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becertainlust · 2 months ago

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BIRTHDAY SUIT | Bakugo Katsuki

synopsis: Bakugo never made a big deal about birthdays—just another day in his book. But you're not letting this one slide. As his partner, you know better than anyone that under that explosive exterior lies a man who deserves to be worshipped. And tonight, that’s exactly what you plan to do. Dressed in nothing but a gift-wrapped surprise, you give him a present no one else ever could—you.

content: smut, shameless smut, established relationship, lingerie sex, birthday sex, reader takes the reins, blowjob, sloppy, cowgirl , orgasm,

Bakugo never cared about birthdays. For once, he'd let you celebrate him.

No grumbles, no sarcastic muttering under his breath about “dumb-ass traditions” or “waste of time.” No disappearing off to train. No flinching when his friends shouted “Happy Birthday, Katsuki!”

He actually stayed. Enjoyed it.

The apartment had been buzzing earlier with close friends, laughter, drinks, and too many snacks. But now, it was just you and him. The glow of warm lights filled the room, soft music playing low from the speaker. The scent of buttercream and spiced candles lingered in the air.

“Sit,” you said, nudging him down onto the couch.

He dropped onto it with a tired, satisfied huff, one arm slung over the backrest as he watched you crouch beside the small stack of gifts left on the coffee table.

“Ya didn’t have to do all this, y’know,” he muttered. “Just havin’ you around is—”

“Shut up,” you smirked, passing him the first box. “You can get sappy after we’re done with presents.”

He rolled his eyes, but the blush on his ears gave him away.

One by one, he opened them. A couple of gag gifts from Kaminari, a surprisingly thoughtful book from Todoroki, custom gloves from Kirishima. A shirt from you he��d side-eyed in a store window a few weeks ago but pretended not to like. He’d mumbled, “Not bad,” when he saw it then—but the way he smiled when he saw it again tonight? That soft, flickering look in his eyes?

Yeah. He remembered.

But the last gift made him still.

He turned the box in his hand like he didn’t quite recognize it, even though you knew he did. You watched his fingers move slower—more careful. He lifted the lid and saw it:

A first edition, limited-run All Might training journal.

Something he’d mentioned in passing once during a midnight walk months ago. Something he said he always wanted but could never find. He stared at it in silence, thumb brushing over the embossed edges.

“…You remembered that?” he asked, voice suddenly quieter. His eyes lifted to yours.

You smiled gently. “Of course I did.”

Bakugo swallowed hard, cheeks warming up in a way that had your heart blooming in your chest. “You’re insane,” he muttered. “You know that?”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “A little.”

He blinked hard, then cleared his throat.

“Alright, alright—cake. Let’s get this over with before I start feelin’ like a damn Hallmark card.”

You brought over the cake, candles already lit, your face glowing in the soft flicker as you sang the most off-key, dramatic “Happy Birthday” you could manage. He groaned, but he didn’t stop you.

He blew out the candles.

You sliced two pieces, handed him a fork… then stole it right back.

“Say ah.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You really gonna hand feed me right now?”

“Our wedding reenactment,” you smiled, lifting a bite to his mouth.

He opened it, still scowling—but barely—as you fed him a chunk of cake. He chewed, crimson eyes on you the whole time.

“Good?” you asked.

He gave a slow, appreciative nod. “Yeah. sweet.”

"that so..."

You leaned in, swiped a little frosting from the corner of his mouth with your thumb. His lips looked so soft, gilding your frosted coated thumb onto them, then kissed it off his lips, pressing your own into the softness of his. It started soft.

But when your lips brushed his again—slow, and achingly warm, and just a little longer—his hands naturally found your waist, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap. He kissed back, gentle but hungry, lips parting to taste more of you.

You murmured between kisses, breath hot against his mouth: “Birthday kiss.”

He blinked slowly, his lips still parted from the kiss, eyes dazed and focused only on you. His hands anchored warm on your waist, thumbs stroking slow, thoughtless circles into your skin through the thin fabric. His gaze trailed over your face—your lips, your flushed cheeks, your eyes so full of mischief and adoration.

“You’re everything,” he murmured, almost like it slipped out without permission.

You kissed the tip of his nose, giggling softly. “Thank you.”

And then?

His hold tightened. Just slightly. And he pulled you into his lap.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that,” he muttered, voice thick and low, “I’m gonna forget we were takin’ things slow tonight.”

You leaned in, straddling him without hesitation, your thighs hugging his hips as you settled against him. His body welcomed you instantly, his hands sliding up your sides, fingertips dragging the fabric of your top slightly—like he wanted less of it between you.

“I was never planning to go slow, birthday boy” you whispered, brushing your lips just barely against his jaw. “especially tonight.”

His breath caught—sharp, audible. You felt it in his chest, the way it stuttered under your palms. His reaction was subtle, but every part of him twitched with anticipation: his hands, his legs beneath you, the slight lift of his hips like he was already imagining how this night would end.

“Got one more present for you,” you murmured into his ear. “The real one.”

Bakugo’s brows lifted, suspicious. “Thought that damn journal was the real one.”

You grinned, climbing off his lap for just a moment—enough to walk toward the bedroom with that sway you knew drove him wild.

He watched, chin propped on his hand, eyes darkening the second your fingers dipped beneath the hem of your top as you disappeared down the hall.

“Oi,” he called. “What kinda present needs you to change for it?”

You didn’t answer.

But when you reappeared in the doorway—lingerie clinging to your curves like a second skin, chosen with him in mind—Bakugo sat up so fast he nearly knocked the fork off the coffee table.

Your name left his mouth like a groan.

“Holy shit…��

You were wrapped in delicate black lace, the kind of thing he never thought he’d see outside a magazine, and even then—never on you. Never just for him.

His mind blanked.

No words, no witty comeback. Just the shape of you silhouetted in the soft golden light. The way the sheer material clung to your curves, catching every dip and swell like it had been tailored with him in mind. The way your thighs moved when you walked, slow and sure, like you knew what that sight alone was doing to him.

His mouth had gone dry.

And still, he sat back—frozen on the couch, like his body had been rooted to the spot. Only his eyes moved, dragging over you with almost painful reverence.

Your presence wasn't just seen. It was felt. In the sudden hush of the room. In the way the air itself seemed to shift as you crossed it. There was a softness to it—like watching a flame flicker behind glass. Dangerous, but so goddamn beautiful.

Something in his chest ached.

It didn’t matter how many times he saw you like this—wanting him like this. That wide-eyed, breath-stolen reaction always snuck up on him.

His gaze caught on your collarbones, then drifted lower—hesitating on the swell of your breasts barely veiled by lace, down the soft line of your stomach, until it settled between your legs, where the thin strip of fabric left far too little to the imagination.

The sight knocked the wind out of him.

One of his hands, resting uselessly on his thigh, curled into a fist. The other—he didn’t even realize—had wiped itself discreetly on his jeans, sweat clinging to his palm.

Not from nerves. No. Never that.

Except maybe this time, it was.

Because you were walking toward him now, hips rolling, eyes locked onto his, and he could feel his body respond before his brain had even caught up. His mouth parted. Breath shallowed.

God, the way you moved. Like you were pouring yourself into every step. Like you weren’t just walking to him—you were offering yourself.

It made his pulse stutter.

And when you climbed back into his lap, warm skin settling over the growing heat in his jeans, he couldn’t think. All he could do was feel. Your nails dragging against the nape of his neck in ghost trails feather-light, his body withered under the touch. Your perfume mingling with his senses what scent was that? and why cant he stop sniffing you.

"You smell really good baby...really good" his nose ghosted your neck, hips pulling you closer. Your thighs oh so soft to him, bracket him so warmly.

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

He just looked.

Admiration wasn’t something Bakugo handed out easily—not to friends, not to strangers, and definitely not out loud.

But he was looking at you now like you were everything. Like you were a dream made real. Like he didn’t know whether to kiss you, worship you, or fall to his knees for you.

He couldn’t stop drinking you in.

How had he gotten this lucky?

You kissed him again. Slowly, reverently. The kind of kiss that curled toes and short-circuited nerves. You would use a hand to pull him by the shirt, and when you pulled back just enough to murmur, “Happy birthday, Katsuki,” his lashes fluttered low, heat gathering in his face as he let the words sink in.

His breath hitched when your hands found his chest.

Just fingertips at first, dragging over the fabric of his shirt like you were memorizing him all over again. You didn’t rush—just let your palms glide across solid muscle, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath as your thumbs brushed the edge of his ribs.

He was already warm under your touch. And you hadn’t even done anything yet.

Leaning in, you pressed a kiss just beneath his jaw.

Then another—lower, slower. Your lips parted against his throat, leaving open-mouthed kisses in a trail that dipped down the curve of his neck. His skin twitched under each one, the breath in his lungs turning shallow, rough.

“who knew you’d do something like this,” he murmured, but the strain in his voice made it sound more like a will to give in than a tease.

You didn’t answer. Just smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing lightly before you sucked. Gently—just enough to make him feel it. And then again, lower. His hands tensed at your waist.

