wolfhard13

[wolfhard13]

ANYONE BUT YOU

synopsis: there are certain things that katsuki wouldn't allow for anyone but you.

warning(s): underage (highschool) drinking, switched between first and second pov in the third segment sorry, not well-proofread

a/n: wrote this for unofficialbf!katsuki again like duh!

"FUCKING DUNCE FACE! HOW ARE YOU THIS FUCKING STUPID?!" bakugo screamed, smoke literally flowing from his head as he hit kaminari's head repeatedly with a ruler.

"hey, man, if you keep doing that, it'll make him even stupider!" kirishima protested on kaminari's behalf, who already looked like he was seeing the light from above.

"like i care! he needs to learn a lesson! or anything, for that matter! we were taught this shit back in middle school!" bakugo hissed, crossing his arms and collapsing back on his seat.

"wait, but bakugo, i also kind of need some help with that.." mina said, trailing off when bakugo sent her a withering death glare. "actually, maybe i'll go ask yaomomo."

he huffed. "how are people this fucking stupid? like seriously, it's not that fucking hard."

"..katsuki? i need help with this question." you interjected a bit anxiously, showing him your paper.

he’d deny the way his eyes softened immediately. "tch. we learned this in middle school, you know." he said gruffly, giving your forehead a very gentle flick.

"i know, but i forgot. will you help? please?" you pleaded.

he sighed. "fine, c'mere. so for this step.."

as he taught you the material in a (GASP) normal tone of voice, kirishima and kaminari whispered off to the side.

"seriously?! that's the same question i didn't get." kaminari whined.

"i know! he's always so nice to her! it's crazy!"

"if he was half as nice to us as he is to her, i'd have at least a C!"

"i know, right? man, i want that special treatment, too!"

-

"..you fucking idiots."

tsu had called bakugo and deku to mina's room where they were having a girl's night. mina had managed to sneak some vodka in, so they were all having fun getting drunk and talking. however, by the end of the night, you, mina, and ochaco were wasted. luckily, mina would be ok, seeing as she was already in her room, but tsu had decided to ship off you and ochaco to katsuki and deku, as she was drunk herself and didn't feel like she could take proper care of the both of you.

"all of you are already fucking idiots. alcohol kills off your brain cells! you tryna get even dumber or something, huh?!" katsuki grumbled.

"kacchan! it's fine, really. come on, uraraka, let's go." deku scolded before helping ochaco out the door and back to her room.

"don't.. hic! be a buzzkill, bakugo. girls just wanna have fun!" mina slurred. katsuki could feel his eyebrows furrowing more and more as his irritation grew. he swore he was one more drunken idiot statement away from walking away right then and there.

sure enough, though, another drunken idiot statement quickly followed.

"katsuki! you're here! ..when did you get here?" you quipped excitedly, clearly not in your right mind.

katsuki ran a hand through his hair. "i've been here, idiot. for the past 5 fuckin' minutes."

you scrambled off of mina's bed where you were sitting and made your way to him, albeit with many more steps needed to get there from all of the stumbling you were doing. you jumped onto him as best you could, and he easily caught you. despite his grumbles, there was an undeniable softness in his eyes.

"missed you, kats.." you mumbled, nuzzling in to his neck with an affection you’d be humiliated by if you were just a tad bit more sober. he tensed a bit under your touch, but still adjusted you so you could cling onto him more comfortably.

"yeah, yeah. let's go." he muttered, quickly turning and leaving, trying to keep from snapping as you giggled and waved goodbye to your friends, wriggling in his grasp.

as he walked down the hall with you securely in his arms, katsuki listened to all your drunk rambling with never-before-seen patience.

"'nd then ochaco finally admitted to liking midoriya! i mean, we all knew, but it was so crazy that she finally admitted it!"

"did you know that kirishima's natural hair is black? mina told us! 'pparently there was some incident with a villain that totally changed him, so he dyed his hair red! isn't that crazy?! what if one day he can't dye it anymore because his hair is so damaged? his name is red riot!"

"if two people who have mind-reading quirks read each other's minds at the same time, whose mind would they be reading?"

amazingly, katsuki didn't snap at you at all amidst your rambles. he listened to your drunk babbling with incredible silence, simply dutifully carrying you down to your dorm.

at some point, though, the rambles stopped, and katsuki heard you.. sniffling? were you crying? he immediately stopped and lowered you in his arms to see your face, and sure enough, there were fat tears rolling down your puffed-up cheeks.

"y/n, what? you cryin'? why?" he asked gently, though panic evident in his voice. ever since childhood, one of his least favorite things was when you cried.

"kats," you sniffled, "'m i annoying? d'you not liking being with me?"

katsuki’s eyes widened. he knew you were just extra emotional from the alcohol, but he still never wanted you to think that.

"hey, look at me." he said softly. "i'd never spend time with ya if i didn't wanna, so never think that."

your face brightened comedically fast, and you were quick to squeeze him tight, giggling. "awee, you're so cute! 'nd sweet!"

katsuki rolled his eyes, but his eyes softened at the sound of your giggles. he'd never admit it, but it was his favorite sound in the world.

"come on, loser. let's get you to bed."

-

"TOUCH ME AND FUCKING DIE!" were words that had been roared by katsuki to just about everyone that had ever come within a four-meter radius of the boy. whether it was an arm slung over his shoulder in celebration, a high five, a pat on the back, or even someone trying to help him up or tend to his wounds, katsuki was very clear that the only reason someone should ever, ever, ever come into contact with him was to get blasted by his explosions and die at his hands.

so, the reactions of the red and yellow-haired (ba ba ba BA ba i'm lovin' it) boys at the sight in front of them was pretty justified.

"no way," kirishima whispered, a hand over both his and denki's mouths. "this cannot be real."

before them, they saw a peacefully asleep y/n on top of bakugo. on top. of bakugo. the bakugo. the "i don't care that my life is in danger and i need treatment! don't fuckin' touch me!" bakugo.

and that bakugo was.. playing with her hair? and rubbing a hand up and down her back? underneath her shirt? and upon closer inspection, wait.. is she wearing his shirt?!

the two watched silently as you began to stir awake, eyes fluttering open. you were greeted by katsuki's looking down at you, a certain fondness in his eyes. you mumbled a hi with a sleepy smile, to which he grinned (like a real, genuine smile not a demonic feral chihuahua smirk) at and ruffled your hair gently.

"mornin', dumbass. you sleep well?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

"mhm!" you beamed before returning your head to its rightful place on katsuki's chest. you nuzzled into him happily, mumbling a sleepy "so warm.."

his cheeks tinted pink and he scoffed, but he still wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. he gave your head a quick, gentle peck and pulled out his phone to scroll for a bit, his grip never once loosening as he massaged your scalp and nape.

you melted at his touch, an blissful expression on your face. "such a sweetie pie!" you giggled sleepily.

he rolled his eyes and gave your neck a quick scribble, his eyes dilating at the sound of your increased laughter. "i gotta stop spoilin' ya.." he grumbled, though there wasn't even a hint of maliciousness in his voice, his lips quirked up slightly.

you giggled again. "love you, kats!"

"..love you too, loser."

(kirishima and kaminari, who were still watching on the side could do nothing but sit there in stunned silence. they contemplated if maybe you'd done something amazing to curry his favor that they, too, could do, but they both arrived at the same conclusion: no matter what favors they could do or feats they could accomplish, there are simply certain things that the explosive boy would die before allowing for anyone but you.)

masterlist

[wolfhard13]

"LALALALA"

synopsis: yapper reader x listener katsuki. in which you finally get to see katsuki!

notes: grumpy x sunshine also. basically just yap yap yap reader and bro stfu katsuki. based on some prompt i remember seeing forever ago. deviating from my usual 'reader and katsuki childhood friends go to ua tg' bc this is such a cute idea

the field is buzzing, students from different hero schools gathering in small groups and instructors calling out over the noise generating quite the racket. there’s tension, excitement, and a bit of rivalry in the air. class 1-a stands off to the side, eyes scanning the new arrivals. bakugo stands isolated from the group with his arms crossed, mouth already in a deep scowl.

he hates group exercises. hates surprise training simulations. hates-

“katsuki!!”

and then it happens.

a blur comes flying in from the other side of the field. he hears it before he sees it, and by the time he turns his head, it’s too late. you launch yourself at him from behind, tackling him in a full-body hug that actually makes him take a step forward. his body tenses immediately, hands twitching instinctively like he might throw you off-

but he doesn’t. he would never.

“kats! kats!” you giggle, climbing halfway up his back like he’s your personal jungle gym. you hook your chin over his shoulder, big goofy grin stretching across your face as you hug him tight. “hi!!”

there’s a long pause. bakugo doesn’t move. doesn’t shout. doesn’t blow anything up. the whole world stills in suspense.

eventually, he sighs, a hint of a not-angry expression present on his face. "hi."

“uh… are we… seeing this?” kirishima says under his breath, eyes wide.

