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thebunnednun · 10 months ago

Text

Overworked

Pairing: Pro Hero! Katsuki Bakugou x Stressed! Reader

Summary: Life is shit and Katsuki finds out you lied to him about taking care of yourself.

And you know what happens when you lie to Katsuki.

I wrote this for my friend @elarakive, she's been going through it so please give her some love y'all.

WC: 16,709

On with the show!!~

“I should’ve become a stripper in Miami.”

You staggered into your apartment, your body and mind exhausted from the endless cycle of school and work. The clock ticked mercilessly as you rushed to grab your work bag and change. Your commute home took about 20 minutes today, and there was barely enough time to catch your breath, let alone eat.

Sighing, you kicked off your shoes quickly before rushing into your small, cluttered room, your shoulders heavy with the weight of responsibility. The relentless cycle of school and work had left you in a mental fog, and the ticking clock seemed to mock your frantic rush. You had barely an hour to spare before your next shift, and the minutes slipped through your fingers like sand.

With trembling hands, you fumbled through your work bag, grabbing the essentials as you hurriedly changed into your work uniform. The sight of your reflection in the hallway mirror was a stark reminder of how far gone you were—dark circles under your eyes, hair a disheveled mess, and a look of defeat that you couldn’t quite hide.

‘Fuck it, we ball with the consealer today.’

Rushing to the bathroom, you hurriedly adjusted your makeup in the bathroom mirror, the smudged eyeliner and messy foundation reflecting the chaos of your life. Every moment felt like a race against time as you dabbed concealer under your eyes, trying to mask the fatigue that had become your constant companion.

You had to look good while in class. You have to look good at work so you can make those big bucks to pay for things that ultimately make you feel sick everytime you think about it. Like your rent, the car, the utilities, tuition payments, groceries, laundry supplies, toiletpaper, pads/tampons. Also Tynolonal because your little dehydrated ass kept getting migraines that you ironically didn’t take because you still wanted a working liver.

In the midst of your chaotic routine, your phone buzzed with a notification: an unexpected double shift for the week. Your heart sank as you read the message. When you finally got a weekend off, it was swallowed up by studying, cleaning, and chores. Sleep was becoming a rare luxury, and your mental fog seemed to thicken with each passing day.

At work, the pressure has been relentless. Your manager's latest demand to pull full shifts this week felt like the last straw. As you stared at your schedule, the weight of it all crashed down on you. You wanted to cry, but you couldn't afford to break down—not with your job hanging in the balance. The only time you had to eat was during your brief lunch break at work, which you barely managed to find time for.

It felt like there was no end to the mounting responsibilities, and the weekend you’d managed to carve out for yourself was swallowed up by endless studying, chores, and barely enough sleep to keep you functional.

In the cramped kitchen, you grabbed a quick bite, your meal consisting of whatever was quickest to prepare. (A literal slice of bread.) The clock continued its relentless ticking, and you knew you were cutting it close. The idea of collapsing into bed, even for just a moment, was a sinfully tempting dream.

As you raced to gather your things, your mind was a jumble of deadlines and schedules. You barely noticed when your cell rang with its familiar “Kiss me through the phone!” ringtone to indicate that your boyfriend was calling.

‘🥰 🤬 Kat-Suki 🩷🧡 is calling…..’

Heart fluttering, you nearly dropped the concealer wand on your blank uniform polo to snatch your phone off the counter and hit answer.

“Damn it, what’s going on with you?” Katsuki’s voice cut through the haze of your stress, his usual bravado softened by genuine worry as the video connected.

“You look like you’re about to drop.”

You paused, caught off guard by his sudden appearance and the intensity of his gaze. “Just… busy,” you managed to say, trying to muster a weak smile. “I’ve got a lot on my plate.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, his expression growing more serious. “This ain’t just busy. You’re running yourself ragged. What the hell are ya doing to yourself?”

With a frustrated sigh, you grabbed the phone and tucked it into the front of your bra, the slight pressure reminding you that you needed to hurry. Balancing your phone precariously, you snatched up your work bag and keys, your hands clumsy with the rush. Your fingers were already cold from the constant running around, and you fought the urge to drop everything as you made your way to the car.

The engine roared to life as you slid into the driver’s seat and connected your phone to the Bluetooth system. Katsuki’s voice crackled through the speakers, a gruff but familiar comfort amidst the car noises.

“Hey, you there?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” you replied, blowing a raspberry into the phone. The sound was a mix of frustration and exhaustion, and you could almost hear Katsuki’s brow raise as he responded.

“You sound outta breath. What’s the deal?”

You chuckled softly, though it was more of a tired exhale. “Just the usual,” you said, your eyes darting between the road and the clock on the dashboard. “Running late, trying to get everything done. It’s been a mess.”

Katsuki’s voice grew more insistent. “Are ya eating properly? Getting enough sleep? You know, ya need to take care of yourself.”

You huffed, trying to focus on the road while keeping up with the conversation. “I’m eating, sleep is a luxury right now. I’m managing, Katsuki.”

His voice softened, though it still carried an edge of concern. “That’s not an answer, you know. You sound like you’re pushing yourself too hard. I don’t want you burning out.”

You adjusted the car’s air conditioning, the cool breeze a slight relief against the heat of your exhaustion. “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my plate. You know how it is.”

“Well, if you say so,” Katsuki said, though the worry in his tone was evident. “Just make sure you’re not running on empty. I want to see you in one piece when I get back.”

The call ended as you pulled into the parking lot of your workplace. You felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside as you grabbed your work bag and keys, the day ahead looming large.

“I’m in the parking lot. So I’ll call you when I get out, okay?”

“ ‘S fine with me.”

“K, bye.”

You blew a smooch into the phone and quickly hung up before you could cry. It’s not like you wanted to lie to Katsuki. Your boyfriend was THE human lie detector and hated liars. But you also didn’t want to worry him while he was out on missions. But alas, those were all thoughts for later as you gently turned off the car and put your game face on before getting out the car and making your way towards the building.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Your shift at work was as rough as you’d anticipated. Your manager was insistent about you picking up extra hours, their voice rising in frustration over minor issues. Customers were grumpy, complaints frequent, and the constant flow of tasks left you feeling drained.

The office felt like a maze of gray cubicles and muted tones, the hum of fluorescent lights buzzing softly overhead. As you sat at your desk, the familiar clutter of technical documents and graphic layouts surrounded you. The scent of strong coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of printer ink. You rubbed your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips as you pushed through another round of proofreading.

Just then, your phone buzzed, and you fumbled to pull it from your drawer, glancing at the screen to see a message from Masha in HR. It was a reminder about the formal complaint you needed to submit to get your overdue salary processed. You frowned, the weight of the situation settling heavily on your shoulders.

“Another thing to deal with,” you muttered, tapping out a quick response before setting the phone aside. Your fingers flew over the keyboard, drafting the formal complaint with a precision that belied your growing exhaustion. Every keystroke felt like an effort, each sentence a struggle to convey the frustration and urgency of your situation.

The clock ticked slowly, its rhythmic ticking amplifying the silence of the office as colleagues murmured and typed away in their own bubbles. You glanced at the pile of papers on your desk—technical documents, project briefs, and some rough sketches for graphics that you’d been tasked with. The contrast between your university days, filled with creative media projects and dynamic video production, and this monotonous office job was striking.

You missed the excitement of storytelling and visual creation, but here you were, grinding away for the paycheck that barely seemed worth the effort right now.

Rent was due next week, and the thought of it gnawed at your mind. You tapped your pen nervously against the desk, trying to suppress the mounting anxiety. Your minimal savings were earmarked for tuition, and borrowing money from anyone, let alone Katsuki, was not an option you wanted to consider. The last thing you needed was for him to find out and make a fuss about it, turning your personal financial troubles into a point of contention.

As you took a deep breath and hit ‘send’ on the formal complaint, the stress of the past few weeks seemed to coalesce into a single, throbbing headache. Your hands were trembling slightly as you reached for the small, lukewarm cup of coffee on your desk, the caffeine offering a temporary, hollow comfort.

“Hey, can you cover this layout for me?” your colleague, Jenna, asked as she leaned over your cubicle wall. Her voice was chipper, a sharp contrast to the mental fog you were drowning in.

“Sure,” you said, forcing a smile as you accepted the additional task. Your mind drifted to the weekend, a distant hope of relaxation and a momentary escape from the whirlwind of deadlines and obligations. But even that felt out of reach as you buried yourself in work, hoping that somewhere amidst the chaos, a solution would present itself.

The minutes stretched into hours, the ticking of the clock a relentless reminder of how quickly time was slipping away. As the workday dragged on, your thoughts constantly circled back to your financial situation and how you might manage to cover rent without dipping into your savings or burdening anyone else. The weight of it all felt almost unbearable, and you silently wished for a moment of reprieve.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

Finally, with mercy, your shift finally ended, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, but it was quickly overshadowed by exhaustion. You shuffled out of the office, your steps heavy and laden with fatigue.

The breakroom coffee you’d chugged was doing its best to keep you awake, but the jolt of caffeine did little to ease the sleepy buzz that had settled over you.

Your drive home was a blur, punctuated only by the occasional beep of your car’s dashboard and the monotonous hum of the engine. When you finally pulled into your parking spot, a sense of dread washed over you as you fished out your phone to check the latest update on your pay. The notification confirmed what you feared: your salary wouldn’t be processed for another week.

A gasp of frustration and disbelief escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the confined space of your car. You slammed your hands on the steering wheel, barely containing the urge to scream. The crushing weight of bills, looming deadlines, and the crushing reality of your financial situation finally broke through your walls of composure. Tears sprang to your eyes, spilling over as you let the frustration and sadness flow freely.

The emotional release was almost too much to bear, and as the tears flowed, the inside of your car’s windows fogged up, the steamy haze blurring your vision. You cracked the windows slightly, hoping to let some of the oppressive heat and steam escape.

As the cool air started to seep in, you caught sight of Katsuki’s footprints on your windshield—evidence of the time he’d spent with his dogs on your dashboard, walking them around while you were driving. The sight of his footprint, a tangible reminder of his absence, made your heart ache even more.

The memory of him removing his footing while you had been driving around, convinced you’d seen a turtle on the side of the road, flashed through your mind.

Turns out it was a really moldy round rock and while you wanted to keep it, Katsuki made you leave the so-called “turtle,” which he’d dismissed as a weird rock, insisting it might be cursed and, “I don’t fuck with no spooky shit.” The thought of his spiky but playful protective nature contrasted sharply with the weight of your current situation.

Your mascara had bled and smeared, leaving dark streaks on your cheeks. You fumbled for tissues in the glove compartment—another thoughtful gift from Katsuki. With shaking hands, you dabbed at your face, trying to clean up the smudged makeup and regain some semblance of composure.

But fuck the tissues because you wanted Katuski to wipe your tears, not Puffs with lotion.

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed your work bag and keys from the passenger seat. Despite the fact that you had no classes tomorrow—a silver lining provided by Mrs. Yamada’s decision to cancel due to the pleasant weather—you felt an emotional heaviness. You forced yourself to get out of the car, each step toward the building feeling like a mile.

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet, solitary journey. You leaned against the wall, trying to steady your breathing and calm your racing thoughts. When the elevator doors finally opened, you walked down the hallway with heavy steps, each footfall echoing your exhaustion and frustration.

You reached your door and, with a tired sigh, unlocked it and stepped inside. The familiar, quiet space of your apartment was both a refuge and a reminder of everything you were trying to manage. The world outside was still bustling, but here, in this small sanctuary, you could finally let down your guard.

Letting out another deep breath as you took in the comforting but humble surroundings. Your mind wandered to the weekend ahead, hoping for some respite and relaxation despite everything else. For now, you allowed yourself a moment to just be, to acknowledge the fucked up situation you were in and space out before you would have to be an active adult again.

You slid down against the door, exhaustion making every movement feel labored. The cool, hard floor felt oddly comforting against your back as you contemplated the idea of slipping off your shoes and socks and crawling straight into bed. Your tired eyes were barely open when an unexpected, tantalizing scent wafted through the air, making you blink in confusion.

The smell was warm and inviting, reminiscent of the cozy autumn walks you take with Katsuki. The memory of him lifting you onto his shoulders while you collected pinecones, playfully biting your ankles when you took “too long” to pick out your favorites, made you smile through your tears. The scent brought a fleeting sense of comfort, but the question of who had been in your apartment and left it smelling so fresh and pleasant nagged at the back of your mind.

You pushed yourself up, the weariness making your movements slow and deliberate. As you wandered further into your apartment, you couldn’t shake the feeling of disbelief. Your living space, which had been cluttered and messy, was now impeccably clean, as if it had been professionally cleaned. The familiar scent of pine and a hint of something else filled the air, wrapping around you like a warm, fragrant embrace.

Shaking off the disorientation, you followed the delicious aroma to the kitchen. Your eyes widened as you saw a pot of rice and another pot of rich, spicy beef and vegetable stew cooling on the stove. The sight was almost surreal—your kitchen, which had been a chaotic mess just hours before, was now a haven of culinary comfort. The thought of someone cooking for you, despite your exhaustion, brought a mix of relief and confusion.

‘What the fuck?!’

You blinked once, twice, harshly, trying to process the scene before you. With a mixture of curiosity and wariness, you padded softly back to the living room, hoping to make sense of the situation. The only light on was the soft glow of the lamp in the bathroom, casting a warm, clean light across the hallway and into your living room. The air was still, save for the faint sound of shuffling coming from your bedroom.

Heart racing, you moved toward the sound, each step slow and cautious. The clean scent from the bathroom lingered, and you couldn’t help but notice how fresh and tidy it now seemed. You glanced back at the living room, which, in contrast to your earlier mess, now looked immaculate and inviting.

Heart pounding, you crept down the hallway, each step slow and deliberate. The freshly cleaned scent in the air did nothing to ease your anxiety. The apartment was spotless—too spotless. Your mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Maybe Michael had come back early and done this as a surprise? Or maybe Shoto, Izuku, or Jirou had somehow managed to sneak in, tidy everything, and leave without telling you.

After all, only Michael, Kirishima, and Shoto or Izuku had keys to your place in case of emergencies.

But Katsuki? He was out of state. He wouldn’t be back for a while, and even if he had sent one of those cleaning services, they were always in and out in less than 30 minutes.

This... this wasn’t right.

Your gaze darted toward the door. The shuffling sound from your bedroom had stopped. Panic began to settle in, a rising tension that had you frozen on the spot. You considered calling for help, but your phone was still on the floor by your purse, forgotten in the rush of trying to figure out what was happening. You didn’t want to lose the element of surprise.

With a nervous breath, you reached for the flower vase sitting on the narrow hallway table. The roses inside were fresh, their deep crimson petals just beginning to open up. You mentally apologized to them as you dumped the flowers onto the floor, water splashing around the vase. Your hands moved swiftly, reaching inside for the TTI Glock 34 hidden beneath the stems. The cold metal felt heavier than usual in your hand, but you weren’t about to hesitate.

You weren’t going to die in your own apartment—not like this.

Holding your breath, you stalked closer to the bathroom. You could hear the faint echo of your heart beating in your ears. Quietly, with practiced precision, you closed the door behind you without letting it click, trapping the scent of cleanliness inside. There was no turning back now. The apartment had become unfamiliar, and whoever or whatever was in your room needed to be dealt with.

You crept toward the bedroom, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you got closer. The shifting sounds had stopped. Whoever it was, they were still inside. You crouched, gun in hand, every muscle tensed as you approached the door. Then, without warning, the door to your bedroom swung open with a loud

"BAM!"

The sound reverberated through the walls as darkness loomed before you. Instinct took over.

You fired two quick shots into the void, the deafening bangs ringing in your ears. The muzzle flashes lit up the shadows, revealing nothing but an empty room. Your heart hammered in your chest as you stared into the stillness.

Silence.

"Fuck this!" you muttered under your breath, adrenaline kicking into high gear.

Without thinking twice, you bolted down the hallway. Your feet were heavy, thudding against the carpet as you ran, and the door to your apartment swung open behind you. You burst into the dimly lit hallway, the dingy orange carpet and faded yellow lighting never looking so welcoming. The familiar smell of old apartments and chipped paint wrapped around you as you sprinted toward the elevator.

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, your legs pumping as fast as they could. Most of your neighbors were either still at work or too old to have heard the gunshots, but there was no way you were sticking around to find out. You slapped the elevator button, glancing nervously back down the hallway.

You stood in front of the doors waiting, breathless and confused, waiting for the sound of footsteps or the telltale signs of someone chasing after you.

But… nothing.

The air was still, almost too still, and when you turned around, your heart pounding in your throat, you saw nothing. No one was following you. No shadowy figure, no intruder, no ominous movement at all.

Just you.

That rush of fear was starting to ebb away, replaced by an unsettling new sensation—doubt. Did you get them? The thought made your heart skip, but worse than that, another horrifying possibility crept in:

Did you kill someone?

Your stomach dropped as if you'd just fallen from a cliff. The idea of it—of accidentally shooting someone, maybe even someone who had no intention of hurting you—was almost too much to bear.

You pressed a shaky hand against the wall, your mind racing.

What would happen if it was true? What if you had killed someone in a panic? Your knees felt weak, and the edges of your vision blurred with panic.

‘What would happen to me? What would happen to Katsuki when they found out his girlfriend had killed someone? The girlfriend of the Number 2 Pro Hero, a murderer?’

‘What’s Katsuki gonna do?’

The thought sent a cold wave of nausea through you. You wanted to throw up right there in the hallway, but your stomach was so empty that all you could do was dry swallow, your mouth tasting like metal and dread. ‘What would the courts say? Would I go to jail? What would happen to Katsuki's career?’

Your thoughts spiraled, knotting together into an unbearable weight pressing down on your chest.

You swallowed hard, trying to force the rising panic back down. The hallway around you blurred for a second, the dim, dingy orange carpet now looking stained—like it was soaked in blood. You blinked hard, shaking your head.

It was just the light, just your mind playing tricks on you. You forced yourself to look away from the carpet, your eyes trailing back to your apartment door. It was still ajar, spilling the warm, pale hallway light into the void of your dark apartment. The contrast was jarring—the safe, slightly worn familiarity of the hallway outside clashing with the pitch-black uncertainty inside your home.

Your home.

You pressed your back against the wall, trying to steady yourself. ‘You couldn’t leave this unfinished. If you did accidentally kill someone, you’d have to take responsibility. You had to know.’ And if it was an intruder, then, well... that was another layer of mess you'd have to deal with.

But God, you were so done.

The exhaustion from the double shifts, the lack of sleep, the unpaid bills—it all weighed you down, made your legs feel like lead as you slowly moved forward. Maybe that's why you found yourself inching toward your open door instead of running away.

Maybe that's why, instead of thinking clearly, you fumbled with your purse, your fingers shaking as you dug through it to find your phone. Instead of flicking on the light switch by the door, you opened the flashlight app, shining its weak beam into the suffocating darkness of your apartment.

The soft glow from your phone barely penetrated the void, but it was enough to make out familiar shapes—the edge of your coffee table, the corner of the couch, the faint outline of your kitchen down the hall. It almost looked normal. Almost. But something was wrong. You could feel it in your bones.

And then you felt it.

Before you could even process what was happening, something hot and large clamped down around your arm. A flash of pure, raw panic shot through you, freezing your blood in your veins. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you barely had time to let out a sharp, breathless gasp before another hand—bigger, stronger—covered your mouth, smothering any scream you could’ve made.

The force of it drove you backward, your body colliding with the floor as the figure pulled you into the apartment. The scent of clean linen and something warmer filled your senses, overpowering everything else. You thrashed instinctively, your pulse roaring in your ears, but the grip on you didn’t falter.

The hand around your mouth tightened, silencing you even as you tried to cry out.

Your mind raced, trying to piece together what was happening. You couldn’t see anything except the faint glow of your phone, now flickering as it dropped from your hands onto the floor. Your gun—’Where the hell was your gun?!’

It was smacked outta your hand when the figure grabbed you, and now, it was probably somewhere in the apartment, out of reach.

“Stop fuckin’ squirming,” a low voice growled against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine.

The voice was familiar—so achingly familiar that your panic began to wane just enough for recognition to slip through the fog of fear. The heat of his breath, the roughness of his palm, the way his body radiated warmth even through the tension. You blinked hard, gasping into the hand that covered your mouth, your mind racing to catch up.

“Katsuki?” Your voice was muffled, barely audible against his skin.

His grip loosened a fraction, his palm sliding off your mouth just enough for you to catch a real breath. You gasped for air, your chest heaving as you tried to process everything.

The fear, the relief, the utter confusion.

"Yeah," he muttered, his voice rough and low. He didn’t release you right away, keeping you firmly against him, his hot breath still brushing against your ear. "The hell were you thinking? Firing like that in the dark? You could’ve fuckin’ shot me!"

You slumped against him, half in shock, half in frustration. Your heart was still pounding, your limbs still trembling, but the flood of relief that came with recognizing his voice nearly brought you to tears. He was here. He wasn’t supposed to be, but he was.

“I didn’t know it was you,” you rasped, your voice shaky as you fought to steady your breathing. “Why the hell are you sneaking around my apartment?! I thought I was gonna die!”

Katsuki’s deadpan expression barely shifted as he lifted you up and unceremoniously dropped you onto the sofa. The cushions sighed under your weight, but before you could even adjust yourself, he was already stalking across the room.

His broad back was tense, and the muscles of his arms flexed beneath his shirt as he moved with precision, a wolf-like focus in the way he carried himself.

"Okay, let’s start with this," he began, his tone rough and low, his eyes flickering briefly over his shoulder at you. “I'm glad you can defend yourself. If I was some regular asshole, I'd be dead for sure.”

You blinked at him, still in disbelief, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your heart was still pounding, your body still reeling from the shock, and yet here he was, as calm as ever. He flipped on the hallway light with a casual flick, casting a soft glow over the apartment.

“Stay,” he huffed, his voice gruff, as if you were some unruly puppy he needed to wrangle.

He moved toward the dining area, and you turned your head to follow his movements. You watched as his calloused fingers picked up your steel piece—your gun—from where it had fallen, handling it with ease.

There was no hesitation in the way he moved, no sign of the earlier chaos as he handled the weapon. It was like he had done this a thousand times before, like the situation was perfectly normal for him.

You craned your neck a little more, catching sight of him as he knelt to collect the discarded roses from the hallway floor. He carefully placed your gun back into the vase where you had originally stashed it, as if putting everything back in its proper order, like nothing had happened. His shadow moved fluidly across the walls as he did so, and the tension in the air didn’t lessen—if anything, it deepened.

And then, he turned back toward you, his face unreadable, but those vermillion eyes—God, those eyes—locked onto yours like a predator zeroing in on its prey. He didn’t say a word, not yet, but the intensity of his gaze was enough to make your breath hitch.

The soft glow of the hallway light outlined his figure, casting sharp shadows on his jawline, the dim illumination making him look both softer and somehow more dangerous at the same time.

He stalked back over to you, each step deliberate, never once breaking eye contact. His eyes bored into yours, and you felt as though he could see through every layer of your confusion, your fear, and your relief. You tried to smile, to break the tension, but it felt weak under his unrelenting stare.

Katsuki finally stopped in front of you, his steps coming to a halt as he sat down on the coffee table across from you. The wood creaked slightly under his weight, but he didn’t seem to care. He spread his legs a little, bracing his elbows on his knees, leaning forward slightly, his powerful body now looming closer, radiating heat and energy.

He was dressed down tonight—just a black skull t-shirt that clung to his frame and a pair of gray sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

Casual, relaxed, almost like he had been home for a quiet night in. Yet here he was, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. He had this way of making everything else disappear when he focused on you like that, making your breath catch in your throat.

He sat there, silent, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely between them. His back was slightly hunched as he leaned forward, making him look even more intense. His face was unreadable, and yet there was an edge to it—something simmering just below the surface, just beneath those sharp, vermillion eyes that hadn’t left yours for a second.

You shifted uncomfortably on the sofa under the weight of his gaze. “Uh, hey babe?” you said, your voice weak, barely above a whisper. You tried to giggle, to play it off like you weren’t utterly rattled, but the sound died awkwardly in your throat.

Katsuki didn’t move. His eyes remained fixed on you, not even a flicker of amusement crossing his face. His lips were pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight, the muscle there clenching slightly.

He wasn’t buying it.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say or do next. The silence between you stretched out, heavy and oppressive, like a thick fog settling in the room. The only sound was the faint hum of the hallway light and the ticking of the clock on the wall.

For what felt like an eternity, you just sat there—him staring at you like you’d just committed the ultimate offense, and you shrinking under the weight of it. His gaze didn’t waver, not even once, and you could feel the intensity of his thoughts even if he wasn’t saying a word.

Your hands fidgeted in your lap, fingers twisting together as the nerves bubbled up inside you.

“Katsuki, I—” you started, but the words trailed off, your voice faltering under the scrutiny.

Katuski considers you carefully for a moment, just a moment. Before slowly rising from his spot on the coffee table and making his way to the kitchen, flicking the light on, and you hear the opening of your cabinets and your favorite mug being taken out before your tap is run. Katsuki returns, makes his way to your dining room to also turn on the lights and then to your front door that he locks before also turning on the lights.

Then, he finally makes his way back to you and hands you the mug that you accept with both hands and he doesn’t let go until you take three small sips at first and he sets himself back down in front of you. It’s not until your fifth sip that you realize he turned on all the lights so you could feel exposed and vulnerable under his stare. You almost choke on that, but hold it down in favor of meeting your boyfriend's gaze again.

He finally spoke, his voice low and measured, but there was a tightness there, like he was barely holding back. “What the fuck was that, huh?” His eyes narrowed slightly, the air around him crackling with restrained emotion. “You really think lying to me was a good idea?”

Your breath caught in your throat. Lying? You blinked, confusion mixing with the remnants of panic, but you didn’t get a chance to speak before Katsuki leaned in closer, his face now hovering just inches from yours. The intensity of his gaze didn’t falter, those sharp vermillion eyes pinning you in place.