You tilted your head to kiss along the other side of his neck, scattering another series of soft hickies—like you were branding him in lace and affection.

A groan vibrated in his chest.

Your fingers slipped to the hem of his shirt. He didn’t resist. Didn’t even move.

He just watched you. Quiet. Obedient in a way only you got to see.

You peeled his shirt up, inch by inch, revealing the planes of his stomach—warm, lightly flushed, his abs tightening beneath your gaze. You kissed his chest slowly as you exposed it, lips brushing across firm muscle, leaving kisses that lingered just a little too long.

You didn’t break eye contact.

Not once.

Even as you sank further down, mouth worshipping the path beneath his sternum. Even as your nails lightly scratched up his sides, drawing out a low hiss from between his clenched teeth.

His body was buzzing now—caught between restraint and surrender.

And it was beautiful to watch him come undone like this. Strong and scarred and still, somehow, soft for you.

His head tipped back slightly, jaw clenched, one hand gripping your hip while the other fisted into the couch cushion. His thighs flexed beneath your hands.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word half breath, half plea.

You hummed softly, letting your lips hover just above his waistband.

“You’re warm,” you whispered, voice sultry and low, like you were letting him in on a secret. “All over.”

And he was.

Buzzing. Flushed. Waiting.

With his chest bare, his breathing ragged, and his eyes glassy with anticipation—he looked up at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Your lips hovered just above the waistband of his sweats, breath brushing against the faint trail of hair disappearing beneath the fabric. The muscles in his abdomen tensed again.

And still—you didn’t touch him where he wanted you to. Not yet. Instead, you lifted your gaze, locking eyes with him as your mouth curved in the faintest, knowing smirk. There was power in the way he was watching you. Tension in the way his thighs shifted restlessly beneath yours. Every inch of him buzzed. For you.

“Can I take these off Kats?” you asked, voice honey-slow.

Bakugo grunted, half-dazed. “… yeah.”

I mean what the hell were you asking him. If anything he just wanted on him immediately but it was all for you to watch him be a completely different person He sounded so obedient watching every moment like a patient puppy. His beautiful crimson eyes shimmering under the soft glow of the room.

Your fingers dipped under the waistband and dragged it down slow. The fabric caught on the hardened outline of him, and he hissed through his teeth as you freed him from the restraint.

His cock sprang up, flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, like his body was pleading before his mouth could catch up.

You made a sound of appreciation in the back of your throat—soft, reverent—before leaning in to press another kiss, just above the base. Your tongue flicked out, tasting the warm skin there. "You want me this much suki"

His whole body shuddered.

“Y-you're really gonna take your time with this, huh?” he muttered, voice rough, but low with awe.

You didn’t answer.

You just looked up again, lips parted, pupils blown, hands pressing to his thighs to steady him—before licking a slow, flat stripe from the base to the tip.

Bakugo cursed under his breath, his hand flying to the back of your head on instinct—but it never pushed, never forced. Just tangled in your hair, holding on for dear life.

Your mouth closed around him, warm and wet and unforgiving.

And he melted.

His head tipped back, jaw slack, a ragged moan slipping past his lips. You sucked him down slow—sloppy and deep—letting your tongue trace every sensitive vein, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you worked the base.

He was a mess.

Every time you hollowed your cheeks and sank lower, his thighs tensed. His breath hitched. His hips jerked upward before he caught himself, groaning through clenched teeth.

"Fuck... baby… you—goddamn."

You pulled back just enough to swirl your tongue around the head, then sank down again, deeper this time.

And he twitched in your mouth, body locking up as you moaned around him.

The sound went straight to his spine—he was pulsing now, barely holding on.

When you pulled off with a wet pop, spit connecting your lips to him in a string, you wiped your mouth slowly with the back of your hand, lips swollen, eyes hooded.

“Wanna ride you,” you whispered, climbing back up into his lap. “Can I?”

Bakugo was panting. Eyes glassy. Completely undone.

He swallowed hard, leaning into your chest to whisper "Please.”

You hovered over him, your hair framing your face so bewitchingly. You lined him up with your entrance, already soaked and pulsing for him. And as you sank down, inch by inch, his eyes rolled back and his hands grabbed your hips like he needed something to anchor him to this earth.

You moaned low as he stretched you open.

“Shit—so full,” you breathed, resting your palms on his chest.

“Look at me,” he rasped, voice trembling. “Wanna see your face.”

You did. And when your eyes met his—when he saw the way you looked at him, like he was the only one you ever wanted—his whole expression softened.

His hands caressed up your waist, slow, reverent.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered, voice shaking.

You didn’t move right away.

Not really.

Instead, you hovered just above him, your entrance brushing the slick, sensitive head of his cock—barely letting him in, just enough to tease. Just enough to let him feel the heat of you. Your thighs flexed slightly, hips rolling in slow, agonizing circles that dragged your soaked folds over the tip again and again.

A soft, wet sound filled the space between you. Your juices clung to him, thick and sticky, smearing across his shaft with every grind.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head thunking back against the couch. “You’re—fuckin’ killin’ me.”

You smirked, gaze flicking up to watch him.

And god… the way he looked right now? His chest rising with every ragged breath, his lip bitten raw, his knuckles white where he clutched your hips. Every muscle in his thighs was trembling beneath you. Twitching with the restraint it took not to thrust up and bury himself in you.

You leaned forward, your chest brushing his while your hips stayed in motion—rocking slowly, teasing him with slick, hot friction.

“I thought this was your birthday,” you purred into his ear. “Shouldn’t I be giving you what you want?”

Bakugo grit his teeth, his jaw tight with tension.

“I do want this,” he growled. “You drivin’ me fuckin’ insane like this—teasin’ me—makin’ me feel like I’m gonna explode just from the tip—shit…”

You giggled, soft and wicked, and sat back just enough for him to watch.

One of your hands reached between you, guiding him so the head rested right at your entrance again. You gave a few slow bounces—just the tip sliding in and out, each time making him curse louder.

“S-shit! Baby—fuck—fuck, just let me in—” His voice cracked, his fingers digging into your skin like he was about to lose it.

You finally pressed your hips down a little more, letting him sink in halfway.

His mouth fell open, a deep, guttural curse ripping out of him. His head snapped forward to look at where you were taking him in, flushed and wide-eyed.

And you just smiled at the desperation in his gaze.

“are you feeling good baby,” you whispered, dragging your nails lightly down his chest.

“God—yes—fuck yes,” he hissed, eyes fluttering as you dropped down another inch. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. You always do. Always…”

You leaned in again, letting your breasts press to his chest as you kissed the corner of his mouth.

“Then you better hold on,” you whispered, breath hot, “because I’m not gonna stop until you’re a mess for me.”

And with that, you finally sank down fully. All the way. His entire body jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

He let out a strangled sound—somewhere between a moan and a gasp—his head rolling back, hands gripping your ass like he was holding onto sanity itself.

You didn’t move for a moment.

Just stayed there, so full of him, clenching around him until he twitched helplessly inside you. And then—slowly, sinfully—you started to ride.

Your hips began to move again—slow, like honey melting in warm sun, like a wave building over time until it crashes. You circled them, let your walls flutter around him just to feel the way he shuddered beneath you. His eyes opened halfway, heavy-lidded and glazed, following every sensual sway of your body like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And to him—it was.

“Katsuki…” you whispered, your palms gliding up his abdomen. “You’re so deep.”

A sharp breath hissed between his teeth. He looked like he was trying to hold something back, but his hips bucked once—shallow, needy. You kept your pace measured, deliberate, grinding down into him with that same velvet friction that made his head roll back again.

“Shit,” he groaned, the sound low and desperate. His hands were clutching at your waist now, not to guide, but to ground himself. “You’re squeezin’ me so good, mmm"

You leaned down slowly, dragging your lips across his collarbone. Then lower—pressing open-mouthed kisses to his chest, his nipple. As you moved, your body rolled into his, your rhythm never faltering, hips undulating in a steady, torturous rhythm.

Every time you sank down, he twitched inside you, groaning louder.

“I love the way you sound baby,” you whispered, licking the salt from his skin. “All desperate and sweet. My perfect birthday boy.”

He looked at you like he’d melt.

One of his hands slipped up your back, tangled into your hair, tugging lightly as you nuzzled his neck. You licked a stripe just beneath his ear, then suckled gently at his skin, your teeth dragging slightly—leaving soft, loving hickeys along his neck and collar.

And every one had him groaning, his cock jerking inside you.

“Gonna mark you up tonight,” you murmured. “So everyone knows who you belong to.”

“I already do,” he rasped, voice nearly broken, “fuckin’ been yours.”

You smiled into his skin and sat back again, palms braced against his chest as you began to bounce now—slow, deep, full bounces that had him clenching his jaw and moaning through his teeth. His abs flexed beneath your hands. His hands gripped your hips tighter.

Your name left his lips like a prayer.

Your hips found a rhythm—delicious, sticky, sinful—and the way he filled you, the way he responded to every little grind, made your legs start to tremble.