“kats, i swear, it feels like it’s been forever since i’ve seen you! i mean, seriously, how is it that we’re both doing this hero thing and still barely getting any time to hang out? it’s like the universe just hates us or something. i’ve been stuck in this crazy hellfire intensity training like all week, and it’s not even the fun kind, it’s just endless drills and lectures and like ugh ohmygod, i’m so over it. anyway, i missed you kats!! how are you? healthy? well? making friends? wait, who am i kidding. youre definitely healthy because youre like a health-conscious old man, and definitely no friends."

you’re talking so fast he doesn’t have time to respond to anything. he just stares down at you, not saying a word or moving an inch.

eventually, he reaches out, drops a heavy hand onto your head, and mutters, “shut up.”

you beam like he just handed you flowers. “there he is,” you giggle, grabbing his arm and hugging it to your chest. “so grumpy. so cute. i miiiissed you!”

he grumbles something pissy under his breath, but makes no move to pull away.

aizawa’s voice cuts through the air. “pair off.”

despite you already hanging on him, bakugo grabs you immediately. “we’re teaming up.”

“wait, what?” mina says from behind him. “you’re not gonna work with us?”

“we’re teaming up,” he snaps again, louder this time, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“but you always-”

“shut up. all of you. shut. the fuck. up.”

you’re already bouncing beside him, eyes bright. “oh my god, kats, i have so many ideas. okay, okay—what if you blow a hole in the wall and you know how i texted you last week about that new feature on my costume? i could use that to- wait! or we could climb over the roof and-”

“you talk too much,” he mutters, dragging you along gently despite his annoyed expression.

“you love it,” you sing, completely unbothered.

he doesn’t answer.

but the tiniest corner of his mouth tugs up.

masterlist

[wolfhard13]

Emmy hey Emmy I have a prompt for you

Timeskip Kenma and his wifey getting in bed after both of them stayed up for most of the night(Kenma streaming and wifey working maybe?)

Anyways I’m putting this on anon because NO ONES SUPPOSED TO KNOW IM THIS SAPPYYYYY

- Fittsy 🐌 ps this totally isn’t inspired by the fact it’s 4:30 am and I just finished working on a sketch absolutely not no way

It was almost comedic how the timing of the universe plays out.

Your cheeks curled into a small smile as your eyes meet Kenma's at the other end of the hallway, his body still in the doorframe of his office, yours in the bedroom's threshold. You squint your heavy eyes at him accusingly, amused, and you watch as he matches your expression, shoulders twitching to try and hide his laughter. The staring contest continues, the silence of your home at the ripe time of 04:16 keeping the air still.

"Hey..."

"Sup..."

You giggle, and he shakes his head, "what're you doing up?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you say, struggling to keep your voice steady from your snickering to keep some form of mysteriousness in the air.

"I asked you first," he tips his head back in a challenging manner.

You nudge your head down the hallway towards the kitchen, "grabbing a lil' sweet treat."

"The fact you we're going to get one without me is crazy."

"Oh, and tell me, please darling, where you are going?"

He goes quiet, and looks away, "to get a sweet treat."

"Knew it."

He smiles, making his way down the hall to meet you. His sweatpants are baggy and low on his hips, the cuffs tucked into his socks- "it's warmer," he had told you once- and the stretched out neckline of his shirt exposing the thin bones of his collar, and the pale skin seems to glow under the darkness of night. His hair is barely contained in the loose elastic, and his bright, golden eyes are bloodshot from staring at his monitors for hours on end. You smile at him, and when he gets closer, he rests his forehead against yours. You snort and wrap your arms around his slender waist. "You still haven't told me why you're up," he whispers.

"Maybe I was waiting for my handsome, perfect, sweet, caring-"

"We both know you weren't," he interrupts, smirking as you sputter in indignation. "Gonna have to put a time limit on your laptop or something, so you don't stay up so late."

"Oh, you are so not one to talk," you tease.

"I'll forgive you if we can make mug cakes."

You move your head out from under his to instead rest it on his chest, "can we eat them in bed?" You mumble. "Now that I'm not staring at my computer, I'm like. Disgustingly over tired."

"It's because you've been working so hard," he whispers, turning his head to kiss your temple. "Should we call it now, then?"

"Mug cakes..." you whisper.

This has Kenma laughing, laughing loudly in the air, his chest shaking and bouncing you around. He squeezes you close, "tomorrow. I promise. Too many crumbs for bed. I'll go shut down the Kenma cave, and I'll be right for bed, alright?"

"Okay," you yawn. With your agreement, he parts and goes back down the hall to his office, saving his hours of editing and turning off the lights, beyond eager to finally get into bed with the love of his life.

But not before going into the kitchen and grabbing a few cookies to satiate the craving of a sweet treat for both of you.

Watching your eyes light up in sleepy excitement is the best remedy to the loss of the once desired mug cakes.

Mug cakes he gets to make tomorrow with the love of his life.

He can't wait.

[wolfhard13]

ⓘ 01. THE WAY THAT YOU SEE YOURSELF

⤷ ANGST ﹫ timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader ﹫ established relationship ﹫ be ready to cry :)

-> part.2

⚠︎ cyber bullying, emotional distress (reader), mental health struggles, eating disorders (throwing up), heavy themes, strong emotions, cursing, heavy insults, you’re gonna cry .ᐟ.ᐟ

You still remember the stream like it was yesterday.

Kenma had pulled you gently into frame, eyes soft beneath the warm glow of the LED lights in his setup. He smiled, shy but proud.

“This is my girlfriend,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck with that same familiar awkwardness. “Be nice to her.”

At the time, it had felt like a dream. You were glowing with love and disbelief. Kenma—your Kenma—was introducing you to millions of his fans. Your face was warm with the thought, your heart thudding loud in your ears. You’d looked at him, smiled nervously, and waved to the camera.

The chat had exploded.

He’d chuckled.

“Okay, okay. We’ll play now,” he’d said, dismissing the tsunami of reactions with a lighthearted grin.

He didn’t see it.

Not what came after.

It started small.

A comment here and there on your Instagram posts. A DM.

“Who the hell are you?”

“She’s not even cute lol.”

You’d laughed it off at first. But they didn’t stop. They didn’t forget. You were no longer just “some girl.” You were Kenma’s girlfriend. And to them, that meant you were someone to tear apart.

The hate grew like rot beneath the surface.

“You don’t deserve him.”

“Pig.”

“Go kill yourself.”

And it wasn’t just the words. It was the way they dissected you. Your smile. Your clothes. Your hair. Your body. Every post you made was swarmed. Every picture was analyzed, compared to some ideal they had crafted for the man you loved.

Kenma didn’t know.

He didn’t see.

Because it wasn’t on his streams. It wasn’t in his mentions.

It was you. Your phone. Your DMs. Your world that was growing darker.

You told yourself not to care. You told yourself they were just kids, strangers, faceless names with too much time.

But at night, in bed, you scrolled.

Your fingers trembled.

Your stomach turned.

And eventually, you changed.

You stopped posting pictures of yourself. You started dressing differently—trying to look more like the girls they praised in his fan edits. You painted your face carefully, calculatingly. You skipped meals. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

Kenma would smile at you, kiss your temple. He had no idea.

He still looked at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. And so you acted. Played the part. You’d hold his hand tighter in public just to make yourself believe it. Laugh a little louder. Smile a little harder.

But the truth was, you were drowning. Quietly. Alone.

Sometimes you’d cry in the shower, biting your knuckles to muffle the sound. Other times you’d stare at your reflection, confused.

Who was this girl?

Where was the one who used to sing in the kitchen, who used to smile without checking a mirror first?

She was gone.

Buried beneath thousands of hateful words. Words from people who had never met you. Who didn’t know that Kenma loved how you always brought him tea without asking, or how you stayed quiet when he streamed, or how you understood when he needed silence. They didn’t know how he reached for you in his sleep. How he whispered “I love you” even when half-awake.

They didn’t want to know.

And now, you didn’t even want to look at yourself.

The worst part wasn’t even the hate.

It was pretending.

You didn’t want Kenma to worry. He worked so hard. He was building something beautiful—his own world—and you were supposed to be the lucky one invited in. You didn’t want to be the crack in the foundation.

So you smiled. Always smiled.

It was the beginning of the end.

But Kenma wasn’t stupid.

He just didn’t know what he was looking at.

But he knew you were not okay.

It had started subtly—like hairline cracks in glass. Imperceptible at first, something most people would walk past without noticing. But he wasn’t most people. And you weren’t just someone.

You were you.

The you who used to giggle half-asleep when he snuck behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. The you who wore his hoodies and danced barefoot in the kitchen. The you who told him you hated pineapple on pizza with the passion of a full-blown warrior.

That you hadn’t disappeared. Not all at once. That would have been easier.

No—she faded. Quietly.

At first, he thought you were just tired. You’d yawn more, sleep in. He’d offer to cancel a stream to spend the day together and you’d insist you were fine, just wanted to rest. It made sense. You were busy too. Life was heavy sometimes.

But then… other things began to happen.

He remembered the vase.

It was a plain thing, honestly—ugly, even. Some cheap, tacky glass piece his fans had gifted him years ago. He only kept it because he felt guilty throwing it away. You had knocked it off the shelf by accident while dusting and it shattered into a million pieces on the hardwood floor.