“Let’s not pretend,” he said, his voice dripping with a strange, unsettling calm. “You think I didn’t notice? That I couldn’t tell?” His lips curled into a smirk, but there was nothing playful about it. The way his eyes glinted, the way the tension in his jaw flexed—it was something far more dangerous.

“When did—” you started, but Katsuki cut you off, his tone sharp as a blade.

“When did I get back?” he asked, already knowing where your mind had gone. His smile widened, and the expression twisted something deep in your gut. His canines flashed, sharp and predatory, as the smirk grew into something almost menacing. “Right after you hung up the phone with me.”

Your stomach dropped. He heard? You should have known better. The way you’d tried to sound fine, the excuses you made about not being able to eat, the way your voice had shaken when you’d reassured him you were ‘doing great’—he hadn’t bought any of it. He’d come home right early, and he’d known.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours as he continued, “And you wanna know what I saw the second I walked in? You. Not taking care of yourself.”

“Again.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your mind raced back to everything over the last few days—the lack of sleep, barely eating, pushing yourself to the point of collapse. You thought you could hide it. But Katsuki wasn’t fooled. He never was.

“You lied to me,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. “Told me you were fine, that you were ‘handling things.’” He chuckled darkly, his smile stretching wider.

“Look at you. Does this look like ‘fine’ to you?”

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry, as the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Your heart pounded in your chest as you tried to form an excuse, something to explain yourself, but the words wouldn’t come.

Katsuki’s gaze hardened, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as if he were preparing for the final verdict.

“I trusted you to take care of yourself while I was gone, and what do you do? You starve yourself. You don’t sleep. You get so out of it you nearly put a bullet through your own damn apartment. All while telling me everything’s ‘great.’”

You could hear the frustration lacing his words now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. But there was something else—something deeper, more raw, hiding in the way his voice shook ever so slightly when he said the word trusted.

"I tried—" you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but it felt so hollow even to your own ears. Katsuki wasn’t having it.

“Tried?” His voice cracked with a dangerous laugh, one that sent chills down your spine. “You tried? No, you didn’t ‘try.’ You hid from me. You lied because you thought you could handle everything on your own.”

He leaned forward again, the smile never fading, but this time it was sharper, darker, the full display of his teeth and sharp canines making him look almost feral. His red eyes widened slightly as he stared down at you, and there was an unsettling gleam in them now, something wild and untamed.

“But you can’t, can you?” he continued, his voice almost a mockery of sweetness. “You can’t take care of yourself. So guess what?” He leaned in close, so close you could feel the heat of his breath on your skin. “I’m doing it for you.”

Your heart lurched in your chest as his words sank in. There was something terrifying about the calmness in his tone, the way he spoke as if it was a simple fact, something decided without question.

“You’re not eating? I’ll make sure you eat. You’re not sleeping? Don’t worry, I’ll fix that too.” His smile grew wider, more sinister, as if he were enjoying the thought of it. His sharp canines glinted under the light, and it felt like you were staring into the eyes of a predator.

The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, his red eyes burning into yours, and for a moment, you couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. His presence was overwhelming, his words wrapping around you like chains, trapping you in the reality of what was happening.

Katsuki’s voice dropped to a whisper, but it was no less terrifying. “From now on, you don’t get to make that call. You don’t get to decide when you’re ‘fine’ or when you need help. I do.”

Your throat tightened as you tried to find the right words, the right explanation, but there was nothing that would make this better. You had lied. You had pushed yourself too far, and now you were facing the consequences. But Katsuki wasn’t just angry. He was something else—something scarier.

He reached out, cupping your face gently with one large, calloused hand, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek. But the look in his eyes, the smile still pulling at his lips, made the gesture feel anything but comforting. He hooks his other palm on the underside of your calve and squeezes it twice.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispered, his voice soft but deadly serious. “Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming. Understand?” Katsuki dips his face lower, closer to yours as his pupils bore into your own.

You nodded, unable to find your voice, your chest tight with fear and guilt. Katsuki’s thumb traced your jawline, his touch deceptively gentle, but the look in his eyes was unrelenting.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, his smile finally fading, replaced with that hard, determined expression you knew all too well. He stood up slowly, towering over you, and as he did, the weight of his presence pressed down on you like a storm.

He wasn’t giving you a choice.

And you knew there was no fighting him. Not when he was like this.

Katsuki stood over you, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached for the mug in your hand. His fingers brushed yours, and before you could protest, he gently tugged it from your grasp, tilting the cup toward your lips. The cold refreshing liquid hit your tongue, and you blinked in surprise, forced to drink it all at his pace. His gaze was steady, unyielding, as if this small act of making sure you finished the drink was a matter of life and death.

There was no room for resistance.

"All of it," he muttered, and you obeyed, the warmth of the drink doing little to soothe the knot of nerves twisting in your stomach.

Once you drained the last of the mug, Katsuki set it aside with a soft clink and guided you to your feet. His grip was firm but not rough, the warmth of his palm grounding you as he led you through the bright apartment.

The light filtering through the bulbs was harsh compared to the dark tension that had settled between you two. Your heart pounded in your chest as you followed, your mind still trying to process everything that had just happened.

When he brought you to the bathroom, you turned to shoo him out. “I can handle this part,” you muttered, half-heartedly trying to get some semblance of control back. But Katsuki remained solid as a wall, unmoving, his eyes fixed on you. One eyebrow arched in that sharp, expectant way of his, and you knew you had no choice.

With a resigned sigh, you began stripping down, feeling the weight of his gaze linger, even though he wasn't watching you like that. His focus was intense, like he was making sure you didn’t skip a single step.

Katsuki stepped forward and locked the door behind him with a soft click, the sound echoing in the small, tiled space. The air between you thickened as he moved to turn on the water in your freshly cleaned shower, the spray sputtering to life.

Steam rose, filling the room, curling into the corners like a mist creeping through your thoughts. He tested the water with his hand, adjusting the temperature before turning to you, his eyes softer now, but no less serious.

“Get in,” he said, the command laced with care. His hand hovered near your elbow, ready to steady you as you stepped into the tub. You felt small under his watchful eye, but also cared for in a way that made your throat tighten.

Once you were safely under the warm spray, Katsuki turned away slightly, giving you some space, though he stayed close. He wasn’t leaving. Not until he was satisfied. You stood there for a moment, feeling the water cascade over your body, washing away the grime and exhaustion that clung to your skin.

You knew you had about five minutes before he turned back around, so you hurried, scrubbing yourself down with more effort than usual.

It wasn’t long before he came back, his eyes flicking over you with a critical, almost soft look. Satisfied with your effort, Katsuki reached for the showerhead and rinsed you off himself, his hands guiding the water over your skin. He was gentle, methodical, like he was handling something precious.

And in his eyes, that’s exactly what you are.

After rinsing you clean, Katsuki gestured for you to sit down in the tub. The air was thick with the scent of soap and steam, but beneath it all was the tension that neither of you had fully addressed. As you lowered yourself into the bubbles that Katsuki had added, you felt your face flush at the intimacy of it all.

“Ya know,” he began, his voice rough but laced with something deeper, “when I got home early, I was happy.”

You looked up at him, blinking away the water droplets clinging to your lashes. His back was to you as he rummaged through the cabinet, but there was a weight in his words that made your chest tighten. Happy? You hadn’t expected that, not after the way things had spiraled today.

“Kirishima already went up to surprise your little friend,” he continued, his voice casual but still laced with that undeniable edge of possessiveness.

He found a bottle of your favorite bath oil and added a few drops to the water, the subtle scent filling the room. Katsuki always had a way of paying attention to details like that. Things you didn’t even think he noticed.

“So it was just gonna be me and you this weekend. Me and my girlfriend.”

The way he said my girlfriend made your pulse quicken. There was something about the way Katsuki spoke when it came to you, the way he claimed the words, made them his own. It was possessive, sure, but not in the suffocating way.

It was like he was reminding you that you were his priority, even when you couldn’t take care of yourself.

He finally turned back to you, kneeling by the tub so that his eyes were level with yours. The light in the room flickered, casting shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more intense. His vermilion eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he was staring straight into your soul.

“So it was gonna be me and you,” he repeated, his voice quieter now but no less serious. “But instead, I come home to find you falling apart.” His hand reached out, fingers brushing over the wet strands of your hair, pushing them back from your face. The gesture was soft, but there was a weight behind it.

“What the hell, babe? You can’t even take care of yourself while I’m gone?”

You opened your mouth to respond, to explain, but he cut you off with a small shake of his head.

Katsuki’s hands were firm but gentle as he lathered your hair with shampoo, his fingers working through your scalp in deep, circular motions.

The pressure was so perfect that your eyes fluttered shut, a low hum escaping your throat as your body relaxed into the bath. It was embarrassing how good it felt, how every stroke of his fingers seemed to melt away the exhaustion clinging to your bones.

You could barely keep your head up, and just as your eyes threatened to roll back in your head, Katsuki splashed water at your face, jolting you back to reality.

“Oi, don’t go passing out on me just yet,” he muttered, though there was a playful smirk tugging at his lips. He shifted behind you, grabbing the showerhead to rinse out the soap, the warm water cascading down your back as he continued his work. The rhythmic sound of water filled the space, a stark contrast to the gruffness in his voice.

“You’re lucky I didn’t pounce on your ass the second you walked back into the apartment, lookin’ all messed up like that,” Katsuki grumbled, his hands sliding down your shoulders to scrub your back.

His fingers traced the curve of your spine, his touch lingering as he was refamiliarizing himself with every dip and curve.

“You think I like seein’ you like this? All run-down and weak? You’ve got more in you than this.”

Katsuki paused, his hand hovering over your shoulder, and you could feel the weight of his stare even though you weren’t looking at him. “I just want you to be healthy. To take care of yourself the way I know you can.”

His hand moved down, scrubbing your arms with the washcloth, his roughness tempered by the care behind every stroke. “I get it, life’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but you don’t get to fall apart like this. Not when I’m around to make sure you’re good.”

His words were gruff, but there was something softer beneath the surface—a quiet worry that he’d never fully admit to. Katsuki rinsed you off, the soap sliding down your body as he worked, his attention never wavering.

As he moved to scrub your legs, his touch slowed for just a moment.

“You’re tough,” he muttered, almost to himself, his hand brushing along the curve of your thigh. “But that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta do everything on your own. I’m here, alright?”

He rinsed you one last time, his hand lingering at the small of your back as if anchoring you to the moment.

“And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook that easy,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for not jumping your ass the second I saw you. But first, we’re gonna get you back to being you again.”

Your heart pounded, a mix of guilt and gratitude swirling in your chest. Katsuki wasn’t asking for permission. He was telling you. And part of you was relieved that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone anymore.

“No excuses,” he muttered, his fingers trailing down to tilt your chin up so you couldn’t look away. His thumb brushed against your lips, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t get to lie to me about this anymore.”

His gaze softened, but the intensity of his words remained. “I’m gonna make sure you’re alright. Even if that means watching over you every damn second.”

You nodded, the movement small, but Katsuki saw it. His hand dropped from your chin, and he leaned back, standing up to his full height as he grabbed a towel from the rack.

“Good,” he said, his voice softer now. He draped the towel over his shoulder and held out his hand to help you out of the tub. The air was cool against your skin as you stepped out the tub, his touch lingering on your shoulders as he pulled you close. The weight of the day seemed to melt away in that moment, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet.

Katsuki is rough around the edges, sure. But when it came to you, there was no doubt—he’d take care of you, fuck everyone else.

Katsuki wrapped the fluffy towel around your body, still warm and soft from the dryer. You nuzzled into it, relishing the feeling of warmth against your skin, the scent of fresh laundry lingering in the air. His chuckle was low, almost rumbling through his chest as he set you gently on the bath mat.

"Wait here," he said, his voice firm yet filled with that protective edge you’d grown so used to. You sat obediently, the towel cocooning you in its comforting warmth as Katsuki disappeared briefly.

When he returned, he carried a chair from the dinning and placed it in front of the bathroom mirror. He motioned for you to sit, and you did so without protest. The exhaustion still clung to you, but the care he was giving made it easier to just lean into his routine. You felt his fingers work through your damp hair with gentle precision as he sectioned it off to braid.

The motions were firm but soft, practiced as if he had done this countless times before. You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax under his touch as he skillfully wove your hair into two simple, neat braids.

“There,” he murmured, wrapping a towel around the ends to help them dry. “That should do for now.” He gave you a brief once-over, satisfied with his work.

Next, Katsuki grabbed a toothbrush and came back toward you, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto it. Before you could protest or joke, he pressed the brush gently against your lips, and you reluctantly opened your mouth.

As he began brushing, your lips curled in a playful pout, and you made an attempt to nip his fingers with a mischievous glint in your eyes. Katsuki’s reaction was immediate, pulling back just slightly before leaning in close, his face inches from yours, eyes glinting with amusement.

“You really want me to bite you, huh?” he teased, voice low as his breath brushed your skin. You pouted but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping in. Slowly, you nodded, biting your lower lip. He smirked at your response, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin between your neck and shoulder, just enough pressure to make you shiver.

Your breath hitched as you squeezed him, wrapping your arms around his waist, but the sound that almost escaped you was quickly stifled as you pulled back, burying your face into the towel.

Katsuki chuckled darkly, clearly pleased with himself. "Behave," he muttered, finishing with your teeth. He handed you the mouthwash next. “Rinse,” he instructed, his eyes following your every move. You swished the cool liquid around before spitting it out, feeling oddly refreshed.

Once that was done, he moved on to the next part of his routine—your skincare. His touch was methodical as he washed your face, scrubbing gently and making sure every inch of your skin was properly cared for.

You could feel the cool cleanser on your cheeks as he worked, and there was something oddly intimate about the way he treated each step like it was second nature.

“No more mascara,” Katsuki said, narrowing his eyes as he gently dabbed a soft towel against your skin. “I want you to keep those damn lashes.”

You giggled at his comment, catching his eye in the mirror. “Hitoshi says we’re the only ones who make insomnia look sexy,” you teased.

“Don’t take compliments from a guy who needs a bag check for his fuckin’ eyes.”

You snorted, while Katsuki was rolling his eyes. “That idiot looked like death last mission. He and Denki passed out under the table like a couple of idiots,” he said, shaking his head.

“We should to check in on them—”

He interrupted, raising an eyebrow. “We can check on them tomorrow.”

His gaze shifted, locking onto yours with a possessive glint that made your stomach flutter. “You’re all mine this weekend. Those extras can wait.”

You blushed, your face softening as the weight of his words settled over you. The tenderness beneath his rough exterior always caught you off guard, especially when he showed it in moments like these. You felt a warmth spread through your chest, and for once, it wasn’t just because of the cozy towel wrapped around you.

Katsuki reached into the drawer, grabbing your favorite lip oil with a casual confidence, but his movements slowed with deliberate care as he traced the line of your cupid's bow, filling in your lips with precise strokes.

You felt the cool glide of the oil over your lips, the faint scent of vanilla filling the air between you. Watching him concentrate so intensely on such a delicate task brought a smile to your face.

“I can remember the last time you did something like this~”

you teased, the sing-song lilt in your voice light, playful. His reaction was immediate—his sharp vermillion eyes snapped back to yours, but his reddening ears gave him away. For all his confidence, a comment like that still managed to fluster him. The slight color spreading across his face would’ve been easy to miss if you hadn’t been watching him so closely.

His scowl deepened, and he growled, “So you wanna get your ass knocked out or what?”

You giggled, placing one hand on his solid shoulder, your fingers brushing against the heat radiating from his skin. Then, with a grin, you pressed the crown of your head into the crook of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

“Nooo, I’m just so happy you’re here!” Your voice was soft, genuine, the relief and joy of his presence making you melt into the moment.

Katsuki’s tension ebbed as he rolled his eyes, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He let your teasing slide, his usual gruffness tempered by the tenderness he rarely let anyone else see.

Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms as if you weighed nothing, his strength effortless as he held you close to his chest. You clung to him, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt, his heartbeat steady under your palm.

‘God, I love your heartbeat.’

As he carried you through the apartment, Katsuki flicked off the lights with a casual swipe of his hand, the darkness closing in behind you both. When you entered your room, you were greeted with the fresh, clean scent of laundry detergent and something distinctly Katsuki.

You blinked in surprise, realizing just how spotless everything was.

The bed was made, your clothes folded, and the air felt lighter, even though your mirror—still cracked from earlier—reflected back the remnants of your impulsive outburst. The shards of glass had already been swept and vacuumed away, leaving no trace of the mess.

Before you could comment, Katsuki threw you onto the bed, your body bouncing lightly against the plush comforter. “Hey!” you protested, mock indignation coloring your voice as you propped yourself up on your elbows, glaring at him.

He just smirked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re asking for it.” You narrowed your eyes, grabbing one of your stuffed animals—a soft, well-loved bunny—and held it up like a threat. “I’ll throw all my stuffed animals at you, Katsuki, don’t test me.”

But the playful moment quickly shifted, his expression darkening with a predatory edge. His eyes gleamed as he climbed onto the bed with slow, deliberate movements, the mattress sinking slightly under his weight as he stalked toward you, inch by inch, like a wild animal sizing up its prey. The air between you thickened, electric, and your breath caught in your throat.

"You really wanna do that, sweetheart?" His voice was low, dangerous, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze flickered briefly to the stuffed bunny in your hand before it snapped back to your face. "When you know how I feel about your 'babies'?" The way he drawled out the word—"babies"—made heat coil low in your stomach, your body responding involuntarily to the tension in the air.

Your grip on the bunny loosened, and without thinking, you let it drop from your hand. It tumbled onto the bed with a soft thud, forgotten, as you instinctively wrapped yourself tighter in the towel, your pulse quickening.

Katsuki’s smirk widened at your silence, his voice a low rumble as he teased, “What, no answer for me?” He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, turning his ear toward you as if daring you to speak.

Instead of words, you leaned forward and pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the shell of his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “No,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Katsuki chuckled, the sound deep and satisfied. He tugged at the edge of your towel with one finger, pulling it down just enough to expose your neck, your pulse beating rapidly beneath your skin. His lips descended, pressing a hot, firm kiss against the sensitive spot just above your collarbone, his breath hot as he whispered against your skin,

“Good choice.”

Your breath hitched, your body shivering as you leaned into his touch, his kiss lingering like a brand against your flesh. The air around you was thick with unspoken words, the world outside fading away as you lost yourself in the warmth of his presence, the safety and intensity that only Katsuki could bring.

Katsuki’s hands reached for the hem of his skull-printed shirt, fingers curling as he lifted it over his head. The muscles in his arms and chest flexed with the movement, every line of his sculpted frame rippling with controlled power. He didn’t bother tossing it aside like he normally would. Instead, he draped it over you, lowering it onto your head before helping you slip your arms through the sleeves.

You smiled softly as the worn fabric slid down your body, the familiar scent of Katsuki surrounding you like a comforting embrace. His shirt was huge on you, the edges brushing just past your thighs, the warmth of it melding with the heat radiating from him.

You shifted beneath him, looking up as he hovered over you, his palms bracing on either side of your head. The proximity made your heart race, the weight of his gaze sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. Katsuki’s sharp eyes softened for just a second, the intensity still present but tempered with something warmer, more intimate.

He didn’t say anything as you wrapped your arms around his strong back, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your fingers.

“Come here,” you murmured, giving him a gentle tap between his shoulder blades.

Without hesitation, Katsuki let himself drop, all the glorious warmth of his body pressing against you in a slow, controlled descent. The heavy weight of his chest flattened against yours, and you sighed in contentment, the closeness making you feel grounded.

Katsuki’s body, normally so explosive and full of barely contained energy, was now soft and pliant against you, like he was giving you the privilege of feeling his full, unfiltered presence.

Your hands naturally found their way to his spiky blonde hair, fingers threading through the surprisingly soft strands. For all the sharpness of his exterior, Katsuki’s hair was softer than most people knew—something only a select few had the privilege to experience. He guarded his personal space like a fortress, and it took time for him to let his guard down around anyone, let alone like this.

But with you, it was different. He was different.

He was your fussy Pomeranian—prickly to everyone else, but with a soft, loyal core.

You gently massaged his scalp, your nails scraping lightly against his skin as you worked through the spiked chaos of his hair. You could feel him relax, his tense shoulders loosening as he melted further into you, letting out a low grunt of approval. The sound was almost primal, a rumbling that vibrated through his chest and into yours.

You were so caught up in the moment, fingers tracing the line of his neck and combing through his hair, that you almost missed the sudden burst of air against your shoulder. It wasn’t until you felt the wet tickle of his lips blowing a raspberry into your skin that you realized he was trying to get your attention.

“What the—Katsuki!” you squealed, laughing as the sound reverberated through your skin. He smirked against your shoulder, clearly pleased with himself.

He lifted his head slightly, his red eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. “You listening now, or do I gotta do it again?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was that familiar edge of dominance underneath it all.

You huffed in mock annoyance, rolling your eyes before looking up at him. “What were you saying, genius?”

Katsuki grinned, the corners of his mouth twitching as he lowered himself again, letting his breath fan against your ear. “I said you’re lucky, you know that?” His voice was softer now, but it still held that commanding tone that sent a spark of heat through your chest.

“Lucky I didn’t pounce on you the second I got back.”

His words lingered in the air, heavy with implication, and your breath hitched as you met his gaze. The raw intensity in his eyes, that feral spark you loved so much, was back. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a promise.

You swallowed, your voice coming out a little breathless. “Yeah? And why didn’t you?”

His grin widened as he pressed his forehead against yours, his voice dropping even lower. “Because I’m not an idiot. I could see you weren’t takin’ care of yourself. And I ain’t about to let my girl fall apart while I’m gone.”

You blinked, feeling a wave of warmth wash over you, though his words held a stern undertone. He shifted slightly, his weight pressing more firmly against you as his hands slid up your sides, his thumbs brushing just under the hem of his shirt. The touch was possessive but careful, like he was reminding you who was in charge of your well-being now.

“I know you can take care of yourself,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple, “but sometimes, you get stressed and forget.” His hands stilled, resting on your waist. “So I’m gonna do it for you.”

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Katsuki, in his own gruff way, always knew exactly what you needed. And it wouldn’t even admit it outright, he cared more than anyone you’d ever known.

You felt your hands tighten in his hair again, tugging gently as you let out a soft sigh. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling a mix of affection and guilt. You knew you hadn’t been taking care of yourself lately, but hearing him say it hit differently. It made you realize just how much he’d noticed, how much he’d been keeping track, even when he wasn’t around.

Katsuki didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he shifted his weight, lifting his head to look down at you again, his expression softening just a fraction. “Yeah, well... just don’t make me come home to that shit again, got it?” His voice was still gruff, but there was an undeniable warmth in his tone.

You nodded, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. He didn’t need to say it outright, but you knew—he wasn’t going anywhere. Not when it came to you.

Without another word, he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead before nuzzling into the crook of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and you let yourself relax under the weight of his body, feeling safe, loved, and cared for.

The two of you lay there in a soft, comfortable silence, the weight of Katsuki’s warm body settled against yours, his steady breath fanning over your skin.

His arms, strong yet gentle, stayed wrapped around your waist as if anchoring himself to you. The room was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of the sheets and the subtle creaking of the bed beneath your weight. You were about to close your eyes, savoring the moment, when you felt a slight flutter against your neck. His long eyelashes were brushing against your skin, tickling you softly.

You blinked, lifting your head slightly. "Katsuki, you alright?"

A muffled, "Yeah," came from him, his voice low and slightly hoarse as he nuzzled into the crook of your shoulder. But something in the way he said it made you pause. His head shifted, settling over your boob (chest), right where your heart was. The sensation of his ear pressing against your heartbeat sent a wave of warmth and electricity rushing through you. Your soul felt like it was lighting up, a familiar connection between you two sparking alive.

Katsuki reached for your hand, his calloused fingers weaving through yours with a gentleness that contrasted his usual roughness. He lifted your intertwined hands and pressed them over his own heart, resting them there. The sensation, the intimacy of the moment, sent a tingle through your entire body, filling you with an overwhelming sense of love and connection. It was rare for Katsuki to be this tender, to show you this vulnerable side of himself.

And yet, as you lay there, your heartbeats in sync, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

A soft, involuntary smile tugged at your lips as you looked down at him. You could feel the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm, steady and strong, and you were certain he could feel yours, too. The electric charge between you wasn’t just emotional; it felt physical, like your very essence was reaching out to him, and he to you. Katsuki, usually so tough and guarded, was here in your arms, sharing this tender moment.

But as you lay there, soaking in the warmth of the moment, something shifted. Katsuki stiffened slightly in your arms, his body going rigid against yours. You could feel his breath hitch, and when you looked down, you saw the confusion in his eyes, the way they glistened with unshed tears. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, he looked completely lost, almost scared.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice laced with concern as you felt him tense even further. A flicker of panic shot through you. You knew how hard it was for Katsuki to express his emotions, and seeing him like this, vulnerable and on the verge of breaking down, tugged at something deep inside of you.

"Are you having those pains again? Is it your chest?!"

Katsuki shook his head quickly, but his face contorted, and he let out a sharp sniff, his breaths coming faster. His fingers squeezed yours, his grip tightening as his other arm wrapped around your waist with almost a desperate strength.

You could feel the heat rising off his skin, his body suddenly clammy as if he were in a battle. His muscles tensed and flexed, his jaw clenched as he tried to fight whatever emotions were threatening to spill out.

"'S alright," he mumbled into your chest, but you could hear the tremble in his voice, the way it cracked as if he were holding something back. He buried his face deeper against you, curling into your body as though trying to shield himself from the storm brewing inside him.

"No, 'S not alright," you countered softly, your hand moving to rub slow, calming circles over his sweaty back. "Come on, Katsu, you know you can tell me."

You felt his heart pounding harder against your hand, the frantic rhythm echoing through your palm. His breath hitched again, and you instinctively shifted, running your fingers through his hair to calm him. Your other hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing the tension out of his tight muscles as his breaths came in shallow gasps.