He felt it. His hands slid down to cup your ass again, helping support your movements as he watched you from beneath heavy lashes.

“Baby,” he breathed. “You’re—fuck—you’re gonna make me come—just like this?”

You leaned forward again, kissed him deep, then pulled back just enough to whisper:

“Yes. Inside. Don’t hold back. I want you to come just like this.”

He let out a wrecked moan, his hips finally thrusting up to meet yours, matching your rhythm.

Faster now.

Deeper.

You clung to his shoulders, your mouth falling open as the coil inside you tightened and tightened—

And then he gasped—eyes rolling to close, mouth open and his cock twitching violently inside you as he spilled, deep and thick and hot, fingers bruising your hips while he cursed your name like a confession.

You didn’t stop.

Not even then.

Still slow. Still steady. Still riding out every aftershock as he moaned beneath you, overstimulated and undone. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and soft as they met yours. His hair stuck to his forehead. His chest heaved. His hands slid up your spine, arms curling around you as he held you close.

Your chest heaved against his, his heart pounding against your ribcage like a war drum. He was still buried deep, twitching, oversensitive—but you didn’t move. You just cradled his face, tilted it up so he had no choice but to look at you.

“Listen to you,” you whispered, voice sultry and sweet as sin. “Mouth full of curses… all because I couldn’t help creamin’ all over this fat cock.”

Bakugo groaned through clenched teeth, face flushed and jaw tight like he was holding onto the last thread of sanity.

“You heard it, didn’t you?” you murmured, grinding just enough to make him jolt, to let another wet, obscene squelch fill the space between you. “God, the noise we made—bet our neighbors think I was drowning in it.”

He groaned louder, head falling back against the couch.

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, slow and lingering, then whispered, “Soaked you, Katsuki. You feel how messy I made you? Look at your lap—look at what you did to me.”

He peeked down—eyes glassy—and let out another hoarse, broken curse when he saw the slick still glistening between your thighs, watching how you both were still connected before you lift your hips to show him, with such a sly smile it did something to him, watching his cum dripping slowly out of you onto him.

You guided yourself back in, rocking your hips again, so delicately, and he twitched inside you, helpless. His whole body shivered with a groan, his head collapsing on your shoulder "fuck enough"

You grinned. “You liked it when I sat there and shook my ass on it, didn’t you? Teasin’ you right on the tip ‘til you were cussin’ like you were about to lose your damn mind, yeah?” you grind.

“You’re—fuckin’ evil,” he gasped, fingers twitching against your waist.

You kissed his jawline this time, biting lightly just below his ear. His hands gripped you tighter again, like he was about to flip the script—but he was still spent, still weak from how you dropped your ass on him, He just held you there instead, breathing ragged, letting you purr filth against his skin.

"A little"

#bakugo katuski #mha smut #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #boku no hero academia #becertainlust #birthday smut #birthday sex #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou

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yanderedrabbles · 6 months ago

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Yandere Christmas Special

Christmas festivities featuring your local kidnappers Yandere! Soldier and Yandere! Sugar Daddy.

Yandere! Soldier who spends all Christmas morning at mass. And when he comes home, snow thick on his uniform, he smells like incense.

"Come see. I've brought you something."

There's a bottle of strong vodka and a frosted fruitcake waiting for you on the counter. You watch him unwrap the cake, your mind wandering to your family, to Christmas mornings when you were still an angsty teen. Did they think you were dead by now? Were they still looking for you?

He cuts a thick slice and holds it to your lips. It's sweet and dense and leaves your mouth sticky.

Yandere! Soldier who tilts your chin towards him and casually runs his thumb across your bottom lip to catch any stray crumbs.

"Let's drink, yeah?"

The vodka is icy cold and bitter. But the taste makes you think of friends and university and late nights when you were too tipsy to stand but oh so warm inside. You throw back more shots than normal, trying to chase the memories.

It's only when he gently pulls the bottle away that you realise you're far past tipsy. You're straight hammered.

You stumble when you stand and he's quick to catch you, one strong arm around your waist.

"You've got no head for drink, моя любовь."

"What does that mean?"

"It means it's time for bed."

You swat at him, irritated. "No. The Russian you used. What does it mean?"

He gently steers you toward the bedroom. "It means my love."

You twist around to face him. "Do you really love me?"

He raises a brow. "Alcohol loosens your tongue, doesn't it?"

He's quiet for a moment, studying you. The flush of your cheeks, the curve of your neck... You're everything he's ever wanted.

"Yes. I really love you. Я клянусь, что да."

I swear I do.

You stand on your toes and kiss him. Cradle his face in your palms and feel the heat of him bleed into you. You're so awfully cold, so awfully lonely. You'll regret it in the morning, but for now you press into him and chase the taste of vodka on his lips.

He pulls away and presses sweet, ticklish kisses against your inner wrist. He can feel your pulse racing.

"я полагаю, это мой рождественский подарок."

I suppose this is my Christmas present.

He grabs your thighs and picks you up. You wrap your arms around his neck, terrified of falling. Your breath ghosts across his neck and your nails dig stinging crescents into his muscles.

He doesn't say it out loud, but it's the best gift he's ever gotten.

Yandere! Sugar Daddy has a tree stacked high with gifts. On Christmas morning, he wakes you up with a kiss and a mug of your favourite hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon sticks.

At first, you assume most of the boxes are just for decoration. There's over a dozen boxes waiting for you - they can't all be gifts, right?

But you should know him better by now. You unwrap present after present, gasping at each one.

A set of custom perfumes from a high fashion brand. Ten different pieces of Tiffany jewellery. A genuine fur coat. Your first pair of Louboutin heels.

Keys to a new car.

You sit in the middle of a treasure trove, struggling to wrap your head around it. He rests his chin on your shoulder and pushes his glasses up his nose.

"Do you like it?"

"Yes! Yes, it's incredible." You turn to face him. "But babe, this must have cost a fortune. I can't accept all of this."

He tilts his head. "Of course you can. I got it all for you."

You're about to argue when he cuts you off. "You said you got me something too?"

You nod and hand him two packages. Your dollar store wrapping paper is glaring cheap next to his.

He unwraps his gifts slowly. The first one is a journal you picked up in a thrift store, weeks before your argument left you trapped with him. Back when you still had your freedom.

You got your artist friend to emboss his name in gold leaf on the front cover. He flips it open to the first page.

To my tech genius boyfriend. This is what we normies call paper. You use it to record all the times your girlfriend is just absolutely incredible, got it? -y/n

He smirks and rubs the page between his fingers.

"I've only heard distant legends of this 'paper'... How fascinating."

You groan. "It seemed funny at the time okay?"

His next gift is a pottery vase, with elegant fluted handles. It's a deep cream with flecks of reddish iron bleeding through. He stares at it, his expression blank.

Your heart drops.

The truth is, you spent months looking for that specific vase. And when you finally found someone willing to sell, the price they named made your jaw drop. You haggled like hell for it. Practically begged the seller on your hands and knees to let you pay it off over a few months. Until this morning, it was a gift you were proud to give him.

But his gifts to you took all morning to unwrap, while all you can offer is a shitty notebook and some amateur pottery. You hate not being able to return his generosity in equal measure. You hate feeling like you're always giving him the short end of the stick. Even now, when you have every reason to hate him, it hurts that you can't spoil him like he does you.

He finally looks up at you, dazed. "This is an original Murazaki. How did you know I wanted one?"

"You mentioned it a few months ago. When we were having dinner together in my apartment."

He puts the vase down carefully.

"You remembered?"

It's your turn to be confused. "Of course? You were really upset about it. You said he was your favourite artist but that you could never find any of his stuff for sale."

He stares at you like he's trying to pick you apart. You look down, embarrassed.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't get you more gifts. I feel like an ass. Like the world's worst girl-"

He grabs you before you can finish and pulls you flush against him. He buries his face in your hair. He takes a deep breath, like he needs to control himself.

"You remembered."

He kisses your temple and then presses his forehead against yours. His voice is low and loving and just a little shaky.

"Oh y/n, you're the best gift I could ask for."

Bonus: a yandere who only has one thing on his Christmas wishlist - you.

You wake up under his Christmas tree, cold and confused and still groggy from the sleeping pills he slipped you.

Your hands are tied behind your back and there's a cherry red gag in your mouth. You squirm, trying to pull your hands free. The floor is icy against your naked skin. Wait, naked?

You look down, horror clawing it's slow way up your throat. Most of your clothes are gone. And you're almost completely wrapped in ribbon.

Your thighs are held together with an excruciatingly tight bow. Two green rosettes are pinned to the lace of your bra. You can't see it, but there's a cute red bow stuck on your head too.

The door opens and you hear heavy footsteps on the basement stairs. You squirm, increasingly desperate to get loose.

"Wouldcha look at that? Santa brought me exactly what I asked for."

Your kidnapper squats down next to you, his eyes roaming your body. Taking in all the curves and dips. Mapping it out like it's his to explore. He reaches out and tugs at the ribbon tied around your throat.

"My girl all wrapped up under the Christmas tree."