You stood there frozen for half a second—and then you crumpled.

You had cried. Not sniffled. Sobbed.

Ten minutes. Ten long, gutting minutes. He had rushed over, confused, concerned, arms wrapped around you as you kept saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—God, I’m so stupid, I’m sorry—”

Kenma didn’t care about the vase.

He’d told you that again and again, even while he held you, smoothing your hair. But you kept apologizing, kept shaking, like you were trying to make yourself disappear.

And when your tears stopped, you wiped your face and told him it was “just hormones,” laughed a little like it was a joke. Like it hadn’t scared the hell out of him.

Like you weren’t breaking in front of him.

That was the first moment he realized something was wrong. Not just off. Wrong.

After that, he watched more closely.

Your smiles weren’t quite the same. Too quick. Too bright. They didn’t reach your eyes the way they used to. Sometimes, you’d smile before he even finished a sentence, like you were anticipating it. Like a reflex. A cover.

And when he streamed, you’d avoid the camera.

You used to love popping in—bringing him snacks, waving at the chat, kissing his cheek to make him blush. It was your little routine. He never asked you to do it. You wanted to.

Now? You barely entered the room when he was live. And when you did, it was only to leave something silently on his desk and slip away. He noticed the way your eyes flicked toward the screen, and the way your shoulders tightened like you were bracing for something. He just didn’t know what.

He should have asked.

He should have insisted.

But you kept saying you were okay. So he believed you.

Because he wanted to.

Still… the signs piled up.

The nights were the worst. You started waking up at strange hours, always with an excuse. Your footsteps down the hall. The bathroom door closing softly. Water running. Toilet flushing.

Then the silence.

He followed once. Quietly. Listened outside the door.

He heard it.

You throwing up. Gagging. Then coughing and breathing like you were trying to steady yourself. You ran the faucet again—he guessed to drown out the sound.

When you came back to bed, he was still awake. You’d crawled in beside him like nothing happened.

“Sick again?” he asked, gentle.

“Mhm,” you hummed, turning your back to him. “Must’ve been the sushi.”

You said it so easily. So casually. Like it hadn’t happened the night before. And the night before that. Like he was imagining the pattern.

He reached out, touched your back softly. “Maybe we should go to the doctor…”

“No need,” you interrupted. “I’m fine. Probably just a bug.”

Kenma stared at the ceiling long after you fell asleep.

You weren’t fine.

You hadn’t been fine in weeks. Maybe months. But every time he reached out, you retreated. Laughed it off. Shrugged him away. And he—idiot that he was—let you.

Because he was scared. Scared of pushing you too hard. Scared of being wrong. Scared that if he said the wrong thing, whatever this was would get worse.

But it was already getting worse.

You barely ate at dinner. You never asked him to take pictures with you anymore. You didn’t talk about your day unless he pulled it out of you word by word. And the way you looked at yourself in the mirror—he noticed that too. The pause. The silence. The frown.

You’d stopped singing.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he missed your voice.

One night, you stood in the bathroom in nothing but your underwear, brushing your hair out in the mirror. Kenma leaned against the doorway, watching you.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly.

You didn’t even look up. “Thanks.”

Not “thank you”. Not “you too.”

Just thanks. Flat. Distant.

It made his chest ache.

And still, when he reached for you, you leaned into him. Let him kiss you. Let him hold you like he was the only thing tethering you to the earth. You let him love you like he always did.

But you didn’t love you. And he could feel that now.

You were fading in his arms.

That night, he didn’t sleep. Just stared at the ceiling, wide-eyed.

He didn’t know how long he could do this—watch you disappear and pretend not to notice. But he also didn’t know what to do. He’d never been good with emotions, with people. He was the one who stayed quiet in the back while others took the spotlight.

But now the spotlight was killing you.

And you wouldn’t let him turn it off.

The scariest part?

He didn’t know what would happen first.

That you’d finally tell him what was going on.

Or that one day, he’d wake up—and you’d be gone.

Not in the physical sense. No. But gone in the way that mattered most.

And that terrified him more than anything.

—

Kenma couldn’t sleep.

Again.

You were curled up beside him in the dark, your breathing light and even. From the outside, it looked peaceful. But Kenma knew better now. He knew it was an illusion—just like the smiles you gave him, just like the way you said “I’m fine” when you were clearly not.

He stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned.

He couldn’t do it anymore.

He was angry. Not at you—never at you. But at himself. At the silence. At how long he had let this go on. He’d noticed the signs, all of them, and he still hadn’t done anything.

He didn’t want to confront you. Not if it meant making you retreat even further.

But tonight, the helplessness had crawled so deep into his chest it felt like it was eating him alive.

He had to know.

He needed to see it.

Whatever it was that had hollowed you out like this.

So, with trembling hands and guilt tightening his throat, he turned slowly toward your sleeping figure, careful not to wake you. Your phone rested on your bedside table, screen dim, innocuous. Innocent.

But it wasn’t.

He picked it up.

Every second of it felt wrong. He hated going through your things. Hated the invasion of it. But god, he loved you too much to care. He’d break a thousand promises if it meant saving you.

He unlocked the screen with your fingerprint—you had given it to him months ago, jokingly, so he could queue music while you cooked.

He never thought he’d use it like this.

He checked your texts. Nothing out of the ordinary. DMs on Twitter—mostly muted. Barely any responses. You didn’t talk to anyone.

Then he opened Instagram.

And the world collapsed beneath him.

Your inbox was full. Not with friends. Not with kind words.

But with poison.

“Slut.”

“Pig.”

“Who paid you to pretend to be with him?”

“Why are you still alive?”

“Lmao she thinks she’s his type? Has she seen herself?”

“You’re ruining his brand.”

“You don’t deserve him. You’re dirt.”

It was endless.

Message after message, comment after comment, posts and story replies, group DMs you’d been added to just so they could tear you apart.

Kenma stared at the screen. Scrolling. Scrolling. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Your followers had tripled since he introduced you on stream a year ago. But it wasn’t love. It was a target they wanted. Someone to ruin.

And they had.

You hadn’t just changed.

You were being destroyed.

And he hadn’t fucking seen it.

His fingers were trembling, the screen a blur of hate and cruelty. He felt sick. He wanted to scream.

And then—he didn’t want to scream.

He wanted them to hear him.

To see what they had done.

Without thinking, without a plan, without even wiping his eyes, Kenma stormed into his streaming room. He sat down, headset on. Pressed “Start Broadcast.” It was past 2am. No notification. No schedule.

And yet… within minutes, the chat lit up.

“Wtf??”

“Is he okay?”

“Emergency stream??”

“Kodzuken??”

He didn’t speak at first.

He stared into the camera, eyes red, expression unreadable. His hands were folded on the desk. His jaw clenched.

The silence stretched. The comments piled in.

And then, finally—he spoke.

Voice cold. Low. Razor sharp.

“I wasn’t planning on streaming tonight. I wasn’t planning on talking at all. But I just found out what some of you have been doing.”

The chat slowed.

A pause. Confusion.

“To her.”

A single sentence.

And the shift in tone was immediate.

“You know who I mean. You all know.”

He didn’t blink.

“You looked me in the eye while tearing her apart behind my back. You called yourselves fans. You said you supported me. But what you actually did… was destroy the one person I care about more than anything in this world.”

His voice broke slightly—but only for a second. He cleared his throat.

“She didn’t tell me. I had to find out by going through her phone while she was asleep. You did that to her. You made her hide it. You made her feel ashamed of being with me. Of existing.”

The chat was chaos. Apologies. Excuses. Confusion.

He ignored them all.

“I saw everything. Every message. Every comment. Every threat. Every time you told her to kill herself. Every time you called her a pig. Every time you said she was dragging me down.”

“Let me be very clear.”

He leaned in.

“You didn’t just hurt her. You hurt me. You stole her smile. You took away her laugh. The woman I love—the only person who ever made me feel like more than a screen name—you broke her. And I let you.”

He exhaled, shaking.

“So this isn’t a brand. This isn’t a game. This is my life. And if you think for one second I’d ever forgive you for what you’ve done, for what you’ve taken from her—from us—you’re not a fan. You’re a parasite.”

He paused again. The chat had slowed. Silent. Some still begged forgiveness. Others left.

“She was happy before you. She was whole. Now she cries in secret. Now she throws up in the middle of the night and tells me it’s nothing. And I believed her. I fucking believed her.”

He sat back, face pale, knuckles white.

“I’m not playing anymore. You either support both of us, or you don’t support me at all. Ever again. No more middle ground. No more pretending you didn’t know. No more looking away while she drowns.”

“You killed her spirit.”

Another pause. He looked down. Voice quieter.

“And I’m not sure I’ll ever get her back.”

Then he looked into the camera one last time.

“Stream’s over.”

Click.

Silence.

Kenma sat there, headset off, chest heaving. The tears finally fell—slow, quiet. He wiped them away with the sleeve of his hoodie.

He didn’t care about the fallout. About the fans he just lost. About the hate he might get now.