Katsuki’s palms, usually dry and strong, grew slick with sweat, and you could feel his hands trembling as they gripped yours. He sniffed again, louder this time, his body shuddering as he tried to regain control. Several deep, shaky breaths followed, but he didn’t pull away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head. His red eyes were rimmed with unshed tears, his lashes wet as he blinked them away. He sat up slowly, pulling himself out of your embrace, though he still held onto your hand like a lifeline. His chest rose and fell with heavy breaths, his gaze distant as if he were trying to sort through the mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You reached up, gently brushing a tear away from his cheek. “Baby, talk to me, please.”

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he struggled to find his voice. When he finally spoke, his words were soft, raw. “I dunno... I just—” He paused, his jaw clenched as he looked down at your hand still resting over his heart. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him like this, so vulnerable and confused. Katsuki wasn’t used to feeling things this deeply, wasn’t used to letting anyone in like this. But here he was, breaking down in front of you, and all you wanted to do was hold him together.

You scooted closer, sitting up and pressing your forehead against his. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Katsu,” you whispered, your voice soothing as you cupped his face in your hands. “You’re just... feeling things. It’s okay.”

Katsuki closed his eyes, his breath shuddering as he leaned into your touch. “I don’t like it,” he muttered, his voice thick with frustration. “I don’t like not... not being able to control it.”

You kissed his forehead softly, letting your lips linger there for a moment before pulling back. “You don’t always have to be in control. It’s okay to let go sometimes.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, just sat there with his eyes closed, his breathing slowly evening out as he let your words sink in. When he finally opened his eyes again, they were still glassy, but the panic had faded, replaced by a quiet resolve. He looked at you with an intensity that took your breath away.

“You make me feel things I don’t know how to handle,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I don’t... I don’t wanna lose it.”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling as you pressed another gentle kiss to his cheek. “You won’t lose it, Katsuki. I’m here.”

Katsuki’s hand tightened around yours as he pulled back slightly, taking in a deep, steadying breath before speaking again. His eyes, still a little glassy but full of determination, met yours with a quiet intensity. “I didn’t want to be away from you,” he started, his voice soft but firm. “Even if work’s important... to me, you’re more important.”

You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him that his work as a hero mattered, that it saved lives, but the look he gave you made you stop short. His gaze softened as it met yours, a silent plea for understanding. And instead of fighting back, you took his rough, calloused hands in yours, bringing them to your lips and pressing soft kisses to his knuckles. Then, with a small smile, you pressed his hands gently to your cheeks, letting him feel the warmth there, the quiet affection you had for him.

“I’m with you,” you whispered, and those simple words seemed to ease the tension in his body. He let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling heavily before he continued.

“I get it,” he said, his voice a little stronger now. “Why you’re always trying to be so independent. You’ve got your own life, your own goals, and I want to respect that.” His thumb gently brushed against your cheek as he spoke, as though grounding himself with your touch.

“But I can’t... I can’t just sit by and watch you not take care of yourself. Sometimes... I feel like it’s my job to make sure you’re okay, ‘cause I... I love you.”

His voice cracked on those last words, and you saw the raw emotion flicker in his eyes. Katsuki wasn’t used to being vulnerable like this, to letting people see the softer side of him. But he was here, laying it all bare in front of you. You could feel the weight of his words, the sincerity, the fear that maybe you didn’t need him as much as he needed you. It tugged at something deep inside you.

“I love you, and I want to take care of you,” he went on, his grip on your hands tightening as if he were afraid to let go. “I wanna protect you, keep you safe, even when you don’t think you need it. It’s... it’s who I am. And I’m not gonna apologize for it.”

Your heart swelled with affection, and you moved your hands over his arms, gently rubbing along the firm, tense muscles as you tried to soothe him. His skin was warm under your touch, and you could feel the faint tremble in his shoulders as he kept talking, the weight of his emotions finally spilling out.

“I just...” Katsuki paused, his voice faltering for a moment as he swallowed hard, trying to keep the lump in his throat at bay. “This time away from you... it made me realize a lot. How much I love you, how much I need you around. I can’t stand it when I’m not with you, even if it’s just for a few days.” He let out a small, almost bitter chuckle. “You probably think it’s stupid, huh?”

You smiled softly, shaking your head as you continued to run your hands over his arms, feeling the tension slowly melt away under your touch. “It’s not stupid,” you whispered. “I missed you too.”

Katsuki’s eyes flickered with relief, but there was still a hint of frustration lingering in his expression. “But you... you don’t take care of yourself, not the way you should,” he said, his voice more serious now. “You always look after everyone else—hell, you make sure everyone’s okay, but you don’t do the same for yourself. It drives me crazy.”

You gave him a playful smile, trying to lighten the mood just a little. “You can’t keep an eye on me all the time, Katsu.”

He huffed, narrowing his eyes at you. “That’s the problem. I can’t. And you don’t make a habit of neglecting yourself, but when you do... you’re a hypocrite. You’ll run yourself into the ground to help everyone else, but then act like you don’t need anyone to do the same for you.”

You wanna stick your tongue out at him but knowing Katsuki, he’d make you regret that all night long.

Katsuki’s intense gaze lingered, tracing every inch of you with a sharp, possessive look that made your heart race. His eyes moved from the top of your head, down the gentle curve of your neck, over the way his oversized skull shirt bunched up on your thighs, and down to your toes.

You could feel the weight of his stare, heavy with unspoken emotions, and for a moment, it seemed like the air between you thickened with tension.

Then he blinked, and it was like a fog lifting. He shifted, reaching into the deep pockets of his sweatpants with a small grunt. “I wanted to do this ‘right,’ ya know,” he muttered, almost to himself, but the words were laced with that familiar gruffness. His fingers fiddled with something in his pocket, his focus still mostly on you.

“Spent weeks with those dumbasses—picking out flowers, going through all these fancy restaurants, trying to get the perfect gift. Because you’re my girl, and I only get the best for you.”

His voice was low, raspy, and the way his eyes softened briefly before trailing down to your legs made your breath catch. His hand, rough and warm, ghosted over your ankle as if testing the waters before his grip tightened, just enough to pull you slightly closer with a small, teasing tug.

The movement startled you, and you yelped, instinctively wrapping the towel tighter around your waist as you scrambled upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. Katsuki’s laughter rumbled through the room, deep and genuine, the sound like warm honey coating the air. He was taking in the sight of your flustered reaction with a wicked grin plastered on his face.

“Kats,” you started, still catching your breath as you eyed him suspiciously, “what are you getting at?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes returned, that familiar cocky, dangerous look that always made your pulse quicken. His grin softened into something more meaningful, more grounded, but still tinged with that wild spark. That look in his eye? It was the one that always had you convinced that all the hot ones were definitely crazy.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he confessed, his voice dropping into something more intimate, more vulnerable.

“Since I met you.”

You blinked, watching as his gaze flickered down to your bare legs. His jaw clenched for a split second, and he let out a low curse under his breath. “Should’ve used that damn lotion,” he muttered, almost to himself, clearly irritated that he hadn’t taken the chance to pamper you properly.

The moonlight filtering in from your window cast a silvery glow over him, highlighting every cut and line of his muscles as if he were carved from stone.

He was beautiful, raw, like a storm contained just beneath the surface, and for a brief moment, you were distracted by the sight of him—the rise and fall of his chest, the way his stomach flexed with each breath.

You could have his babies right here, right now.

Then his voice softened again, and the mood shifted as he spoke. “I love you. I really do.” His tone was hushed, like it was just for you. His eyes—usually so full of fire and determination—now held something much deeper, something vulnerable that he rarely let show. It was just him. Your Katsuki.

“I’m not good with this shit. I know that,” he admitted, his mouth tugging into a small, self-deprecating smirk. “But I wanna do this right.”

You blinked, feeling the air grow heavier as he squared his shoulders, a determined glint returning to his eyes. His hand finally left his pocket, and in one swift, almost impatient motion, he pulled something out and opened it in front of you.

A small box. Velvet. The kind that held only one thing.

Your breath hitched, and your entire world seemed to narrow down to that tiny box and the ring inside it. It glittered in the low light, catching the moon's glow, but the details were lost on you as your heart thudded wildly in your chest.

Katsuki looked at you, dead-on, his expression both serious and soft at the same time, like he was offering you everything he had.

“Would you marry me and be my hot mess?”

For a split second, you couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t even process the words that had just come out of his mouth. You felt like someone had knocked the air out of your lungs with a feather—hell, they could have knocked you over with one.

The world stopped spinning. Your eyes darted between the ring and Katsuki, who was watching you carefully now, his breath held as if he was waiting for your next move. You could feel the gravity of this moment pressing down on your chest, and yet... it wasn’t the heavy kind of weight that scared you. No. It was something else entirely.

It was the kind of weight that came with the realization that this moment, this person in front of you, was everything you never knew you needed.

A million thoughts raced through your mind, and none of them made sense, but your body reacted first. Your lips parted, but no words came out at first, only a small breathless laugh as you brought your shaking hands up to your mouth. Katsuki’s eyes searched your face, trying to gauge your reaction, and the barest hint of nerves flashed behind his hardened exterior. He might’ve been a fearless hero, but this?

This was different.

“Katsuki,” you whispered, barely able to find your voice as the emotions swirled inside you. “You... you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he replied immediately, his voice unwavering now. His eyes bore into yours with that fierce conviction only he could pull off. “I’ve been serious about you from the start. I love you, and I’m not waiting around anymore. I want you. With me. Always.”

His words sank into you, and before you even fully realized what you were doing, your hands shot forward, grabbing his face, pulling him down toward you. You kissed him—deeply, passionately, pouring everything you had into it, letting the overwhelming feelings consume you.

His lips were warm, familiar, grounding. Katsuki groaned softly into the kiss, his hands moving to your waist, pulling you closer as if the space between you was too much to bear.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling with his as you both panted softly. The world around you faded, and all that was left was the man in front of you and the question still hanging in the air.

“Yes,” you breathed, smiling through the tears that had welled up in your eyes. “Yes, Katsuki. I’ll marry you.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw it—the raw, unfiltered joy on his face. It wasn’t loud or boastful, but it was there, in the soft curl of his lips and the way his eyes shone with unshed tears.

Katsuki Bakugo had won another battle—this time, with your heart.

Katsuki's rough fingers, calloused and warm, carefully slid the ring over your finger, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. You couldn’t help but gasp as the gem caught the light, sparkling in a way that made your heart skip a beat. It was more than beautiful—it was personal. The stone in the center was your birthstone, cut into your favorite shape and polished into your favorite color, surrounded by a delicate halo of tiny rubies. Rubies just like his eyes.

Your gaze flickered to the ring and then back to Katsuki. “How… how did you…?” you whispered, utterly floored. The details were so specific, the kind that you had only mentioned in passing, mostly to Michael. But somehow, Katsuki had pieced it all together.

The rubies glistened against the band, and nestled between them were smaller gemstones that mirrored the exact shade of your eyes. And if that wasn’t enough, there was another set of gems, a deep, fiery orange—the color of Katsuki’s favorite thing: explosions.

You turned the ring over in your hand, overwhelmed by the craftsmanship, the thoughtfulness. Every inch of the piece was a reflection of you, of him, of both of you together. Whoever he went to had worked some serious magic. As your fingers brushed over the band, something else caught your eye. With trembling hands, you slipped the ring off, turning it over, and there it was—engraved into the inside of the band in Katsuki’s unmistakable bluntness:

“I love you, dumbass.”

That was it. The tears came again, flooding your vision before you could stop them. Your chest tightened with the overwhelming sweetness of it all. You’d never expected this. How could you? This whole day had taken such a turn that your emotions were a tangled mess, and now, here you were, crying like a baby over a ring. But it wasn’t just any ring—it was him, you, everything.

“Katsuki,” you sobbed, bringing the ring to your chest as if it could stop the flood of emotions. Your voice trembled, but before you could even say another word, Katsuki’s eyes widened in pure panic. He hated when you cried. Hell, it wasn’t often that you let yourself fall apart like this, and seeing you like that sent him spiraling.

“Oi, oi! Don’t cry, damn it!” he barked, his voice frantic as he moved in closer, cupping your face with both hands. But then his panic melted into something softer as his thumbs wiped away the tears.

“I’m serious, stop it, or you’re gonna make me lose it.”

But the sight of your tears didn’t stop him from acting on impulse. In typical Katsuki fashion, he leaned down and kissed you, first pressing his lips all over your face, desperate to dry every tear. But he didn’t stop there. In a ridiculous, completely endearing move, he leaned over and licked your cheek, tasting the saltiness of your tears with a playful smirk. You squealed, pulling away in shock, your face scrunched up in disbelief.

“Did you just—ew, Katsuki! That’s so gross!”

You smacked his solid chest, half laughing, half horrified, but that only egged him on. “Oh, I’m gross now, huh?” he teased, his voice low and dangerous as he grinned down at you. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he launched himself at you, playfully wrestling you down onto the bed.

“No, no—Katsuki!” you shrieked, giggling uncontrollably as his strong arms trapped you beneath him. He pinned you effortlessly, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. His lips were on you again, peppering your face with kisses, and soon enough, the two of you were tumbling around in the sheets, rolling and laughing like a couple of kids.

The wrestling match was chaotic, full of breathless laughter, limbs tangled up, and soft murmurs of affection between teasing jabs. Katsuki was surprisingly playful, and before long, you were both breathless, collapsing side by side on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as your hearts raced in sync.

You turned your head, catching the way his chest heaved with each breath, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his lips. His messy hair, usually so spiked and wild, was disheveled in the cutest way possible. Without thinking, you reached out, running your fingers through it, smoothing it back in place. He hummed in contentment, his eyes half-lidded as he looked over at you.

“But where’s your ring?” you asked, suddenly realizing that the gesture had been one-sided. You were the one with the ring on your finger, but what about him?

Katsuki chuckled, his voice rumbling low in his chest. “My ring, huh?” He smirked, eyes sparkling with that familiar cocky glint. “I’ll just give you my wallet, and you can surprise me.”

You blinked, taken aback for a second, before bursting into laughter. “M’Okay!” you replied, your voice full of playful mockery. “But don’t blame me if I pick something pink and covered in glitter.”

“Whatever you want, babe,” he shot back, unbothered by the thought, though you knew he’d raise hell if you actually went through with it. The both of you erupted into laughter again, the sound filling the room like music.

Katsuki shifted, rolling onto his side as he gently took your hand in his, threading your fingers together like he always did. His lips found your hand again, this time softer, more purposeful. He kissed the spot right over your ring, his lips lingering there for a moment, as if sealing his promise to you.

“I love you, Katsuki Bakugou,” you whispered, your heart swelling with warmth as you looked at him, your fiancé, the man who had somehow managed to make this chaotic mess of a proposal the most perfect moment of your life.

Katsuki’s eyes softened, his rough exterior melting away in the intimate glow of the moonlight. He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “I love you too, dumbass,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but his expression was nothing short of tender.

In that moment, wrapped up in each other, you realized something: this—this wild, crazy love you shared with Katsuki—was the only thing that made sense in the world. You lay there together, side by side, hearts entwined, you knew without a doubt that you had found your forever.

💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥💖💥

The morning sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft, warm glow across the bed, but you groaned, stretching lazily as you woke up. Your fingers instinctively brushed against your hair, feeling the unruly mess it had become overnight—complete with knots and stubborn curls that had a mind of their own.

You squinted at the brightness as your phone buzzed on the bedside table. Checking it, you saw the familiar ping of an email notification and grinned. You've been paid.

Sweet relief!

Rolling over to share the good news, you blinked in surprise at the empty side of the bed. The sheets were cold, and there was no sign of your fiancé—wait, boyfriend—wait, fiancé! A flutter of excitement bubbled up inside you at the thought of the word.

But the smell of breakfast caught your attention, and any irritation at his absence melted away. The unmistakable scent of eggs, with a hint of something smoky—probably bacon—wafted down the hallway, accompanied by the faint clink of pans from the kitchen.

Katsuki was already up, and the thought made you smile.

Without bothering to fix your appearance, you hopped out of bed, your feet hitting the cool, hardwood floor with a soft thud. You knew you’d hear about it later—how walking around barefoot would make you catch a cold. He always ranted about that kind of stuff, but you’d just smile and give him your usual “Yes, mama,” while he’d glare at you with that fiery look.

But for now, you padded down the hall, completely barefoot, on a mission.

The closer you got, the stronger his scent became—that familiar, intoxicating mix of burnt caramel and something inherently Katsuki. You spotted him before he even saw you, standing at the stove, his back turned, a spatula in hand as he expertly flipped eggs in a pan. His muscles were taut, his broad shoulders moving effortlessly as he worked. He was dressed in nothing more than a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips, and you couldn’t help but admire the sight.

With a mischievous grin, you quietly made your way over, your bare feet silent against the floor. And then, in one swift move, you leapt onto his back, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and burying your face into the crook of his neck.

“Hi, fiancé!” you greeted, your voice muffled as you inhaled deeply, taking in that addictive scent that was all his.

Katsuki stiffened for a split second, more from surprise than anything else, but he quickly recovered. With a chuckle, he reached over and turned off the stove, placing the spatula down before his hands found their way to your thighs, gripping them as he adjusted your weight.

“You’re gonna burn the damn house down one day, y’know that?” he muttered, but there was a playful note in his voice. Before you could even respond, he effortlessly spun you around, lifting you off his back and setting you down on the kitchen counter nearby. His strength never failed to amaze you, and you giggled as your bare legs dangled off the edge, your hands resting on his chest.

His eyes softened as he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours in a soft, lazy good morning kiss. “Hi, teddy bear,” he mumbled against your lips, his voice still raspy from sleep.

You smiled into the kiss, but just as you started to pull him closer, he pulled back, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “Did you brush your teeth?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You snorted, shaking your head. “No.”

He frowned, glancing down. “Did you use the bathroom?”

“Nope.”

His scowl deepened, though you could see the teasing glint in his eyes. “Wash your face?”

“Also, no.”

Katsuki groaned dramatically, running a hand through his messy, spiked hair. “And this is exactly why you’re moving in with me today. You need supervision,” he grumbled, though his voice was more affectionate than angry. Before you could argue, he lightly smacked your thighs, the contact sending a playful jolt through you.

“Katsuki!” you gasped, half laughing as you swatted at him, but he only pointed toward the living room.

Your delicate features blossomed into an expression of confusion. “What?” But he didn’t respond, instead looking so mischievous and pleased with himself.

That’s when you noticed it—half of your living room was in disarray, large boxes stacked high, and furniture already disassembled. It looked like a moving truck had stormed through your place. Your jaw dropped as you stared at the sight.

“KATSUKI!” you shrieked, your voice bouncing off the walls as the reality of what he’d done sank in. He had already packed half your stuff—without even telling you! You couldn’t believe it.

He didn’t even flinch at your outburst, just gave you that smug, self-satisfied grin of his, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“What? I told you, you’re movin’ in today. Thought I’d help speed things up,” he said, shrugging as if he hadn’t just dismantled your entire living room.

You huffed, staring at the boxes like you couldn’t believe your eyes. “You could’ve at least warned me!”

He chuckled, stepping closer until he was standing between your legs, his hands resting on either side of your waist. “Nah. You’d just overthink it. This way, it’s done, and we don’t have to argue about it,” he smirked, leaning in to kiss your nose.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile. “I’m still not done with school, you know. And we haven’t even… there’s no… ring on your finger.”

Katsuki quirked a brow, his smirk turning wicked. “I told you, give me my wallet, and you can surprise me with the ring.”

You laughed, shaking your head at his nonchalance. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he said, the playful edge to his voice making your heart skip a beat. “And don’t worry about school. You can study at my place just fine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, he kissed you again, this time more firmly, his lips capturing yours in a way that made your head spin. You melted into it, your hands finding their way to his shoulders as you pulled him closer, your feet curling around his calves.

When he finally pulled back, you were breathless, your lips tingling. “You don’t play fair,” you muttered, but the smile on your face betrayed you.

He grinned, kissing your forehead softly before pressing his lips to your knuckles where your ring sat. “I play to win, babe. And I already did,” he whispered, his voice low and full of affection.

You sighed, leaning into him, knowing full well that Katsuki Bakugou always got his way.

Before you could respond to his sweet words, a mischievous glint sparked in your eyes. You leaned in closer, pretending to go in for another kiss, but at the last second, you bit him—just lightly, on his shoulder—before snatching the plate of bacon from the counter. Katsuki blinked, his eyes widening in confusion before narrowing sharply as he processed what had just happened.

“You little brat!” he growled, his voice full of playful irritation.

With a squeal, you jumped off the counter, bare feet hitting the cold floor, and bolted for the bedroom, the stolen bacon in hand. You knew exactly what you were doing. Katsuki typically hated when anyone touched his food (although he actually had a habit of feeding you from his plate and fork), but you couldn’t help it. You loved riling him up, especially when he got that fire in his eyes!~

"Come back here, princess!" he barked, and the sound of his footsteps echoed behind you.

You darted around the corner, your heart pounding with adrenaline and laughter bubbling in your throat. The hardwood floor was slippery, and you barely made it to the door when Katsuki’s booming footsteps got louder. He was fast, too fast.

A real predator on the hunt, and you were his target.

“Fuuuuck it, we ball!” you shouted over your shoulder, laughing as you slid into the bedroom. You could hear him cursing under his breath, muttering something about how you were always testing him. You were a princess, and yeah, maybe a bit of a brat, but that was part of your charm. You loved to push his buttons, loved how easy it was to get under his skin.

You heard the door slam behind you as Katsuki entered the room, hot on your heels. His eyes locked on yours, his gaze intense as he advanced. You tried to dodge him, but he was quicker, snatching the plate of bacon from your hands before grabbing your waist and pulling you back into his chest.

“Gotcha now, you little thief,” he growled in your ear, his voice low and warning, but you could hear the amusement in his tone.

You squirmed, trying to wiggle out of his grasp, but he held you firm, his arms like steel bands around your waist. “Okay, okay! I surrender!” you giggled, breathless from the chase.

“You’re damn right you do,” he murmured before spinning you around and planting a quick, searing kiss on your lips. It was rough, but it was Katsuki through and through—fiery, intense, and full of passion.

You grinned against his lips, leaning into him. “Guess I’m still your little brat then, huh?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair out of your face as he looked down at you with that same possessive, loving gaze that always made your heart skip a beat. “Damn right you are. My brat, my princess, my pain in the ass.”

You laughed, nuzzling into his chest as you felt his arms tighten around you. “And you’re my grumpy fiancé,” you teased, poking his ribs.

Katsuki grumbled, but his smirk softened, his lips brushing the top of your head. “Yeah. But I’m your grumpy fiancé, so fuck it—we ball.”

In that moment, tangled together, laughter still lingering in the air, you knew without a doubt that you were his, and he was yours. No matter what life throws at you, you’d face it together.

Always.

Taglist for Bakugou: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @raendarkfaerie If you wanna be added lemme know!

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Farmer Bakugou x Gardener Reader here in the master list. I also have a Pro Hero! Bakugou x Sugar Baby fic.

Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

(｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

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k2padfoot · 2 months ago

Text

We Don’t Talk About It

Rafe Cameron x Y/n

summary: You and Rafe are best friends turned roommates, and it’s obvious you love each other but neither of you know how to handle it.

Pt.2

Your relationship with Rafe was complicated. That was the easiest way to explain it—if you had to explain it at all.

Which, of course, you never did.

You’ve known each other for years, growing even closer over time. When he finally moved out of his father’s house and started renting a place of his own, he needed a roommate—and just like that, you moved in. Now, almost a year later, here you are.

You and Rafe weren’t dating.

But you weren’t just friends.

You existed in that grey space between definitions and blurred lines, where feelings were left unspoken.

There were no titles. No labels. No conversations.

Just this house you shared, the routines you fell into, the nights you spent watching TV on opposite sides of the couch—legs touching, eyes never meeting for too long.

You cooked for him. He brought you coffee when you were too tired to function. You folded his laundry. He paid your rent when you were short—hell, he paid more than half most months, always insisting it was no trouble.

And at night, when the silence pressed too loud between the walls, it almost felt like love.

Almost.

But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be.

Because neither of you were brave enough to say it.

Whatever it was—whatever had settled in the space between your ribs and his—it went unspoken. Always.

So you pretended.

You smiled too easily. You swallowed your hurt and turned it into sarcasm. When Rafe did something reckless or cruel or cutting, you laughed it off. You told yourself it was fine.

That you were fine.

Rafe had his own way of dealing with it. Bottling things up wasn’t really his thing. Not quietly, anyway.

He didn’t go back to coke—not yet. He swore he wouldn’t. Not after last time.

But he drank. A lot. It was his outlet. His escape. His excuse.

And when Rafe drank, he didn’t come home early. He didn’t lie low. No, he made damn sure you noticed him unraveling.

You weren’t stupid. You knew what he was doing.

He flirted with the kind of girls who fell too easily for the Cameron name, for the money, for the rough hands and sharp jaw and that cold-blue stare.

He let them hang off him, touch his arms, lean in like they belonged to him.

He bought them drinks. Laughed too loud. Sometimes he made out with them—right in front of you, if the setting allowed it.

Like he wanted to be caught.

Like he wanted you to say something.

But you never did.

You’d sit there, drink in hand, heart in your throat, pretending you didn’t feel anything at all. Even when your chest ached like it was cracking open. Even when it took everything in you not to scream.

Because if you admitted it—if you said anything—you’d be crossing a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. You’d be admitting it mattered. That he mattered.

And if you did that, if you opened that door, and he didn’t feel the same? You weren’t sure you’d survive it.

So you swallowed it down and played your part.

Like it didn’t bother you.

Like it didn’t break you in half every time he looked right through you and let someone else have a piece of him.

And Rafe never said a word about it the next day. He never brought the girls around. Never bragged. Never even looked proud of what he did.

But sometimes—when the house was quiet and you caught him sitting alone in the kitchen, hunched over a half-empty glass of bourbon, his jaw clenched, his eyes unfocused—you knew.

You weren’t the only one hurting, you just showed it differently.

And neither of you were willing to be the first one to say it.

────୨ৎ────

It was another late night, and Rafe was nowhere to be found.

