants already tight with a visible erection, looks like the aphrodisiac worked after all.

"you think you're so fuckin' funny aren't ya?" chuuya snarled, his gloved hand wrapped around your neck, though not applying pressure. "you've been buggin' me all day, it's like you were begging for my attention." his heated gaze was piercing into you at this point, his breathing becoming ragged. "you wanted my attention right? now you've fuckin' got it."

sitting on his desk, your legs spread apart just enough for chuuya to look down at your wet and puffy cunt. his gloves were discarded, not wanting to ruin his good pair with your wetness. "look at you, all wet and i've barely done anything. you're practically dripping on my fingers, ya fuckin' whore. i knew this is what you wanted all along." chuuya scoffed, curling his digits inside you. he listened to the way you whimpered and shuddered, which only made his lips curl into a cocky smirk.

just as you were about to cum, he pulls his fingers out of your pussy, making you whine. but he didn't care, he licked his fingers clean and scoffed down at your drunk aroused state. "a slut like you doesn't get to cum yet." his voice was almost raspy before reaching to the waistline of his dress pants, unbuttoning and pulling them down alongside with his boxers. his cock was painfully hard from all the aphrodisiac in his wine earlier, the tip already visible with precum.

"maybe if you beg i might just let ya' cum on my cock." he says in a mocking tone before moving you to bending over his desk, his hand landing on the curve of your ass with a loud slap that left a painful red hand print. "you're gonna take every inch of me, got it?" he says, using the angry flushed head of his dick to rub against your entrance, mixing his pre-cum with your wetness before pushing himself inside you. a rumble emanates from his throat as he felt your tightness wrap around him so perfectly, grasping your hips and holding you in place. "holy fuck.. mmff- gonna stretch this pussy of yours real good." he pants, another slap on your flesh as he delves himself deep into you from behind.

the sounds of skin slapping against skin, along with his groans and your moans filled his office. you couldn't even comprehend words as your mind goes blank, your eyes hazy as chuuya keeps pounding his dick into you that hit your cervix over and over again, almost like if he was putting all his hatred for you with every thrust. "fuckin' whore.. ngh-! this is all it took for ya' to keep your fuckin' mouth shut, huh? always- mmhh- making me loose my fuckin' mind.." he moans, a harsh slap on your ass once again, which basically was already red with his hand prints.

he felt your gummy walls clench around him, your vision blurring with pleasure, "fuck- you gonna cum? i don't think so, you don't fuckin' deserve it yet you filthy slut." he chuckles, gripping onto your hips before stopping his thrusts and pulling out just as you were about to cum, making you whine and call him as asshole, but he didn't care. it only fueled him to keep going, watching you intently as a smirk tugging at his lips. waiting for a while, he slams back into you again. your body quivering beneath him, hitting into your cervix once again with each harsh thrust.

he kept his brutal pace until he felt his orgasm approach, with one final wet smack, chuuya groans as his fingers tighten around your hips holding you in place as his cock pulses with each load of cum painting your insides. keeping himself there for a moment, to compose himself before slowly pulling out his cock with a lewd squelch, looking down at your stretched pussy leaking his with cum. "fuck, look at you.. dripping with my cum like the dirty slut you are."

but he barely gave you enough time to register your thoughts before he drives his hips into your sensitive hole all over again, hitting that delicious spot inside you as he made sure all of his cum stays inside you. keeping a fast, deep rhythm inside you "mmhh- you like having my dick inside ya'.. huh? gonna make sure this pussy of yours stays filled with my cum for the rest of the day. ngh- maybe that'll put ya' in your fuckin' place, whore."

taglist: @moomuzan @iwuvnami @ellie-corner14 @nonexistence1199 @lurulu-ru @causenessus @vasarii @broken-spirit101

© luvdazqi on tumblr ; do not copy, plagiarize or translate any of my works.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: Not-So-Melatonin Mishap

Warning: mentions of kk and reader being high... more so kk

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Rating: Teen

Fandom: UConn Women’s Basketball

Summary: Kk being kk...

The buzzing in my chest wouldn’t stop. It had been one of those days where everything felt like too much—the loud dining hall, the never-ending assignments, and the sheer pressure of balancing school and sports. By the time I got back to my dorm, I was exhausted but jittery. My anxiety refused to let me settle, and I knew it was time for one of my gummies.

I kept them in an old melatonin bottle on my dresser, mostly to avoid any awkward questions. Nobody ever bothered questioning “melatonin,” but the gummies were actually medicated for anxiety, prescribed to help me calm down during my rougher days.

Just as I was about to grab the bottle, KK popped into my room.

“You good, babe?” she asked, tossing her bag onto my desk chair.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound normal. “Just need my ‘melatonin’ gummies. Can you grab the bottle off my dresser?”

“Sure thing.” KK strode across the room, grabbed the bottle, and handed it to me. I popped a gummy into my mouth and smiled at her.

“Thanks, KK.”

“No problem,” she said, flopping onto my bed and grabbing her phone. I turned back to my laptop, trying to focus on a project.

About 45 minutes later, something felt… off.

“Y/N,” KK said from the bed, her voice slow and slightly slurred. “Do you think pizza tastes better when it’s a triangle or a square?”

I turned in my chair, raising an eyebrow. “Uh, triangle, I guess?”

KK nodded sagely. “Yeah, that makes sense. But, like, what about circles? Nobody talks about circle pizza!”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, walking over to her. KK was sprawled out, her cheeks flushed and a lazy grin on her face.

“I dunno,” she said, giggling. “Everything’s just… funny. Like, your face is so pretty. And your hair! Did you know it’s all shiny? Like, the good shiny. Like, shiny-shiny.”