He grabs your chin and tilts your face up towards his. His eyes are dark - the pupils blown out wide with lust, with hunger.

"Merry Christmas baby. I promise it'll be one you never forget.

#Inspired by the many brilliant Christmas asks I received #Yandere Christmas #Yandere Soldier #Yandere sugar daddy #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #Reader insert #Yandere oc #X reader

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lackadaisycats · 7 months ago

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Hey, there's a bunch of new stuff in the Lackadaisy Shop today. And all of it's ON SALE!

..Including this little ginger tater version of Freckle. Just carry him around in a little bag and feed him chips and reassure him that he has done nothing wrong ever. Except for those gang slayings.

Also, an Art Deco gold embossed notebook, with gold edged paper. It comes with or without lines so that it's a sketchbook or a journal!

Everything 10 - 20% off until Cyber Monday!

This is a big part of how we fund our animation production, so if it's in your means and you happen to pick something up, please know we are enormously grateful!

Lackadaisy Shop

#lackadaisy #lackadaisycats #animation #indie animation #cats #1920s #2d animation #plushie #freckle mcmurray #kitten #sketchbook #art deco #holiday sale

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vainvenus · 4 days ago

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proofread possession | op81 | pt. 1

Pairings: Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It's been a few weeks since the best day of Oscar's life and now it's the weekend of the Australian GP aka the weekend that replaces the best day of his life.

Includings: Journalist/photographer!oscar, mclaren driver!reader, oscar fanboys to the max in this, he's kinda of normal in this too, light stalking, reader is an absolute sweetheart we love you!!, this is short and surprisingly tame!

An: Triple header? Nah triple post!!! Sorry to my Oscar lovers I've been neglecting this fic 🫶🏿

@vanteel

It had been weeks since the best day of Oscar’s life.

Weeks since you had noticed him like really, truly noticed him.

Weeks since you’d walked onto that carpet at the F-175 event in that stunning black dress of yours and made eye contact with him of all people.

Weeks since you stopped, looked him right in the eye, and smiled like you knew exactly what you were doing to his brain.

And then you’d talked to him. Laughed at how eager he was on the red carpet. Got personal as if the two of you had known each other for years. Said you hoped you’d see him again at the next Grand Prix.

Oscar had been living on that memory like oxygen. Replaying your words in his head. Writing a half-baked piece about your mental toughness that never saw the light of day because every paragraph turned into a love letter disguised as sports journalism.

Now it was race week.

Media day loomed close and this time, Oscar had the flight back home booked, his camera gear cleaned, the badge request submitted through his publication.

But he didn’t have a paddock pass, the network he was with was supposed to get him one but now it was too late.

He was still going, yes but as a regular accredited photographer, buried under fifty other journos with lenses pointed at you. He’d get a glimpse. A quote if he was lucky. Maybe a photo from twenty feet away.

That should’ve been enough.

But it wasn’t. Not after you said you’d hoped to see him again. Not after the way you looked at him like he was worth noticing.

Oscar didn’t want just a glimpse anymore.

★

The brunette nearly missed the package.

It was sitting at his door when he got back from a morning shoot, slim and nondescript, the kind of thing he almost left untouched. No return address. Just his name, written in blocky, clean handwriting.

He crouched down and picked it up before entering his house. He felt the weight, oddly light, but something rigid inside.

His fingers fumbled the edge.

Inside: a sleek, velvet-lined envelope with the McLaren logo embossed in orange. And tucked just underneath it—

Two passes.

One was a paddock pass with his name printed in bold, and the other was a McLaren garage guest credential.

Not media access. Not a press group badge.

A personal pass.

A you’ve been invited by the team pass.

A you’ve been invited by her pass.

Oscar’s mouth dropped open.

And then he saw the note.

"Didn’t think you’d want to watch from the sidelines! I'll see you Thursday, bring your camera. – Y/N"

He let out a noise somewhere between a choked laugh and a whimper. He dropped into a crouch on the floor, holding the note in one hand and the passes in the other like they might vanish.

Oscar whispered, “No. No way.”

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, like if he blinked too hard the passes might vanish, like the entire thing was some elaborate hallucination born out of too much admiration and not enough sleep.

But the credentials were real. The lanyard had weight. His name was printed in official McLaren font. And that handwriting? He’d stared at it long enough on hats, jackets, papers, and photo backings to know—it was yours.

That did it.

Oscar screamed.

A full, unfiltered, disbelieving scream that bounced off the walls of his house.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!!”

He paced, hands in his hair, shaking the note like it was some kind of sacred artifact.

“She remembered me! Actually remembered me!”

He dropped onto the couch, then immediately jumped off it again. “Im gonna be in the McLaren garage as her guest. What the actual fuck! This is mental!”

He bent over, bracing his hands on his knees, breathing like he’d just finished a race. “Bring my camera? I will. I will bring twelve.”

Another scream burst out of him, one pure joy.

“I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die and I’m gonna haunt that garage forever. She’s gonna think I’m gonna be chill and normal about this and I am absolutely not. Oh my god.”

He clutched the note to his chest like it was oxygen.

He was already planning on having it framed above his bed.

★

Oscar barely slept on the flight over.

Between refreshing his email, triple-checking the guest pass, and trying not to combust thinking about you, the three-hour flight felt like thirty minutes.

Conveniently or maybe fatefully his publication had booked him at the same hotel as most of the drivers, teams, and press. He hadn’t seen you in the lobby, but he swore he caught a glimpse of your race boots peeking out of a gym bag yesterday when he passed the elevators.

He didn’t linger.

He wasn’t a creep.

Now it was Thursday morning. Media Day.

And Oscar was inside the paddock again, only this time not as just another photographer. This time, his McLaren guest badge caught the sunlight like a VIP pass to a dream he didn’t want to wake up from.

Every step closer to the McLaren garage made his stomach twist tighter. He couldn't help but let the nerves get to him, be had been personally invited by someone he idolized for decades. He was nervously biting on his lip as he looked around like a lost child.

And then he saw you.

And all thoughts stopped.

You were walking through the paddock like you owned it, chatting beside someone in McLaren gear holding a clipboard. Your outfit was simple yet so you.

You wore a vintage papaya graphic tee, which he found cheeky and your jeans were that perfect mid-wash, straight-leg kind that fell just right over your burnt orange Gazelles.

Hair done. Nails done. Sunglasses sitting on your nose and your jewelry shining against your skin each time the Australian sun decided to shine on you.

Oscar already started to move his hands around his camera in attempts to get a candid shot of you speaking with whoever that was.

And then—

You spotted him.

He barely lifted his camera to his chest before you stopped dead in your tracks.

Your entire face lit up.

“OSCAR?!”

You were already jogging over, a grin stretched wide across your face like you were the one starstruck.

“Oh my god! You’re here!” You gasped, wide-eyed and glowing. “I didn’t think the passes would get to you in time!”

Oscar opened his mouth but nothing came out.

Because this felt unreal.

Because you remembered.

Because you cared.

“I...yeah...I got them.” He said breathlessly, laughing a little. “Tuesday afternoon. I practically screamed.”

You reached for his hand like it was instinct, tugging him a little closer into the shade of the McLaren hospitality unit. “I seriously was about to text someone like ‘if Oscar Piastri doesn’t show up today I’m throwing a fit.’ I’ve been checking every time someone came in—”

“You were…looking for me?” He asked, still stunned.

You looked at him like he was being ridiculous. “Obviously. I invited you.”

And God, you were close.

Oscar could smell your perfume—soft and clean. He could see the tiny smudge of eyeliner beneath your sunglasses. The flash of a smile that said I’m glad you’re here. The way you kept holding onto his sleeve like if you let go, he’d vanish.

“C’mon,” you said. “You’re not staying out here all day, are you? You’re coming with me.”

He blinked. “With you? Like...now?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You do have a camera, don’t you?”

He nodded, stunned.

“Then yeah." You grinned. “Come on, you're not my special guest for no reason. I’ve got press rounds to do and so many mini challenges with Lan and I need someone to make me look good.”

Oscar followed, limbs weak and heart doing laps in his chest.

Your special guest.

He was your special guest.

He didn’t know what he expected from Media Day but it wasn’t this.

He did not expect you to react as if he were an old friend you hadn't seen in years.

He did not expect you to tug him into your space, dragging him through the paddock with his head spinning and your laugh dancing in his ears.

And still, somehow, it felt exactly right.

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #op81 fic #op81 imagine #op81 x reader #op81 x y/n #op81 x you

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pahicraft · 2 years ago

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#handmade paper #pahi craft #handmade #leather journal #history #personal diary #embossed #handmade diary #Notebook diary sketchbook snap button lock #Handmade Notebook #Handmade paper Notebook #Handmade Paper Diaries

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hxxsxxng · 11 months ago

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to have and to hold - lee heeseung ❦

「pairing」 : husband!heeseung x fem!reader

「word count」 : 1.3k

「genre」 : fluff. fluff. FLUFF.

「summary」 : heeseung always pays attention and remembers the little things, and his love language is definitly all of them.

「warnings」 : no warnings!

「authors note」 : this is the first part of the FROM THE HEART❦ series!