You had already showered and changed into your favorite oversized t-shirt—his, ironically—your damp hair twisted into a clip, a pile of unfolded laundry strewn across the living room. The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills buzzed on the TV, the dramatic voices and chaotic edits offering some kind of background comfort while you mindlessly sorted socks and shirts.

You were halfway through pairing the last few when your phone lit up on the kitchen counter.

Snapchat from Nikki

Nikki is typing…

Chat from Nikki

You frowned. Nikki wasn’t someone you talked to often. You worked together—civil enough to share things over the piles of paperwork or bitch about rude customers—but not close. Not close enough for a late-night message unless it was bad.

And it was.

The Snapchat opened to a dimly lit photo—Rafe in a bar, lips tangled with some random blonde, her hands placed over his chest like she owned him.

You stared. You didn’t even blink. Just stared at the screen as the photo disappeared, burning into your brain like a scar.

The next message came quickly.

“I’m so sorry. Just thought you should know.”

That was it. No follow-up. No explanation. Just those few words, and a silent understanding between girls who didn’t have to say more.

You set your phone down on the counter slowly, deliberately, like if you were too quick with it, it would all become real. You didn’t cry. Not yet. Instead, you inhaled shakily through your nose and turned your eyes back toward the TV.

Lisa Rinna was screaming. Someone had thrown a glass. It should’ve distracted you.

But it didn’t.

Because your hands were still gripping the fabric in your lap. And when you looked down, it was one of his shirts—soft, navy blue, the one you always stole from the dryer before he noticed.

You curled your fingers into the cotton until your knuckles turned white.

“Fuck,” you whispered, barely audible, like saying it too loud would make the pain spill out for real.

Your throat tightened. Your chest ached in that awful, crushing way that made breathing feel like a chore. The kind of ache that came from being disappointed in the same person over and over again—but still holding on to hope like an idiot.

Tears started to form, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall.

He didn’t get to win.

He didn’t get to break you—not again.

So you turned the volume up, drowning yourself in the screeching of rich housewives, and kept folding the damn laundry like nothing had happened.

Each fold sharper than the last.

Each movement more mechanical.

The clock ticked past 1:00am. No text. No call. No Rafe.

But you waited anyway.

Waited in silent rage, jaw clenched, fists aching, heart shattered in that familiar way only he could manage.

Because that’s what you did.

You waited for the man who never came home clean.

────୨ৎ────

It was 1:52 a.m. when you heard the front door creak open.

Not slammed. Not loud. Quiet. Intentional. Like he wanted to slip in unnoticed and pretend the night never happened.

But you were still on the couch. Still in that damn t-shirt. Still sitting in front of the folded laundry with his shirts sitting on top of the pile like some sick joke from the universe.

You didn’t look up when he stepped inside. Just kept your eyes locked on the TV, even though you couldn’t remember a single thing about the scene playing. Your heart was thudding in your ears, your fingers curled tight around the last shirt in your lap.

Rafe didn’t say a word as he walked past.

No drunken slurs. No stumbling apologies. No lame excuses or half-assed greetings.

Just the smell of whiskey trailing behind him, thick and sour. And maybe the faint trace of someone else’s perfume.

You felt it before you smelled it—sweet and cheap and not yours.

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter with a soft clink, then opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water, and twisted off the cap. Calm. Normal. Like he didn’t just kiss someone else while you sat here wearing his clothes, folding his laundry, trying not to fall apart.

He leaned against the counter and finally looked at you.

“You’re up late.”

His voice was smooth. Steady. Controlled. He was trying to sound casual, bored even. But you knew him too well. You caught the slight hitch in his breath. The way his fingers tightened around the bottle just a little too long. He was waiting—for something.

And you knew what it was.

He wanted you to break.

He wanted you to say something. Call him out. Scream. Cry. Demand an explanation. Beg him to stop. To choose you. To stay.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you shrugged without looking at him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He scoffed under his breath, almost like a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah? That’s new.”

You bit your tongue. You weren’t going to do this. Not tonight.

Rafe crossed the room slowly and dropped down onto the opposite end of the couch, letting his arm drape lazily along the back of it, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, the tension rolling off his skin like waves.

You didn’t move.

“Laundry night?” he asked, nodding to the piles.

“Yeah,” you said flatly. “Some of your stuff was in there.”

He smirked. “That why you’re wearing my shirt?”

You didn’t answer.

Because if you did—if you let yourself speak—it would come out like a scream. Like every ounce of pain you’d swallowed since you let yourself love him in silence.

He leaned in closer, just enough for you to feel his breath against your cheek.

“You mad at me, baby?”

You flinched—barely—but he noticed. Of course he did. He always did.

But still, you didn’t look at him.

“I’m not mad,” you said quietly.

“Then what are you?”

“Nothing.”

The lie tasted bitter.

He laughed again, but this time it was darker. Harsher. “Yeah. Sure. Nothing.”

He stood up, tossing the water bottle onto the coffee table as he started to walk toward the hallway. But just before he disappeared, he paused in the doorway and turned back toward you.

“You know, if you’ve got something to say, then say it.”

You finally looked at him then—eyes sharp, jaw tight, heart shattering into pieces so small he’d never be able to pick them up.

But you just said, “No. You’ll figure it out when she isn’t looking for you tomorrow. But I hope she was worth it.”

Rafe didn’t reply.

He just stood there, like he’d been punched in the chest.

Because she wouldn’t.

And he knew it.

None of those girls ever did.

But you had.

Every single time.

And still—he always ruined it.

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. And after a few seconds, he just turned and walked down the hallway, the bedroom door clicking shut behind him.

The silence after his door shut was suffocating. You sat there, gripping the hem of your shirt—his shirt—until your knuckles ached. The TV droned on, but you weren’t watching anymore. You were too busy replaying that image in your head. That blonde girl’s hands on his chest. Her lips on his. The way Rafe let it happen. Like you meant nothing.

And maybe you did. That was the part that burned the most.

You lasted ten minutes before you snapped.

You stormed down the hallway, and the bedroom door flew open with a bang. You didn’t knock. Just pushed through and found him standing by the dresser, shirt halfway off, belt hanging loose from his pants.

He turned at the sound, eyebrows raised, like he wasn’t expecting you to actually come to him.

“What?” he asked flatly.

You stood there, fists clenched at your sides. “You’re such a fucking asshole, Rafe.”

He blinked. “Took you long enough to say it.”

Your blood boiled.

“Do you get off on this?” you hissed. “Coming home smelling like whiskey and some random girls perfume just to see if I’ll break?”

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why? Did it work?”

You laughed—sharp and bitter. “God, you’re insufferable.”

“And you’re pissed,” he shot back, stepping closer. “But you won’t say why. You never do. You just… fold laundry and stare at me like I kicked your dog.”

You crossed your arms. “I don’t owe you an explanation for how I feel.”

“No?” He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “Then what are we doing here, Y/n?”

You shook your head and looked away, trying to collect yourself before your voice cracked. “Nothing. We’re nothing. You made that pretty fucking clear again tonight.”

He took another step forward, crowding your space now, chest rising and falling heavier. “Then just say it.”

“What?” you snapped, already regretting raising your voice.

“Say it, Y/n. Say it and I’ll stop.”

You flinched. “Don’t do that.”

His tone softened, but there was desperation bleeding through. “Say it and it will all stop. I swear. But I have to know.”

You looked away again, chest tight with everything you’d been burying for months. You wanted to say it. You did. But not like this. Not when he was drunk and trying to bait it out of you like a confession would fix everything.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered.

“Bullshit,” he growled.

He grabbed your hand, not rough but firm, grounding. His eyes locked onto yours like he was searching for the truth he already knew but needed to hear.

“I’m not playing anymore, Y/n. Just say it.”

And that’s when you snapped.

Your chest was heaving now, the air between you both so charged it felt like it might spark.

“Okay fine!” you yelled, voice cracking with the weight of everything you’d held in. “I love you, Rafe, but—”

He cut you off instantly, like the words shattered whatever control he had left.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you to sa—”

“I wasn’t done,” you said sharply, stepping back from him.

Rafe froze, lips parting like he couldn’t breathe.

Your voice dropped lower, trembling but steady. “I love you, but I won’t always love you. You keep making me feel like I don’t matter. Like I’m just… here. Like I’m a placeholder until you figure out what the fuck you actually want.”

The room was quiet, too quiet, except for the sound of your own pulse hammering in your ears.

And Rafe just stood there.

Silent.

Still.

Looking at you like he wanted to say something, anything, but couldn’t form the words. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. Maybe this was all he ever had to offer—silent regret and bloodshot eyes.

You swallowed hard, something sharp catching in your throat.

“I watch you destroy yourself,” you said softly, “and everyone who tries to care. And I can’t— I won’t be one of them. So yeah, I love you. But I won’t let it ruin me. Not like it ruins you.”

You didn’t wait for a reaction.

You turned around and walked straight out of his room, not looking back even though you could feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall. Your bare feet padded across the hardwood floor as the storm of emotion crashed down on you.

When you reached your bedroom door—the one you barely used because you were always in his bed, under his blankets—you turned the knob, stepped in, and slammed it shut behind you.

Click.

The sound of the lock sliding into place echoed in the quiet house.

You stood there for a second, your back against the door, heart racing and tears finally slipping free. You wiped them away roughly, furious with yourself for crying at all.

You weren’t going to fall for it again.

No more soft apologies that led nowhere. No more drunken confessions with slurred edges and empty weight. No more letting him crawl into your bed like nothing ever happened, like the girls, the games, the hurt didn’t exist.

He was going to have to show you he really meant it. And not with words. Not with sex. Not with the same recycled charm he gave everyone else.

You climbed into your cold bed, alone for once, the unfamiliar space echoing with the distance you’d finally built between you.

On the other side of the door, Rafe didn’t knock. Didn’t try the handle.

But you heard him.

His soft footsteps outside your room.

Then nothing.

Just silence.

He was finally realizing that maybe this time, he pushed too far.

That this time… you said it.

You admitted it.

The one thing he’d been waiting to hear—aching to hear—you finally said to him.

And he might’ve just fucked it all up.

*thinking of making a part 2 so if you guys would want that pls lmk!!*

**edit part 2 linked above!!

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soldiersgirl · 4 months ago

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— 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝟏-𝟖𝟎𝟎-𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐞 .ᐟ

summary — ben isn't willing to learn a lot about new, modern society and it's "made-up" words, but when it comes to you? he wants to finally give it a go.

cw — fem!reader x soldier boy, 18+ smut (mdni / wrap it up), phone/facetime sex, masturbation (f & m), fingering, jerking off, dirty talk, degradation, name calling (slut, whore, good girl, sweetheart, love, angel), daddy kink, self-tasting, swearing.

word count — 2,580 words

during your time babysitting the infamous supe, who had also somehow become your boyfriend, you had fallen into a comfortable routine of teaching each other things about your eras. his lectures talked about the high-roller parties and the actresses he got into scandals with, the golden age of cinema (aka the movies he starred in) and the high passion of a war-torn america. however his lectures soon progressed into how to properly enjoy a good aged whiskey and an assortment of pills.

whilst you diligently spent your time trying to educate and update him on everything he had missed over the past 40 years, or so, in the company of the russians. everything from slang, fashion and popular culture to the most important; how to use the phone and internet. no modern man could function without that and despite how stubborn soldier boy was, to his dismay, you were more. and no matter how much he denied loving it, he really did.

after weeks of pestering him, begging him to let you give him a crash course, he finally agreed. or rather yelled that "if it got you off his fucking case, then he would." so, you started off gently with a flip phone, which you thought couldn't be easier to use. no one breaks a flip phone. except for ben. he grunts and curses as he presses the keys multiple times, his attempt at typing before swiftly breaking the phone in two and chucking it into the corner of his living room with precision.

"the buttons were too fucking small." he defends himself before settling back into the couch and stared at the tv, ignoring the dumbfounded look painted across your face. the next day you skip into the living room with a new gift and smile widely at him as he rips open the packaging and scowls at you as he pulls out the newest smartphone.

"the fuck is this? portable tv? can't watch shit on this fuckin' thing! where would i put in the vhs?" he mumbles as he examines the device before haphazardly throwing it on the kitchen table, where you scramble after it. good thing you had gotten that deal on screen protector and hunters green phone cover, matching ben's suit.

"adapt or die, grandpa." you scoff. "this thing is gonna become your life after i've shown you how to use it." you wave it in his unimpressed face. "you can stream shit on netflix, watch your movie clips on youtube, listen to that awful shit you called music on spotify and, most importantly, order anything right to your door with amazon and uber eats." you pat his head and he swats your hand away before grabbing the phone and frowning at it. he sighs and looks up at you with those puppy eyes that harden under your hopeful grin.

"i don't know fuck about shit or shit about fuck, but what i do know is that those are all made up words." he lowly chuckles, brushing away his bangs.

"oh beeeen..." you sigh and sit down next to him. "listen, you'll be able to call or text me whenever you want." you flutter your eyelashes at him. "send videos... pictures." you trail off, tracing your finger over his veiny arms, hoping he'd get the message. but as he always does, he understands it at face value and just grimaces at you.

"why the fuck would i want that? not some snivellin' pussy who needs to talk to his girl all the time." he scoffs. with that, you snatch the phone away, stuff it in your bag and look back at him with a frown. the rest of the evening, unfortunately for ben, was spent with you giving him the silent treatment as he slowly grovels his way back into your good graces and begrudgingly accepting the smartphone all while you snuggle up to him and explain the ins and outs.

despite your best efforts and loudest protests, you were stuck at home as ben had decided for you that you weren't allowed to put yourself in harms way, not now that you were his girl. thankfully, teaching ben how to use a phone significantly eased your heavy heart when he went away on missions, now you didn't have to rely on butcher to tell you whether or not he was alive, and that prick barely checked his phone to begin with.

you lounged around in ben's signature blue new york giants button up alongside your go-to order for sushi and new girl, your favourite comfort show, blaring on your tv before you settled in for another uneventful evening; whilst ben and the boys got to have all the excitement and fun. as the evening dwindled on after watching god-knows how many episodes and doom scrolling on your phone, you found yourself reaching a new height of boredom and loneliness. you had gotten so used to ben that whenever you had a moment alone, your thoughts wandered to him immediately.

his distinctive earthy scent as he towers over you. your fingers graze over your white cotton underwear as you tease yourself. his cocky smirk as you whine and moan underneath him, at his mercy. you push against your bundle of nerves and you can't help but let a small whimper escape you. the way he fills you like no one else and fucks you like his hunger can't be sated. you slip your fingers under your waistband and lose yourself in the feeling of your fingers delicately rubbing over your needy clit. you hum in pleasure as you let your imagination take over and allow your fingers to explore yourself as you bite into your lip to quieten your whimpers when you quickened your pace.

PING!

"fuck." you groan in annoyance as you pull your hand away from your aching pussy and reach out for your phone. you had been waiting to hear how the mission went from ben and finally, it seemed he had a second to spare for you. you scoff inwardly as your eyes glance over his message, as if you hadn't been waiting anxiously for hours to hear from him and this is what you get.

bennie boo<3: wyd

you: why are you texting me like you're a horny teenage boy and not my boyfriend??? you: try again and maybe i'll actually talk to you

as the grey tick turned to blue, indicating that ben had read your message, you can picture the theatrical way he would roll his eyes and huff at your tone of message and you can't help but giggle.

bennie boo <3: my beautiful princess with a disorder bennie boo <3: talk to me, wyd

"asshole." you whisper to yourself as you knew that ben sent that message with a smug smile plastered across his face, anything to get you riled up. you don your own sly grin as you type truth about what you were doing.

you: touching myself and thinking of u, ofc???

"bennie boo <3" flashes across your phone and you laugh out loud, that man never denied himself of any pleasures and you knew he'd be desperate to see you fall apart for him. you let him suffer for a few seconds, keeping him on his toes as you laid down in your bed, readjusting your top so the valley of your breasts peeked out underneath his top and checking your makeup before answering.

"what took you so fuckin' long?" his rough voice floods your ears and your smile automatically widens.

"i miss you too, ben." you sigh.

"yeah, yeah. whatever, you know i miss you. blah blah." he sighs on the other end. you can hear his bed sheets rustle as he gets comfortable in his motel bed, still wearing his supe-suit trousers and his usual white, tight wife-beater. his shield, guns and supe-suit top were strewn around the room and a 6-pack of warm beer stood unattended on his nightstand.

"how did it go?" you sigh as you mindlessly twirl your hair, imagining your big, tough boyfriend lazily lay on his bed, his strong hands wrapped around his phone and the other around him.

"cut the bullshit." his voice was strained. you had him exactly where you wanted him. it was almost too easy. you shook your head and giggled into your shoulder before feigning ignorance.

"what do you mean, babe? i'm just aski–"

"don't fuckin' make me repeat myself." he interrupts. "touchin' yourself without my permission? you're in some fuckin' trouble, you know that, don't ya sweetheart?" you heard the familiar sound of his zip being pulled down and a soft sigh followed swiftly. "what were ya doin', love? huh? touchin' your pretty pussy and thinking of me?" his tone softens as he coaxes your sins out of you like a trained priest at confessional.

"mhm." is all you can manage as ben's shallow breathing is all you can think about.

"yeah? want to show me how, baby?" he chuckles darkly. before you can answer, you hear him swear and furiously tap on the screen before whispering to himself "which fucking button... motherfuckin' technology." you cover your mouth to hide your laughter, but ben hears and breathes out a tirade of curses as he struggles. you press the camera button and there he was. tired, frustrated and as handsome as ever as he lets his eyes glide from your face down to his top that practically swallowed you up and let out a loud groan. "fuuuuck, baby." he runs his hand over his face, freshening himself up.

"i'm wearing those cute panties you got me, you know. the ones with the lil bow on front." you admit as you tilt your phone down and teasingly pull up the top and reveal them to him. so white and so pure; a contrast to the wet patch that was pooling in them as you watched his tortured face. your fingers dance over the top, fiddling with the bow and circling your clothed clit. you keep your eyes focused on him as you notice his composure falter and his phone slightly shake as he slowly jerks himself off.

"take them off. now." he dictates, his tone rough and his voice hushed. you waste no time in peeling them off, pulling them down your legs and revealing a string of cum between your slick folds and damp underwear. ben sighs heavily as his eyes rest on your needy pussy as it begs for your attention, for your touch. "fuckin' touch yourself for me. show me what you did. be a good girl for daddy, c'mon." you lick the tip of your middle finger before connecting it your yearning clit and rub it in swift and quick circles as you watch ben's lip twitch and his eyes widen with desire. he furiously taps his screen again. tap, tap, tap. followed by a harsh whisper of "how the fuck do i turn this shittin' camera around?!" suddenly, a filter appears over ben's face and a groan, that came from a place of utter exasperation, pulls you out of your pleasure. a loud laughter erupts from you as ben's face had been transformed into a dog's and his anger was only escalating by the second.

"babe," you say through gritted teeth to contain your laughter. "press the left button and then the middle one." you calmly explain, only getting a grunt from ben in return before he turns the camera around and you stop in your tracks. his muscular hand wrapped his already-leaking thick cock, each vein prominent and the tip a deep shade of pink. his experienced fingers graze over his tip and he shudders at his own soft touch before he leisurely rubs it and resumes his iron grip at the base.

"yeah, that fuckin' shut you up, didn't it? cock-hungry whore." he sniffs as he jerks himself off, each stroke slow and calculated. "touch your pussy for daddy, baby. wanna see." your fingers return to your clit and in unison, you both let out pained whimpers as you wish it was one another's hands on your bodies. "how does it feel baby, hm? wish it was daddy's hands instead, don't you?" he spoke with a playful lilt before spitting into his hand and continuing his lazy pace as his piercing gaze watches you toying with your swollen clit.

"yes, daddy. i wish you were here, filling me up. fucking me like the good girl i am." you whine as you unconsciously buck your hips and apply more pressure to the frantic pace on your glossy bundle of nerves.

"good girls don't touch themselves." ben states matter-of-factly.

"daddy," you huff. "i was always thinking of you, though." you snivel as your fingers slowly glide down and slide with ease into your weeping cunt. with a loud moan you push them all the way in and curve them to hit the spot. a tirade of curses tumble past your lips at the sensation.

"so fuckin' dirty, oh my god," ben mutters through a soft exhale. "fuck yourself on those fingers, slut." you thrust them into you at a feverish pace, searching for your much-needed release as ben urges you on, encouraging you. "c'mon, show daddy how much you miss him. show me how wet you are, show me." you pull out your fingers and he marvels at them, covered in your slick. "yeah, baby. put them in your mouth, tell daddy how good you taste." you flip the camera and obediently wrap your lips around your glossy digits, batting your eyelashes at the camera as you suck on them, moaning at the taste.

"god, i taste so good, daddy." you hum around your fingers as your tongue dances over them. "wish you were here to taste me." you pout.

"when daddy comes home, he's gonna fuckin' devour you, baby. just you wait, you won't be able to think straight when i'm done with you." a soft groan tumbles past your lips as your fingers find their way to your entrance and massage themselves against your soft, velvet walls. bens pace picks up and all you can both hear on the line is your muffled whimpers and ben's shallow breathing. as your peak finally draws closer, you throw your head back in pleasure and grimace as your muscles tighten and clench.

"i'm so close..!" you whine.

"cum for me, bab–" ben's voice suddenly cuts off and you whip your head up in surprise. you freeze immediately and drop your phone in disbelief. he forgot to charge his fucking phone, again. you curse under your breath, clean yourself up and grumble in frustration as you turn your attention back to your tv show, unsatisfied. ben, on the other hand, had lost his shit, chucked his phone into the wall and sending it through to the neighbouring room. hughie peeked his head sideways and stared through the phone-shaped hole in his wall at a fuming, half-dressed ben.

"give me your cock-suckin' phone!" ben yells as hughie just stares before slowly nodding and handing it to him through the hole with a hidden smirk. "wipe that smirk off yer fuckin' face, asslicker. i swear to god." ben growls before settling into his bed, typing in your number and waiting impatiently for you. finally, after the third ring he hears your soft voice. "let's finish what we started, angel." he murmurs with a shit-eating grin as you giggle on the other end.

a/n: this is kind of the second part to perv!reader x soldier boy that you guys loved so much <3 HUGE shoutout to @emeraldcrs (ily!!) for the idea, i had so much fun with this and enjoyed making it a bit funny too, hehe -`♡´- tag list: @bluemerakis @legalmente-loca @faiszt @vmiina @emeraldcrs @briiverse @figthoughts @sl33pylilbunny @jasvtsc @silverwoodlynx @kayleighwinchester @bejeweledinterludes @yooyieu @nperoconelcositoarriba @lanasgirlfr @velvetdandeli0n @iluvdeanwinchester @cowboysandcigarettes @daylighted @valjy @dulcescorderitas @mostlymarvelgirl @syrma-sensei @rositaslabyrinth (comment or inbox me to be added)

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daisies-and-domming · 3 days ago

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Not so Shy Anymore, Huh? (NSFW)

Summary: Your boyfriend is bold - and no matter how long you’ve been with him, you can’t seem to stop the warm flush of your cheeks when he compliments you so easily. He’s used to you being shy, but one day you reach your breaking point. He wants to be bold? You can be bold, too!

Warnings: swearing, dom!reader, reader is (usually) easily fluster, petnames (Gojo calls you baby, Geto calls you my love, Sukuna calls you petal), p in an undefined hole (Gojo, Geto), praise kink (Sukuna), f!receiving oral (Sukuna)

Features Gojo, Geto, Sukuna

Thank you to the lovely @glassofapplejuicee for beta reading <3

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

– – –

This was a WIP that I never finished...I had a portion for Toji and Ino in the works, but I just haven't had time to get around to it, and unless y'all REALLY want their parts, I probably never will. Still, I hope you enjoy <3 As always, feel free to message me if you have any requests.

– – –

Gojo Satoru - Eyes on Me!

“Did I tell you how stunning you look tonight? Because if I haven’t, I’d like to get something off my chest - I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you since you came downstairs, baby.”

“Satoru!” You gasp, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

You hated how your boyfriend could waltz into the room and just say whatever was on his mind. His unbelievable self-confidence was ruinous - how were you meant to combat the constant barrage of sweet words he throws your way? You feel bad for Nanami, who just rolls his eyes and abandons your conversation, opting to go get a drink in the kitchen.

He was smart enough to know that you ceased to properly function when your silver-tongued boyfriend was around. In his defense, he couldn't help it, not when your reactions were so precious. He loved the way you froze up, and how your mouth would open and close without a word coming out. He revelled in the way your skin was warm to the touch when he spoke so brazenly, in how you couldn’t even look him in the eye afterwards.

“Yes, baby?” He questioned, grinning at the bashful look on your face.

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“You’re not sorry at all!” you start with a groan, dragging a hand down your face, “Have you no shame, Satoru? You scared off Nanami!”

“Good,” he said, wrapping his arms around you.

“Then I get to have my beautiful baby aaaaall to myself. Sucks that we’re out here, or I’d show you just how beautiful I think you are,” he added with a whisper.

He thumbs at the hem of your shirt, but you’re so done with his bullshit. You hate how it barely took anything to get you all hot in the face, and you hate how much he clearly enjoys it. He was a charmer and he knew it, but it didn’t mean he could belittle you like this. Sometimes it made you feel small, like you couldn’t live up to the version of you that he had in his head.

You spin around, something feral glinting in your eyes. “Let’s go upstairs, then. You can show me just how beautiful you think I am.”

The frantic blink blink blink of his eyes would almost be comical if you weren’t so determined to remind him that you could be flashy and brazen. Two could play this game, after all.

“O-okay!” He just about stumbled over himself as he followed you upstairs.

You apologize in your head to whoever owns this house - Yaga? - because their spare room was about to look like a crime scene when you were done with him.

A house party usually means someone stumbling upstairs, drunk, and getting laid, but you were as sober as could be. This was deliberate - you were going to remind Gojo that even his title as “strongest” couldn’t save him from you.