I frowned. “KK, are you okay?”

She grinned up at me, her eyes slightly glassy. “I’m great! Hey, can we get snacks? I’m so hungry.”

“What did you eat?” I asked suspiciously.

“Just one of your melatonin gummies,” she said, her voice sing-song.

My heart dropped. “KK! Those weren’t melatonin gummies!”

She blinked up at me, her smile faltering. “Huh?”

“They’re medicated for anxiety. They’re… not exactly regular gummies.”

“Ohhhhh.” KK sat up, swaying slightly. “So that’s why I feel all… floaty. This is fun!”

I sighed, trying not to laugh. “KK, you can’t just eat random things without asking.”

She grinned again, reaching for my hand and pulling me to sit beside her. “Y/N?”

“Yes, KK?”

“Can you be my girlfriend?”

I raised an eyebrow. “I already am.”

“Oh. Lucky me!” she said, throwing her arms around me dramatically. “You’re the prettiest girlfriend in the whole wide world.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, you’re definitely out of it.”

She gasped, putting her hands on my cheeks. “No, no, no. I will *definitely* remember this tomorrow! How could I ever forget?”

I pulled out my phone, hitting record. “Oh, you’re definitely going to forget this.”

“I won’t!” she insisted, flopping back onto the bed. “I love you too much to forget. Did you know I love you? Like, *really* love you?”

“I love you too,” I said, trying not to laugh as she hugged a pillow like it was the most comforting thing in the world.

“Good,” she mumbled. “’Cause if you didn’t, I’d have to fight… someone. Who would I fight? Oh! Paige. She’s tall. I’d fight Paige.”

I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”

She sat up again, her expression serious. “But you love me, right?”

“I do, KK.”

She sighed, flopping back again. “Good. You’re the best. And your hair is shiny. Did I say that already? It’s so shiny.”

I hit stop on my phone, shaking my head. “You’re going to regret all of this tomorrow.”

“Nope!” KK declared. “I’ll remember. I promise.”

The Next Morning

“Good morning, sunshine,” I said, grinning as KK groggily sat up in bed.

She blinked at me, her hair sticking up in every direction. “Morning. Why are you smiling like that?”

I held up my phone, playing the video from the night before.

KK’s eyes widened as she watched herself ramble about shiny hair, snacks, and fighting Paige.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I don’t remember any of this.”

“Told you,” I teased. “You were *very* entertaining.”

She peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks red. “I didn’t say anything embarrassing, did I?”

“Nothing too bad,” I said, laughing. “But you did ask me to be your girlfriend.”

Her face turned even redder. “What did you say?”

“I told you I already am,” I said, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

“Oh. Lucky me,” she mumbled, making us both laugh.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[softsreidx-hotchner]

Lost in the moment [S.R]

Summary, “Spencer makes one thing clear,”he doesn’t care who knows. He wants you.

Paring, Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Rating, M (for tension, suggestive themes, and language—no explicit smut, but heavy longing and a heated moment)

Warnings, Mild language, mutual pining, unresolved tension, accidental confession, team teasing, slow burn, Spencer being annoyingly smart, longing stares, heated moment, desperate kisses, Spencer losing control for once, and one very unfortunate case of lost keys

Word count 1.3K

Author notes I love still learning to write, I love learning to write about Spencer I enjoy learning more about fan fics in looking up grammar styles stuff like that .

I started writing in October of 2024 . I’ve come long way I think .

If I missed anything I don’t think I did but if I did please comment down below but please be kind I’m still learning about how I wanna write in everything.

This was a fun piece to write I enjoyed it . I did proofread this few times I don’t think I missed anything .

You weren’t exactly on the best terms with Spencer right now. Not after this morning.

It wasn’t a huge fight—not really—but it lingered like static in the air between you. You had woken up in his apartment for the first time, and somehow, in the rush of getting ready, you’d lost your keys. You never lost things. At least, not important things.

Spencer, being Spencer, had immediately launched into statistics.

“Did you know that nearly 30% of misplaced objects are found within eighteen inches of their last known location? And that women are more likely to misplace small personal items due to—”

“Spence, stop. I’m trying to think.”

He had raised his hands in surrender, but the tension had already settled in. You were frantic, searching under couch cushions and inside kitchen cabinets for no good reason, and he had stood there watching you with that unreadable expression of his—half amused, half something else.

“We’re going to be late,” he had finally said. “I’ll help you find them later.”

That wasn’t the problem. The problem was walking into work together.

You knew how the team was—how they noticed everything. If you arrived together, it wouldn’t take them long to piece things together. And you weren’t ready for that.

So, instead of thanking him, you had snapped, “I’ll just figure it out myself,” grabbed your bag, and walked out ahead of him.

Now, sitting in the conference room, you couldn’t focus. The case file in front of you blurred at the edges, words blending into meaningless shapes. Spencer was across the table, flipping through pages with his usual ease, but you could feel the weight of his presence, like a gravitational pull you were fighting against.

And all you could think about was how much you wanted to be in his arms.

It hit you like a freight train—the need to feel his warmth, his steady heartbeat under your cheek. You hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

But you did.

“I just want to be in your arms.”

The words shattered the silence in the room.

A beat of absolute stillness. Then, every single head turned toward you.

Hotch’s brows lifted slightly. Emily hid a smirk behind her coffee cup. Derek’s lips parted like he was about to say something, but then he just shook his head, clearly enjoying the show.

Heat rushed to your face. Your breath caught in your throat.

You pushed back your chair and bolted.

Behind you, you barely heard Spencer murmur, “I’ll be right back,” before the sound of his footsteps followed.