None of it mattered.

Because you were in the next room, sleeping through it all, unaware of the war he just declared on your behalf.

Unaware that he had finally seen what they had done.

Unaware that he was done watching you disappear.

And now—he would burn the whole world before letting it happen again.

[wolfhard13]

tickle fights with bakugo please please please

tickle fights with katsuki

it was the weekend, a day to rest from hard training and constant schoolwork. you and katsuki calmly lie on your bed in your dorm watching a show you told him about, and he’s determined to catch up on the episodes so you can start watching it together.

but mischievous thoughts still itch their way into your mind, even though he’s trying to focus so hard on the television. his eyebrows are furrowed as he watches the main character fight a villain, when suddenly you pounce on him, tickling his neck.

he lets out loud laughs, trying to pry your hands off him as his eyes are shut close, and he’s sure everyone can hear him. he tries not to kick at you, not wanting to hurt you. but eventually, he gently grabs your hips and flips you over, still panting at the activity just happened.

katsuki pins your wrists near your head, crazily grinning above you before leading one hand under your shirt and to your stomach, and you yelp, “no, nononono!”

he tickles your stomach softly, just enough for you to feel the tips of his fingers dancing on your stomach. your stomach already hurts from laughing, and you want nothing more than to curl up so he’ll stop, though you don’t necessarily want him to. it’s bonding time!

but the breath is taken out of your lungs when small explosions come out of katsuki’s fingertips, still just enough for you to feel it, but not enough to burn or hurt. once you can hardly breathe, you kick at his chest a few times, and he hesitantly lets you go, gaining distance away from you so you won’t attack him.

you take a few minutes to catch your breath before you stare at him for a moment.

suddenly, you’re lunging at him again and he’s screaming out, “you little shit!”

THIS WAS ADORABLE TO MAKEE i really hope you enjoy!

[wolfhard13]

—CUPID IS SO DUMB!

synopsis ; everyone says that they would be a terrible person to date, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

ft ; kenma kozume, osamu miya

cw ; afab!reader, swearing

now playing ; cupid by fifty fifty

𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐌𝐀 𝐊𝐎𝐙𝐔𝐌𝐄

kenma was basically the joke of your school. sure, he was on the volleyball team, and they had made it to nationals, but he was…well, he was practically just begging to flip burgers for the rest of his life.

he was a video game addict, had no friends outside of the volleyball team, and probably never went outside in his free time. sure, he had decent grades, but nowadays, unless you’re in the top 10% of the grade, a good college surely won’t accept you.

no one in their right mind would date him, right? he wasn’t even that good looking either. short, monstrous posture, long and unkept hair…who in their right mind would date someone like him?

right, who would ever date him?

who would ever date him?

who would—

…

you would.

you never really saw anything wrong with kenma. he wasn’t bad looking in your opinion; in fact, you found him cute. you enjoyed video games as well, so you would enjoy playing with someone else.

you weren’t the most popular at school either anyways, so you’ve always had the occasional thought of dating kenma. but your last straw was when the annoying bitches in your grade who didn’t know how to shut up finally declared that “both kenma and (y/n) are so weird and ugly! they’re never gonna get married.”

fuck it.

“hey, kozume.”

“hm?”

he didn’t look up from his console, but you could see the slight stiffening of his hands. “you wanna, uh, like, y’know…um, go out together sometime?”

kenma’s entire body froze, the console nearly dropping from his hands. he stayed silent, and for a moment, you almost regretted doing this. but you had to do this for your own self-satisfaction. “we can go to a video game store or something after school.”

“wuh— why?” finally, some sort of response. poor guy; you were definitely freaking him out. you silently apologized to him in your mind.

“you clearly like video games n’ stuff, and we’re both quiet, so we’re pretty similar already.” you fidgeted with your fingers, managing a small smile.

“…sure.”

was it only supposed to be a one-off thing just to spite the bothersome bitches in your grade? yes. but kenma was actually pretty good company at the game store, giving you recommendations—though he was still rather quiet.

one date turned to five. five dates turned to ten. ten dates turned to twenty. though most of them were netflix or video games and chill dates. before you knew it, you really had fallen for kenma. and now that you think about it, those people sure were idiots for refusing to date kenma, because he treats you better than their asshole boyfriends treat them.

“here.” kenma placed a plastic bag onto your desk, face hidden with his hair.

“what’s th—“ you opened the bag, and seeing a box inside, you opened the box and saw what was perhaps the most heavenly piece of apple pie you had ever seen. “KENMA! IS THIS FOR ME?!”

“yeah. you always forget to eat breakfast, and my mom made apple pie, so…” kenma shuffled his feet.

“you’re the best! i love you!”

and so the gossip went from the both of you never being able to find someone to the both of you being a cringy couple who wouldn’t last. bold of them to talk, considering how they have more hookups and relationships than you can count on both your fingers and toes.

but oh well. let’s see who has the last laugh now, when you have a husband who is a successful streamer and the ceo of the bouncing ball corps.

𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐌𝐈𝐘𝐀

you hated atsumu miya. that was a fact known to all. you were paired up with him once for a project, and he did absolutely nothing. he always claimed that he had volleyball practice, which was probably true, so you couldn’t blame him for that, but he was so self-centered. he only knew how to talk about himself. he was so annoying.

but the worst part? you knew fucking well that if he put in even a little bit of effort into the project, you both could have gotten a higher score than a 70. he was smart, no doubt about it, but lord was he annoying.

for a long time, you thought his twin osamu miya wasn’t much better. he was too nonchalant about everything, he only cared about food—which you could somewhat relate to, considering how you were a food lover as well—, and he doesn’t know how to properly discipline is annoying ass brother. handling him in a purely physical manner will not help atsumu’s behavior in the slightest.

and great, you were paired up with osamu for a project. at least unlike atsumu, osamu invited you over to his house in order to work on the project. you had been in his room, flipping through your notes feverishly to try and find something useful.

“want some dorayaki?” osamu asked, holding out the bread to you. your jaw dropped, stopping the flipping of pages for a few moments.

“you’re offering food? maybe you’re not a big back after all.”

“nah, this is tsumu’s. if you don’t want it, i’ll have it.” he said, nudging his head at atsumu’s desk right next to his. “he’s just dumb and he left it there on his desk.”

you laughed, taking the bread from his hand. “i take it that you’re not the most fond of your twin? well, i mean, clearly not considering how you beat him up all the time at school.”

“he’s still my brother. he’s an idiot though.”

although osamu wasn’t the brightest, you did get a much better grade on a project with him than his brother. plus, osamu was way funnier and had even offered you food. you know what, maybe he wasn’t nearly as bad as you had thought.

“want some?” osamu asked on a random day during lunch, holding out a large onigiri to you. “i made it, so i don’t really know if i can guarantee if it’s good or bad.”

you snatched the onigiri from his hand. “i literally love you so much.” you exclaimed. looks like the term ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’ works with women too. “literally marry me.”

“oh wow.”

you weren’t thinking when you had declared such a thing when you both weren’t even dating, but osamu surely was. staring at you as you ate, he did think that it would be pretty nice being married to you.

at home, atsumu walked to the kitchen and gave osamu a sour look. “you’re such a simp. is your rizz literally just cooking? man, bro is down bad.”

“shut the fuck up, tsumu. you wish you have any rizz outside of your looks.” osamu snapped back, molding rice into a triangle shape and eating any excess rice left over.

well, osamu was right about making you fall for him through your stomach. because a few years later, you’re standing at the altar, shoving wedding cake into each other’s mouths.

[wolfhard13]

Love Languages - Kenma

Acts of Service

“Kenma?” You call out, letting your head fall against the dark wood of his door. “Can you please let me in?”

Nothing.

You put the basket down you’d been carrying, the glass jars inside creating a cacophony of sound. Your phone is at the bottom of your purse, and you dig it out, cursing quietly to yourself. It rings twice before Kenma picks up, his voice thick with sleep.

“Can you please let me in?” You ask. “Kuroo’s going to be here in an hour, and we told everyone the party is going to happen at your place.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“What time is it?”

You sigh. “When did you go to bed?”

No answer. You can hear shuffling in the background, and assume that he’s pulled the blanket back over his head.

Instead, the door clicks open.

Kenma squints out into the setting sun, his hair creating a messy halo around his head.

He’s cute, always has been, always will be, even with crusty eyes and no sleep.

“Go back to bed,” you order him. “I can let the others know. Lev might still mix it up, but I’m sure Fukunaga can get us a table-” You fall quiet when he leans over to pick your basket up, hauling it inside his apartment.

“I need a ten-minute nap,” Kenma tells you with the voice of someone who’s probably been awake for more than twenty-four hours. “And coffee. But then I’ll help you get everything ready.”

“No need,” you try to reason, but he’s not listening, slipping under the kotatsu in the kitchen.

You’re not even sure he can hear you still.

Kenma sleeps through everything, only waking when the others ring the doorbell.

But he sticks to your side through the party, his golden eyes rarely leaving you. 

-

Words of Affirmation

“You used to have a crush on Kuroo, right?”