You slip into the first empty room you can find and shove him in first, gently clicking the lock behind you. It’s dark, but you can make out the outline of a neatly made bed and a barren nightstand. You pray to every god imaginable that this room is a guest room as Gojo crowds you against the door, eyes aglow.

“Fuck, I love when you’re assertive like that, sweet cheeks,” he says, stealing a quick kiss between words.

“Let’s get you undressed, hm?”

“Off, Toru,” you say, wiggling your way out from between him and the door.

“You strip and get on the bed. Let me at least get the lights, please? Not all of us have six eyes to guide us.”

There it is again - that owlish blink - but he obeys without hesitation, making his way towards the bed. He leaves a trail of clothes in his wake as you flick on the lights, and you let yourself admire the rippling muscles in his back before you start to derobe yourself. By the time you’re done taking off your clothes, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you curiously.

You two certainly weren’t vanilla in bed by any means, but he had always been the one in control (except the one time he tried to get you to call him daddy - you quickly informed him you would NOT be doing that). This was new for both of you, but he clearly wasn’t opposed to it. If the stiffness of his untouched cock had anything to say about it, he seemed to be pretty damn into it.

“So…” he started, dragging out the ‘o’ “Are you gonna come over here, or what? I’m getting kinda bored!” Gojo whined, jutting out his bottom lip in a dramatic pout.

You roll your eyes, but make your way over to him. His eyes roam your body, and you pray he can’t see how much it’s affecting you. You try to keep your gaze steely, but you can’t help but look. He’s got goosebumps running up his arms and legs, and his cock twitches when you stare at it just a bit too long. He’s biting his lip when your stare finally makes its way to his face, eyes half-lidded and clouded with lust.

Silently, you motion to him to move further into the sheets, and he does, looking at you expectantly once he’s right in the middle of the bed.

“Alright baby,” you coo, moving to straddle him. “Be good for me, won’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” he says frantically, hands hovering tentatively over your hips.

You give him the go ahead, and he kneads his fingers into the flesh of your hips, grip already bruising as you grind down on him just right.

He’s sensitive, more sensitive than he usually is, and you smirk down at him as he bites back a groan when your movements pick up.

“Feel good?” you do your best not to laugh when his head bobbles in response. “Aww, useless already? That’s okay sweetie, I’ve got you.”

“Want to put it in, can I?” His eyes meet yours, his tone dripping with need.

“Please, c-can I? Please, I’ve been guh-good, so good! Please please please, wanna feel you around me, see the outline of me in you, please!”

“Hmm, okay!” your hands reach down and you squeeze his cock hard, and your tone shifts. “On one condition. Can you do one little thing for me?”

His eyes are unfocused as you drag his angry tip teasingly against your entrance, but you won’t sink down until you’ve got your answer.

“Well, Toru?”

“Mhm- I can do it, I can do it!”

You lean down and kiss him, biting his lower lip as you pull away.

“Eyes on mine, or we stop.”

Without waiting for a confirmation, you sink down, right to the base. He’s big, and it hurts at first, but the tears at your waterline are worth it for the fucked out look that overtakes Gojo’s face. He’s already babbling nonsense, a mix of frantic swears and pleas, but you ignore him, choosing to experimentally roll your hips instead. Your eyes are on his the whole time, almost unfeeling, and it turns him on the way that you’re using him right now. He was right - you look absolutely stunning tonight.The sheen of sweat that covered your skin gave you a faint glow under the light of the room.

Nothing was more beautiful to him, he thought to himself, than you using him like an over-sized dildo.

“Might as well be,” you comment, something mean hiding in your gaze. “You’re-hah-not exactly doing much but laying there and taking it.”

Oh fuck, did he say that out loud?

“‘m not! You’re just-ngh-ridin’ me so guh-good, can’t help it!”

You rub a thumb across his cheek, wiping away the tears (when did he start crying?). Your touch is far more gentle than the brutal pace you set with your hips. It’s bordering on painful, but the friction is so delicious you’re unable to stop as his cock slides against your velvet walls. He almost forgets your request, but when his eyes flutter shut and you freeze on top of him, looking down at him expectantly.

“W-why did you stop?” he sobs, eyes flying open. “C’mon, I was being so good-”

“I had one request, Gojo,” you say, tone cold.

“One request, and you couldn’t even do it. God, you’re pathetic. Got your dick a little wet and all that talk went out the door, huh?”

He whined, his hands reaching to grip your hips. He weakly tries to move you up and down his dick, legs twitching underneath you, but you won’t move. He really won’t look at you now - eyes anywhere but your face as he tries to buck up into your soft, wet heat. You know that if he really wanted to, the ball would be in his court again. He could overpower you in a second and take what he wants, but he won’t - he’s a good boy at heart.

“Are you done now?” you ask, rolling your eyes.

“Look at me.”

His eyes find yours again, searching them for a reprieve, but instead his breath catches at the look in your eyes. Despite just how mean you’re treating him, there’s something soft hiding in the glint of your eyes as you look down at him. You feel his heartbeat explode under your hand, and you let out a small huff. You grab his hand and he gives you a curious look, but as you raise it to your own chest he swears there’s nothing else in the universe but you. Your heartbeat is frantic under his fingertips, and when you look up at his face again, you think you see hearts in his eyes. But the moment passes, as all moments do, and you bring his hand back down to the sheets. Suddenly, he’s hyperaware of just how stupid he must look under you right now - hair messy, cheeks flushed, eyes teary - but he won’t look away. He thinks if you stop again he might die.

It made him nervous, seeing how composed you were above him, looking like some sort of deity. The eye contact had embarrassment clawing at him from under his skin, and a flush spreading from his cheeks down to his chest. Everything in him screamed look away, look away! but he couldn’t. There was nothing in this room, in the universe, but you you you and the way your body molded into his.

You weren’t faring much better. His eyes had always been mesmerizing, but there was something addicting to seeing them from this angle and watching them blur with tears. He was looking at you with reverence, with an unconditional sort of love, and it made your walls flutter around him. The rock of your hips started to get unsteady and you reached desperately for his hand, lacing your fingers together once you found purchase.

You maintained eye contact with him as you pulled it against your chest so he could feel the steady thump thump of your erratic heartbeat against his skin. His hips bucked up on their own, but you could barely care - not when his fat tip rubbed against your sweet spot just right with every bounce.

“Fuh-fuck, baby, can I?” he moaned, eyes teary.

“Can I, puh-please?”

He didn’t have to say it - you know what he’s begging for. But what fun is it if you let him have what he wants so easily?

“Can you what, baby? Are you asking me to stop?”

Your pace drops to a slow grind, hitting your sweet spot perfectly but not giving him nearly as much friction as he needs to let go. The whine he lets out at the loss of friction is desperate, and he can no longer hold back the waterworks. You reach down to wipe away the tears, feigning concern.

“What’s wrong, baby? I thought this is what you wanted. You couldn’t use your big boy words, so I just had to assume, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll do better next time, just please go faster, please, I’m b-begging you!”

You sigh, rolling your eyes at him. “So needy, aren’t you? Well, I guess you did ask nicely…”

“S-so, nicely, please? I want it so bad, need it, please please please?”

Always one for dramatics, even when his brain is mush, you note, but at this point you’re also starting to feel a little bit desperate. You want to drag it out more but you can’t, not when his gushing head brushes your sweet spot for the nth time.

You try to keep your cool demeanor, but it starts to slip when you watch Gojo’s pretty pink lips form the most perfect little ‘o’ as your hips speed up. He’s still watching you intently; brilliant blue eyes locked on yours. You shoot him a sweet little smile before speaking again.

“You’re doing so good baby,” your voice shaky as your peak nears. “So good I might just let you cum. Are you ready to cum?”

A pathetic, needy look flashes across his features, and he begins to blubber out pleas.

“So ready, the r-readiest, never been more ready in my life!” He's struggling to keep eye contact now, but he’s trying your best (and you’re close) so you let it slide.

“Can I, can I please? Please, m-mommy, need it, I need to cum in you, fill you up, please!”

His pleas send you over the edge and your orgasm crashes over you uncontrollably, frantically clasping his hand in yours as it does.

“Cum with me, baby, c-cum, cum.”

He wails, hips bucking violently as he’s finally allowed release. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes open, too, as your orgasm sweeps over you. There’s something so strangely intimate about this moment as you both rut into each other, riding out your highs. Every ounce of love, every word he hasn’t said, he pours into his gaze, and you into yours. There’s a sort of magic in the moment, an almost tangible buzzing in the air around you two.

There’s a flicker of something in the corner of his eyes, a flash of blue lightning, and the nearby light explodes as his eyes finally roll back. If you were more aware you’d realize that Gojo had felt so good he had lost control of his jujutsu, but the jolt of pleasure-pain from the electricity at his fingertips is enough to send your eyes rolling back, too.

When you finally manage to stop the shaky roll of your hips, you look down at Gojo, smiling softly at him. He always managed to look insanely gorgeous in every moment, and you couldn’t help but admire him as he came down from his high. You’re still holding hands, and he gives yours a gentle squeeze, looking absolutely lovesick.

You want to deal with the broken glass, you really do, but instead you gently lift your hips and flop down next to him, exhausted.

Later, you’d find out that power went out across the whole block, and that the party downstairs definitely knew what you two were up to, but for now, you’re content.

Well, you were content. Suddenly, you shoot up, peering over at your boyfriend, just now processing what he had babbled earlier.

“Did you call me mommy earlier?”

He flushes, looking anywhere but you. “Shut up!!”

You laugh, letting it go for now. A conversation for another time, you suppose. You lay back down, pulling him into your chest. You don’t quite know what took over you tonight, but you’re glad. Because sometimes, your stupid cocky boyfriend needed to be reminded that you weren’t just beautiful - you were deadly.

Geto Suguru - Touch Me, Touch Me!

“Suguru.”

“My love.”

“Suguru.”

“My love?”

You can’t even look him in the eye right now. You don’t have to, because you can picture the smug, self-assured look on his face without actually seeing him. You’re out for dinner with your friends - Gojo, Shoko, and Nanami - and yes, perhaps you wanted to be somewhere else, too, but your boyfriend was being insufferable. Whispering little things into your ear, about how ravishing you look tonight and what he’s going to do to you later and how he’s obsessed with every little thing about you. And honestly? You were sick of it. Not only was he making it impossible to enjoy the night out with your mutual friends, but the warm buzz of arousal under your skin was making it hard for you to sit still. The smugness in his eyes as he watched you clench your thighs together was enough for something more akin to anger to bubble up. The image of him, on his knees, begging for just a touch had you grinning right back at him. He tilted his head, almost as if asking “what?”, but you gently shook your head, rejoining the conversation with your friends.

Biding your time proved to be worth it. The more you refused to acknowledge your boyfriend’s advances, the more desperate he got.

“How about we get out of here, hm? I’m starting to get a little bored, and I can think of something far more fun for us to do.” The teasing lilt of his voice and the predatory smirk usually had you biting your cheek and looking away, but you held your ground. Instead, your eyes moved to meet his, trying your best to remain nonchalant.

“Well I’m having fun,” you start, reaching over to squeeze his upper thigh. “So just sit still and look pretty for a little longer, okay? I know you’re impatient, my love, but you can wait a little longer, can’t you? I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

You bit back a smile as confusion made its way to Suguru’s face. Mocking him, telling him to wait? You’d never done that, ever. Before he gets a chance to retort, you turn yourself back to Shoko and pick your conversation back up, leaving your hand on his thigh.

As the night dragged on, even you were starting to get bored. Somehow, Gojo had managed to get a drink, and, immediately drunk, began rambling on about his students and their adventures. You’re sure these stories would be interesting if he was hiccuping between words and taking long pauses mid-story to remember the story at all. Suguru had warned you that Gojo was a lightweight, but you were still surprised by how low his tolerance was.

Despite the drag, you had a bit of entertainment at the tip of your fingers. Quite literally, for that matter - Suguru’s thigh remained in your grip, and whenever you felt the urge, you’d give it a squeeze. If he was lucky, you might even brush over his dick first, which had stiffened noticeably since you had started your antics. You were starting to understand why he teased you all the time - his reactions were so delicious - and while he wasn’t forgiven by any means, you figured a little payback was in order.

When a (very drunk) Gojo finally got around to paying the bill, you had to try your best not to jump at the chance to leave. You loved your friends, but you had been sitting on a landmine since you’d started teasing Suguru. You had to be careful - push him too far, and he grabs whatever semblance of control you’ve created right out of your hands.

The drive home is silent. You hadn’t drank, so you grabbed the keys out of his hands, giving him a sly grin. Control is a fickle thing, so you tread lightly as you pull the car in. One misstep, and you lose. But you’re pretty confident you’ve got him right where you want him when he can barely manage to get the keys into the door. Yaga (bless his soul) had agreed to watch the girls for the night, so you two had the house to yourselves.

You watch patiently as he locks the door. He turns around to say something, but you put a finger up to your lips and grab his hand with your free one. Quickly, as to not lose your momentum, you drag him to the bedroom. You guide him to the bed, gently pushing him to sit up against the headboard. You strip yourselves of your clothes, and try to ignore the burn of his eyes as they drink you in. You wanted to tease him some more, but he could see the desperation in the slight tremble of your hands - you needed this just as much as he did.

You sink into the bed across from him, just far enough away that he can’t reach. “Hands to yourself, okay?”

“My love, you can’t be serious-”

“Hands to yourself. And that’s final, Suguru.”

You reach down to touch yourself, gently rubbing your entrance with two teasing fingers. You make sure to exaggerate how good you make yourself feel - a twitch of the leg here, a flutter of the eyes there - and his hands are already gripping the sheets, knuckles white. You suck your own fingers into your mouth, mimicking the motions of giving him head, and pull off of them with an obscene pop! Still fully clothed, you watch his cock jump in his pants, straining against the tight fabric. You grin lazily, and look him right in the eyes as you insert your fingers into your entrance. Your eyes do actually flutter this time as you curl your fingers just right, finding that spongy sweet spot deep inside of you. Your fingers barely reached it, and briefly, you miss the feeling of Suguru’s long, thick fingers, but the drunken look on his face was worth the struggle.

“Hah- haven’t even touched you and you’re already leaking, aren’t you, Sugu? Does it feel good, watching me touch myself?”

“S-shut up!” A deep red flush overtook his cheeks, spreading so far that his neck glowed a beautiful cherry red.

“Lay down.”

“What?”

“I won’t ask again,” you say, eyes glowing dangerously. “Lay. Down.”

He moves to lay down, eyes searching yours for an answer, but he finds one when you move to hover over his face. His hands move up to grip your thighs, but you swat them away.

“Did you already forget your manners, Suguru? I asked you to keep your hands to yourself. Can you not follow one, simple instruction?”

“Sorry, ‘m sorry,” he cries out, tears gathering at his waterline. “Can I touch you, please? Need it, need you-”

“Hmm, let me think about it…” you look down at him, biting back a grin at the hopeful look in his eyes. “Nope! Sorry sugar, you’ll have to wait your turn. In the meantime, do you think you can touch yourself for me?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can do that,” he says, frantically fumbling to get his pants far enough down for his cock to spring out. You hear it thump! against his shirt, and, at a glance, he’s leaking. Fat globs of precum are dripping from his angry, red tip, and the vein that runs so pretty up the side of his cock is bulging out. He reaches a hand down to touch himself, but you stop him, grabbing his hand. You bring his hand up to your face and look him right in the eyes as you spit into his palm. An almost pornographic moan slips from his mouth, and his eyes roll back when you guide his spit-soaked hand down to his neglected cock. Once he’s set a somewhat steady pace fisting his pathetic cock, you reach down to toy with yourself again, staring down at Suguru with lidded eyes. His eyes are fixated on your now glistening entrance, your fingers going in and out tantalizingly.

He doesn’t know what’s possessing him to listen to you - both of you know he’s more than strong enough to flip you both over and take what he wants - but there’s something so hot about the way you’re looking down on him, as if he’s not even worth your time. As if he doesn’t deserve your presence, but you’re kind enough to give it to him anyways.

He can’t help the words from tumbling out of his mouth. “D-don’t deserve you baby-hnngh-don’t deserve you! Th-thank you for letting me touch my p-puh-pathetic cock, thank you thank you thank you-”

You cut him off, clenching around your fingers at just how broken he sounded. “You’re welcome, baby. So beautiful like this, all spread out underneath me. Do you know why you’re not allowed to touch me?”

“I-I dunno, ‘m sorry.” he says with a pout. His brows furrowed in concentration, but the cross of his eyes and the tears clinging to his waterline told you all you needed to know.

“Aww, baby, fucked dumb already?” you say, tone sickly sweet. “Didn’t even touch you and you’re already about to squirt.”

He squirms under you, teary eyes blinking up at you owlishly. “‘ts not s-squirt, ‘m not a g-guh-girl! I’m not-mgnh!”

You let out a mean laugh at his pathetic protests. “No? Sure are squealing like one, sugar. Open your mouth for me.”

He does as he’s told, his tongue lolling out uselessly. You reach down with your free hand and hold his mouth open with your thumb and pointer finger and spit, right onto his tongue.

You hold him there for a little longer, watching him gurgle on your spit and his own moans. “Alright, baby: swallow.”

He gulps loudly, and a slew of broken ah ah ah!s spew out of his mouth. You can see that he’s getting close - the unfocused look in his eyes and the buck of his hips up up up from the bed told you that much - and you’re not too far off, yourself. Your domineering, teasing boyfriend was a total wreck underneath you, squealing and moaning like a pornstar. You could’ve probably cum untouched from the sight, really.

“Gonna come already?” you sneer, snarling down at him. “You’re gonna cum, fisting your pathetic cock like a slut?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, g’nna cum,” he groans out, eyes rolled into the back of his skull. “Ooooh, I’m gonna cum, please please please, need to cum, can I? Hnngh! Can’t hold it, please, cum cum cum-”

“Pull your hand away.”

He borderline screams in frustration as he rips his hand away from his swollen cock, just to actually scream when you quickly move down his body and sink down on his cock. You sigh at the feeling of him filling you up, the stretch so intense but so perfect that you couldn’t complain. You were so close you were sure a couple bounces would be all it would take. So you immediately throw yourself into a monstrous pace, the room filling with the wet shlap! of your hips meeting his.

You lock eyes with him, only for a moment, but it’s all you need. “Cum.”

As if on command, you feel him twitch inside of you, and the splash of his warm cum filling your insides. You lose control of your hips as you bounce wildly, chasing your own orgasm. You miss the way Suguru’s eyes roll back as your own find the inside of your skull, and you cum around him. It’s perhaps the strongest orgasms of both of your lives, and by the time you come down, your legs are shaking and your inner thighs are coated with a gross mix of both of your fluids. The room smells of sex and sweat, and the only sound in the room is the quiet pants of both of you as you try to find some sort of grasp on reality again.

“F-fuck, my love, what the hell was that?”

You laugh, a beautiful sound, as you carefully lift your hips to pull his softening cock out of you. “Was sick of your attitude, someone had to do something.”

“Give a guy a warning next time,” he says, throwing an arm over his face to hide the embarrassed flush of his skin. “Don’t think I’ve ever come that fast.”

“Mhm, me neither,” you admit. “Wonder if I can break that record next time…”

“Next time?? My love, you can’t be serious-”

You giggle as you head off to the bathroom to grab stuff to clean him up with. “Sorry, what was that?? I think you’re cutting out!”

“We’re talking in real life-get back here!”

Sukuna Ryomen - So Good You Might Just Taste Heaven on Your Tongue

Sukuna Ryomen was not known for his flattery. He did not go out of his way to tell you that he “loved you” or “cared for you”, or any nonsense like that. Instead he was rather blunt. Anything that came out of his mouth he believed to be the absolute truth. Which is why it was so much more flustering than if he was actually trying to flatter you. He doesn’t just mean the things he says - he believes that everyone should, too.

“Your eyes look like heaven, petal.”

“I want to hold you this instant. My arms feel empty without you in them.”

“I planted the roses in the garden because I was inspired by your beauty, but their colors seem dull whenever you walk past.”

He doesn’t hold his tongue, either. He’s the King of Curses, after all. He had no reason toe - anyone who dared scoff or even laugh at the way he spoke about you met a swift, gruesome end. He’s never minded a bit of blood, anyways.

You, on the other hand, aren’t so forward. You were more in the subtlety - a brush of the hand, a flutter of the eyelash, a love note hidden in between the pages of a book. You’re not used to the brashness in which Sukuna speaks, and he was almost confused by your flustered state at first. He was simply speaking the truth, after all. He had no reason to lie to you, his sweet petal. But as time passed, and he began to understand your silly human customs, he found your silly faces quite…endearing. There was something special about being the only one who could pull those expressions from you.

“Ryo, stop!”

Like now, for instance. He had simply told you that your eyes glittered like diamonds in the sunlight, and suddenly those same eyes were looking anywhere but his face. You hated when he did this, and he knew it, but it was so hard to resist when your lovely lips had already pulled themselves into a cute little pout. How was he to help himself? You had yourself propped on the loveseat next to the window, animatedly telling him about your day. He had chosen to splay himself on the bed (he had honestly hoped you would have chosen to sit on his lap instead, but when it comes to you, he would take what he could get). Anyone would’ve noticed the way the sun caught in your eyes and made them glow, he was sure. Why else would he be so enraptured by it?

“Sorry, petal,” he said, anything but sorry. “Not my fault you’re beautiful, is it?”

“It’s my parents’ fault, actually.”

“Ha ha.”

This was your usual tactic: attempting to hide your embarrassment behind a joke or two. You knew the sudden loss of eye contact and the nervous fiddling of your hands gave you away, but you like to pretend that you’re getting away with it each time (even when you both know you’re not).

“C’mere,” Sukuna beckoned with a lazy curl of his finger.

“Sick of you being all the way over there. Plenty of room for both of us on the bed, petal.”

“Oh, are you now?” You ask, but you’re already moving to get up.

In a moment of boldness (stupidity?) you plop yourself right onto his lap, straddling his thighs. You’re looking right at him, and now you’ve caught him off guard. You couldn’t tell from his face, but the tips of his ears were colored a bright red and it made you grin, something warm curling in your lower abdomen. It’s not often that you get to turn the tables like this on your stoic boyfriend.

You run a gentle hand up his chest, moving to gently cradle his face. He leans into your touch, eyes curious as you thumb at his lips. He lets them part and you lean in, gently locking your lips with his. It starts sweet, as all kisses do, but the heat in your stomach doesn’t disappear, and the kisses become more frantic. Your hips cant against his once, twice, before you pull away for air.

“Where’d this come from, petal? Not that I’m complaining.” Sukuna says, eyes lidded.

“Dunno,” you murmur, guiding him to lay down against the plush of the sheets. “Want to find out?”

“God, you’re hot when you take what you want.”

“Thanks,” you say, breath hot against his neck.

It made a shiver run down his spine and a heat rush down to his cock. You feel it twitch against you and you grin up, teasing, but he won’t look you in the eyes. You huff, pinching his cheeks between your hands, turning his face so he can’t look anywhere but you.

“You’re beautiful too, y’know,” you say, looking down at him so earnestly that he can’t help but gaze up at you.

“I wouldn’t exactly call myself ‘beautiful’, petal.”

And in that moment you’re hit with utter certainty that no one had ever called him beautiful but you. The scars he bore and the weight he carried on his shoulders made him a threat to everyone around him, curses and sorcerers alike. And you knew that, sure, but sometimes it’s easy to forget that he had always been that. There was no happy childhood, no middle school crushes, no family to remind him that a part of him was human at all. But he truly was naturally very beautiful - he just never had the luxury of being allowed to be so.

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

The flush reaches beyond his ears this time, spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. “I’m quite certain that’s not true.”

You frown, but something in your eyes glints, feral. “Let’s start with your face, hm? Perfect cheekbones, soft lips, pretty ruby eyes, just the most rideable nose…mhm, mind if I show you just how beautiful your face is?”

He smirks, the sharp point of his canines peeking over his lower lip. “If you’re implying that you’re going to ride my face, then by all means petal, go right ahead.”

You know that you’re only holding some semblance of control because he wants you to have it, but there’s still a rush of heat in your veins at the idea of using his face to get off. You strip your pants and underwear in one fell swoop, flinging them onto the floor carelessly. They were a problem for later - right now, you were going to ride Sukuna’s face to kingdom come.

“Don’t move.” you say, moving to straddle his face.

His hands move to grab your hips, but you slap them away, sending him a warning look. He looks up at you, clearly amused, but he humors you anyways, letting his hands fall back to his side. You sink down, nice and slow, letting out a gentle sigh as his tongue makes contact with your entrance.

He laps at you gently, eyes fluttering as he tastes your essence on his tongue. A low groan grumbles out of his throat, and the vibrations against your flesh make you sink deeper on him.

Usually, his hands would sink into the meat of your hips, guiding your entrance against his eager tongue, but he was being surprisingly good, letting you take what you want without a complaint. Your hand slides down into the soft tufts of his hair, gently sifting your fingers through it before giving it a sharp tug as his tongue reaches a sweet spot inside you. You consider apologizing, but at the way his hazy eyes look up at you almost reverently, you know he wants this. Wants you to use him like he’s nothing more than a toy, like he’s just meant to be an appendage to your pleasure.

“You like this, don’t you?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“You like being under me like this.”

Shit. You definitely should’ve kept that to yourself - even when it’s true, Sukuna doesn’t like to be made less than, especially by a mere mortal. You lift your hips off of him, keen on apologizing, when a whine tears from his throat at the loss.

“G-get your hips back down here, damn it,” he demands harshly, refusing to actually return your curious gaze.

You huff softly, surprised he’s letting you take it this far. While he didn’t really ask as much as he commanded you to return to your original position, the fact that he hadn’t simply pulled you back down himself was very telling. You decide that perhaps you should test your luck. No matter the outcome, you’re guaranteed a good time, after all.

“Is that how we ask for things?” you ask, disappointment clear in your tone.

“Try again.”

“Are you serious, petal?” he responds, incredulously. “If you’re asking me to beg, I will do no such thing.”

“Okay,” you say, shifting to straddle his chest. “Then you won’t get what you want.”