You made it as far as the hallway before you felt his hand on your wrist, gentle but firm. “Wait.”

You stopped, staring at the floor, still burning with embarrassment.

Spencer exhaled softly. “You, uh… you kind of just shouted that in the middle of the briefing.”

“I know,” you groaned, covering your face.

He hesitated, then added, “Was that… about me?”

You let out a humorless laugh. “No, Spence, it was about Hotch.”

His lips quirked. “Statistically, I’d be the most probable choice, given our proximity and recent—”

“Spencer.”—You sighed,”

“Right. Not the time.” He stepped closer, voice softer now. “You could’ve just told me.”

You finally met his gaze, and something in his expression made your breath hitch—something raw and searching.

“I didn’t mean to say it,” you admitted. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.”

A charged silence stretched between you.

Then, Spencer reached out, fingers grazing your wrist before sliding down to lace with yours.

“We should, um… probably go back inside before they assume something even more scandalous.”

You swallowed. “Let them assume.”

His eyes darkened, something flickering there—hesitation, curiosity, maybe even want. But then he cleared his throat, squeezing your hand once before letting go.

“We still need to find your keys,” he reminded you.

Later that night, when you finally made it back to his apartment, you found them.

Under his nightstand. The whole time.

Spencer just looked at you, lips twitching. “You know, that’s within eighteen inches of the last place you remember having them.”

You groaned, throwing yourself onto the bed. “Shut up, Spence.”

He chuckled, settling beside you, propped up on one elbow. The warmth of him was intoxicating, and when he reached over, his fingers threaded through your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear, your breath hitched.

“You know,” he murmured, voice low, “I don’t care if they know about us.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

Spencer’s gaze flickered to your lips, then back to your eyes, as if debating something—then, slowly, he leaned in. The air between you was electric, your pulse hammering as his lips brushed against yours, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t urgent, wasn’t rushed—it was deliberate, like he was savoring the moment, the closeness.

“Spence…” you whispered between kisses, your hands still tangled in the fabric of his shirt.

“Please. I need you.”

His breath hitched slightly, his hand trailing down your arm, fingers warm as they pressed into your skin.

He tilted his head, his mouth brushing against your ear, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Tell me,” well , tell them,he murmured….

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding.

“Tell them,” you said.

Spencer exhaled slowly, his lips grazing your temple.

“Well,” he murmured, lips ghosting over your jaw, “tell them.”

“I promise,” you said, desperate now, your fingers tugging at his shirt, slowly pushing it up, needing—aching—to feel more of him. “Please.”

Spencer swallowed, his forehead resting against yours, his hands framing your waist, grounding you, pulling you even closer.

Then suddenly, he shifted, his weight pressing you gently into the mattress, his body warm and solid against yours.

You gasped softly as he guided his hands up your thigh, fingers tracing a slow, agonizing path up your bare skin, over your hip, up your side, then finally, finally, pinning your wrists above your head.

His lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm, teasing. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he whispered.

Your breath caught, his words sending a shiver down your spine.

“Spence…” Your voice was barely a breath, a plea. “What are you doing to me?”

He exhaled shakily, his nose brushing against your cheek, his lips grazing the corner of your mouth before dragging along your jaw, down to the pulse pounding at your throat. “I don’t know,” he murmured, voice rougher now, “but I don’t think I can stop.”

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, desperate, needy. In one fluid motion, you tugged it up, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. He hesitated for just a second, eyes flickering with something unreadable—something almost shy—before he helped you remove it completely.

And then he was bare before you, lean and beautiful, muscles tensed beneath your touch.

You ran your hands over his chest, tracing the planes of him, memorizing the way his breath hitched as your fingers moved.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a soft, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Statistically, perfection is an unattainable standard,” he murmured, but his voice wavered as your hands slid lower, and when he looked at you, his pupils were blown wide with something deeper, something overwhelming.

Your hands skimmed over his ribs, feeling the way his breath stuttered under your touch.

“Spencer,” you whispered.

His name was barely out of your mouth before his lips crashed against yours again—deeper this time, more desperate, more certain.

Spencer Reid, the man who always thought ten steps ahead, who overanalyzed everything—he wasn’t thinking now.

He was feeling.

And this time, neither of you were holding back.

Tag

@hoe4hotchner

@lover-of-books-and-tea

@catssluvr

@angellsell

@hotchs-big-hands

@hoe4hotchnerlibrary

Thank you for the love an support

Thank you for 200 of you 💕🍯💌 love kris

[antinousletmehit]

୨୧┇more early palace for you guys

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

Y/N’s feet pounded against the stone floor of the palace halls as she ran, her chest tight and her vision blurred with tears. Antinous’s harsh words rang in her ears like thunder, each one cutting deeper than the last.

“I wish I wasn’t your brother! I regret even bringing you along with me!”

Her heart ached, and the lump in her throat grew unbearable as she burst into eurymachus’s room without knocking. He was lounging on his bed, sharpening a dagger lazily, but immediately sat up at the sight of her tear streaked face “Y/n?” Eurymachus asked, his usual smirk replaced with genuine concern. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

She didn’t answer right away, instead collapsing onto the floor beside his bed. Hugging her knees to her chest, she buried her face and sobbed. Eurymachus awkwardly set the dagger aside, unsure of what to do at first. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he said, sliding off the bed to crouch beside her. “Did someone hurt you? Was it one of the suitors? Because if it was, I’ll—”

“It was Antinous!” she cried, looking up at him with red, puffy eyes. “He said—he said he wishes he wasn’t my brother! And that he regrets taking me with him!” Eurymachus’s brows shot up in surprise, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. He’d seen Antinous get angry before, but this? It wasn’t like him.

She sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I—I don’t want him to be my brother anymore. I wish you were my brother instead!”

Eurymachus blinked, then let out a dry laugh. “Me? Your brother? Gods, y/n, you’re setting the bar pretty low if you think I’d be better.”

“No, you wouldn’t say stuff like that,” she muttered, her voice cracking. “You wouldn’t… you wouldn’t make me feel like I don’t belong.”

Eurymachus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Antinous is an idiot. A big, loud, overly dramatic idiot. He probably said something stupid in the heat of the moment, and he’ll regret it later.”

“I don’t care!” She snapped, though her tears betrayed her. “I’m done with him! I’ll stay here with you, and he can go off and be king or whatever he wants without me!”

Eurymachus smirked faintly, though there was a softness in his gaze as he reached out to ruffle her hair. “As tempting as that sounds, I don’t think Antinous would survive without you around to drive him crazy. He’s probably already pacing the halls looking for you.”

She scowled, swatting his hand away. “I don’t want to see him!”

“Fine, fine,” Eurymachus said, holding up his hands in surrender. “You can stay here for as long as you want. But just so you know, I’m not exactly ‘big brother’ material. I’d make you carry all the heavy stuff, and I’d eat your share of food.”

She let out a watery laugh despite herself, and Eurymachus grinned. “See? Not so bad, huh? Now, stop crying. You’re making a mess on my floor.”

She sniffled again, wiping her tears away. “Thanks, Eurymachus. I mean it.”

He leaned back against the bed, folding his arms behind his head. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell Antinous I’m the one who made you laugh, or he’ll start thinking I’m stealing his little sister.” She managed a small smile, the ache in her chest easing just a bit. For now, this was enough.

——

She sniffled one last time before climbing up onto Eurymachus’s bed and curling up beside him. Without asking for permission, she rested her head on his chest, her small frame trembling slightly from the remnants of her sobs. Eurymachus froze, his usual smirk replaced with a look of bewilderment. “Uh… what are you doing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Getting comfortable,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his tunic.

“Comfortable? On me?” he replied, his tone laced with disbelief. “Y/n, I’m not exactly a fluffy pillow.”

“Don’t care,” she murmured, clinging to him as though he were the only stable thing in her world at the moment.

Eurymachus sighed, staring up at the ceiling. “This is so weird,” he muttered under his breath. Still, the sight of her tear streaked face softened him just enough to lift a hand and hesitantly pat her back.

“There, there,” he said awkwardly, his fingers lightly drumming against her. “You’re fine. Antinous is just an idiot. He doesn’t mean half the stuff he says.”

She didn’t respond, just curled closer, her breathing starting to even out as she relaxed against him. Eurymachus shifted uncomfortably, clearly out of his depth. “You know,” he said after a moment, his voice a mix of sarcasm and begrudging warmth, “if anyone walks in and sees this, they’re going to think I’ve gone soft.”

She let out a small, tired laugh. “Let them think that. You’re nice when you’re not being a dick.”

Eurymachus scoffed. “Nice? Me? Don’t start spreading rumors, kid.” But as she nestled further into him, he sighed again and let his hand rest more firmly on her back, his fingers idly tracing small, absent-minded patterns. For all his complaints, he didn’t push her away.

“Just don’t make this a habit,” he grumbled, though his tone was softer now. “I’m not your personal teddy bear.”

She didn’t answer, her breathing now slow and steady as she began to drift off to sleep. Eurymachus looked down at her, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Antinous is going to kill me for this,” he muttered, but he didn’t make a move to push her off. Instead, he adjusted slightly to make her more comfortable, silently resigning himself to his fate.

——

Y/n had latched onto Eurymachus’s arm the moment she woke up, and no amount of coaxing, scolding, or death glares from Antinous could get her to let go. She clung to him like a barnacle to a ship, walking beside him with an unrelenting determination that even Eurymachus himself couldn’t shake off. “Y/n,” Eurymachus groaned as he tried to shrug her off for the umpteenth time. “What are you doing? I’ve got things to do—important things. You know, like… not babysitting.”

“Nope,” she said cheerfully, tightening her grip. “You’re stuck with me today. Antinous doesn’t want me around, so you’re my new favorite person.” Eurymachus sighed, looking over at Antinous, who stood across the hall with his arms crossed and a murderous expression on his face. His eyes bored into Eurymachus like daggers, silently promising retribution for every second she remained attached to him.

“Can you not look at me like that?” Eurymachus called over, half joking, though he was starting to sweat under the intensity of Antinous’s glare. “It’s not my fault your little sister thinks I’m better company than you.”

Antinous’s jaw clenched. “Y/n, get over here. Now,” he ordered, his tone dangerously low.

“No thanks!” She chirped, burying her face into Eurymachus’s arm. “I like it here. Eurymachus is way more fun than you.”

Eurymachus grimaced, caught in the middle of the sibling standoff. “Okay, let’s not make this my problem, yeah? I don’t want to die today.”

She ignored him, dragging him along as she walked toward the courtyard. “Come on, let’s go outside! You promised you’d teach me how to throw a knife, remember?”

“I never promised that,” Eurymachus muttered, but he let himself be pulled along, casting a nervous glance back at Antinous, who looked like he was about to explode. The day continued like this, with her sticking to Eurymachus like glue and refusing to leave his side no matter what. Whether he was eating, chatting with the other suitors, or even just lounging around, y/n was there, practically glued to his arm.

At one point, Eurymachus leaned down and whispered, “You’re really trying to get me killed, aren’t you?”

She grinned up at him. “If Antinous tries anything, just tell him it’s my fault. I’ll protect you.”