You look up from the book you’d been, well, trying to read, your heart in your throat at the question.

“What?”

Kenma’s eyes are sharp, but honey-sweet at the same time. “You used to have a crush on Kuroo, back in high school.”

It’s not so much a question but a statement, and it leaves you helpless, searching for a way out. But with Kenma, there is none. 

You swallow thickly. “Maybe? Was it… was it obvious?”

“Kinda,” he admits. “To me, at least. I didn’t say anything, because you’re smart enough to confess on your own.”

“Thanks.”

He doesn’t respond for a while, doesn’t pick back up where he left off, just lets his eyes wander over your face, your body, the book resting in your lap.

“But it changed, right?”

You lick your lips. Shrug your shoulders. “Maybe?”

“You’re a good liar,” Kenma points out. Your eyes flicker back to him, unable to keep away. “What?”

“I noticed,” he says, his eyes on something over your right shoulder. “You can make it look like you’re doing fine when you’re not. You can manipulate me into doing things I don’t want to do. You’re-”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” You ask, exasperation clawing at the back of your throat.

Kenma flinches back, his eyes flicker back and forth, too fast to catch. “I was trying to give you a compliment,” he confesses. “I’m not as good at it as you are.”

You laugh, can’t help it.

“Calling someone a liar isn’t usually the best way to go at it.”

“I was trying to say,” he interrupts you, his voice scratched up at the edges, “that you do things to me. I wanted to ask-”

“If you’re doing things to me, too?” You look down into the book you’ve been trying to read for the better part of an hour. “Thought you’d be smart enough to notice.”

He smiles, proud and anxious at the same time. “Are you trying to tell me something?” He teases, using your words from before.

“You’re the genius.” You stretch your legs and put your feet in his lap. “Figure it out.”

-

Quality Time

“I’m leaving.” You wait until Kenma acknowledges you, watch as he pauses the game, and clicks a few things.

“What?”

“I said I’m leaving,” you repeat. “It’s been nice, but I need to shower and prep for tomorrow.”

Kenma pulls a face. “Are you mad because I’m at the Computer?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It was a lovely date. And I enjoy spending time with you like this, everyone doing their own thing. Also, I like watching you play,” you smile, “You’re hot when you get angry.”

Kenma blushes feverishly, checking something on his setup. Probably the camera.

“So why are you leaving then?”

“I told you,” you nudge his foot with yours. “I need to shower.”

“So shower here.”

“And prep for tomorrow?”

“What do you need to prep?”

“Breakfast, Lunch, and that ridiculous paper I still need to finish.”

“You can do that all here.”

“Kenma.”

“Yes?”

“Just say it.”

He fiddles with the keyboard, unable to look at you. “I don’t want you to go. The room is different when you’re in it.”

“What if I stay overnight tomorrow?”

His blush comes back tenfold.

“Not like that,” you squeak when you realize what he’s heard. “B-but I can bring my stuff, so next time I can shower here. And prep and stuff.”

“Yeah,” he nudges your foot with his. “I’d love that.”

“Good,” you lean down and press a kiss to his cheek. “See you tomorrow then.”

“One more for the road?” Kenma asks, as you move back again. “Please?”

You giggle and kiss him on the lips. “One for the road.”

-

Physical Touch

Kenma’s been staring at you for the better part of five minutes, and you’re pretty sure he’s stopped blinking..

“Yes?” You ask, putting your book down. “Do you need something?”

His brows are furrowed, his lips pursed. He’s always had an expressive face, and right now he looks like he’s both furious and embarrassed at the same time.

“I want you to sit in my lap,” Kenma pushes out when you nudge his foot with yours. “But then I can’t see the screen.”

“So?”

“But I want you to sit in my lap?”

“So?”

He grunts, sounding pained. “But then I can’t see the screen.”

“You could sit in my lap.”

Kenma considers that for a comment, then he gets up. You slide into his spot on the gaming chair, and he settles into your lap, scowling. “That’s not the same.”

“It’s a compromise.”

“I hate compromises,” he complains, but starts the game anew.

You rest your head on his shoulder and try to read your book, your arms awkwardly sitting by your side. “How am I supposed to read now?” 

“I’m not moving,” Kenma declares pointedly. “So sucks to be you.”

-

Gift giving

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand.

Blinking yourself awake, you silence your alarm, but don’t get up right away, glancing at your display instead.

“Nap record unlocked!” A new notification reads, and a little animated cat dances in celebration. You smile and take a screenshot. 

The app still needs a little fine-tuning, but you love it for the thought behind it. More importantly, you love the guy who came up with it altogether. 

“Nice,” Kenma appears in the doorway, squinting at his own phone. “Nap record. You want chocolate cake as a prize?”

“I told you not to sync our phones.”

He pouts. “But I like seeing your progress.”

“You just don’t want me to look at yours,” you tell him. “Your sleep schedule is outrageous.”

Kenma sticks his tongue out at you. “Well, I didn’t make this app for myself. So my score isn’t going to be questioned.”

You huff, but he’s right. And you hate it.

“Oh, by the way,” he changes topics fast, pulling at your sock-clad feet to get you to get up. “I ordered some mystery boxes for you.”

“What kind?”

“Jewelry.”

“Oh,” you pull a face. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he pulls a little harder, and you do him the favor and sit up, puckering your lips for a kiss. “I choose everything.”

“But it’s not a mystery box if you choose everything.”

“It is to you,” he insists. “Don’t open it until I’m there, I want to see your reaction.”

“Kay,” you slip your hands under his hoodie. “Anything else I need to prepare for?”

“No,” he pinches your hip. “Now get up, I need to cuddle you properly.”

-

But there is something, sticking to the mirror in the bathroom.

Five yellow post-its are trying to form a heart.

Smiling, you read the love notes.

“What are these for?” You ask when Kenma passes by on the way to the kitchen, an empty mug in each hand.

“Do I need a reason?” He asks as he shuffles away, followed by a quieter “Cause I love you, of course.”

-

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[wolfhard13]

soft reset

when your boyfriend kenma starts burning out from the pressure of developing his new game, you decide to help him unwind—in your own intimate way—even if it means slipping under his desk while he's live on stream.

haikyuu masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. kozume kenma x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, smut, timeskip!kenma

wc: 6.8k

warning: 18+ mdni., smut. nsfw. unprotected sex. cunnilingus. oral sex (receiving and giving), praise kink, softdom!kenma, established relationship, domestic setting, multiple orgasms, spanking

life with kenma is quiet, but never boring.

you live together in a cozy house just outside the city—a place that still smells faintly of new paint and the sage candle you always forget to blow out. the air inside is always warm, like a weighted blanket, buzzing gently with the soft hum of kenma’s pc behind his office door. a hoodie of his is usually hanging over a chair. a half-empty boba cup sits on a coaster with some game dev scribbles tucked underneath. takeout boxes come and go like visitors.

the two of you have routines. but they’re soft around the edges. comfortable. familiar. easy.

kenma is currently neck-deep in his new game. that means longer hours at his desk, occasional grunts of frustration, and a more muted tone than usual, even when he's lying beside you at night, staring at the ceiling with tired golden eyes.

you know he won't ask for help—not out loud. but he’s been letting you test his builds lately, and that’s as much of an invitation as you’re going to get.

so, you start leaving sticky notes.

little ones. bright neon colors in your handwriting, dotting the edges of his monitor, nestled between his controller stands, sometimes slipped into the folds of his hoodie sleeves.

“your dialogue coding is getting better. that one npc made me snort my tea.”

“new soundtrack = chef’s kiss.”

“i’m not saying i’d die for this side quest, but i’m not not saying it.”

“this game’s so good it’s criminal.”

and the one you left last night, placed just under his mouse pad:

“if this game gets any hotter, i might need a cooldown in your lap.”

you honestly didn’t expect a reaction. kenma has always been unreadable when he wants to be. sometimes he blushes when you flirt; sometimes he just blinks like you’ve asked him to solve a riddle in an alien language.

but today…

today feels different.

it starts when you pad quietly into his gaming room, the soft plush of your socks muffling each step against the hardwood floor. his camera’s on—you can see the tiny green led above his monitor, the live preview window tucked in the corner of the screen showing his face in soft lighting, blurred slightly by the filter he uses to keep things pretty and distant.

he’s been streaming for over two hours. his posture is wrong for the game he’s playing—something peaceful, a cozy farming sim—but his shoulders are locked tight, his jaw set. he moves with precision, with rhythm, but no ease. his voice, smooth and low, dances easily enough through chat interaction, but you know the tone beneath it. it’s the one he gets when he’s on autopilot. pushing through. running on fumes.

you slowly kneeled in front of him, careful to stay just out of frame. the glow of the monitor painted soft light across your face, flickering gently as the game carried on without you.