He’s about to retort, but it’s caught in his throat as you let out a gentle sigh, hand moving to slip your fingers into your leaking entrance. Your other hand presses firmly on his abdomen, just above where his twitching members were begging to be touched.

He’s above this - he’s the King of Curses, damn it - but when your eyes flutter as your too short fingers just barely brush your sweet spot, his resolve crumbles just a bit. He reaches for you, rough hands circling your waist as he tries to move you back up to his drooling mouth.

“Sukuna.”

Your voice is low, commanding, and for the first time in his long life, he listens without a second thought. Hands drop back to his side mindlessly, like his body could do nothing but obey your saccharine voice.

“Good boy.”

You return to touching yourself, perched on his chest like you own him, and he seethes underneath you. How dare you do this to him, reduce him to nothing more than a dog begging for scraps. He tells himself that he’s letting you have your fun, that soon he’ll flip you over and take what he wants from you, yet he can’t take his eyes off your glistening entrance. It’s mesmerizing the way your fingers slide in and out, and the wet shlick of your entrance has him salivating. He wants to taste you on his tongue, to be the thing drawing those perfect little noises out of you, but instead he’s resigned to watching you please yourself.

The way you look down at him is almost mocking, and he snarls when he finally snaps out of his reverie to look up at you.

“So? Are you going to try again? I believe in you, ‘Kuna.”

“Fuck off!” he growls, eyes sharp. “F-fuck you, damn it! I’ll only say this one more time: get your hips back down here. Now, petal.”

You laugh, a tinkling sound, because you’re smart enough to know that if Sukuna really wanted you to give in to his words, he would’ve already grabbed you and put you in your place. He would never say it out loud, but the flush of his face and the hint of submission glittering in his eyes was enough to tell you that he wanted you to break him. Force him to beg until he was so humiliated he lost himself.

“‘Kuna. Look at me.”

The second he does, he regrets it. The sadistic glint in your eyes does something to him, and something warm sits in his abdomen that he can’t quite explain. He’s never been this turned on in his life (not that he’d ever admit that to you), and he tries his best to keep his harsh demeanor.

“What is it? Finally giving in, brat?”

“Funny,” you say, leaning down and sinking your teeth into the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

His head tilts to allow you better access, and you like a long stripe up the side of his neck, nibbling at spots that you know are sensitive. He tries to remain still under you, but when you bite a particular sensitive spot he jolts as if he’s been shocked. His mouth is pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt to keep any noises from escaping.

As you mark up his neck, one of your hands reaches down to toy with your entrance again. You’re soaked, and your essence is starting to leave a wet spot on Sukuna’s shirt from how much you’re absolutely dripping. If you weren’t so set on making your goliath of a boyfriend break, you’d be tempted to bring yourself to completion right here, right now.

“H-hey, brat.”

You glance up at him, curious. He seems to be expecting a proper response, but you decide he doesn’t deserve one, opting to raise a brow at him instead.

“You win, alright? I’m done with your games. If I must beg to make you cease your nonsense, then I will.”

You wait, but he says nothing else. You roll your eyes, bringing your hand that’s covered in your essence to hover right over his lips.

“I’m waiting, Sukuna. Will you be good for me now?”

“I’ve never been good a day in my life, you know that, petal-”

“Ryomen.”

You feel the shudder he lets out at you finally using his first name, enjoying the way that even words could draw out such a cute reaction from your usually stoic boyfriend.

“Fine, whatever. I will be ‘good’, sure. Just sit on my face again, won’t you? See, now I’m asking. Is that better for you, petal? Am I finally being ‘good’?”

He’s grinning, cocky, like he’s about to win some sort of prize, and suddenly you can’t help but bring a hand down, slapping him harshly right across the face. The sound echoes through his chambers as he blinks in disbelief, unable to believe that you just slapped him.

“Good? You think that was being good?” You seethe, seeing red.

“If you don’t fix your god damn attitude, I’m going to make you watch me cum over and over again and let your pathetic dicks wet your pants with precum. Let them turn purple with need, soaking your pants like a dog in heat, and then I’m going to leave you here to jerk them off alone, knowing it won’t feel nearly as good as even my heels digging into them. Do I make myself clear? Or do I need to slap some sense into you again?”

“Crystal.” he swallows, throat dry.

Suddenly it was so warm in here. You were right - he was feeling just like a dog in heat, pitifully licking his chops at the idea of tasting you. He was certain his underwear was ruined, tainted with globs of sticky precum that was absolutely gushing out of his cocks at the way you were treating him. He wanted you to hit him again, slap him like he was nothing, just do anything to him.

“Okay then, last chance, Sukuna. Beg.”

He closes his eyes. Fuck, was he really going to do this? Let some puny mortal, a feeble human, no less, walk all over him like this? He was a king, the most feared creature in all of the lands, and yet -

“Fine then. If you don’t have it in you, then I’ll just-”

“No, please!”

You grin, feral, at his response. You don’t move, letting him look up at you like he’s going to die without you on top of him.

“F-fuck, what have you done to me?” he says, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Please, petal. Don’t make me ask again, please? Need to taste you on my tongue, stop teasing me, damn it, I’ll be good, I’ll be whatever you want, just…please.”

He’s flushed red, and you save him any further embarrassment by moving to straddle his face again.

“Good boy, Ryo.”

His eyes roll back as you finally sink back down on his face, tasting your sweet nectar on his tongue. He’s been waiting too long, and he claws at the sheets when he finally has you.

He’s letting out the cutest little sounds against your entrance, sending a pleasant vibration through your core, and you thread your fingers through his hair again. All the teasing you’ve done to yourself has your orgasm barrelling at you, and you’d be embarrassed if Sukuna wasn’t absolutely drunk on your taste.

“God, f-fuck, just like that, Ryo,” you murmur, hips canting against his face.

He doesn’t respond, too lost in the way you’re dripping on his tongue. You're grinding down so hard that he can barely breathe, but he could care less about air right now - all he can think about is you you you. You riding his face so perfectly, you all dressed in white, you with a pretty little ring on your finger. Just you as a part of his forever.

“Ryo, ‘m gonna!” you say breathlessly, hips beginning to shake as the coil in your stomach starts to snap.

He knows you told him not to, but he can’t allow himself to miss a single drop of your cum, and his hands come up to grip your thighs and dig your entrance right into his waiting mouth. As your eyes roll back, his do too, and he thinks for a moment that he might just cum in his pants. Your grip on his hair is lethal, and it’s doing things to him as you use him to ride out your high. The sickening twist in his guts lets him know that he likes this, perhaps a bit too much - being merely an object to your pleasure, a means to an end.

And you - you’re looking down at him with such devotion, and as his eyes meet yours, there’s nothing short of pure adoration in your gaze. You frantically fumble to move down, a gentle hand reaching to thumb at his cheek as you take him in. He looks far too wrecked to have not been touched, and yet, without looking, you knew he was good enough to keep his hands off his dicks without you asking. Your bare pelvis brushes against the outline in his jeans as you shift to straddle him, grinning at the way he groans low in his throat. You laugh airly at this, swiftly moving to place a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. You can still taste the remnants of yourself on him as his hand finds the back of your head, guiding your mouth back to his. You want to remind him not to touch, but your body can’t resist how sweetly he kisses you, like you two are the only people on the Earth.

He pulls away, eyes tracing your features, an unreadable look on his face. You don’t have time to question him before he’s already speaking his mind.

“Alright, you minx,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “I’ve had enough. It’s my turn now.”

Before you can retort, he’s flipping you both over, a sharp glint of something ruthless in his eyes. You gulp, suddenly so small under his gaze.

“Let me remind you who’s really in charge, hm?”

#daisy writes<3 #dom!reader #dom reader #jjk smut #sub jjk #jjk x reader #sub!jjk #sub gojo #sub geto #sub sukuna #gojo x reader #geto x reader #sukuna x reader #ugh the things i would do to these men!! don't even get me started because i will never shut up #sometimes you need to put a man in his place!#remind him that you could be the boss but you choose not to #he was given his place

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rat6ix · 5 months ago

Text

SEPARATED .

Chishiya x reader

Summary: When you and chishiya get separated from kuina and the rest of the group while trying to get away from the king of spades you both are forced to confront your feelings

Warnings: smut, probably ooc chishiya but i’ll try my best, kissing, grinding/dryhumping, riding, they don’t take off their clothes all the way cause they’re kind of not trying to get killed at any second, readers a lil nervous guys, hair pulling sorta kinda.

Wc:1.3k

— 🐀

—

Maybe running behind the guy that never took his hands out of his pockets was a bad idea, cause now you were stuck in a random apartment complex with the guy you’d been thinking about undressing the entire time you’d known him. You, chishiya, kuina and the others had been running from the king of spades previously, trying not to end up stuck to the ground with a bullet through you like the other unfortunate people in his sight. But unfortunately you and chishiya got separated when the king of spades threw a bomb your way before you both could make it in the car.

You were a little glad but also scared cause you had no idea where your friends were now, glad because the five of you aren’t squished together in the back seat of the car tatta was driving. Now that brought you back to your current problem, chishiya. He was in the other room while you raided the kitchen for some food that wasnt rotten and actually edible. Eventually you got lucky, stumbling upon their canned food cupboard. Grabbing the cans you made your way to the living room where chishiya sat on the couch tinkering with something electronic on the coffee table.

You set the food and the can opener down on the table as well as the forks you’d found, sliding a can you opened to him. He eventually stopped tinkering and nodded as thanks. You both ate in silence, the whole time you were trying not to look over at him. You eventually caved as he let out a loud sigh, curious as to what for.

“You’re sort of pathetic.” He spoke after a while, putting his food down on the table in front of you both.

“So I’ve been told.” You acknowledged, suddenly your can of food was the most interesting thing in the world.

You could practically feel his smug smile from across the couch, your eyes refusing to meet his. He hummed before speaking again.

“If you weren’t constantly staring at me when you thought i wasn’t looking i’d start to think you didn’t like me.”

You froze, knowing you’d been caught. Of course, nothing could make it past chishiya. You should’ve known, but maybe you were too busy staring to notice. You couldn’t try to defend yourself, it wouldn’t make a difference. So you kept quiet, shrinking into yourself and trying to get back to your food; even if your stomach was upset from anxiousness.

“I find myself staring at you sometimes.” He confessed, still staring at your face that was now twisted in shock.

You accidentally slammed your can down on the coffee table a little too hard, so stunned by what he said to remember your own strength; You were lucky it wasn’t one of thoes fancy glass ones. You could see chishiya’s eyebrow raise from the corner of your eye, his arms crossed and resting on his chest. You finally looked at him, trying your hardest to not break eye contact. You noticed the side of his mouth twitching upwards, he finally had you looking at him just like he wanted.

You didn’t know what to do as chishiya made his way towards you, sitting too close for you to function properly. You definitely didn’t know what to do as he took your face in his hand and pressed his mouth to yours. Your hands were stiff at your sides as you kissed him, not knowing if you should touch him. He pulled away with a content look on his face, using his hand that wasn’t gripping your face to guide your hand to his own. You got the memo as you moved your other hand to his shoulder and pulled him in again.

You made your way into his lap at some point, trying not to break the kiss as you pushed him back into the couch cushions. When the kiss was broken chishiya looked up at you with half lidded eyes, his hands settled on your hips as you tested the waters and pushed your lap against his. His reaction was small, his hands tightening their grip on your hips as he bit his lower lip the smallest bit. He’d let out a sigh with a whiny undertone as you grinded against him, resting his head on the cushion behind him as you kept going.

He lifted his head to look at you as you stopped, only to let out a gasp as you pulled his cock out of his pants. You lifted your hips to pull your own pants down to your thighs before sliding down on his cock, a quiet moan leaving you as you did. Chishiya dug his fingers into the couch as you rode him, the tips of his fingers turning pale from the pressure. You leaned down to kiss him, putting your hands on his chest to keep steady. Chishiya brought his hands up to your back, sliding them up your shirt as you deepened the kiss.

Every once in a while he’d let a groan escape into your mouth, his hips bucking upward and reaching deeper into you. You tried not to get too loud, breathing heavily with the occasional moan. Chishiya cursed under his breath as you tugged at his hair and broke the kiss, his eyes clouded with lust as he locked eyes with you. A smile made its way to your face as you took in his disheveled state. his cardigan was falling off, his hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, his eyes were heavy with lust and his mouth was slightly ajar as heavy breaths and the occasional whine left him.

“Mmm, you’re laughing at me?” He teased, his mouth closed and raised into a smirk.

You shook your head, the smile still on your face. Instead of replying verbally you leaned down to press your lips to his neck, he moved his head to the side to give you better access. His eyes almost completely rolled back into his head as you sucked on the exposed skin, his arms slacked against you. You pulled moan after moan from him as you continued your assault on his neck, you were sure he wasn’t going to last long like that.

He could barely keep his head up when you finished, the blissed out expression on his face matching perfectly with the red and purple bruises on his neck. Your lips were probably swollen by now from the kissing and covering chishiyas neck in hickies, your lips shiny from being covered in both yours and chishiyas spit from your previous make out session. The side of chishiyas neck also shining from your assault, a sheen of saliva coating it and highlighting the bruises.

“Gonna cum soon..” he whispered, nails digging into your upper back as he rested his head in between where your shoulder and head meet. You quicken your pace at this, chishiya letting out a noise of surprise against your skin. You dont doubt that your back was covered in marks from chishiyas nails at this point, even if nobody would be able to see them you would be able to feel them under your shirt.

His grip switched when he came, pulling you into him by your shoulders; his arms hooked under yours as he moaned. You came not long after that, the feeling of you squeezing around him making quiet whimpers leave his mouth. You weren’t any better, whiny moans leaving you as you rode out your high. Chishiya muttered something unintelligible into your shoulder before pulling you off his lap, carefully as to not hurt you.

He shoved himself back into his pants before searching the empty apartment for something to clean you with. Eventually he did, it wasn’t much considering the state of the world but it was better than leaving you leaking with his cum. After he was done he pulled your pants up and pulled you so you laid next to him and pressed a kiss to your sweat covered forehead. It didn’t take long for you both to fall asleep, deciding it would be the best course of action.

—

#sixfics!#chishiya x reader #chishiya smut #chishiya x you #aib x reader #alice in boderland x reader #aib smut

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saturnyo · 2 months ago

Note

Heyyo, if you're still taking request, could I request a Joel x reader smut

They're in situationship and Joel keeps trying to push reader away and socializing with other women until he sees reader with another older guy instead of a guy around her age(maybe a 10 year or less age gap) and Joel says fuck it, she's mine.

His to Ruin

Thanks to anon for this. I had a lot of fun writing about possessive Joel. Hope you enjoy !!! :)

Pairing: Joel/Reader

Summary: Joel was the boss, but that didn't stop an attraction forming between you. Your relationship was purely physical, no romance of any kind. You tried to have dates and other relationships knowing the back and forth wasn't good but he did everything in his power to keep you to himself no matter the cost

WC: over 3k words

Warnings: not too much dialogue, a bit of smut, power imbalance

Even at 3 a.m., the city streets were alive, the constant traffic flow muted yet steady as it moved beneath rows of flickering streetlights. Porch lights and convenience stores dotted the blocks, their windows spilling soft light onto the sidewalk. Neighbors, many lost in their own world, and the occasional laughter or conversation blended into an endless hum.

The go-go, fast pace of Austin feels muffled as you remember the last time Joel's lips were on your body. He explored every curve like it was braille, and he was figuring out the language of your bare soul. He knew too much about you, but somehow very little at the same time. Entering into a relationship with him was complicated from the start. There was a bit of a power imbalance with him being your boss and having to see him at work every day, watching him work those muscles as if they didn't pin your arms to bed the night before.

Well relationship is a bit too much to describe, whatever it is between you. it's more of like when he or you are horny in the middle of the night or even a quickie in his office so he can fuck you so deep making you moan like a banshee to where there would be noise complaints. That's the type of "relationship" you two have.

The things he's done to you in bed, in the kitchen, in the living room, and in his car while the two of you were on break would make a nun blush. No matter how much you tried to end it, knowing this back and forth, no attachment deal wasn't good, every time he texted I miss you twenty minutes later, you were in his bed and his name on your lips. Purely carnal desire with no true feelings involved

Your mind clearly doesn't function well in Joel's presence. You were on drugs, and he gave you your fix every time he made you scream his name like a devotee worshipping their god.

His head was between your legs, and his tongue was expertly circling your clit as you saw stars and were in absolute heaven.

There was one thing neither of you could forget. Something you two agreed on at the very beginning

Do. Not. Fall. In. Love.

And yet there were signs. Little slip ups you couldn't ignore. Like how he always just happened to show up when you were on a date. Those dates always ended early because they had to leave, or something went wrong. Every time you requested time off, Joel suddenly needed you at the office for something urgent, like he couldn’t function without you standing beside him.

But the second you started to open up a bit more emotionally, Joel backed away like your presence disgusted him

If you savored his kiss for a moment too long, or your hand resting on his arm was just a bit too gentle, he would step away as if you burned him or committed the worst act of betrayal

There was a moment when you asked him to stay the night so you wouldn't feel lonely for once. You try to plant a kiss on his lips, a tender one, different from the soul punishing kisses he would give you. But he quickly turned away

You tried to play it off and acted like it didn't sting. Which was probably the biggest lie you ever told yourself. You stopped trying after that.

Joel constantly made it clear that it was just sex, no love, no partnership, just purely physical.

He confused you with his actions. Saying one thing but doing something that spelled out the complete opposite

The way his hand would gently brush your shoulder as you went over work plans for the day. He would also randomly remember things about you. Bringing you gifts ranging from a small snack from the store to a brand new piece of jewelry whenever a job you two worked on was completed. He would also remember how you hated cheese pizza but loved pepperoni. Joel kept your favorite drink in the work fridge in his office, where you were the only one in the entire company who had access.

He wanted you close but still at arm's length. Wanting no one else to have you, but still not changing the nature of what your relationship is with him. Date after date and woman after woman it's like he made sure you saw him or somehow knew what he was doing. But like an idiot, you stayed, hoping and waiting for him to say I love you like one of those angry love confessions in a romcom.

You were ok is a mantra repeating in your head 24/7 until you saw him with another woman. That night, you decided to go out for a drink, and Joel, for once, didn't bombard you with texts and phone calls, which was strange, but you took it in stride and decided to have fun. Shot after shot that you threw back, ignoring the burning sensation running down your throat, trying to forget the gruff grey haired man with a sweet southern drawl.

Fate had other plans for you, it seems

Sitting at the bar, you see Joel at the other end, but he wasn't alone. A beautiful woman was sitting beside him, rubbing her hand on his thigh, seemingly trying to convince him to come home with her. She was gorgeous, and you can see why he was on a date with her. But the sudden rush of jealousy that coursed through your veins. The walls closed in on you as she flashed a sweet smile, like she belonged there beside Joel.

Heat rose in your cheeks as the cold, shaky feeling settled in your heart. You didn't realize how long you were staring at him until someone walked up to your table trying to get your attention. Your eyes finally tear away from Joel as you take in the man in front of you. He had his hair slicked back with a few strands falling over his forehead. His leather jacket accentuated his arms as they bulged slightly against the fabric, but they weren't as big as Joel's.

His eyes were a light grey like clouds on a stormy day. This man was handsome, of course, but he just wasn't Joel. Even from across the bar, a pair of eyes burned into the back of your head. out of the corner of your eye, his brown ones were suddenly filled with malice and ill intent. Ignoring him and his possible hissy fit, you turned your attention back to the guy in front of you.

“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?” The guy asked. His pickup line was so painfully awkward and cheesy that it made you want to vomit. But you forced a sweet smile, acting like it was the smoothest thing you ever heard.

"Name's Jake, and you are?"

"Y'N"

You could still feel Joel staring Jake down like he would commit murder. This was your payback.

Joel felt he was being tortured but by his own hand. It was his fault that you were now being felt up by some other guy instead of him. He wanted to just walk over there and just beat the shit out of him leaving the bastard a bloody beatened pulp. It was only supposed to be his hands exploring your body, but deep down, he knew he was a hypocrite. Here he is on a date, his hands on another woman while simultaneously hating yours. Keeping you at arm's length was to protect himself from being hurt, especially after being cheated on and divorced. Lately though his feelings grew beyond just wanting to fuck something to get the edge off after a long day. He started to really look forward to seeing your beautiful smile and smelling your vanilla scented perfume every time he headed into work. His day didn't start off right if he couldn't.

The night went on with back and forth looks, challenging each other in some petty game. Finally, having had enough, you decided to leave and go home.

"Lemme take you home," Jake said. "It's the gentleman's thing to do."

You were drunk, not even enough where you couldn't remember where you were, but enough to agree with him taking you back instead of getting an Uber. Jake's hands on your waist as he slowly guided you out the door felt warm and...gentle. Like you were a porcelain doll that would break at the slightest jolt.

You hated it

But you needed to forget Joel, even just for a night.

Standing outside the bar as you waited for Jake to get his car, Joel decided to come and ruin the obvious fun you were having.

"Y/N? What the hell are you doin’ here?"His voice dropped low, rough with warning. His jaw clenched as he looked past you to the man at your side. "You leavin’ with him? Sugar, you don’t even know this guy. That’s not safe—and you damn well know it." He stepped closer, voice tighter now. "Let me take you home, Darlin’. Please. Don’t make me watch you walk off with some stranger like it don’t matter."

His calloused hands, made by years of hard construction work, gripped your arms tightly but not enough to make you wince. You stepped away from him, tears welling in your eyes.

"Why are you doing this, Joel?" Your chest stuttered as a quiet sob fell from your lips. "You don't want a relationship, but here you are ruining any other potential ones I can have."

His beautiful brown eyes softened when he saw you crying. Guilt panged in his chest. He didn't mean for it to go this far. He didn't mean to care so much.

Joel's hand caresses your cheek, leaning into it as you start to waver beneath his touch. Why can't you just give him up?

You hear a voice calling your name as you see Jake walk up to you, concern etched on his face. Pushing Joel away, already missing the smell of his cedar and whiskey smell of his clothes as you walked towards Jake.

"Is everything ok, Y/N?" Jake asks, trying to be intimidating towards Joel. "Is he bothering you?"

You see Joel's jaw clenched and his fists balled up tightly, barely restraining himself.

Joel didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “This ain't your business, pal,” he said, calm as a rattlesnake. “She’s with me. Walk away.”

Jake's eyes widened in fear, mortified and stuck in place like he was turned to stone by Medusa. He sees Joel's hand rest on your hip as his face twists into a look of disgust

"Oh...i see," his voice filled with venom. "you are just a slut sleeping with whatever man you can sink your claws into"

That was Joel's final straw as the sound of his fist connecting to skin threw Jake to the ground. He didn't waste a moment picking you up, cradling you gently in his arms as he placed you into his truck. The door loudly slammed shut as the sound of the truck's engine rumbled to life.

You finally pull into the driveway, jumping out of the truck before it even comes to a complete stop. You're angry, livid, even at Joel’s actions.

The man who claims not to want anything romantic just ruined your chance at something with someone else.

Granted, that guy turned out to be a jerk. But still. This wasn’t the first time Joel had done this.

“For fuck’s sake, would you just wait a damn minute?” Joel’s voice is rough, like gravel dragged across concrete. “I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

You ignore him. Your keys jingle in your hand as you try to unlock the front door, fingers fumbling in your slightly drunken state. The mix of alcohol and anger makes it worse. You keep dropping them, cursing under your breath, before finally getting the door open.

Joel stomps in right behind you, blocking the door before you can slam it in his face. He shuts the door behind him before grabbing your arm, pulling you in for a kiss.

This kiss was different. It wasn't one that was demanding; it was gentle, as if Joel was pouring every unspoken word into it. His lips were soft, memorizing the shape of yours. There was no urgency and no need to rush, but just the moment you are now in. Both of you found yourselves stumbling into your bedroom, desperate to be closer together, to remove the clothes that are between you.

You needed to feel him, to anchor yourself

Tugging the hem of his shirt over his head, seeing the same happy trail you have many times before. Joel's gaze never leaves your face, committing every inch to memory. There was something deeper within it now. more than lust but something reverent. The many times before you had sex with Joel was good too but this was...fucking amazing. Every feeling, every touch, every time he held back was now released onto you, not being able to hold it back any longer.

The air charged as each piece of your and Joel's clothing fell onto the floor.

His hands rubbed over your hips, learning your body like he was going to live forever. Joel kissed down your neck as you both sank deep into the mattress with him above you, his weight keeping you in the moment.

"You okay, Darlin?"

"I'm more than ok."

He places light kisses across your collarbone as he pushes your leg aside, sinking deep inside you. You arch your back at the feeling, he felt perfect, making you moan into his ear, driving him to go faster.

"Y/N..."

Joel moans your name like a devout priest on his knees praying for salvation. You moved your hips in rhythm with his thrusts, creating more delicious friction as his hands grip your thighs, marking you. In that moment, time and space had no meaning; it was just you and him

You

*Thrust*

are

*Thrust*

Mine

The amazing feeling that Joel gives you is threatening to spill over. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back, leaving indents in his skin. Your body unravels beneath his every thrust, every gasp whispers his name, coiling tight until your climax crashes like a wave against a shore.

You cried out his name, your voice raw with need, breaking whatever restraint Joel had left.

"Fuck Y/N..." he groaned, burying his face into your neck as he drove his cock into you a few more times harder and faster. his own body shuddered against yours as he spilled into you filling you up until it's dripping out of your wet cunt. He held you close as he chased his own release as if you were tethering him to the earth.

The sound of steady breaths fills the room with the soft creak of the bed as Joel shifts to lay beside you cradling you to his chest. He didn't immediately pull away like he normally does. He stayed there slowlymoving his fingers up and down your back as you lazily draped your leg over his grounding yourself in this moment.

Joel presses a kiss on your forehead, an act so simple yet it made your breath hitch at the tenderness of such a sweet gesture.

"You ok, Darlin?" Joel asked more gently this time

You nodded, your eyes drifting close as sleep began to overtake you. "I'm more than okay."