Eurymachus rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. I’m sure he’ll totally listen to that.”

By the end of the day, Antinous had had enough. He stormed over to where his sister and Eurymachus were sitting in the hall, looming over them with a thunderous expression. “Y/n,” he said through gritted teeth, “if you don’t stop clinging to him right now, I swear—”

“What?” She cut him off, crossing her arms defiantly. “You’ll what? Yell at me again? Tell me to go away? You don’t want me around anyway, so why do you care?”

Antinous’s eyes flickered to Eurymachus, who was trying his best to look anywhere but at him. “You’re my sister,” he growled. “Not his shadow.”

She stuck out her tongue. “Too bad. Eurymachus doesn’t yell at me like you do. Maybe you should try being nicer if you want me to hang around you instead.”

Eurymachus winced. “Please don’t drag me into this,” he muttered under his breath, but it was too late. Antinous’s glare shifted to him, sharper than ever.

“This isn’t over,” Antinous warned before storming off, his footsteps echoing down the hall.

She smirked triumphantly. “See? Told you I’d protect you.”

Eurymachus groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re going to be the death of me, you know that?”

She just grinned, leaning back against him. “But I’m your favorite, right?”

“Not even close,” Eurymachus muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself.

——

Y/n had been Eurymachus’s shadow for the entire week, much to Antinous’s growing frustration. No matter where Eurymachus went—whether he was lounging in the hall, sparring with the other suitors, or sneaking off to flirt with servant girls—she was always there, clinging to his arm or pestering him with endless chatter.

By the seventh day, Antinous had reached his limit. He watched from across the hall as y/n sat beside Eurymachus at the dining table, stealing bites from his plate and laughing at something he said. Eurymachus, who had long since resigned himself to her presence, simply rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath.

Antinous stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. The other suitors looked up in mild surprise, but Antinous ignored them. His focus was solely on his sister. Striding across the hall, he came to a stop in front of the pair. She looked up at him, grinning. “Oh, hi, big brother. Come to join us?”

“Not exactly,” Antinous said tightly. Without another word, he bent down, grabbed Pandora by the back of her tunic like a mother lion grabbing her cub, and hoisted her off the bench.

“Hey!” She squealed, flailing her arms and legs. “What are you doing? Put me down!”

Eurymachus stifled a laugh, leaning back in his chair as he watched the scene unfold. “Finally had enough, huh?” he said, smirking at Antinous.

Antinous shot him a glare. “You’ve entertained her long enough,” he growled. “She’s my problem now.”

She twisted in his grip, glaring up at him. “I’m not a kitten, Antinous! Let me go!”

“Not a chance,” Antinous replied, carrying her away as if she weighed nothing. Her protests echoed down the hall, but Antinous didn’t falter, his steps steady and determined. The other suitors burst into laughter as the two siblings disappeared around the corner, and Eurymachus shook his head, chuckling to himself. “That,” he said to no one in particular, “was a long time coming.”

Meanwhile, she continued to squirm in Antinous’s grasp. “This is so unfair!” she whined. “I was just hanging out with Eurymachus! Why do you care?”

Antinous didn’t answer until they reached his chambers. He finally set her down, his grip firm on her shoulders as he looked her in the eye. “You’re my sister, y/n,” he said, his tone exasperated. “Not his minion. And definitely not his shadow.”

She crossed her arms, pouting. “You’re just jealous because I like spending time with him more than you.”

Antinous groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re a nuisance,” he muttered. “Just… stay here for a while, alright? Give Eurymachus a break.”

She huffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she flopped onto a nearby chair, muttering under her breath about how unfair her brother was. Antinous, meanwhile, leaned against the doorframe, wondering how long this truce would last before she inevitably found her way back to Eurymachus.

——

Antinous slammed the door to his chambers behind him as she followed, her footsteps quick and defiant.

“You’re impossible!” Antinous snapped, turning to face her. “Do you have any idea how it looks, y/n? You clinging to Eurymachus like a lovesick puppy? People are starting to talk.”

She crossed her arms, her face red with anger. “So what if they are? Maybe you should have thought about that before saying you wished you weren’t my brother! Maybe then I wouldn’t need someone else to hang around!”

Antinous froze for a moment, guilt flashing briefly in his eyes before he quickly buried it under a scowl. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, really? Because it sure sounded like you meant it!” She shot back, her voice trembling with both anger and hurt.

Antinous pointed at her, his voice rising. “What I meant is that you need to start acting like a proper lady instead of running around making a fool of yourself! Eurymachus isn’t some toy you can play with, and people will start assuming the worst about you!”

Her eyes glistened, but she refused to let her tears fall. “You think this is my fault? Maybe if you weren’t so cold and distant, I wouldn’t have to spend time with him! Maybe if you actually acted like my brother, I wouldn’t feel so alone!”

Antinous took a step back, startled by the raw emotion in her voice. “Alone?” he repeated, his tone softer but still defensive. “You’re not alone. You have me.”

She scoffed bitterly, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Do I? Because all you ever do is push me away. You’d rather spend time scheming with Eurymachus or chasing after Penelope. And then you have the nerve to tell me not to hang around Eurymachus? You’re such a hypocrite, Antinous!”

Antinous clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. “Y/n, that’s not fair—”

“No, what’s not fair is you acting like this is all my fault!” She shouted, her voice breaking. “You were right, Antinous. You shouldn’t be my brother. Maybe then I’d have someone who actually cares about me!” Her words hit him like a blow to the chest. For a moment, the room was silent, the tension between them thick and heavy. Antinous’s face softened, but before he could say anything, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Antinous stood there, his shoulders slumping as her words echoed in his mind. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “What a mess,” he muttered to himself, feeling the weight of their argument settle heavily on his chest.