"baby… what are you doing?" kenma mouthed the words more than he spoke them, barely moving his lips, careful not to let his mic catch anything. his eyes flicked from the screen to you, then quickly back again, as if looking too long might give him away.

you didn’t answer—just tilted your head slightly, giving him that innocent look he knew far too well. the kind that meant you weren’t planning on being innocent for long.

your fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants, thumbs sliding under the soft fabric. his breath caught. and then, slowly, deliberately, you began to undo the drawstrings.

he froze.

it was subtle—just a tiny shift in his posture, a barely-there twitch in his jaw, but you saw it. felt it. the effort it took for him not to react.

he knew exactly what you were doing.

and you knew exactly how long it would take before he cracked.

his voice returned, quieter now, strained in that barely-audible way that told you he was trying to stay composed, for the sake of the stream. "you’re serious?"

you looked up at him through your lashes, lips curving just slightly. then you eased the sweatpants down a little further.

his hand hovered near the mic toggle. his other gripped the edge of the desk. every inch of him was still as his eyes flicked once to the small camera light—still on.

still live.

and you were still kneeling.

a single muscle jumped in his jaw. his voice, when it came again, was barely more than breath.

“…you’re gonna get me killed.”

but he didn’t stop you.

not even close.

“don’t mind me, babe. just keep doing your thing,” you murmured, voice low and syrup-sweet as your hand curled around him.

he was already half-hard, the heat of him pulsing against your palm before you’d even started moving. the weight, the way his breath hitched the second your fingers tightened just slightly—it made you smile.

kenma’s jaw clenched. he adjusted slightly in his chair, posture stiff, trying to maintain some illusion of composure for the camera still trained on him. his hand hadn’t left the mouse, but his movements were no longer precise. the clicks were slower, more hesitant.

you dragged your hand down the length of him, then back up in a steady stroke, just enough to make his thighs twitch beneath you.

kenma went back to his stream, while you were still stroking him. an awkwardness in his tone is slightly masked by forced calm, but you can hear the subtle waver underneath whenever he answers. his sentences come slower, his usual ease fractured by the way your fingers keep working him—slow, deliberate, mercilessly patient.

he jolts—just slightly—when your mouth wraps around him without warning, his thighs tensing beneath your touch. a sharp, almost imperceptible inhale hitches in his chest, caught just behind his mic. he covers it with a fake cough, hand flying to the mute button for a beat too long.

his knuckles go white on the armrest as you sink lower, tongue dragging slow and warm along the underside of him.

you feel his hips twitch, his composure slipping one thin layer at a time.

still muted, he glances down at you, eyes wide and dark. his voice, when he unmutes, is pitched lower—slightly breathless, just shy of unsteady.

“yeah… no, i’m good,” he says to chat, smiling faintly at his screen. “just got distracted.”

you hum around him in answer. he stiffens.

the sound you make—low, deliberate—sends a shiver down his spine, and kenma’s hips twitch in response. his hand drifts from the mouse to clutch the edge of the desk, fingers curling tight like he needs something to anchor him, to keep him from slipping completely.

you love the way he feels—how he fits, how he reacts. whether he's buried in your mouth or pressed deep inside you, it's the same electrifying heat that spreads low and slow in your core. just the taste of him, the weight of him, has your body aching with want.

without even thinking, you shift in place, your hips instinctively pressing down against nothing, chasing friction. you're getting wet—need pooling and pulsing as the tension climbs. it's maddening, being this close to him and not filled.

kenma’s breathing has gone uneven, jaw tight, and his eyes are locked straight ahead—focused on the screen but seeing none of it. you start to move in a rhythm now, deliberate and steady, each glide of your mouth carefully controlled, paced with purpose.

he’s trembling under the surface, the kind of restraint that looks calm to everyone else but you. you can feel it—how close he is, how he’s trying to hold himself together for just another second.

but he won’t last long.

one of his hands slips off the keyboard, hovering for a moment before it finds your hair. his fingers thread through it slowly, almost reverently, as if grounding himself in the feel of you. the stream rolls on—his voice tight and frayed around the edges—but everything else has narrowed down to this: the warmth of your mouth, the steady rhythm, the helpless tension building in his gut.

you hum around him, a soft sound of encouragement, and the vibration shoots up his spine. his grip in your hair tightens involuntarily—not harsh, but needy. his thighs shift beneath you, restless.

he tries to speak, something about the game, maybe even a reply to chat, but it stutters on his tongue and fades out. his control is thinning, unraveling with each second you stay wrapped around him.

and you—completely in control, completely calm—can feel it. the way his breathing's gone shallow, how his hand trembles against your scalp. he’s close. you know it. and you’re not planning to let up.

not until he breaks.

his fingers tremble at the nape of your neck. he’s trying—genuinely trying—to keep his voice level, to play it off like everything’s fine. but the words on stream have started to taper off. a long pause. then another. his hand, still buried in your hair, gives a telling tug.

“mm… guys, i think i’m gonna… cut it here.”

he clears his throat, swallowing thickly, like he’s trying to shake the edge from his voice. “sorry. my head’s… kinda killing me all of a sudden. think i’m coming down with something.”

his chat floods with concern. hearts. quick wishes to rest. he mutters a soft thank you, already moving to shut everything down—mic muted, camera off. the second the screen fades to black, his whole body slumps back into the chair with a sharp, quiet exhale.

“you’re evil,” he breathes, looking down at you with glassy eyes, skin flushed. his voice is low now—just for you. a hoarse mix of disbelief and want. “you know that, right?”

you glance up at him through your lashes, your hand still wrapped around him, moving with slow, deliberate strokes. the corners of your mouth curve in a teasing smile.

“why’d you end the stream?” you murmur, your voice low, warm with mischief. “i kind of wanted to see you lose it while still on cam.”

kenma lets out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a groan—caught somewhere between amusement and restraint. his hand finds your hair again, fingers threading through gently at first, then tugging with more purpose as his hips shift forward, searching for more of your warmth.

“you’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, voice thick, a little frayed around the edges.

but he doesn’t ask you to stop.

his head tips back, lips parting in a quiet gasp as the pleasure crests higher. his thighs tense beneath your hands, and his voice drops to a breathy whisper. “i’m close… baby, i’m gonna—”

his hips twitch, and then he’s spilling into your mouth with a quiet, broken moan. you hold him there gently, letting him ride it out, not moving too fast—just letting him feel.

when you pull back, you tilt your head up slightly, mouth still open in teasing defiance. his flushed face darkens even more as his gaze locks onto you, both stunned and aroused.

“swallow for me,” he murmurs, voice low and thick.

you do, slowly, deliberately, and when you’re done, he leans forward without hesitation, pulling you up from the floor. his lips meet yours in a kiss that’s not rushed, but deep and hungry, full of something that feels heavier than just desire.

his hands frame your face, thumbs brushing gently along your cheeks like you’re something he never wants to forget — like memorizing the feeling of you is as important as breathing.

the room feels warmer now, like the hum of his pc and the muted glow from the led lights have become part of the quiet spell between you. his fingers wander lower, slipping beneath the edge of your silk nightgown, slow and searching. when he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath, he pauses — amber eyes meeting yours, amused and hungry all at once.

“no panties, baby?” he murmurs, voice low and threaded with affection, like he already knows the answer but loves hearing you admit it.

you only smile, your hands slipping under the hem of his hoodie to feel the warmth of his skin. "didn’t think i’d need them."

he huffs a laugh — barely — before leaning in and kissing you again, deeper this time. like he's grounding himself in the taste of you, the smell of your hair, the soft drag of silk against his fingertips.

“you’re trouble,” he whispers against your lips.

“only for you.”

kenma doesn’t say anything right away. he just smiles — that quiet, crooked kind of smile that never quite reaches anyone else but you — and settles you down in his chair, pulling you gently back against his chest. the leather is cool beneath your thighs, but all you feel is the warmth of him, the way his body fits so naturally around yours.

he parts your legs with care, resting each over the wide arms of the chair. the position leaves you open, vulnerable — but never unsafe. not with him. you can feel him against you, firm and unrelenting, pressing right where you’re already aching. a soft, involuntary roll of your hips has you grinding against him for friction.

but kenma’s hand catches your thigh, firm and grounding.

“no teasing, baby,” he murmurs, mouth close to your ear. “you already had your fun.”

you pout, making a small sound of protest, but he only chuckles — that low, lazy laugh that always sends a shiver down your spine. his fingers trail along your thigh, slow and feather-light as he lifts the hem of your nightgown. his breath hitches when he sees you — already wet, already waiting.

“no panties…” he says again, quieter this time. “you knew exactly what you were doing.”

his fingertips trace the inside of your thigh, close enough to tease, not close enough to satisfy. you shift your hips again, just slightly — needy. he smirks against your neck.

“patience,” he says, voice warm but commanding. “i’ll take care of you.”

and with that, his hand slides lower, purposeful now.

his fingers finally find you — warm, slick, and already pulsing with need. he hums quietly against your neck, the sound low and appreciative, almost reverent.

“already this wet for me,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers through the heat of you, slow and deliberate. “just from touching me?”

you nod, breath catching as his fingers circle with maddening precision. his other hand is on your waist, keeping you still against him, even though your hips keep twitching forward on instinct, chasing more.

“kenma,” you whisper, reaching for his wrist.

but he doesn’t let you take control.