A deep chuckle bubbles up from Joel's chest. It sounded perfect. There was no rush to speak, no need to fill the silence. it was enough to just be....

Whatever you and Joel had between you changed tonight. It wasn't just sex anymore

His fingers slowly tilted your chin up, gazing into big brown eyes.

"I meant what I said," he murmurs. "You are mine".

You kissed him slowly and softly, "And you're mine."

#joel miller #joel the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you

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caramelkoo · 10 months ago

Text

warm as you

pairing : Jungkook x reader

genre : established relationship, boyfriend jungkook yayyy.

summary : Jungkook gives you a little surprise which causes you to fall more in love with him.

warnings : Jungkook is nervous as hell, he's so in love with the oc, oc can't help but baby him, slight smut, fluff, lots of kissing <3, act of service and quality time as love languages.

a/n : hey angels, I saw the latest episode of "are you sure?!" and couldn't help but write this little piece. Jungkook is such a roundie. I hope you enjoy and let me know how you like it. xoxo.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

To be very honest, you've never been a morning person but when you're with the love of your life, your boyfriend, you can't help but eagerly wait to sleep next to him and wakeup next to him. He has a way of waking you up with kisses on your smooth skin and fingers through your brown locks.

Your eyes want to flutter open but you know once you're awake, he will stop and that's something you don't want. Jungkook's lips graze yours lightly causing you to break into a slight smile. His lips peck your forehead gently following with your cheekbones, your closed eyes, your nose, your chin and lastly the hollow of your neck.

"I love you, sweetie. Good morning, i know you're awake." he whispers and much to your surprise, he knows you've been pretending to sleep.

you chuckle and open your eyes, looking at him with so much love. His eyes sparkle like stars above you. No one has loved you like this and honestly, you don't want anybody else to do so. The bond that you share with your boyfriend is different and special.

"Morning"

He caresses your left cheekbone, a lazy smile on his face. It's soft and everything pure.

"What do you wanna do today?" you ask him.

"Is wanting to be in your arms an option?" he nuzzles his face in your boobs. Purring like a cat.

"I don't think that's a bad idea" your hands rub his back up and down, up and down.

"God, I love hugging you. You're so warm, so cozy. It's my own personal heaven" Jungkook puts his whole weight on you, being careful now to crush you in the process.

He makes you feel safe, protected whenever he wraps his arms around you. Being physically affectionate has not been hard for you when it came to him. Physical touch, as much as you hate to admit, is hard for you to receive. You've been uncomfortable with people touching you plenty of times but with Jungkook, it has never been the case. You don't know why but he's had a certain warmth to him ever since you met him. It radiates and lights you up.

"I know, baby. I love hugging you too."

You both stay like this for a while before he grunts and lifts his face from your neck.

"Want me to make you some coffee?" he asks because he knows you can't function throughout your whole day without starting it off with a cup of coffee.

One thing about Jungkook is he's going to notice. He notices the tiniest of things and he's made a mental note of making you coffee every morning just the way you like it.

"Yes, please. I want something sweet to go with it too."

"Pancakes?"

"Perfect. You're the best" you kiss his cheek twice before he gets himself up and walk outside towards the kitchen. Before he opens the door, you call him out.

"Yeah, sweetie?" he looks back, shirtless and you try not to say something entirely different and nasty.

"I love you, too" his lips turn upwards before he leaves the room.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

After you and Jungkook finish your breakfast, he suggests reading together in the hall. Since it's a slow Sunday morning and you both have nothing else to do, you agree. Quality time with him is another thing you cherish the most. He knows that when it comes to receiving, it's one of your preferred love languages.

Since the day you let him know this tiny piece of information, he has tried his best to make it happen for you. Reading, baking, pottery classes, trying out new recipes, even letting you do his makeup, he has done it all.

"What are you reading?" Jungkook asks after picking up a book for himself and sitting beside you on the couch.

"I have been wanting to read this romance book for a while. You're reading thriller again?"

"You know it's my favorite" indeed it is. The thriller section on the bookshelf gives it away.

For the next twenty minutes or so, you both read quietly. Jungkook eventually puts his head on your lap demanding your hands in his hair. You chuckle lightly before giving in and run your fingers through it.

"Your hairs are so soft"

When you look down upon him, he has closed his eyes and gotten rid of the book.

"It's your shampoo"

"My shampoo? You've been using my shampoo?" you're a little surprised but not offended. On the contrary, you find it a little cute.

"Sweetie, it smells like vanilla and I was planning on using it just once but then I got a little obsessed. Couldn't help it." he whines.

"You're adorable, you know that?"

the hall gets filled with your laughter. You continue running your fingers through his hair while also reading your book and just when you think he has gone into a deep slumber, he gets up walking towards the washroom.

"Wh- WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" you yell behind him.

"GIVE ME A MINUTE" he yells back. He didn't go in there to jerk off, did he? you decide to leave him be and resume your reading.

Fifteen minutes later though when he comes outside and stands before you, you let out the biggest scream ever. It startles him.

"Is it that bad?"

"Jungkoo-", "what-", "I'm-"

He stands there with his long hair no more on his head, instead he has cut his hair in more of like a bowl cut. Yes, you screamed but not because you don't like his hair, it was because he looks cuter than ever like this. You were just a little surprised, that's about it.

"Seriously, is it that bad?" the nervous look on his face causes you to take few steps forward and hug him so tightly you're not sure if he can even breathe. His arms wrap around you in return. Hugging you has always calmed him.

"I love it"

"What was that, sweetie?"

"I said, I love it" you tell him again. You break the hug and look at him.

"Really?" his expression has turned into a an excited one now.

"Yes, baby. It makes you look so cute but can I ask why? why did you suddenly decide to cut your hair?" you can't help but touch his new hair.

"To be honest, I have been thinking about chopping them off for a while. I know you love my long hair so it was holding me back." he places a kiss on your temple. "I wasn't sure if you would like it."

"Jungkook, I loved your long hair but I wouldn't ever stop you from doing what you want. I love everything you love and you can always grow them back, right?" you smile up at him.

You loved his long hair a little too much. You had asked him to let his hair grow further and he had happily agreed to but you would rather poke your eyeballs out before you refrain him from doing something he has wanted to for a long time. You're just a little upset due to the fact that he even had to be nervous before doing so.

Jungkook nods, "Right. So you like them?"

"Absolutely" you kiss his nose.

"God, I could eat you right now." He hides his face in the crook of your neck and groans.

"Hmm, maybe later".

Later that night when you lay next to him he doesn't let you sleep before he buries his tongue inside you and asks you to grab his hair. When you do, you get reminded of his long hair but his tongue moving in a circular motion inside you makes you forget about it all. You moan, you scream and when he takes your nipples in his mouth while pushing two fingers inside you, you come so hard you're sure you see stars. You hear him whisper "You're mine" before you pass out hoping he'll wake you up the next morning again with his kisses and touches.

#jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x you #bts x reader #jungkook imagine #bts scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts jungkook

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xoxolaw · 13 days ago

Note

HEELLOOOOO

hi hows your days lately? however… ive been invested in sombr’s undressed…

can i ask undressed ft geum seongje with time travel au (if thats how to order the au menu..) like seongje is the time traveler and he want to change her death in few years ahead (?) and seongje been depressed for years as he doesnt want any one but you..

+ 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗧 𝗪𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗬𝗢𝗨

in which Seong-je, a time traveler, goes back to the past to save the girl he lost — and swears this time, she lives, even if he doesn’t.

+ 𝗚𝗘𝗨𝗠 𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚-𝗝𝗘 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

angst

The day she died, the world stopped making sense.

It was raining—not the violent kind, but the soft, lonely sort. The one that felt like the sky itself was grieving.

Geum Seong-je had seen a lot of blood in his life. Spilled it with his own hands. Waded through crimson-soaked alleys and ruined men without blinking.

But her blood—the warmth of it spreading across his hands as she collapsed into him—was the one thing that never left his skin. Not even in dreams.

He could still hear her voice, like a fading echo underwater.

"I'm glad you're okay."

And she smiled.

Even as she bled out. Even as his throat tore from screaming her name. Even as he held her like a man begging the universe to undo itself.

But time didn't stop for pain. It moved forward, cruel and merciless, dragging him along with it like a corpse caught in the tide.

She was gone.

And Geum Seong-je stopped being human.

✮⋆˙

Their apartment had always been warm when she was alive.

The kitchen constantly smelled of citrus and sugar, the small living room cluttered with mismatched cushions and the quiet hum of whatever song she had on repeat that week. There was a framed polaroid on the windowsill where she had her eyes shut mid-laugh, her fingers stained with flour.

After her death, the light died.

He didn't touch her side of the bed. Couldn't. It stayed made for months. Her toothbrush remained in the cup. Her sweater hung over the back of the couch, where she last dropped it before leaving that morning.

Every room echoed with her absence.

He tried to cope the only way he knew: through silence. Through distance. Through clenched fists and eyes that refused to close because the dreams were worse than reality. He kept working. Kept killing. Let blood be the only thing that washed over his grief. Because if he stopped moving, he'd break.

Some days, he stood in the doorway of their bedroom, just to look at where she used to sit cross-legged and complain about his cigarette smoke.

The grief was a parasite. Gentle and sharp. It rewrote him into a man who existed in past tense.

Until the man with silver hair appeared.

He came without fanfare. Just stood in the middle of Seong-je's living room like he belonged there.

"You want her back," he said.

Not a question. A fact.

He placed a small pocket watch on the table. Its hands ticked backward.

"One chance. One jump. Change the thread. Or lose her again."

"What's the cost?" Seong-je asked.

"Everything," the man replied. "Except her."

He didn’t hesitate.

✮⋆˙

The sensation of being ripped from time wasn’t sharp. It was gentle. Like falling into water you didn’t realize was deep.

When he woke up, he was sprawled in the back alley of a neighborhood that no longer stank of rot. His head pounded. His hands were clean. And the sky was a shade of blue he hadn’t seen in years.

His chest ached with the sudden absence of grief—like his body didn't know how to function without the weight.

Everything was… new.

He was back.

One year before she died.

✮⋆˙

He avoided the bookstore street where he had first seen her.

He memorized the date. Knew exactly when she'd step between a thug and a teenage girl and change his life with trembling hands and a steady voice. But he didn’t go.

Couldn’t.

If he saw her too soon, he'd fall apart.

So he kept his distance. Watched her from far off rooftops. Traced the route she took to work. Learned the way she still hummed to herself when she thought no one was listening.

He told himself it was for her safety. That he couldn’t alter too much too fast. That it would be reckless.

But the truth was simpler.

He was terrified.

Because he hadn’t held her in so long, he didn’t know what it would do to him to see her eyes light up again—and know she had no idea who he was.

✮⋆˙

But fate has no patience for cowards.

He saw her again anyway.

He had ducked into a side street to avoid being recognized. Had meant to turn back. But there she was.

In a warm yellow sundress, hair tied messily back, squatting down to help a stray cat with a bandaged paw.

Everything stopped.

The air. The street. His heartbeat.

She looked up, sensing him.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, all the years he'd carried collapsed inside him like a house of cards.

She stood slowly. Brushed her hands on her dress. Tilted her head, curious.

"Do I know you?"

He swallowed.

She was so close.

"No," he said.

But the crack in his voice betrayed him.

She blinked. Her gaze softened, brows drawing slightly together like she could feel his sorrow.

Her lips parted, a hesitant breath caught between words. He looked like someone haunted. His shoulders rigid, his knuckles pale as his hands clenched by his sides.

The kind of man who had loved and lost. And lost badly.

She didn't know why her chest ached for a stranger.

But it did.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," she murmured.

He gave a hollow smile. One that never touched his eyes.

"Maybe I have."

The breeze tugged at the loose strands of her hair. The cat meowed and pawed at her ankle, breaking the moment.

She crouched down again, giving the kitten a soft rub between its ears. "You should take care of yourself," she said, not looking at him this time.

He watched her, every cell of him aching.

"You always say that," he whispered under his breath.

She glanced up.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She straightened up and gave him a faint smile. There was something kind in it. Like she was used to noticing sadness in people, even if they didn’t voice it.

She stood there for a second longer than she needed to. Like something in her wanted to linger, but she wasn’t sure why. Her fingers brushed the edge of her dress, fidgeting—like they needed something to hold. Someone to reach for.

"I should go," she said gently, not quite meeting his gaze.

Her voice was soft. Like a blanket draped over an open wound. Kindness layered over instinctive caution. She didn’t know him. Not really. But something about the way he looked at her felt like an unfinished sentence she wasn’t ready to read.

She turned and walked down the street, her silhouette melting into sunlight and summer dust.

And Seong-je?

He didn’t move.

Not until she was out of sight.

Then he exhaled, slowly. Shakily. Like he had been holding his breath since the day she died.

✮⋆˙

He didn’t approach her again.

But he watched. From a distance. And soon, he noticed: she worked part-time at a community center a few blocks down.

Helping kids. Tutoring after school. Mediating between difficult teens and exhausted staff. Never once raising her voice. Just sitting down beside them like she had all the time in the world.

She was still the same.

Soft, but unyielding.

She was breaking up a shouting match one evening when a man shoved one of the boys hard enough to knock him down. She stepped forward without thinking, arms spread, her voice firm.

The man didn’t like that.

He raised his hand.

And Seong-je stepped in.

He grabbed the man’s wrist mid-air. Squeezed just enough to make him drop to his knees with a yelp.

"Try it," Seong-je said quietly. "Go ahead."

The others recognized him. The name. The weight behind it.

They backed off.

She looked stunned.

He didn’t wait for her questions.

He turned to leave.

"Wait!" she called. "Why do you keep showing up?"

He paused, the fading light outlining his profile like a memory she hadn’t made yet.

"Because you still don't know how to stay out of trouble," he said.

Then he walked away, again, heart in pieces.

But now, something was shifting.

Because she was starting to follow.

✮⋆˙

She started noticing him after that.

In the library, two tables over. On the bus, across the aisle. Outside the bakery she liked, leaning on a railing, pretending not to look.

And she was no fool.

He never approached. Never tried to speak.

But his eyes always found her. Like they were tuned only to the sound of her laugh, the shape of her silence.

And one day, as she sat alone in the community center's garden during a quiet afternoon, she said aloud to no one in particular:

"I think you're the saddest person I've ever met."

He stepped out from the shadow of the hallway.

"And yet, you keep finding me."

She didn’t flinch.

She looked at him.

"Then tell me why."

His breath hitched.

For the first time, he stepped into the sunlight with her.

And the past, just for a moment, stopped chasing him.

✮⋆˙

He sat down beside her.

Not close enough to touch, but close enough that he could finally feel the warmth of her again—like sunlight after years underground.

The silence between them stretched, taut and humming.

She waited.

Not impatiently. Just… openly. Like she had all the time in the world for broken people.

And maybe she did.

"I used to think grief was the worst kind of pain," he said at last. His voice was quieter than she expected. Rough around the edges, like gravel soaked in rain.

"But it’s not."

She looked at him, brow furrowing.

"It’s remembering the moments before it. The last time someone said your name. The way they laughed at something stupid. The way they looked at you like… you mattered."

He turned to her then.

"And knowing you’ll never get that version of them again."

Her throat tightened. Something inside her folded like paper in a storm.

"You talk like you’ve lost everything."

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

There was a pain in his gaze that didn’t belong to a boy his age. It belonged to someone who had already lived—and burned—and been buried.

"Why me?" she asked softly.

His eyes softened, just a little.

"You once told me the world was still good. Even when it wasn’t."

She blinked. "I did?"

"You don’t remember," he murmured. "Not yet."

"Yet?"

He froze.

A beat too long.

And she saw it—that flicker of panic. Like a boy holding too many fragile things in his hands and realizing one had slipped.

He stood suddenly. Like being near her hurt.

"I shouldn't be here," he said.

She rose too. “Then why are you?”

His jaw clenched. "Because staying away feels worse."

Something in her face cracked.

And before she could stop herself, she stepped forward.

Her hand reached for his wrist—hesitant, uncertain. Like muscle memory she didn’t know she had.

Their fingers didn’t quite touch.

But the air between them pulsed with the weight of almosts.

“You feel familiar,” she whispered.

He swallowed. Didn’t dare move.

“Do I know you from somewhere?”

He closed his eyes.

And for a breath, he let himself pretend.

“You used to love rainy days,” he said, just above a whisper. “You said the sky sounded lonelier than you, and it made you feel seen.”

Her breath caught.

“Tell me who you are,” she said.

He opened his eyes.

And this time, he didn’t lie.

“I’m the man who failed you,” he said. “And I’m here to try again.”

The wind whispered through the leaves above them. She stared at him, as if the answer to all her unfinished thoughts was stitched into the lines of his face.

“You’re not making any sense,” she whispered. “But I want to believe you.”

Seong-je looked down at her hand. Still hovering near his wrist.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said.

“Maybe not,” she replied. “But you’re here. That has to mean something.”

He laughed—quiet and hollow. “You always gave people more than they gave back.”

She tilted her head, searching his face. “What happens if I remember you?”

“You won’t,” he said. “Not really. The thread I’m walking—what I’m doing—was never meant to hold both of us.”

She took a step forward.

“What does that mean?”

He swallowed.

The truth sat like rust on his tongue.

“I traded everything,” he said. “Every version of myself that didn’t know you. I let the world unravel as long as it gave me this one chance.”

She blinked.

“Then what are you so afraid of?”

“That I’ll fail again.”

She looked at him for a long time. Then quietly:

“Don’t.”

✮⋆˙

Weeks Passed

He stayed close. Not too close. But close enough to change small things.

He warned the girl she would’ve saved from thugs. Got her home early that day. Made sure the event that brought her into that alley never happened.

He moved quietly in the background. Shifting pieces. Breaking loops.

Because that day—the one where she died—it was coming.

And he knew it.

He knew who would come for her. He remembered the blood. The cold tile. The gun in her hand she had never fired. The face of the man who shot first.

And this time, Seong-je would be there.

✮⋆˙

The Day She Was Supposed to Die

It rained.

Not violently.

Soft. Gentle. Like the world remembered, too.

She was at the community center, cleaning up late. The lights were half-off. She had just finished stacking the books when a figure stepped into the hallway behind her.

She turned.

A stranger.

Gun raised.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

But this time—

He was faster.

Seong-je tackled the man to the ground, the gun skidding across the linoleum. They fought in shadows and fluorescent flickers. One shot fired. Into the wall. Another, into the air. Screams from behind locked doors.

And then silence.

Seong-je stood, panting, covered in blood that wasn’t his.

She stood frozen in the doorway, one hand over her mouth.

He turned.

And in that moment—shaking, bloodied, alive—she remembered.

Her knees buckled.

And he caught her.

The Thread Snaps

The world stilled.

A low hum filled the air. The hallway blurred.

And in the silence, the man with silver hair appeared again. Leaning against the wall like he’d been watching all along.

“You did it,” he said.

Seong-je looked up. “She’s alive.”

“For now,” the man said. “You’ve changed the thread. That means the old one has to go.”

Seong-je held her tighter. “What do you mean?”

“You were never meant to return,” the man said. “This was a one-way door. You stopped fate once. That’s all it allows.”

Seong-je rose to his feet slowly.

“She remembers,” he said. “You said she wouldn’t.”

“She does because she chose to,” the man said. “Memory is just another kind of thread.”

Then his eyes softened.

“You can stay. But you’ll forget.”

Seong-je flinched. “Forget her?”

“No,” the man said. “Forget your grief. The version of her you lost. The pain. The blood. It will all fade. She’ll be the only thing that stays.”

Seong-je looked down at her.

She was crying now. Silent. Barely breathing. Holding onto him like she finally saw the full shape of what he had carried.

And in that moment, he made peace with forgetting.

He bent down and pressed his forehead to hers.

“If I don’t remember any of this,” he whispered, “tell me you’ll remind me how much I loved you.”

She smiled through her tears.

“I’ll remind you every day.”

✮⋆˙

One Year Later

Their apartment smelled like citrus and sugar.

A framed polaroid sat on the windowsill—her laughing, fingers stained with flour. Mismatched cushions scattered across the couch. Her sweater over the backrest.

He stirred sugar into her coffee, still half-asleep, watching her hum along to the radio as she braided her hair.

Seong-je didn’t remember the rain.

Or the blood.

Or the grief that once hollowed him out.

But sometimes—just sometimes—he’d look at her a moment too long, his chest aching with something he couldn’t name.

And she’d smile.

Like she knew.

Because she did.

And that was enough.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

I feel sad... Bye

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@sunnyophelia @atztrsr @snoopsyka @cayrelyra @symphonies-of-poenies @ghost-reine @ginaaaa29 @gacktsa @inom17 @coffee-ii @dna-black-and-blue @intoanothermind @satoru2716 @kyungjunnies @changbinkisser @mishh2728 @0waves2earth @ashayein @janjoonty @ineed-myspace @itzcandy

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #weak hero webtoon #geum seong je #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #wolf keum

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anonity · 4 days ago

Text

to break a horse | chapter two

wc: ~6.4k warnings: n/a a/n: i am so sorry i blueballed you guys so hard with this 😭 i was having a terrible time writing the last scene and i straight up just gave up for like three days

by 5am, paige bueckers is already regretting signing this contract. her blanket feels heavy as she rolls over to turn her alarm off (an entire hour earlier than usual, mind you). she needs coffee strong enough to kill someone within the next six minutes.

it’s quiet when she gets downstairs, nothing but the sounds of wood creaking beneath her feet as she moves silently in the kitchen. she fills her coffee maker with more coffee grinds than necessary, turns it on, and rests her head on her hands as it begins to drip.

paige does the exact same thing every single day. and while normally she would welcome some kind of change to her routine, it’s not quite as fun at 5 in the morning. the only thing more exhausting than coffee, animals, breakfast every morning is coffee, animals, breakfast an hour earlier than usual.

by 5:27, paige is heading to her truck. God’s most annoying bug has clocked in early today, cicadas buzzing as she opens the screen door and steps onto the porch. the sky has turned a pretty dusty blue, and the sun should be risen by the time she gets to the motel.

her truck door slams shut, the entire vehicle shaking with the force of it, and paige slides her hands to the top of the wheel. she inhales, then exhales louder than necessary.

azzi fudd is a professional inconvenience, blowing into talco with a souped-up cadillac and exotic looking boots. and while the motel incident had originally been funny, now paige has to drive back into talco with her 14-miles-per-gallon F-250.

gas is expensive now – not that azzi would know, with her 4.3 million dollar net worth and fancy drivers, but paige is dealing with a failing farm and a truck that probably should have been sold for scrap years ago. her wallet winces every time she turns the key.

she’s already done the math – 14 miles to and from talco at $4.40 a gallon had rounded out to about $30 this week. $30 carting around a woman of many delusions – money she could spend on enough whiskey to briefly forget about the entire hollywood ordeal.

she pulls out of her driveway with nothing but a thermos between her legs and the silence that comes with a broken radio.

paige actually genuinely enjoys driving before daybreak. sometimes it's the most peace she gets all day: tires crunching on loose gravel, the slow, rolling thunder of her engine – but as her truck sputters to a stop outside the red sky and there are no lights on in the motel, her mood goes from exhausted to pissed.

she turns the key of her truck off, slams her door open and shut, and marches into the front office.

the lobby smells… stale. stale with what, paige doesn’t want to know, but it does smell stale, with a hint of the alcohol-based soap that gas stations always have. there’s no one at the front desk (which shocks no one, least of all paige). the red sky inn is not known for its hospitality, or it’s comfortable beds or even functional plumbing. God’s will is probably the only thing keeping the joint running.

despite this, paige smacks the flat of her hand against the ring for service bell. when there is no service, she rings it twice more.

“unbelievable,” she mutters, even though it is absolutely believable. and then she does what any reasonable person would do: stands up on the toes of her boots and leans over the counter to look for azzi’s room.

paige scans the desk. there’s a half empty dasani bottle, a post-it note with a poorly drawn cat, and a crumpled receipt with someone's phone number on the back, but then she sees it: Azzi Fudd - Room 3.

score.

motels have this way of tricking you into thinking they’re nicer than hotels, because they only have doors that open up on the outside. it gives the impression that each room is a mini house – except that this mini house inside is closer to a trailer.

she leaves the lobby, letting the door slam shut behind her, and then pokes her head to the right. 4, 5, 6..

she turns to the left. 3.

of course azzi’s right next to the lobby. she probably knocks on the wall whenever she needs something, the pretentious, holier-than-thou –

“azzi!”

a beat.

there is no response. just cicadas and the last of paige’s patience dissipating like dust in the wind.

paige doesn’t knock on the door so much as slam her fist against it, and it still doesn’t open for four seconds. paige knows it's four seconds because after her last knock, she began counting.

azzi honest-to-God sounds surprised to see paige when she opens the door, which is ridiculous, because it’s almost 6 in the morning and paige is usually collecting eggs by now. it’s her favorite part of the day. and it is being put off by this model in silk pajamas.

“wh– paige?”

“good morning,” paige deadpans. “what the hell are you wearing?”

azzi flushes, glancing down defensively at her outfit. “they’re – it’s five in the morning,” she complains, which does not answer paiges question.

“nearly six,” she corrects, standing up a little straighter to look over azzis shoulder. there are two suitcases (two? she’s here for a week) and they’re both closed tightly shut and tucked into a corner. “your rooms awful tidy,” she observes.

azzi turns around, a little dazed, and then looks back at paige. “i didn’t want bed bugs hitchhiking on my clothes.”

paige raises an eyebrow. “whats stopping them from hitchhiking on you?” azzi breath catches. she looks like she’s about to shove paige but then decides against it. “ew, paige, that’s not funny!”

paige hadn’t really meant it as a joke. if there are bed bugs at red sky (which she wouldn’t necessarily bet against), there’s no reason why they would be off-put by silk.

paige doesn’t respond, just sidesteps azzi to move into the room and squinting in the resulting darkness. “what are you, a vampire?”

“i was sleeping,” azzi groans.