—��

The palace was alive with the hum of celebration for Antinous’s birthday, but y/n wasn’t in the thick of it. Instead, she was sitting cross legged on the floor of a quiet corner of the garden with Eurymachus, who leaned lazily against a column, sipping wine. The breeze carried the faint sound of music, but her scowl was evident as she fiddled with a flower in her hands.

“You look like someone kicked your puppy,” Eurymachus said, arching an eyebrow.

“Shut up,” she snapped half heartedly, ripping a petal from the flower.

Eurymachus smirked. “Ah, birthday blues? Or is big brother Antinous being an ass again?”

At the mention of her brother, her frown deepened. She paused for a moment, hesitating, before blurting out, “He’s always an ass. I don’t even know why I bother with him.”

Eurymachus tilted his head, intrigued. “Oh? This sounds juicy. Go on.”

She let out a frustrated huff, her fingers tearing the flower to pieces. “He acts like I’m just… some annoying little kid. Like I don’t matter. And then he expects me to do whatever he says, like I’m his puppet or something.”

Eurymachus chuckled, swirling his wine. “Well, you are kind of annoying.”

She glared at him, but her shoulders slumped. “At least you don’t make me feel like I’m nothing,” she muttered.

Eurymachus blinked, caught off guard. “Whoa, where’s this coming from?”

She shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I mean it. You… you actually talk to me like I’m a person. Like I’m not just some stupid kid getting in the way. Sometimes, I wish…” She hesitated, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Sometimes, I wish you were my brother instead of him.”

Unbeknownst to them, Antinous had been standing just behind a nearby pillar, having stumbled upon their conversation by accident. He’d been about to call out to his sister when her words froze him in place. The flower fell from her hands, and she hugged her knees to her chest. “You’re the brother I wish I had,” she admitted softly.

Antinous’s eyes widened as the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He stood there in stunned silence, his usually sharp mind blank. Slowly, his hands moved to his ears as if to block out the words, his lips pressing into a tight line. “y/n… I ain’t exactly…role model material” Eurymachus began, his tone unusually serious, but before he could continue, the sound of hurried footsteps made them both turn.

Antinous, unable to bear hearing more, had bolted from his hiding spot, his hands still covering his ears like a child avoiding a scolding. He didn’t look back, his mind a swirl of confusion and pain as he ran through the halls. Y/n and Eurymachus exchanged a bewildered glance, the latter raising an eyebrow. “What the hell was that about?”

She frowned, watching the retreating figure. For a moment, guilt flickered in her eyes, but she quickly masked it with a scowl. “Probably just an animal” Eurymachus shrugged, returning to his wine.

@simpformoonkight @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[alexhasalotofthoughts]

Okay it's been long enough since TIT that I can share my thoughts with a clear head. I literally slept the whole of yesterday because I was so tired (thank you, London).

Seeing Dan and Phil was a really big deal for me—as I'm sure it is for most fans. I've been a fan of DnP since primary school and now I'm nearing the end of secondary school and the start of uni so this feels like a very big full circle moment.

As cringe and stereotypical as it is, DnP videos have always been there when I needed them. When I was having a bad day at school, or struggling to come to terms with my sexuality/gender, there were Dan and Phil, ready to put a smile on my face. Dan's coming out video was released the same year I started being bullied for my sexuality and seeing someone I looked up to as much as him be so honest and open really helped me to feel less alone. I rewatch that video a lot. I will always be grateful for that.

I've worn my Interactive Introverts bracelet everyday since I brought it with the DVD (my mum would not let me see them live at the time as I was "too young" lol) so Dan and Phil, in some way, have been there for every big and small moment in my life. They were technically there when I got an offer from the uni I want to go to. I literally wore a Dan and Phil shirt to my autism assessment. They were mentioned in my autism assessment report (though I am not the person who said that for the confessions part of the show, that was someone else. I am not trying to steal their thunder lol). I can't even begin to express what a big part of my life their videos have been.

As I'm sure has been mentioned many times by now, my show was filmed so I might even end up on YouTube or a DVD (PLEASE DAN AND PHIL, KEEP PHYSICAL MEDIA ALIVE) or something, though I doubt that because I was in the royal circle. Also a drunk girl hung if the balcony and heckled for most of the show. I think even ended up getting kicked out. I saw somewhere on twitter that Phil asked for her to be kicked or mentioned to staff that she was too loud but I have no idea how true that is as I was on the opposite side of the circle to her and I have never and probably will never speak to Phil to confirm this.

Other than that, though, the show was absolutely brilliant!

Genuinely! It was so funny and it was absolutely lovely being in a room of people who have the same interests as me; I literally saw a "Be More Chill" "Boyf" bag, "Heathers" tracksuit bottoms, a FNAF Bonnie keychain and a Doctor Who badge all in the space of 5 minutes of one another. My people. Someone even complimented my hat, though I find London so overwhelming that I forgot to respond properly lol (sorry hat person, you were very nice! I liked your whiskers!).

Before the show, they played "Hot To Go" by Chappell Roan, and the whole theatre sang and danced along, which was absolutely lovely!

I was laughing and cheering for about 2 hours straight, so I'd say it was money well spent, though my mum literally fell asleep during the first act so I don't know if she'd agree.

One thing I will say: seeing sister Daniel in the flesh is literally a HOLY experience—I am so... Gay? Straight? Bisexual?? I'm not sure which word go use in this situation but Daniel was hot, so who cares?