“uh-uh,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, pressing a kiss there. “you get to feel, not lead.”

his fingers press in slowly — one first, then another — curling just right. you gasp, arching slightly, your body responding instantly. he watches over your shoulder, eyes dark, jaw tight.

“look at you,” he murmurs, voice threading between fondness and possessiveness. “falling apart already and i’ve barely started.”

you’re trembling now, his fingers working a slow, patient rhythm while he keeps you spread for him, your legs draped over the arms of his chair. he’s everywhere — behind you, inside you, breathing you in like you’re something sacred. the chair creaks quietly beneath you both, the only sound aside from your breath, your whimpers, and the quiet, wet sounds of him loving you.

“i want to hear you,” he says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm. “let me hear how much you want me.”

you can barely manage words — only broken sounds that dissolve into moans when he brushes that one spot inside you just right. your head drops back onto his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

and he smiles.

“good girl.”

then, without warning, his fingers begin to move faster — deliberate, controlled, but unrelenting. the sudden shift makes your breath hitch, and your body tenses in his lap, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

one of your hands flies to his arm, nails digging in for something to anchor yourself with. the other reaches up, guiding his free hand to your chest, needing more of him — everywhere, all at once.

kenma gets the message. his palm slips under the silk fabric, fingers brushing over your breast before squeezing softly, teasing your nipple between his fingers. at the same time, he keeps his pace below, dragging you closer and closer to the edge with maddening precision.

his lips find your neck, pressing kisses that grow slower, deeper — lingering on the sensitive spots that make your toes curl.

“you’re so responsive tonight,” he murmurs, voice thick with heat, his breath fanning over your skin. “you feel everything, don’t you?”

you can’t answer — your mouth is open, but all that escapes are soft gasps and whimpers, your head rolling to the side to give him more access. every nerve feels like it’s on fire, and the coil low in your belly tightens with each stroke of his fingers, each pull of his lips.

he groans low against your throat. “you’re close, aren’t you?”

you nod, a shiver running through you.

“then let go for me,” he whispers, pressing his fingers deeper, right where you need him. “come for me.”

that’s all it takes.

your body tightens around his touch as the pleasure crests — hot, overwhelming — and then it crashes over you in waves. you tremble in his arms, breath catching, fingers digging into his as you fall apart, his name slipping from your lips again and again like a prayer.

kenma holds you through it, still stroking you gently, soothing the aftershocks while murmuring soft praises into your ear.

“just like that,” he breathes. “that’s my girl.”

your legs feel like they're made of air when you try to stand, muscles still trembling from the high. kenma’s arms wrap around your waist in an instant, steadying you. he keeps you close, grounding you.

his fingers, still glistening with your release, lift between you. without breaking eye contact, he brings them to his lips and licks them clean — slow, deliberate, savoring. the heat in his gaze doesn’t waver.

you feel your core clench again at the sight. it’s almost unfair, how effortlessly he can unravel you.

kenma leans in, lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s all tongue and tenderness, low heat simmering between you. when he pulls back, his voice is soft but firm.

“come on,” he says, nudging your nose with his. “let’s take this to the bedroom.”

kenma lifts you up easily, his arms strong and secure beneath your thighs as you instinctively wrap yourself around him. your nightgown falls around your waist, forgotten, as he carries you through the soft-lit hallway, every step purposeful.

his lips press against your shoulder, your collarbone, anywhere he can reach as you cling to him. the steady thump of his heart beneath your chest only makes you more aware of your own racing pulse.

when you reach the bedroom, he lowers you gently onto the bed like you’re something precious. his eyes sweep over you—soft, but hungry.

“you look too good like this,” he murmurs, crawling over you slowly, deliberately. “i don’t think i’ll last long.”

kenma’s lips trail over your skin, soft and deliberate—your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your chest. he doesn’t rush. every kiss feels like he’s memorizing you, savoring the way your body responds beneath him.

he took his time at your chest, his lips wrapping around one nipple, sucking softly while his fingers toyed with the other—gently rolling, massaging, giving each the attention it deserved.

"kenma…" you whined, breath hitching, “stop teasing.”

he only chuckled against your skin, the vibration making you shiver. “but you’re so easy to tease,” he murmured, eyes glinting with mischief as he met your gaze.

his lips moved to your other nipple, lavishing it with the same slow, careful attention. you tangled your fingers in his hair, gripping just enough to make him moan softly against you—the sound vibrating through your chest and straight down your spine.

kenma’s kisses trailed lower, slow and unhurried, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you with his mouth. from your chest, he pressed kisses down your stomach, pausing every now and then to nip lightly at the sensitive skin. you gasped, your fingers still threaded in his hair as his warmth moved further down.

when he finally settled between your thighs, he looked up at you—eyes heavy, lips slightly parted. his hands slid along your hips, holding you gently, as though grounding himself before diving in.

“just relax for me,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

kenma took his time, kissing a slow path down your body, his touch reverent like you were something rare—something he didn’t want to rush. you felt his fingers trail along your thigh before he settled between them, spreading you open with care.

he looked up once, catching your gaze. “let me take care of you,” he said softly, and then he was leaning in, his mouth finding you with practiced ease.

kenma always made it feel like more than just pleasure—like devotion. every stroke of his tongue was deliberate, slow at first, savoring. he groaned quietly as he tasted you, his hands firm on your hips to keep you steady as your legs threatened to tremble.

he was greedy for it—your sounds, your reactions, the way you gripped the sheets and whispered his name like it was the only word you knew. you could feel him hum against you, the vibration deep, coaxing even more out of you.

you arched into him, breath hitching. “kenma—”

he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down. his mouth moved in perfect rhythm, chasing your release like it was the only thing that mattered.

your fingers tangled in his hair, your hips instinctively moving against his mouth as pleasure surged through you in waves. kenma held you firmly, not letting up, coaxing every last bit of your release with lips and tongue as though he could memorize your taste, your sounds, the way your body responded to him.

your thighs trembled around his shoulders, your chest heaving with every breath. “kenma… i—” your voice broke on the edge of another cry.

he pulled back only when he was sure you’d ridden the high completely, his lips and chin glistening, eyes dark and half-lidded with hunger. he kissed the inside of your thigh before finally looking up at you with a lazy, satisfied smile.

“still with me?” he asked, his voice low and teasing, brushing his knuckles along your thigh as if he wasn’t already driving you wild.

you could barely nod, your body loose and warm. “barely,” you whispered, your voice hoarse and filled with a kind of awe.

kenma crawled up your body, kissing along your skin again, slower now, as if grounding you.

he kissed your lips, soft but insistent, letting you taste yourself on him. “you drive me insane,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

then you felt him, hard and ready, pressing against your thigh.

“think you can take a little more?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.

your answer was a breathless nod, your fingers already reaching for him.

kenma peeled off the hoodie he was wearing, the soft fabric sliding off his shoulders. years of volleyball had carved subtle definition into his frame — lean muscle, toned arms, a strength that never flaunted itself but was always there, just beneath the surface.

your eyes followed the motion, drinking in the sight of him. he wasn’t showy about his body — he never had been — but the quiet confidence in the way he moved was more than enough to make your pulse race.

catching your gaze, kenma gave a faint smirk, lowering himself between your legs again. “you’re staring,” he murmured, brushing a hand over your side. his touch was warm, grounding, full of intent.

“can you blame me?” you replied softly, pulling him closer until his chest was pressed against yours.

his forehead rested against yours for a moment as he breathed you in. “i just want to make you feel good,” he whispered.

then, with slow, deliberate movement, he shifted, positioning himself against you. one hand cupped your jaw while the other guided himself to your entrance.

“ready?” he asked, voice low, careful — not because he doubted you, but because he always wanted to be sure.

kenma guides himself slowly, carefully, and when his tip finally meets your warmth, your breath catches — a soft gasp slipping from your lips.

he stills for a second, eyes flicking up to meet yours, searching for any hesitation. but you only nod, your fingers tightening around his arms, urging him closer.

he presses forward with aching slowness, every inch a stretch that makes your back arch and your lips part. the moment is thick with heat, but also something unspoken — trust, connection, the quiet reverence in the way he touches you like you’re something sacred.

“you feel… incredible,” he murmurs, voice barely audible as he sinks in deeper. his forehead falls to your shoulder, his breath shuddering against your skin.

you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer, and he responds with a deep groan — the sound low, restrained. he gives you a moment to adjust, holding you close, grounding both of you in the shared intensity.

then, his hips move — slow, deliberate — drawing a moan from your throat as your body melts beneath his. he rocks into you with care, but every movement is full of intent, of need. his hands find yours, fingers weaving together, grounding you both as he sets a rhythm that sends warmth coiling deep in your belly.

“just like that,” he breathes into your ear. “i’ve got you.”

your gasp melted into a sigh as kenma held you close, his forehead resting against yours. his movements were slow at first, careful, as if memorizing every part of you. he kissed your temple, then your cheek, his hands cradling your waist with a gentleness that made your chest ache.