SUPPORT BY REBLOGGING

⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

I curled up on our plush sofa, my favorite book in hand and a steaming mug of tea on the side table. The soft pitter-patter of rain against the window created the perfect ambiance for a cozy afternoon at home. As I flipped to the next page, I heard the front door unlock, and a smile tugged at my lips. Heeseung was home.

"I'm back!" his melodious voice called out, followed by the sound of shoes being removed and keys jingling as they were placed in the bowl by the door.

"In the living room," I responded, not looking up from my book just yet. I was at a good part and wanted to finish the paragraph.

I heard his footsteps approaching, and soon felt the sofa dip as he sat beside me. A gentle kiss was pressed to my temple, and I finally tore my eyes away from the pages to look at my husband. His dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, and his eyes sparkled with warmth as they met mine.

"How's the book?" Heeseung asked, nodding towards the novel in my hands.

I marked my place with a bookmark and set it aside. "It's getting really good. The main character just discovered a hidden passage in the old mansion."

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Sounds intriguing. Though I hope it's not giving you any ideas about tearing up our walls to look for secret rooms."

I playfully swatted his arm. "Don't worry, I'm content with our secret-passage-free apartment."

Heeseung's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Speaking of which, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes."

Curiosity piqued, I did as he asked. I heard him move away and then return a moment later. "Okay, you can look now."

I opened my eyes to find him holding a small, gift-wrapped package. "What's this for?" I asked, taking it from him.

"Just because," he replied with a soft smile. "Go on, open it."

Carefully, I unwrapped the gift to reveal a beautiful leather-bound journal. The cover was embossed with intricate designs, and when I opened it, I found the pages were lined with tiny constellations.

"Heeseung, it's beautiful," I breathed, running my fingers over the smooth leather.

"I remembered you mentioning that you wanted to start journaling," he explained. "And I know how much you love stargazing, so when I saw this, I knew it was perfect for you."

My heart swelled with love. It was just like Heeseung to remember such a small detail from a conversation we'd had weeks ago. "Thank you," I said, leaning in to kiss him softly.

As we parted, my stomach let out a low growl, causing us both to laugh. "Hungry?" Heeseung asked, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded sheepishly. "I may have gotten a bit too engrossed in my book and forgotten about lunch."

“Okay c’mon, take a break from the book and we can cook some food together” he suggested, slowly taking the book away from my hands. “How about stir-fry”

"Sounds perfect," I agreed.

We fell into a comfortable rhythm, chopping vegetables and preparing the sauce. Heeseung hummed softly as he worked, a habit I'd grown to love over the years. As I reached for the soy sauce, I accidentally knocked over the bottle of sesame oil.

"Dang it" I exclaimed, watching in annoyance as the oil spread across the counter.

But before I could even move to clean it up, Heeseung was already there with a cloth. "Don't worry, I've got it," he said, quickly wiping up the spill.

"My hero," I said dramatically, placing a hand over my heart.

He grinned, tossing the cloth into the sink. "Always at your service, my lady."

As we continued cooking, I couldn't help but marvel at how in sync we were. Heeseung seemed to anticipate my every move, handing me utensils before I even asked for them and moving around me with practiced ease.

Once the stir-fry was sizzling in the pan, filling the kitchen with delicious aromas, Heeseung turned to me with a glint in his eye. "How about we have a little fun while we wait?"

Before I could ask what he meant, he pulled out his phone and hit play. The opening notes of our favorite song started to play, and I couldn't help but laugh as he started dancing, gesturing for me to join him.

I hopped down from the counter and took his outstretched hand. We twirled around the kitchen, our socks sliding on the smooth floor as we moved to the beat. Heeseung sang along, his voice harmonizing perfectly with the music.

As the song came to an end, he dipped me low, both of us breathless and giggling. "I love you," he said softly, his face inches from mine.

"I love you too," I replied, my heart full to bursting.

The timer on the stove beeped, bringing us back to reality. We reluctantly separated, and Heeseung turned his attention to the stir-fry while I set the table.

As we sat down to eat, I couldn't help but smile at the sight before me. Heeseung had arranged the vegetables on my plate to form a smiley face, just like he used to do when we first started dating and I was feeling down.

"What's got you smiling?" he asked, noticing my expression.

I gestured to my plate. "Just appreciating your artistic skills."

He laughed, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. "Only the best for you."

After dinner, we settled back onto the sofa, this time with our gaming controllers in hand. It had become a tradition of ours to spend our evenings playing video games together, alternating between cooperative and competitive games.

"Ready to get your butt kicked?" I teased as we booted up our favorite fighting game.

Heeseung raised an eyebrow. "Big words from someone who lost the last three matches."

"I was going easy on you," I retorted, selecting my character.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, I turned to face Heeseung in the dim light. He was scrolling through his phone, but set it aside when he noticed me watching him.

"What's on your mind?" he asked softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

I snuggled closer to him, resting my head on his chest. "I was just thinking about how grateful I am for you. For us. For days like today."

I felt his arms tighten around me as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Me too," he murmured. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be than right here with you."

As I drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the warmth of Heeseung's embrace and the love that filled our home, I knew that this, these quiet moments, these small gestures, this deep understanding between us, this was what true happiness felt like.

And I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

taglist: @jakeflvrz @simpjay @slutforjaeyun @rayofsunshineeee

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onlyhereforthestories · 7 months ago

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Not So Secret Santa (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Day 6! I enjoyed this one a lot. If there are any players you want specifically written for let me know! I am about 14 days in so still time to get some requests!

You had been looking forward to the Barcelona women’s Christmas party since it was arranged in early November. It was you third season with the team and your second being Alexias’s girlfriend something that was now common knowledge unlike last Christmas. By the time you and Alexia arrived, the party was in full swing. You were both bundled up in festive Christmas sweaters and couldn’t help but smile when you heard the sound of laughter and Christmas music coming from the room housing your team.

The whole team, all the staff and their loved ones had all gathered inside the hall in the training facility for this occasion. The space was decorated with all the Christmas things you could imagine, a big tree in one corner, Christmas lights strung around the celling, and even a blow-up Santa wobbling around by the entrance.

You glanced briefly at the table filled with a variety of different food and snacks, mulled wine and cookies shaped as snowflakes. There was a kiddie table with age-appropriate snacks and drink that you thought was a cute touch.

Alexia gave your hand in hers a squeeze as you made your way through a bunch of people, you could see her face light up with excitement just before she spoke, “Ready for the big exchange?” she asked, her eyes glinting mischievously. “I’m pretty sure this year is going to be memorable!”

“After what we saw last year, I have no doubt you are right.” You laughed, the warmth of her hand in yours an added bonus to the warm feeling this season has brings. You got to witness firsthand the teams legendary secret Santa tradition having missed out the previous two years because you had gone home. It saw all the players exchange gifts that ranged from funny to bizarre to, as you had found out from a very nervous Alexia last year, very personal.

You and Alexia were the last ones to join the circle around the beautifully decorated tree, yes you were a part of the decorating process. You had barely sat down before Patri threw a present Vicky’s way, the younger girl catching it and ripping into it with and eagerness only a teenager could. You watched as the once excited expression on her face turned to one of disturb and you all got to see why when she held up the ugly holiday sweater. It had tinsel and pompoms for bulbuls, and you all found out that Mapi had made it herself. And as per tradition, Vicky was now sporting the garment all evening much to the younger one’s dismay and the older defender’s joy.

As the flow of the gift exchange picked up, you couldn’t help getting lost in the chaos. You saw a pair of clown slippers fly across the circle, a picture of Patri on the floor framed with the title ‘most dramatic faller’, and a Lego Camp Nou set. When it was Ingrid’s turn, she unwrapped a bright red ‘Elf Supervisor’ hat, which she promptly wore with a mock look of authority that caused you all to erupt in laughter. Keira received a fuzzy penguin onesie, which she immediately disappeared to change into it, returning to a round of applause.

Finally, it was Alexia’s turn to open her Secret Santa gift, and she gave you a knowing smile as she reached for the neatly wrapped package at her feet. You held your breath, both nervous and excited. You’d put a lot of thought into this one, wanting to find something that she would not only love but could actually use.

She unwrapped the package carefully, her expression shifting from curiosity to surprise as she pulled out the first item which was a small, sleek journal with her initials embossed on the front. She opened it to find a small message on the first page, your handwriting spelling out a few meaningful lines about the journey she’d been on this year and how much she inspired you with her dedication. You still were a little in shock with how far the woman had come since her injury and the fact that she had reached 200 goals for the club you both now loved was just the icing on the cake.

“For your thoughts, your ideas, and your dreams,” you’d written. Alexia looked up at you, eyes softening, and you could see a hint of emotion there. She mouthed a quiet “Thank you,” her fingers brushing over the inscription.

Then, to lighten the moment, you’d also included a second, smaller package. She opened it to find a mini figurine modelled after her with a tiny Santa hat on top. A delighted laugh escaped her as she held it up for the team to see. You had tried to get her game face to come across, but you did kind of think she just looked grumpy, not that you would tell her that.