To conclude this overly long blog post no-one will read, it was fun and I feel like 12 year old me would look at me now and smile. I saw Dan and Phil live. I got an offer from the uni I wanted to study film! I write!! I have friends who care about me!! I'm not ashamed to like the things I like!! God, they would be so proud of me. And I am proud of them.

TIT pics below ;)

(That last pic was taken by my mum, hence why I look so awkward. I was happy, I swear.)

Thank you very much if you read this! I really do go on a lot but also this is my blog and I suppose that means I can go on as much as I want.

[b4tteryaciid]

Ghost with glasses, anybody?

(I got glasses and contacts so I had to force Ghost to aswell.)

Sunday, January 26, 20XX, 6:00 AM

The shitty alarm clock never got old, screaming at an ungodly hour and waking Ghost up. Light was barely seeping in through the window and painting the floor with thin golden rays. He was still exhausted. The team was sent on a long three day mission and got back to base at about 1900 (7 PM). Everyone was pooped and beelined to their respective rooms to sleep.

Ghost groaned dramatically and stretched out like a startfish, banging his knuckles on the wall with a hiss. He rubbed his eyes, smearing around the leftover grease paint he was too lazy to take off and stood up, cracking his hips and knees in the process. He blinked the sleep away and slowly headed for the bathroom. He looked like shit but his face would be covered with a balaclava anyways. He splashed some icy tap water onto his face with a shiver and reached for the small white and green contacts case on the counter.

He slowly unscrewed it with a yawn and poked into the right compartment, scooping up the tiny lense. Huh that's weird. It feels funny. He squinted down at it and his heart dropped. It wad ripped. Goddammit. It his exhaustion the night before he must've ripped it while manhandling it into the case. Fuck. That would mean he would have to wear his glasses. He groaned loudly and slammed his hands on the counter. Swatting the case with the ripped lense away before ambling over to the busted brown cabinet above the toilet.

He poked around to see it he had any other lenses of if he'd have to ask Price to order more. Nope. None. Only a bottle or two of contact solution. He slammed the door shut and weighed his options. He didn't necessarily need his contacts to see. His prescription wasn't that strong, he just couldn't see from far away. It wouldn't kill him or endanger others. Okay, we'll, maybe. He was training recruits that morning so it wasn't like they'd be in an active battle zone. Price would chew him out if he willingly went out with imapred vision though. But it was just training though, could it be that big of a deal?

He opted to text Price and ask instead.

Ghost: My contact ripped. Order me more when you get a minute?

Price: Of course.

Ghost: Thank you.

Ghost: Am I authorized to not wear my glasses? We're training recruits today.

Price: No.

Ghost: Why?

Price: I cannot villingly let a visually impaired soldier around live ammunition.

Go figure. Just what he expected.

Price: It won't kill you to wear them for one day. Medical will have your new contacts in by about 1100 tomorrow.

Ghost huffed and tossed him phone down onto his bed. Whatever. Realization dawned as he realized he wouldn't be able to wear his hardshell mask and would have to wear a soft one. He dragged his feet getting dressed and begrudgingly put on his glasses, mumbling a string of curses as he did so.

---

He was sitting in one of the corner booths in the mess. Eating something squishy and bland, he didn't dare think about what it was. Atleast he had his tea. After a little bit of haggling with Price, he agreed to let Ghost take the day off and train the recruits himself. Ghost was now in dept to Price, or so he claimed, but he knew Price wouldn't act on it. He successfully avoided everyone, except one cook who didn't seem to pay him any mind as she was busy with three other things at once. The day was looking good. No human interaction whatsoever. He would retreat back to his room and read a book or occupy himself with something else.

Famous last words.

The loud giggles and chatter of Soap and Gaz filled his ears. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. He prayed they wouldn't notice him.

"Ghost!"

'Can't have shit can I?' He thought. He sighed reluctantly and looked up, meeting the eyes of the Scott. He was bouncing with energy. How he had a pocket full of sunshine at 9 AM Ghost would never know. They both stopped in ther tracks, Gaz shooting him a puzzled look that slowly morphed into a poorly disguised smirk. Soap had a goofy grin on his face, he opened his mouth to say something before Ghost interrupted.

"Not a word." He growled, pointing the fork at the both of them.

"Nice spectacles Ghost," Soap giggled, sliding into the booth next to him. Soap and Gaz shared a look over the table and burst into hysterics. Soap was crying he was laughing so hard and Gaz was trying his best not to wheeze.

"I'll skin you both," he grumbled with a hint of amusement. They would never let him live this down. They'd never leave him alone. 'This is gonna be a long day', he thought.

[windser]

yet another drabble from my where the apple falls series pairing: caleb x reader 001 002 (not linear, just moments outside of the main story) a/n: i will use drabbles, to work on characterization and write scenes outside of the main story outline. for everyone's reference, this is a canon divergent. you'll notice some things from the man storyline but with some changes.

the golden light of late afternoon bathed your room, spilling across the bed and highlighting the half-packed suitcase in the center. the faint scent of lavender mingled with the crispness of freshly folded laundry as you moved about, tucking items into the suitcase with more precision than necessary. it was a distraction, a way to ignore the weight in your chest.

behind you, caleb sat on your bed, legs crossed and leaning comfortably against the headboard. his dark hair was slightly mussed, his shirt rumpled from lounging throughout your workload. he was flipping through a stack of old photos, his brow furrowing and softening with each memory brought to life. a glass of soda rested on your nightstand, the carbonation settled but still faintly fizzing.

“is this the famous apple soda recipe you’ve been working on?” caleb asked, gesturing to the glass with a lazy grin. “the one that’s supposed to be better than the store-bought stuff?”

you glanced over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. “it’s a work in progress. you like it so far?”