“must be nice.”

paige does a full circle of the room. upon further inspection, she realizes azzi has laid a towel down on the bed to sleep on – as if bed bugs could not just… walk on the towel. this is the only sign, apart from her tightly-packed suitcases, that anyone is living in this room.

it’d be laughable if she wasn’t so off-put by azzi’s entire vibe. “how long is it gonna take you to be ready?”

azzi sighs, bringing her hands up to her hips and glancing around. “umm, i’ll have to shower–”

“what do you have to shower for?” jesus. they’re never going to leave this motel.

azzi balks. “because it’s morning? and you shower.. in the morning?”

“you’re just gonna get dirty again,” paige says, flatly. “ i have a hose. just change out of…” she pauses, and it almost sounds like genuine confusion when she continues, “whatever that is.”

obediently (and in a likely exhaustion-fueled stupor) azzi reaches the hem of her shirt. paige yelps – a choked noise that would be entirely unexpected coming from her – and throws her hand over her eyes. “i don’t need to see it,” she hisses. “jesus christ.”

paige doesn’t remove her hand until she’s rotated in the direction of the door, facing opposite of the stripping model. “i’m gonna wait in the truck,” she grumbles, already opening the door. “hell is wrong with you..”

azzis motel door creaks open, scraping against the ground. white paint cracks off it’s side and flits to her feet like a dead leaf. it’s nasty.

since last night, azzi has decided that paige is a dick. paige is a dick, and she’s being one at azzi’s door at 5:45am, forcing her to be up and dressed by 6. which is ridiculous, because azzis alarm wasn’t even set to go off until 7:00.

so, if azzi sits on her bed and stares at the wall for ten minutes after she gets dressed, just to prove a point, who cares?

her ten minutes of being petty had ended quicker than she’d wanted, though, and now she’s closing the motel door behind her. it’s now that she catches vision of paiges truck for the first time. and it is… worse in the daylight.

azzi doesn’t know enough about vehicles to know what kind of truck it is, but she does know that no truck should have duct taped mirrors. the passenger side looks like it's barely holding on, and the metal thing on the back (the hitch? tow.. hook? fuck if azzi knows) is rusted in place.

paige doesn’t even look over as azzi opens the door. she shifts in her seat, huffing a breath before twisting the key in her ignition. “took you long enough, princess.”

azzi’s going to kill this woman. even as she sits in the driver seat, looking absolutely delicious in faded jeans and an old basketball t-shirt – azzi pauses. completely disregards the princess comment. “did you play basketball?”

the shirt’s navy, the graphic faded so that azzi can’t make out what it says. she doesn’t know enough about the sport to tell if it’s college or high school, anyways. all she knows is that it’s the only sign in this vehicle that paige once acted younger than 50.

paige doesn’t answer, just tightens her grip on the steering wheel and then looks over at azzi. “what the hell are you wearing?”

“you’re only allowed to ask me that once a day,” azzi says. “it’s rude.”

for the record, azzi’s outfit is fire. packing for this trip was the most fun she'd had in a while: she’d gotten to experiment with flannels, fringe, suede and bandanas, all staples in the world of cowboy couture. don’t even get her started on the bellbottom jeans. they do amazing things for her ass.

so when azzi woke up this morning, she’d pulled on the perfect mix of cowgirl and fashion: a black halter top, with a deep V line leading into a loose W underband just below her belly button. for extra western flair, the band is studded with gold buttons and then breaks off into fringe that extends just past her waistline.

she thinks paiges eye twitches. “you look like you’re about to gentrify my barn.”

azzi glances over, undeterred. “wooaaahh,” she says, grinning. “big word for bueckers.”

paige does not grace that with a response. she actually doesn’t speak again, even as the truck leaves talco, even as azzis top starts to get uncomfortably hot.

the car stops sputtering when it hits the main road. it seems like the last time it’d been paved was the 1800s, and paige dodges potholes with familiarity that only comes with living here.

azzi shifts in her seat, the vinyl (leather? azzi doesn’t know) cracking loudly beneath her. they’ve barely been sitting for two minutes, and already the bottoms of her thighs are sticking to it. to make matters worse, the sun beating through the windshield is making azzi regret her top.

paiges silence hangs heavy between them, which makes the heat go from uncomfortable to straight up miserable. azzi reaches for the radio, desperate to fill the quiet, but is met with static. on 105.9, the noise cuts out completely.

azzi blinks. “is your radio broken?”

paige hums, acknowledging the question but not answering. for a second, azzi thinks she’s going to be ignored, but then paige slaps a huge box in the middle of the truck. azzi then registers the speaker-shaped holes in its front: it’s dark gray, almost black, and has ER-3000 written in neon green military font.

“emergency radio,” paige says. “only works for NOAA weather alerts, though.”

“i’m gonna take that as a no on the radio.”

paige doesn’t respond. azzi feels sticky again, and not at all in the fun way she would like to be with this cowgirl. unable to take it anymore, she reaches over to turn the AC on. when she does, hot air blasts out of the vent from what must be the seventh circle of hell. azzi makes a confused noise, and it’s then that paige decides to grunt, “AC’s broken.”

of course it is.

“i suppose it might be better for me to ask what isn’t broken?” azzi asks, sweetly even though it’s obviously not meant to be. “save us some time?”

paige nods. “probably.”

asshole.

the longer she’s in this vehicle, the more azzi has to decide whether or not paige's hotness is enough to cancel out her personality. she sighs, dramatically, and throws herself back into her seat. her seatbelt catches when she does, pulling tight against her waist like it’s the universe's punishment. azzi tries to yank it back into place.

it doesn’t budge.

paige looks very tired. “you have to unbuckle it,” she sighs. “otherwise it’s just gonna be stuck there.”

azzi, dutifully, does as told, and then sits awkwardly for approximately three minutes. she’s afraid if she moves again may get locked back into the seat, and as much as she is annoyed by paiges overall personality, it is a little embarrassing to be under her scrutiny.

of course, the silence only lasts for so long before azzi starts touching things.

at first, its innocent. childlike. the tap of her nails against the dashboard, the noise of her knee bouncing against the door. and then the click of the glovebox opening.

“what are you doing?”

azzi has decided that if paige is going to be a dick, she is going to be annoying. “searching,” she replies, like it’s obvious. it should be – there are only so many sounds a glovebox makes, and azzi has managed to hit all of them in the last ten seconds.

“if a mouse falls out of that thing, i’m not pulling over.”

that gets azzi to pause for just a moment. she can’t tell if paige is being serious or not, and she’s also not sure if her new quest of being annoying is worth contracting rabies. but as she peers into the mostly receipt-filled compartment, she sees no movement. the risk:reward ratio is looking good.

she nosies through the compartment, flipping through receipts and poking suspiciously at animal-shaped lumps. “do you keep receipts from every gas station in texas?” she asks, pulling a pilot receipt out. the price on it nearly knocks her out. “holy shit. how is your gas $130?” “yeah, tell me about it,” she scoffs.

azzi does not get the chance to tell her about it, because suddenly paige is rambling frustratedly. “it’s a ford F-250. so diesel gas. plus its a ranch truck, so i have a dual tank, which is like –” her eyebrows furrow, forehead creasing. “38 gallons. so. 38 times.. 3.50 a gallon.”

azzis head cocks. she’s a little confused (what the hell is a dual tank?) but she doesn’t really want to admit that to paige. instead she nods – and then after one guilty moment, glances over sheepishly. “i don’t pump my own gas.”

azzi’s expecting her to bite back some sarcastic comment, but instead paige just laughs and mumbles, “figured.”

it’s barely anything. a flicker, a short ha, like paige had calculated exactly how funny azzi was and amounted it to one scoff. but it’s the first positive emotion azzi has gotten out of her all day, and she kind of wants to hear it again.

they pull back up to paiges farm at 6:15. theres a slight chill in the air, or at least as much chill as you can get in texas, but paige knows better. heat hums in the ground like it’s already planning to get worse.

which is part of the reason why azzi’s outfit is absolutely dumbfounding – a nashville fever dream at best. the black is going to catch heat, the V neck is asking for sunburn, and the entire thing is going to cling and collect sweat in all the wrong places.

paige has said this approximately 45 times since azzi entered the truck. she has not once shown any interest in changing.

paige kills the engine, breathing in the silence, and then stares for longer than necessary at her dashboard. maybe if she makes it awkward enough, the model next to her will request to go home.

she doesn’t.

paige resigns herself to dealing with azzi, begrudgingly opening her truck door. azzis boots (boots being a polite word to use for whatever she’s wearing) hit the gravel with a little puff of dirt.

paige rolls her shoulders, stalling the inevitable for a moment longer before she turns to the barn. “chickens’re this way,” she mumbles.

she doesn’t wait for azzi’s response, just starts walking. the path is nothing more than packed dirt and stubborn weeds, stamped down from daily use over the years. it leads to a barn in the distance, veering off on the right to two coops.

it isn’t until they reach the cut in the path that azzi finally speaks up. she sounds meek, which is laughable considering the audacity she’s had since the moment paige met her. “do the chickens bite?”

paige considers. no, they don't. well, one of them does – a black, brooding hen that gets pissy anytime anyone looks at her. but no, they don’t typically bite. paige would like to see azzi squirm a little at the thought, though.

she decides against it. the amusement azzi’s chicken-fear would bring would only last for a few moments, and it would not be worth the trouble of having to convince her to enter the coop later. so she answers, “no.”

paige approaches the first coop with familiarity, the chickens inside chattering quietly in anticipation. azzi stands awkwardly to the side as she slides the still-cool metal off of the door.

one chicken steps out, curiously, and then two more follow. then the rest – 31 chickens, fumbling out of their bottleneck at the coop door to escape into the field. azzi yelps, backing up and out of the way of their flurry, and then peeks over at paige.

paige keeps her face neutral, just the way she knows gets under azzis skin, and then steps away from the door. she gestures a little dramatically into the now-empty coop. “ladies first.”

azzi rolls her eyes, a sentiment that's lost on paige as she nearly falls stepping up into the coop. she glances unsurely back at paige when she doesn’t follow. “are you coming?”

paige leans into the coop, just a little. it’s dry inside, almost humid, cobwebs nestled in the corners and a broken wasps nest sitting half-crushed on the floor. “nah, i think you got it.”

azzi looks incredulous, straightening like she’s about to complain, and then immediately clocks her head on an empty watering bucket. a smirk ghosts paige's face. “that’s for the winter,” she says. “might wanna watch your head there.”

ignoring azzi’s scowl, she points to the roosting bars along the rightmost edge of the coop. “there’s gonna be eggs scattered under there – make sure they’re not broken before you grab them.”

azzi’s nose scrunches. “where am i supposed to put them?”

paige is about to say in your shirt when she clocks another issue with azzi’s wardrobe: the fringe on her top is not going to fold for egg carrying. she sighs. “well, you would put them in your shirt,” she says. “but since you can’t, imma have to go grab a bucket.”

she wanders off for maybe three minutes – finds one half turned over in the field, wet with dew and a broken handle. good enough for azzi to use.

and then theres screaming.

loud, completely unnecessary, wake-up-the-neighbors-that-paige-doesn’t-have screaming. her head snaps up in the direction of the chicken coop. the lingering field chickens look like nosy meerkats, squawking and cocking their heads like a different angle will attach sense to the noise.

then azzi emerges – or rather, scrambles, from the building. feathers follow. paige stands frozen for a beat and then takes a few steps forward, whistling low as she assesses the damage. “black chicken?”

there's the unmistakable color of egg yolk on one of azzis shoes, and she has a wildly fearful look in her eyes as she turns to paige. she seems like she’s just seen God. or the devil. it’s hard to tell.

then azzi shouts “it attacked me!” and it’s obvious that the answer is the devil. more specifically, paiges roosting hen, an overly pissy australorp she’s been considering killing for two years.

azzi waves one (count it, one) egg in the air as paige gets closer, eyes wide. “it was – huge,” she gasps. “like a fucking dinosaur or something.”

paige does not dignify the jurassic park comparison with an answer. she just nods solemnly, stepping forward one more time to stand eye to eye with azzi. “she’s brooding,” she explains, turning to look back into the coop. “so she's a little territorial.”

azzi gapes. “that is not territorial. that thing is evil.” she starts to gesture back toward the coop, but then stops halfway – likely afraid for her hand to go anywhere near the door again.

paige does nothing but smirk, feeling particularly amused when she glances back at azzi. “you’ve got a lil sum right… ” she pauses, drawing out each word with barely concealed laughter. azzi squints, confused, just as paige reaches out to unstick a feather from her lip gloss. “here.”

her fingers graze the edge of azzis lips just barely – a quick brush, entirely accidental. just enough to have gloss stuck to paiges thumb when she pulls away.

azzi flinches back, her face flushing instantly.

huh.

paige hadn’t done it to fluster her – she really only flirts with women that know the difference between a branding iron and a curling iron – but now that she has, there’s something satisfying about it. a little shift in power between them. she files azzi’s reaction away for later.

then she holds her broken bucket out expectantly. azzi blinks, staring blankly for a heartbeat, and then drops her one egg in.

paige looks back up. “i know theres more in there.”

the implication hangs between them: nice try. paige will not be spending this week bending over backwards to give hollywood her texas experience.

“i’m not going back,” azzi says, perplexed. “it’s gonna get me.”

when paige stares back, unmoved, she adds, “it tried to bite me, paige.”

there’s a long, painful pause, and then paige sighs and grits out, “fine.”

when she comes back out, she taps the bucket pointedly and drops the rest of her eggs in. “no more breaking these. they’re like 20 bucks a dozen or something ridiculous now.”

azzi glares. paige decides it’s going to be a long day.

azzi has been attacked by a jurassic bird, embarrassingly flustered by a pissy cowgirl, and traumatized by paige’s falling-apart vehicle. so it’s safe to assume that her day cannot get any worse.

so when paige leads her down a path that veers off to the right of the coops, azzi subtly shifts her position – nudging paige to the inside of the path, closest to the coop. a human barrier between azzi and the evil chicken. because she’s determined that the rest of her day is going to go well. because, again, it cannot get any worse. azzi will die.

paige doesn’t comment, but she does glance sideways at her. azzi doesn’t care. maintaining her sanity is more important than appeasing a self-important rancher. she’s growing used to paige’s constant judgement anyways.

its then that azzis eyes zone in on the metal in front of them – an old, rusted hand pump that has probably seen more summers than both her and paige combined. it’s as if paige’s farm hasn’t aged since the 50’s – she’s halfway expecting elvis presley to echo from somewhere. maybe paige will stop their work so they can greet the fucking milk man.

paige is a woman of very few words, and she does nothing but grunt “water pump,” as they approach.

azzi blinks. “you’re joking.” because she must be.

but there are buckets, three of them, thrown sort of haphazardly against the pump, and one of them still has water in the bottom. as if it had been used. recently.

paige groans a tad dramatically as she leans down, yanking two of the buckets up by the handles. they clang unpleasantly against each other, and she holds one out to azzi expectantly. “the other animals have hoses hooked up,” she explains. “but the chickens’re right next to the pump.” at azzi’s blank expression, paige adds, “she works fine.”

azzi reaches out, hesitantly, like the bucket might shock her, and then stares lamely at the pump.

paige’s eyes narrow. “are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna use it?”

“uhhhm,” azzi responds, shifting the bucket between her hands uncomfortably. “i don’t know how to do it.”

paige blinks, slowly. azzi wishes she could take back her confusion. “you dont,” paige pauses. “know.. how to pump water?”

frustration flares. “why the hell would i know how to do that?” azzi huffs. “i wasn’t born in the fifties. some of us have running water.”

“woooah,” paige nearly laughs, looking a little surprised at azzis outburst. “relax, hollywood.”

azzi is not going to relax. in fact, as paige moves past her, she hopes the handle on this stupid pump breaks off in her hands.

it doesn’t, but something even better happens – the pump does nothing. it creaks, groans in protest as paige presses down on it, but there is no water. azzi lifts her chin, smiling smugly down at it. “see,” she says. “thing doesn’t even work.”

but paige says nothing, even as azzi has just roasted her. azzi thinks that would have really gotten under her skin, but it hadn’t, and instead paige has just continued pumping the handle. twice, three times, and then on the fourth – something catches. it makes a noise, like it's thinking about grabbing water, and azzi is suddenly reminded of the way her cadillac had needed to catch on the panel before it could drive.

on the fifth pump, water floods from the spout. the pressure it comes out with is enough to make it jump out of paige’s bucket as it hits the ground, cold droplets landing on azzi’s arm.

azzi take a deep, steadying breath, and steps up. she’s not about to be outdone by an unusually attract cowgirl. the pump handle resists her at first, too, and nerves swirl in her stomach. please work.

on the third try, the handle gives satisfying resistance. azzi knows that its worked before the water comes out. she grins when it falls into her bucket, triumphant and smug.

of course, that’s when her victory comes crashing down.

because while paige casually hooks her fingers through the handle of her bucket and brings it to swing low at her side, azzi struggles.

she yanks once, but it doesn’t budge. then again. nothing. the stupid pail is rooted to the spot like it's super glued to the ground.

paige is already a quarter of the way to the chicken coop when she realizes azzi isn’t following – she turns around just in time to watch as azzi yanks her bucket up with both hands. she successfully gets it off the ground, but it’s at the cost of half of her water sloshing out of the bucket and landing in her less-than-practical boots.

azzi gasps, the water cold, and lifts her foot off the ground as if that will help the chill currently running down her leg.

paige watches with mild interest and zero urgency. azzi scowls at her, holding her bucket out and wobbling. “this is inhumane.”

“are you talking about yourself or the animals?”

at noon, paige suggests they stop working for lunch. azzi had muttered thank God, and now they’re both sprawled out on the front porch. paige needs to replace the board azzi is sitting on. it creaks loudly every time she shifts, and she can’t decide who it’s bothering more.

allegedly, azzi had brought her own food. she hadn’t offered any further explanation, or even relief that what she had was edible, just patted her designer bag that morning with a vague “i packed snacks”.

azzi’s legs half-dangle over the broken step now, another item on the list of things paige has to fix. she watches as azzi pulls her knees up to her chest, shifting to rifle through the bag next to her – an unreasonably large tote that paige is certain is filled with half-melted makeup.

azzi comes up a few seconds later with one smashed granola bar.

she’s an idiot.

they’ve been working like dogs since 7 in the morning. paige has, at least. one granola bar is not going to cut it.

“that’s it?”

azzi shakes her head no, and paige is nearly relieved until she reaches into her bag and reveals a ziploc baggie filled with something suspiciously green.

“what the hell is that?”

azzi says “seaweed,” in a tone paige thinks implies the word duh. “it has lots of minerals.”

“yeah, so’s the dirt,” paige scoffs. “you wan’me to getcha a shovel?”

azzi rolls her eyes, as if the comparison between seaweed and dirt is really that far off, and then holds the bag out for paige.

paige hesitates. she’s comfortable on the porch swing, sore from the morning, and bone-tired. her lower back is making a rather convincing argument for staying right where she is.

but azzi shakes the bag again, holding it out like an olive branch, and it’s kind of tempting. not because of the food – seriously, the only people eating seaweed should be someones lost in the fucking ocean – but because paige is going to be seeing a lot of azzi in the next week, and she should probably at least try to be civil.

a deep sigh rises from her chest as she stands, rolling her shoulders and adjusting momentarily before bending to grab the bag. azzi looks pleased, and paige moves to stand on the step next to her as she holds the bag up to her nose.

paige takes exactly one breath of it and then recoils. “it smells like a bait shop,” she huffs, thrusting the bag into azzi’s chest.

azzi looks deeply amused, laughter bubbling as she takes the bag back. she’s still smiling when she leans back against the railing, one leg stretched out in front of her.

paige sits unmoved next to her, legs spreading out across the steps. she throws a plastic krogers bag down between them, shoving the handles of it apart and pulling her own sandwich out – real food. hopefully azzi takes notes.

she takes a bite, letting herself take in the quiet. azzi is usually talking before paige can get these deep in her thoughts, though. the silence stretches loudly. paige glances over.

when she does, azzi’s eyebrows are drawn together and she’s staring directly at paige's sandwich.

dammit.

paige sighs, wishing she had a dollar for every time she’s done that today, and then tears her sandwich unevenly in half.

azzi blinks, looking kind of startled. “oh,” she says. “i can’t–”

“just take it,” paige huffs. “you’re never gonna make it through the afternoon on that shit.”

azzi opens her mouth like she’s going to argue, eyes darting between the sandwich and paige’s face – but then paige gives a lazy, impatient flick of her wrist, and azzi takes the bait. she’s cautious, and paige can’t tell if azzi’s being weird or if she’s always attentive when touching strangers.

unwilling to let anything be misconstrued as kindness, she adds, “they might take away part of my income if you pass out out here.”

azzi laughs behind her half of the sandwich, a sharp sound that cuts through the quiet. she doesn’t respond, though, just chews silently and reaches down to brush dirt off one of her boots. paige nearly rolls her eyes.

the silence stretches again filled with cicadas and the occasional creak of wood beneath them. paige doesn’t mind the quiet — prefers it, even — but there’s a particular kind of stillness now that feels less like peace and more like pressure.

there’s a distinct feeling you get when someone is watching you – it’s kind of itchy, a little heavy, and very rare for a paige bueckers that lives mostly alone in the middle of nowhere. so when paige feels watched, she looks up, confused, and meets azzis eyes.

or almost meets her eyes, because azzi immediately looks away and then appears very interested in the crust of her food.

paige's nose scrunches. celebrities are so fucking weird.

azzi is so lucky that paige is such a fucking idiot. because azzi has done nothing all day except act like a crushing teenager – no, a middle schooler, because even a teenager would have more tact than her – and yet somehow, miraculously, paige has done nothing to acknowledge it.

her embarrassment only adds to this terrible, awful, no-good, very bad crush, because now she just feels the need to chase. which, by the way, after today, azzi has learned you cannot do in heeled boots.

its actually difficult to even walk in heeled boots, which is how azzi has wound up in her current position: three feet behind paige, blatantly staring at her ass.

it’s not on purpose. which might be worse, because azzi’s staring today has gone from deliberate to completely uncontrollable. paige continues walking like she has no clue anyones observing, a slow trudge back to the house.

“you alright back there?”

azzi freezes. is it possible that paige has eyes in the back of her head? she clears her throat, trying to buy herself some thinking time. “all good,” she answers. “just admiring the view.”

admiring the view? maybe azzi would be better off never thinking again.

paige turns slightly, brow raised, and she freezes. “i mean the land,” she supplements. then adds, “don’t make it weird,” as if she isn’t being the biggest fucking weirdo in texas.

paige does not reply, which only makes azzi feel more awkward and nervous and distinctly teenage. she has to fill the silence before it kills her. “the sandwich was good today.”

paige hums, mhm.

and azzi knows that shes probably tired – hell, azzi is exhausted – but mhm is not a good enough answer from paige. she needs words. attention. “i can’t believe i got attacked by a bird today.”

nothing. not even a scoff. a nod of acknowledgement would have sufficed.

“what’s your brothers name again?”

“drew.”

a syllable! azzi will mark this moment down in history.

the light on the porch is on when they get back, swinging with the breeze. little bugs swarm it like its the sun, the glass of it fogged with the texas humidity.

paige huffs as she steps onto the porch, swinging the screen door open with more force than necessary. azzi follows sheepishly. she’s hot, itchy, mildly embarrassed, and deepy, deeply aware that she’s about to have to ask for a massive favor from paige.

because she cannot – just to be clear, absolutely cannot – sleep one more night in that motel.

“God,” she begins, glancing sideways at paige to see if she has any reaction. she doesn’t. “that motel is just so awful.”

paige doesn’t answer. azzi hears the fridge open.

azzi trails paige all the way into the kitchen, four steps behind and deeply uncomfortable in her heels. drew lifts his head from where he sits at the far end of the counter, sees paige's face, and smartly redirects back to his phone.

“i’m not even being dramatic,” azzi says. “i found a dead roach by one of the vents.”

paige mumbles something that sounds like “roach motel”, and then turns to the counter with her glass of water. its eerily similar to the look she had the first night, when azzi had asked her for her first favor – to drive her to the motel. except now, azzi is asking to potentially sleep on the floor of their living room. or in their barn. literally anywhere except the motel.

“and the bed bugs–”

“did you even see a bed bug?”

“no–”

“do you know what one looks like?”

azzi scoffs. there are only so many bugs that live in beds. surely it cannot be hard to identify a bed bug. “i would if i saw one.”

paige looks unconvinced, leaning back now against the cool of her refrigerator door.

this isn’t going the way azzi intended.

she huffs loudly, resting her forearms on the counter. she tries to catch drews eye, hoping against all hope that he will be her savior in this mess, but he’s staring rather pointedly at his phone.

when paige doesn’t respond to her huffing, she does it again. the third time, she gets halfway through an overexaggerated inhale before paige cuts her off with a deadpanned “what.”

“i just –” azzi groans, unprepared for paige’s sudden attention. “if i have to sleep there one more night, i’m going to have to file a formal complaint with–” she pauses. who owns motels? “someone,” she decides. “anyone. my agent. health and safety.”

paige sighs so hard her shoulders visibly drop. “God, fine. we have a guest room. just stop talking, please.”

azzi freezes in place. drews head snaps up, seemingly equally surprised. “for real?”

paige is already toeing her boots off, smacking one of them against their floor mat. “i’m wasting diesel driving you back and forth anyways.”

well. azzi’s knight in shining armor is rather impolite.

she opens her mouth to protest and then shuts it, deciding to count her blessings.

except then, dreadfully, azzi remembers something very important.

“umm… i don’t have my bags.”

paige stops mid-shoe, hands hanging stiffly in the air. she tips her head back to the ceiling and breathes in deeply. there are five terrifying seconds of silence, and then she turns around. “you have thirty seconds to get in that truck before i change my mind.”

azzi blinks, a little caught off guard. “what?”

drew shifts in his seat, giving azzi a tight, sympathetic smile. “she’s joking.”

“she’s not,” paige says, already putting her boots back on. “now you have twenty-eight.”

heels be damned, azzi is out the door before paige can say twenty-seven.

#pazzi #pazzi fics #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige bueckers x azzi fudd fic

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