“Alright, who let her at the 3D printer?” Mapi teased, grinning as she reached over to inspect the miniature Alexia, complete with a Barcelona jersey and tiny cleats. The room broke out in laughter, and even Alexia had to admit it was pretty accurate. She placed the figurine proudly on the table next to her, shaking her head with a big smile at your antics.

As the final few gifts got exchanged, Mapi started setting up her phone to get the group photo. You all piled together, faces slightly flushed from all the laughing, penguin suits and Santa hats in place, and grins on all your lips. Alexia pulled you into her side a little more as the countdown timer started, holding you that little bit closer as you were surrounded by your teammates.

After the photo, Alexia pulled you to the side wanting just a moment for the two of you. Her voice was soft and full of affection she couldn’t use in front of the young’uns because you both knew the teasing would never end. “I had a feeling you got me, I saw the paper you used in the wardrobe. Maybe try and hide it low next time being as you are smaller than me and normally need to me get in the top for you.” You couldn’t help the blush that spread across your checks at her teasing, you knew that was not your smartest move, but you panicked.

Her face went a little softer before she uttered the next words, “This means more to me than you know, thank you.” She glanced down at the journal in her hands once again and you could see how much she meant the words she said. She opened it to the first page again, her fingers lingering on your message. “I don’t think anyone else has ever captured how I feel about all this as well as you just did.”

You smiled, reaching for her hand. “You’ve worked so hard, Alexia. You deserve a place to write down every dream and every idea you have, whether it’s about football or something even bigger.”

She leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for understanding me,” she murmured. “And thank you for being here. You’ve made this the best Christmas party yet.”

As you rejoined the festivities, your heart feeling soft after her words, Alexia kept you close, her hand resting in yours as you laughed and celebrated with the team. There was no place you’d rather be than here, in the midst of holiday laughter, love, and the magic of Christmas shared with the one who meant everything to you.

#woso x reader #woso imagines #woso imagine #alexia putellas imagines #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader

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zorange13 · 2 months ago

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—he’s such a loser, wtf? pjs (part 2)

pairing. geek! park jay x afab poc popular! reader

content. acquaintances to lovers, jay is lowkey a loser but not, ft. popular athletes! hyung line, jay’s an asshole like fr, allusions to The Duff by Kody Keplinger (little me loved that book, i’ve read it twice. i still love it idc. don’t talk to me abt the movie tho…sigh), photographer geek! jay, journalism major! psych minor! reader, arson jokes, playfully questioning friend’s sexuality, making out

word count: 30,974 (5,383 in this part) part 1 here! ao3 ver.

synopsis: jay’s been hiding behind his cool, distant demeanor, never letting anyone get too close. when he crosses paths with you, a popular cheerleader, your unlikely connection sparks a series of misunderstandings, awkward encounters, and him trying—and failing—to navigate feelings he’s not used to confronting. with a secret mission to keep his distance while helping her, jay finds himself caught between his own stubbornness and the surprising depth of his feelings.

after well into writing this i realized that a lot of jay’s behaviors display signs of autism spectrum disorder. this was not intentional but if this does offend or put anyone off in any way PLEASE let me know!! (symptoms/signs such as: must follow certain routines, seeming blunt or rude without intention, taking things literally—as in—does not understand figures of speech or sarcasm, prefers to be alone, hyperfixations,) again, not intentional but i didn’t want to put this out without making it clear that i’m not ignorant to what i’m producing. i literally didn’t put this together until my close friend (who is autistic) told me that these were signs. she said this did not offend her, but obviously she doesn't speak for all! this isn't to offend anyone, if this does then please tell me. my dm's are always open for any reason!

The next few days had been pretty lonely. The group chat you shared with the boys had been active but you never responded or interacted. But in the event that one of them needed to speak with you, you definitely replied. It wasn’t like they did anything to you.

Jay hadn’t stopped trying to get a hold of you, calling you a few times a day. Texting you. But he gave you space at the end of the day and that was really all you wanted.

Your mom had told you to check the mail as she had just sent a care package for you. With glee, you went right to the university post office and checked your godforsaken P.O. box. As you opened it, you saw two slips. Which made you furrow your brows in confusion but maybe mom just couldn’t fit everything into one box.

You mindlessly got your boxes and headed to your dorm. As you kicked off your shoes and placed the boxes on your desk, you grabbed a pair of scissors to open the boxes.

Your heart warmed as you saw your mom’s mail: soap, framed pictures from home wrapped in bubble wrap, perfumes, shirts that you mentioned you forgot at home and some new ones, then finally a brand new journal with floral prints on it.

You grabbed the pictures with a smile and set them on your desk with a smile. Missing your troublemaking siblings a lot more than you’d like to admit. You made a mental note to give them a call later.

But then your attention turned to what could’ve been more to the other box. You opened it with glee, only for that to be replaced with sadness and frustration.

As you pulled the second object from the box, your fingers tightened around it, but the excitement quickly turned to confusion and a simmering frustration. It wasn’t a journal, though it looked like something you might have appreciated if it were from anyone else.

It was a sleek, well-made leather portfolio with a silver clasp, the kind you’d expect a professional to carry. You turned it over in your hands, a sinking feeling in your chest. There was a small embossed emblem on the back—a symbol you didn’t recognize immediately.

Your stomach dropped as you read the letter that was tucked neatly inside, almost as if it were designed to hide the truth you didn't want to face.

The letter was from Jay, written in his familiar handwriting.

“Hey, I know this isn’t something you’d ever ask for, and I don’t expect anything from you. But I wanted to give you something that might be helpful. I used my dad’s connections, and I pulled a few strings. It’s an internship offer at Hybe Publishing, a place that handles journalism and creative writing, stuff I know you’ve mentioned wanting to do. They were looking for someone with your profile, and I thought you might be interested. It’s paid, out-of-state so they’re willing to give you housing, and there’s food allowance.”

“I hope you find it useful. It’s not just a favor. I know you’re capable of amazing things, and I just want to help you get there.”

“I also know I’ve made some mistakes, but I’m here, and I’m trying to do better. No matter what happens, I want you to succeed. Don’t let me—or anyone—hold you back.”

“Take care,

Jongseong.”

You could feel your heart in your throat as you read the letter again. It was a mix of sincerity, guilt, and distance all at once. You’d been trying to move on, to escape the emotional baggage tied to him, but this—this felt like another string pulling you right back into his orbit. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to be grateful for this internship offer, not from him. Not after everything. But a part of you was undeniably touched by his effort. You sighed and closed your eyes, trying to ignore the wave of conflicting feelings that hit you.

The internship could be a great opportunity, but the circumstances surrounding it made it feel...tainted.

You placed the portfolio on your desk, feeling the weight of it, both physically and emotionally. You had a choice now—take the opportunity and maybe let Jay back in, or turn it down, and risk cutting ties with a potential future you could’ve had.

Your heart was heavy, but there was only one thing to do.

—

Jay was in his study, tip tapping away at his laptop. Trying to fill the void of his seemingly never-ending guilt by doing his history essay. But his mind kept drifting to you. The look on your face when you stopped you, the look of disgust when he spoke to you, the fire in your eyes when you finally pulled yourself together. Building up a wall that he’s never seen, but only one that someone would do when they’ve been hurt.

He also hadn’t spoken to the guys that much either since what happened the other night. The narcissistic, petty part of him feeling like they were to blame for the demise of what was blossoming between you two.

If only they hadn’t even brought it up, then I wouldn’t have said that. Then I’d probably be the reason she went to sleep happy that night.

He just needed someone to blame.

This was the longest he’s gone without speaking to them within the two decades that they’ve been friends. But this was Jay’s problem; his pride, all of his life, has been the epicenter of all of his problems.

He hated crying because he didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing they upset him.

When his mom told him to wash the dishes as he was enroute to washing them, he turned right back around because now I’m not doing them just because you told me to.

He hated admitting he was wrong when it really mattered, because he hated looking stupid.

And now, it was happening all over again—this time with you.

It was his pride that kept him from even admitting he was doing things for you—he didn’t want you to see his affectionate side. He didn’t want to look weak, like he cared.

He was too prideful to apologize to you for the first infraction and that only worsened and festered into a worse situation.

So as he stood up to stretch, groaning as his limbs stretched. His butt ached after sitting in the same chair for two hours.

Mid-stretch he heard his doorbell ring, which caught him off guard. He hadn’t been expecting any guests but he still went down to open the door.

He skipped down the skips, jumping down when he reached the last two. Then opened the door without looking through the peephole.

And there you were.

Standing on his doorstep, clutching something tightly to your chest—the box he mailed to you. Your eyes met his, and for a second, neither of you said anything. Jay’s heart jumped into his throat. He half-expected you to be wearing the same anger you wore the last time he saw you, but you didn’t. You just looked…tired. Tired and hurt.

Two emotions he knew too well.

You held out the box toward him, your arms stiff, like the whole idea of being here repulsed you. “I didn’t ask for this,” you said flatly. Your voice was calm, but Jay could hear the crack underneath it—the exhaustion. The sadness. He swallowed thickly, words jamming up in his throat. You shoved the box lightly into his chest, forcing him to grab it.