“it’s great,” he said, his voice too casual to be entirely convincing.

you narrowed your eyes, abandoning the shirt in your hands to face him fully. “liar. you haven’t even finished it.”

caleb held up his hands in mock surrender, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “caught me. it’s good, i promise. i’m just savoring it.”

“savoring it?” you echoed, crossing your arms. “it’s soda, caleb. not wine.”

he laughed, the sound warm and familiar, and picked up the glass. “fine, if you’re going to be like that…”

before you could stop him, he tipped the glass back and drained the entire thing in one go. his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the motion drawing your attention for a fleeting moment. when he finished, he set the empty glass down and made a face.

“what?” you asked, suddenly defensive. “too sweet? too flat? be honest.”

caleb clutched his stomach dramatically before letting out a loud, unapologetic burp.

you groaned, unimpressed. “very mature.”

he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “perfect. it’s perfect.”

“yeah, sure,” you muttered, rolling your eyes as you turned back to your packing. “you just ruined the moment.”

“come on,” he said, still grinning as he leaned back against the headboard. “i mean it. it’s good. you’re going to make me write you a thank-you card for that recipe.”

you snorted, folding another shirt. “we’ll see.”

his laughter faded into a contented hum as he watched you work, the moment settling into a comfortable silence. you felt his gaze lingering, but you didn’t look back. you didn’t have to. caleb had always been like this—watchful, present, a steady presence in your life.

“did you ever think about going to college in sky haven?” caleb asked suddenly, his voice quieter now. “they’ve got some great astronomy programs up there. you’d love it.”

you paused, his words catching you off guard. “sky haven?”

he shrugged, playing with the corner of a photo. “you’ve always loved the stars. wouldn’t it be cool to study them from the city flying beneath them ?”

you bit your lip, thinking back to the countless nights you’d spent stargazing together in the backyard. “it’s tempting,” you admitted, turning back to your packing. “but i like the school i picked. i want to spread my wings, you know? you got to, and now it’s my turn.”

caleb frowned slightly. “i wasn’t that far away.”

you caught the edge in his tone but chose not to acknowledge it. “you are in a floating city, caleb.”

“it’s not the same,” he muttered, his tone petulant.

“it is,” you insisted. “and it’s good for us to… grow.”

his brow furrowed, but he didn’t argue. instead, he leaned back against the headboard, watching you fold another shirt. “just promise not to grow up too fast, pip-squeak.”

you smiled at that, a warmth spreading in your chest. “i promise.”

for a while, the silence between you felt easy, the kind of quiet that came naturally after years of companionship. but then caleb broke it, his voice intentionally lighter this time.

“so… you’ve got everything packed then?” he asked, nodding toward your suitcase. “no stowaways? no secrets?”

you smirked, shooting him a look. “what are you getting at?”

“oh, nothing,” he said innocently, though his grin betrayed him. “just wondering if there’s anything you’ve been keeping from me. like… oh, i don’t know, boys.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “boys?”

“yeah. you know, the kind who hang around, pretending to care about your star charts just to get your attention.” he smirked, his tone teasing but his gaze sharp. “you haven’t been entertaining anyone while i’ve been gone, have you?”

“caleb,” you said, rolling your eyes. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“is that a yes?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly.

“it’s a ‘none of your business,’” you shot back, folding another shirt.

his grin widened, but there was a new edge to it. “come on. you can tell me. have you kissed anyone?”

you froze for half a second, caught off guard. “what?”

“you heard me,” he said, sitting up straighter now. “have you?”

your laugh came out awkward, an attempt to brush off the sudden shift in tone. “what kind of question is that?”

“a simple one,” he said, his voice calm but insistent. “yes or no?”

“why does it matter?” you asked, turning away to place a sweater in your suitcase. “it’s not a big deal.”

“it is to me,” he said quietly.

something in his tone made your stomach twist, and you tried to shake it off. “no, caleb,” you said, your voice light but firm. “i haven’t kissed anyone. happy?”

he didn’t respond, and when you glanced over your shoulder, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. before you could say anything, he stood, his movements slow and deliberate as he closed the distance between you.

“are you sure about that?” he asked, his voice low.

the air felt heavy, the warmth in the room suddenly stifling. you swallowed hard, forcing a laugh. “of course, i’m sure. why would i lie about that?”

he was close now, too close, his presence overwhelming as he reached out to gently grip your chin. “look at me.”

your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze, his dark eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t name. for a moment, you felt like you were frozen in place, the weight of his intensity pinning you there.

“i…” you hesitated, your thoughts a tangled mess. “fine. if it’ll get you to stop worrying…”

before you could second-guess yourself, you leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. it was fleeting, almost clumsy, but it was enough to leave your heart racing. “there,” you said, stepping back and forcing a smile. “now you have nothing to worry about. virtue officially protected.”

caleb blinked, stunned for a moment. then a slow, crooked smile spread across his face, one that made your chest tighten. he reached out, ruffling your hair like he used to when you were kids. “pipsqueak,” he said, his voice warm with amusement. "think you're so smart."

your cheeks flushed, the old nickname seeming misplaced in the moment. “you have to stop calling me that.,” you muttered, swatting his hand away.

“you’ve outgrown a lot of things,” he said idly, his gaze lingering on you. “guess i’ll have to come up with something new.”

you turned back to your packing, your hands trembling slightly as you folded another shirt. behind you, caleb chuckled softly, the sound light but carrying a weight you couldn’t quite place.

the room settled into silence once more, but the air between you felt different now—heavier, charged with something unspoken. and as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something between you had shifted, irreversibly.