“I don’t need a handout to make myself feel better, Jay. I needed respect. And you made it real clear how little you thought of me.”

You didn’t even wait for him to respond—you turned around, your hair whipping over your shoulder as you walked back down his driveway, head held high. Jay stood frozen in the doorway, still holding the box, feeling every inch of shame burn under his skin.

For once in his life, he didn’t care if he looked stupid.

“Wait,” he called out hoarsely. You stopped walking and turned around to look at him with a sigh. Jay stepped down from the porch, clutching the box against his hip. “I don’t think little of you,” He put the box down on a small table next to him. “I think the world of you, actually.” He edged closer to you, the heat from his chest radiating onto your skin.

“I respect you, a lot more than you think.” He reached up slowly, carefully. Now the heat from his hand resting on the top of your head, then running it slowly down your curls. He gently pulled at the end of a strand, letting it spring back into place. “I just want you to give me a chance to show you just how much.”

You stared at him, blinking slowly, your heart warring with your mind. Every instinct told you to push him away—to protect yourself, to keep that wall firmly in place. But Jay’s hand in your hair was so careful. So gentle. Like he was afraid you’d shatter if he touched you wrong.

And for once, his voice wasn’t clipped or cold. It was low, raw, almost pleading.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he said immediately. “I wouldn’t trust me either.” His thumb brushed over the curve of your cheekbone, tentative. “But I’m gonna earn it. Even if you never speak to me again after tonight—I’m still gonna try. You deserve that. You deserve better than what I gave you. I just need one thing from you.”

You looked up at him, really looked at him—the mess of his hair, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth was set like he was trying to keep it together. Jay, who usually acted like the world needed to catch up to him, was standing there...waiting. For you.

You tilted your head to the side, waiting for him to give you a proposition.

“Just…come inside,” he whispered that last part. A look of desperation in his eyes, pleading. “Please, just come inside. I’ll cook for you, we can watch all the stupid Disney movies you like, a-and you can ask me questions. A million questions and I’ll answer every last one. And I can make you laugh,” He locks your gaze as he rests his hands on your cheeks. “And if you hate me after everything, then I promise on everything I love, I will leave you alone.”

His hands were warm against your cheeks, cradling you like you were something fragile—something precious. His thumbs brushed along your skin, grounding you.

You swallowed thickly, it was so easy to say no—to turn around and walk away. But he was almost hypnotic. His musky, yet sweet cologne. The way he touched and held you like you were fragile and easily broken—which at this moment, you were. The way he spoke to you, like he needed you.

Even with that, it was so dangerous—so easy to say yes.

And you did. “Fine,” you sigh shakily, “One night,”

Jay let out a breath of a laugh, like you’d just given him oxygen after he’d been drowning. “One night,” he repeated, like a prayer.

He pulled back just enough to scoop the box off the table and then he reached for your hand—tentative, giving you space to pull away if you wanted. You didn’t. Your fingers curled into his automatically, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if savoring it.

He led you inside—into the warmth of his house, into something uncertain but maybe, just maybe, something still worth saving.

—

The sound of the oven door closing echoed softly through the house as Jay carefully set the temperature and then washed his hands at the sink. His mind was a whirl of thoughts—half of them still about you, but the other half wondering if the food would actually turn out decent.

He wiped his hands on a towel, trying to calm his racing heart. When he turned around, he saw you sitting on the couch, your posture stiff but your eyes tracing the room. He couldn’t blame you for being distant. He wasn’t exactly the picture of trustworthiness.

As he stepped into the living room, he caught the way you looked at the space—familiar, like you were trying to gauge how much of it was still his. So much had changed between the two of you, and it seemed like it was more than just the argument.

You didn’t say anything when he sat down beside you, but Jay could feel the tension in the air. He didn’t push, just letting the silence fill the room.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke softly. “Feel like talking?”

You gave a slight shrug, the barest hint of a frown tugging at your lips, but you didn’t pull away when he subtly edged closer, facing you. His heart skipped a beat, just for a second.

“I’ll do the talking then.” He chuckled, a little nervous but trying to keep things light. “So, um, I can’t cook for shit. Like, it’s honestly embarrassing. But if you want to help me out in the kitchen after this, I’ll…I’ll consider it an investment in our future.”

You suppressed a smile, looking down at the cushion. “Our future…” You smiled, feeling a bit of fluttering in your chest. “I seriously doubt you can’t cook though. It smells good.”

He leaned his elbow against the back of the couch, smiling a bit as he looked into your eyes. The warm lighting only made your golden skin gleam. “I just follow cookbooks, but I was a bit nervous cooking just now so I’m afraid I might’ve messed up. But if all else fails, pizza?”

You smile, “I actually don’t like pizza.”

His jaw dropped, but in interest. “Really?”

You shook your head shyly, with pursed lips. “Mm-mm, I’ve had it too much. I just feel like all of the pizzas I’ve had just blend together after a while and they all taste the same.”

He laughs, adjusting his glasses, “I just think that’s…sacrilegious. I mean, I can’t imagine a world without pizza.”

You laughed softly, feeling the tension between you both starting to ease just a little. It was a tiny moment, but it was enough to remind you that the Jay you once knew was still somewhere beneath the mess of misunderstandings and pride.

“If you know great places then I’m down for conversion. I will say I’m not easy to please, though.” You shrug.

“Are you a picky eater?” He scooted closer to you, his knee bumping your hip.

You shook your head, “Nah, but I’m just very choosy with the food I eat.”

Jay’s eyes flitted to the side before looking back at you, “So you’re a picky eater?”

“...Basically.”

Jay laughed under his breath, the sound low and boyish, and it made your heart do a little skip before you could stop it.

“You could’ve just said that,” he teased, nudging your leg lightly with his knee again.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile. “I don’t like the word ‘picky.’ It sounds... bratty.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully, giving you that familiar, lopsided smile. “Nah. I think it just means you know what you want.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “Nothing wrong with that.”

The two of you fell into a brief silence, comfortable this time. Jay’s hand brushed yours as he reached for the glass of water on the coffee table, and you didn’t pull away. It felt like something had shifted between you, even if only a little. He could feel the warmth of your proximity, and though your trust was still fragile, you weren’t pulling away entirely.

“I have a feeling you’re not just here for food, though,” he said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Do you wanna talk?”

You met his gaze again, this time your eyes a little softer. There was something about the way he looked at you now—like he really was ready to listen. That slight openness, the unspoken understanding hanging in the air.

You nodded slowly, setting your hands in your lap. “Yeah, I guess…there’s a lot on my mind.” You hesitated for a moment, then added, “I don’t know where to start, though.”

Jay leaned forward slightly, his posture open and encouraging. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his voice made you take a breath. You still weren’t sure what you wanted to say, but it felt...different. The way he was treating this moment. The way he was treating you. Maybe it was worth it, after all. Maybe.

The oven beeped from the kitchen, and Jay quickly jumped up, eager to distract himself from the heavy silence. “Aha, saved by the bell,” he muttered under his breath, trying to make light of the moment. He motioned for you to stay where you were. “I’ll grab the food, then we can talk.”

—

Jay is usually very particular and prefers to eat at the table, but tonight he set the plates right there on the coffee table, like he didn’t want to be too far from you. It felt almost domestic—your plates side by side, your knees brushing under the low table as you shifted to sit cross-legged. Jay set down a bowl of pasta and some garlic bread, both a little clumsy looking, but still warm and comforting.

He sat down beside you again, closer this time, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

“I figured it’d be easier to eat here,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “You know...so you don’t run away from me again.” His smile was a little self-deprecating, but there was real hope behind it too.

You picked up your fork, glancing at him with a small smile. “You’re not that easy to get rid of.”

Jay chuckled under his breath. “Not when it comes to you.”

There was that beat of silence again—this time heavier, sweeter, filled with things neither of you dared say just yet. And even though the food was right in front of you, warm and waiting, neither of you moved to take the first bite.

Jay picked up his fork first, twirling it around the pasta halfheartedly before sneaking a glance at you. “You know,” he said casually, “you don’t have to be nice about it. If it sucks, you can just tell me.”

You laughed under your breath, finally taking a bite. To your surprise, it wasn’t bad at all—simple, but good.

“I’m serious. I’m a big boy. I can handle the truth,” he teased.

You swallowed and tilted your head, pretending to think. “Hmm…edible. Not life-changing, but edible.”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Edible? That’s it? You wound me.”

You laughed again, real this time, and Jay’s shoulders relaxed. It was small, but he could tell—you were starting to trust him again, if only a little.

After a few more bites, the playful atmosphere dimmed into something quieter again, like both of you knew there was more to say. You set your fork down, wiping your hands on a napkin.

“I just…” you started, tracing a small pattern on your napkin with your finger. “I guess I didn’t realize how much it would hurt. Hearing you say those things about me. Like I was just…something to joke about.”

Jay put his fork down too, his brows furrowing as he leaned in closer.

“I was stupid,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean any of it. I was trying to—I don’t even know. Look cool? Save face?” He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “It was the dumbest thing I could’ve done. Especially when you…you meant more to me than any of them.”

Your heart ached a little at the admission, but you kept your expression guarded. “But those are your best friends. But still, why not just say that?”

Jay looked down at his hands, flexing them nervously. “Because I’m an idiot who didn’t think he deserved you,” he admitted. “And somewhere deep down, I figured if I pushed you away first, it wouldn’t hurt so bad when you realized it too.” He sighed, “And yeah they’ve been my friends for a very long time but…I’ve never really felt like this before.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening slightly around your napkin.

There it was. The truth, raw and real.

And somehow, hearing it didn’t make the pain worse—it made it a little easier to breathe.

You nudged your knee against his, just barely. “What does that mean?” you muttered, but your voice was soft, teasing.

He looked up introspectively, “I’ve never really liked anyone before. At least not since I was pretty young so that doesn’t count. But it’s just…all of my friends—I love them. They’ve been there for me in spite of my stubborn ways and I don’t know who I’d be without them, truly. They humble me, support me, and everything else. But in case you haven’t noticed…they have their fun.” He looked at you with a bit of a smile.

You nod with a laugh, “They do, for sure. Love them though!” You hold out your hands in defense.

Jay nods, “Yeah, of course. But I think because I’m obviously with them all the time and some people assume that I’m like them in that way. And really, a part of me has always wanted something more. I don’t just want to fuck people and that be my life. I know I can have that, but I’d rather not have that with just anybody.”

You blinked, caught a little off guard by how candid he was being. Jay was usually careful with his words—measured, sarcastic when he was nervous—but here he was, laying it all out there, raw and unfiltered.

Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You want something real.”

Jay nodded, the movement slow, almost hesitant. His knee brushed yours again, and this time it stayed there, the small point of contact grounding you both.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “I want someone who knows me. Someone I don’t have to perform for. Someone who actually sees me...and doesn’t run.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Your heart tugged painfully in your chest because you understood more than you cared to admit.

Jay leaned forward a little more, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. “I was scared you were gonna realize how much of a mess I am,” he said, almost in a whisper. “So I tried to ruin it first. Before you could.”

There was a lump forming in your throat now, but you pushed through it, blinking rapidly.

“You didn’t have to be perfect, Jay,” you said quietly. “You just had to be honest.”

He exhaled a shaky breath, nodding, his glasses slipping a little down his nose. His hair was a mess, his shoulders were tense, but he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.

“I’m trying now,” he said simply. “Even if it’s too late.”

You fiddled with your napkin for another beat, heart pounding in your ears, before you finally whispered, “It’s not too late.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide, and you watched the tiniest crack of hope break across his face.

He looked almost boyish like that—caught somewhere between disbelief and wonder.

You shifted a little closer on the couch without thinking, your knees brushing again, your hand still twisted in the napkin. Jay didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a second, like he was afraid the moment would shatter if he so much as blinked.

Slowly, carefully, he reached out and placed his hand over yours, covering the napkin too, his palm warm and slightly trembling.

“You mean it?” he asked, voice low and earnest.

You nodded, a small, shaky smile playing at your lips. “I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The distance between you grew smaller, like the pull of gravity itself was stitching the space closed. His thumb brushed against your knuckles, featherlight, as if memorizing the feeling.

And when you tilted your head just slightly—an almost imperceptible invitation—Jay leaned in too, slow and tentative, like he was giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your forehead brushed his first, a soft, clumsy touch that made you both let out breathy laughs. And then, gently, his nose bumped yours, and the world fell into a suspended hush.

His lips brushed yours—barely, barely there—more a question than a kiss.

And when you didn’t pull back, when you leaned in just a little more, the kiss deepened by the barest fraction. Sweet. Careful. Like he was afraid to break you.

Like he was afraid to break this.

He was a little weary of crossing any further boundaries with you. Jay just wanted to be close to you and this was the first time he had felt butterflies in a very long time. So, he just wanted to be careful with you.

Jay rested his hand on the nape of your neck, gently guiding your lips closer to his—only deepening it. The warm ambience and distant songs from High School Musical 2 only made this funny and sort of endearing. Hearing “Everyday” while he was doing his best to show you what he could mean to you had made him smile into the kiss.

You, on the other hand, were a little cautious as well. But you yearned to cross boundaries, and a part of you knew that he’d let you. You leaned up on your knees to shift onto his lap without breaking the kiss. To which he instantly complied, hands hovering over your figure as you settled onto his lap. You grabbed them and placed them on your hips as your lips danced across each other’s.

But as much as he loved this feeling, he hated the fact that his glasses kept bumping your face. He quickly moved back, looking you in the eye as he took his glasses off and tossed them to the other side of the couch. Then kissed you with fervor, his hands finally pulling you closer, fingertips skimming the fabric of your shirt, feeling the heat radiating between you both. The kiss was no longer just tentative—it was hungry, urgent, but still delicate, like you both needed this as much as you needed air. Jay’s hands slid from your waist to your back, pulling you even closer, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t anchor you to him.

You responded, lips parting slightly as your hands roamed up to his neck, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. There was a quiet desperation in the way you kissed him, as if you'd been waiting for this moment forever, yet had never truly realized it until now.

The sound of the movie, still playing in the background, felt miles away. The air between you was thick with everything you hadn’t said yet, with all the things you hadn’t dared to feel. But at that moment, none of that mattered. It was just you and Jay. And this.

He slowly lowered you down onto the couch, the tension in your back simmering as your back hit the plush material. He hovered over you, careful not to crush you with his weight. His affection left your lips and traveled to your cheek, then your jaw, then finally fell to your neck. Swirling his tongue along the sensitive area and sucking gently. This eliciting a gasp from you, your hands caught in his hair.

The heat between you both only intensified as his lips moved over your skin, each kiss sending a jolt of electricity through your body. You could feel his breath hot against your neck, the weight of his body hovering over you, but still, he was cautious—attentive to every little movement you made. His hands, though still uncertain, were exploring more boldly now, tracing the outline of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

You arched your back slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, eager to feel more of him, to close that last inch of space that still remained between you. His lips left your neck and found yours again, this time with a fervor that matched the rhythm of your heart. He was all warmth, all hands, and you were lost in the sensation of him.

His hands slid under the fabric of your shirt, fingertips skimming the softness of your skin, and you gasped at the feeling. The sensations were overwhelming in the best way, and you couldn't help but want more, just a little more. The urgency, the heat, the way he kissed you like he'd been starving for it—it was intoxicating.

He pulled back slightly, eyes dark with desire, breath shaky. “I think we should stop.”

His forehead rested on yours as you smiled, stroking his cheek with your fingers. “I think so, too.”

His eyes softened at your touch, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to pause. The room, the air, the buzzing of the movie still playing in the background—it all faded away as you both shared that quiet, intimate moment. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, still so close, his hands resting on the curve of your waist, but not pulling you any further.

He nodded urgently, pulling you up with him. “Yeah, yeah of course.” You both sat up with smiles, but he playfully yanked you close to him by the leg. Resting it by the outside of his hip, locking him between the couch and you. “Do you still hate me?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension between you two melting into something much lighter. His playful tug had pulled you into his space, your leg draped over his, and for the first time in a while, everything felt easy. You met his gaze, eyes softening as you considered his question. “Hate you?” You shook your head, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I don’t hate you.”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a smirk creeping onto his face. “Oh really?” He leaned in, his voice dropping into a playful whisper. “Then what would you call all those times you wanted to strangle me?”

You snorted, swatting at his arm as you shifted slightly, feeling his warmth next to you. “Definitely not hate. More like... intense dislike.” You grinned, enjoying the lighthearted banter that felt so familiar, so right.

His laughter filled the space between you, the sound genuine and unguarded. “I’ll take that. I deserve it, though,” he said with a shrug, his fingers brushing against your skin lightly as he adjusted his position. “But I’m glad. Glad you don’t hate me.”

You smiled softly, a small, almost shy laugh escaping you. “Yeah...glad, too.” Your fingers traced a pattern across his chest, the easy rhythm of the moment making your heart settle. “But I’m still mad at you, just so you know.”

Jay’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What? I can’t be perfect?”

You snorted again. “No one’s perfect.”

“True.” He nodded sagely, then nudged you playfully. “So, can I redeem myself?”

You met his gaze again, eyes locking for a brief moment. The playful energy between you both was undeniable, but beneath it, there was something deeper that had shifted. You nodded, letting out a quiet sigh. “You’ve already started.”

Jay’s smile softened, his fingers brushing your cheek in a tender, almost reverent way. “Good. I’m not going anywhere. Not if you’ll have me.”

For a beat, you both just looked at each other, the playful teasing giving way to something a little more real, a little more fragile, but also more promising than either of you had expected. And maybe that was enough for now. The rest, the future—everything else could come in time.

And for tonight, you were okay with that.

You got a 94 on that project.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #kpop x black reader #enhypen fic #park jay #park jay x #park jay fanfic

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