“you feel so good,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but thick with emotion.

you could only hold onto him, nails digging lightly into his back, grounding yourself in the moment. the world felt small — just you, him, and the warmth blooming between you.

kenma looked at you then, eyes dark but soft. “tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

you shook your head, breathless. “don’t stop.”

he smiled, something quiet and tender. and he didn’t. his rhythm deepened, steady and certain, every touch saying what words couldn’t. you weren’t just connected — you were intertwined.

kenma’s pace stayed measured, like he was savoring every second, every soft sound that left your lips. his hand found yours and laced your fingers together, grounding you further as your bodies moved in sync — a quiet rhythm built on trust and closeness.

you felt your body react to him instinctively — the way his movements reached that perfect rhythm, the way his voice wrapped around you like warmth. kenma's breath hitched when he felt the way your body tightened around him, and he slowed just enough to press a kiss to your temple.

"you're close, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice low and breathless. "i can feel it."

you nodded, your fingers curling against his back as you buried your face in the crook of his neck, breath trembling against his skin. he held you tighter — not to control, but to keep you grounded, tethered to him.

“words, baby,” he murmured, voice rough near your ear. “need to hear you.”

“ugh… yes, kenma. please,” you breathed, the desperation in your voice making his heart stutter.

he smiled, lips brushing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “that’s my girl.”

one of his hands slipped between you, fingers finding your clit with practiced ease. he began to rub slow, deliberate circles, coaxing you closer with every motion — his rhythm unrelenting, but full of care. you gasped into his mouth, your thighs tightening around his hips as your body began to tremble under the wave building inside you.

“just like that,” he whispered, his forehead pressed to yours. “you’re doing so well for me.”

your body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight as he continued to move with you — slow, intentional, like he didn’t want to miss a single reaction you gave him. his fingers remained on your skin, drawing soft circles, guiding you closer and closer.

“almost there, baby?” he whispered against your ear, his voice a low, soothing hum.

you nodded again, eyes fluttering shut as the wave built. kenma leaned in, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw — like he was trying to hold you together even as he helped you fall apart.

and when the release finally came, it was warm and overwhelming — your name caught in his throat, your body arching into his as he held you through it. his fingers didn’t stop until he felt you pulse around him, clenching tightly. that was all it took.

with a low, strained groan, kenma followed, hips stuttering as he pressed deeper. the warmth of his release filled you almost instantly, making you gasp at the sensation. he buried his face against your neck, breath heavy, arms trembling slightly as he held onto you like he never wanted to let go.

the room was quiet save for the sound of your mingled breathing — hearts still racing, skin flushed and sticky with heat.

kenma didn’t speak right away. he just kissed your shoulder softly, then pulled back enough to look at you, his gaze half-lidded but tender.

“we’re not done yet, baby,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

his hands trailed down your sides with purpose, and before you could catch your breath, he gently guided you to turn, his touch both reassuring and firm. now you were on your knees, the sheets cool beneath your skin and his presence warm behind you.

you felt him press close, his hands exploring slowly, as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. a quiet moan escaped your lips as he leaned forward, his breath hot against your shoulder.

“still doing okay?” he asked, a hint of playfulness tucked beneath the concern in his voice.

you nodded, breathless, already anticipating what was next.

kenma’s body was warm against yours, his touch steady and slow as he guided your hips just right. you could feel the pressure of him behind you, the way he teased at your entrance with deliberate, featherlight motion — a silent promise that made your breath hitch.

he leaned over you, lips brushing your ear. “you feel too good,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent.

your hands gripped the sheets, knuckles pale, as he finally moved with more intent — slow at first, savoring every moment, every sound you made. the connection between you sparked anew, heady and overwhelming, and all you could do was let yourself feel it — every pulse, every shiver, every breath you took together.

when he finally entered you again, your body reacted instantly — a sharp gasp, a moan torn from your lips, your muscles trembling under the weight of overstimulation. every nerve felt alive, your skin tingling where his hands steadied your hips.

“still with me?” he murmured, his voice low and strained, pressed right behind your ear.

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the intensity but craving more of it — more of him. each slow, deliberate movement pushed you closer to the edge again, your breath hitching with every deep thrust.

kenma’s fingers stayed locked with yours, his grip tight — not just for you, but for himself too. the room was filled with the rhythm of your connection: the sound of skin meeting skin, breathy moans tangled with soft groans, the kind of music only two people completely lost in each other could make.

his pace never faltered, steady and deep, every movement hitting that spot that made you shudder. you could feel how close he was again — the way his breath hitched, the subtle tremble in his hold, the quiet curse he let slip against your shoulder.

“you feel so good,” he whispered, voice hoarse, like he was holding on by a thread.

he kissed along your back, each press of his lips sending a ripple of shivers through you. the contrast of his tenderness against the intensity of his rhythm made everything feel more heightened, more intimate — like he was trying to show you, with every breath and every touch, just how deeply he felt it too.

“you’re doing so good for me,” he murmured against your skin, voice low and ragged.

your body responded instinctively, leaning into every word, every motion. the sensation built again — not just the physical, but the emotional weight of it all. it was consuming, a shared fire pulling you both closer to the edge, tethered by more than just touch.

his arm curled securely around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, while his other hand slid up to your chest, fingers splaying gently over your heartbeat. your back pressed flush against his bare chest, the heat of his skin matching yours, slick and electric with every movement.

kenma’s pace quickened, each motion purposeful, building upon the tension already thick between you. you could feel his breath against your ear — staggered, heavy, and desperate — matching the rhythm he set.

“you feel so good,” he whispered, voice low and breathless, as if the words were pulled straight from his core. “so perfect.”

every inch of you was alive beneath his touch. the way he held you — like you were something precious and irreplaceable — only deepened the intensity between you, making the pleasure that much harder to hold back.

he turned your face gently toward his, capturing your lips in a deep, breath-stealing kiss. it was messy, uncoordinated with urgency, lips parting between panting breaths and soft moans. his hand slid lower, finding that sensitive spot between your thighs, fingers moving in slow, deliberate circles that made your body twitch beneath him.

the other hand cupped your chest, thumb brushing over your skin with just enough pressure to make you gasp into his mouth. the sensations layered — the heat, the closeness, the way he murmured your name between kisses — until you could barely tell where your body ended and his began.

"kenma, can i please come?" you whimpered against his lips, your voice trembling with need.

"go on, baby," he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek. "you deserve it."

with those words, everything unraveled. your fourth release crashed over you like a wave — intense and consuming. your body tensed and trembled in his arms, a breathless cry leaving your lips as he held you through it, never letting go.

kenma followed moments after, his release finding you again, warm and deep, leaving you feeling full and overwhelmed in the best way. the shared intensity lingered between you, breath mingling, bodies pressed tightly together.

he pressed soft, lingering kisses to your neck and shoulder, his lips barely parting between quiet, reverent praises — like every word was just for you.

kenma gently laid you down on the bed, his touch never leaving you. his hands moved slowly over your sides, massaging tenderly, easing the lingering tremble in your muscles. he leaned in, brushing soft kisses along your shoulder, your neck, your jaw — each one slow and purposeful.

between kisses, you heard the low murmur of his voice, barely more than a breath against your skin.

"mine," he whispered, possessive but gentle. "good girl."

kenma stayed close, his chest pressed to your back, breath still warm against your shoulder. the room had gone quiet now, save for the soft hum of your shared breaths and the distant ticking of the clock on the wall. his fingers moved slowly along your side, not with intent — just comfort, like he needed to feel you to know this was real.

you let out a small, content sigh, burying your face into the crook of his neck, where your warmth and his seemed to melt together. “you’re quieter than usual,” you whispered, your voice soft and sleepy.

he made a quiet sound, almost like a laugh. “just thinking,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “you… really helped.”

you pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes still heavy with exhaustion but full of quiet affection. “helped how?”

his thumb gently brushed your cheek as he looked at you. “i don’t know. everything’s loud lately — in my head. work. people. expectations. but when i’m here with you, it’s like the volume just… shuts off.”

your heart tugged at that, at how vulnerable his voice had gotten, at how carefully he let you see the pieces of himself he kept hidden from the rest of the world.

you leaned in, kissed his collarbone softly, then nuzzled against his skin. “i like it when you're like this,” you said quietly. “soft. real.”

kenma rested his chin lightly on the top of your head. “i’m always real with you,” he murmured. “even if i don’t know how to say everything out loud… you hear me anyway.”

the room stilled again, but this time the silence felt intentional — sacred, even. like nothing more needed to be said.

his hand slipped beneath the covers, coming to rest over your stomach, fingers splaying protectively. he pulled you a little closer, the warmth of him pressed fully along your spine. “you’re mine,” he murmured again, half-asleep but still clear. “always.”

you felt your heart flutter, soothed more than you expected by the quiet claim. your body, still tender and spent, finally began to relax completely. you let your hand reach back to rest over his, lacing your fingers gently with his own.

“did i destress you already?” you teased, voice thick with exhaustion and something sweeter.

kenma chuckled softly against your shoulder. “you did more than that,” he said, kissing the back of your neck again. “you brought me back.”

your eyes slipped shut at that, a slow smile curling on your lips. his hand didn’t leave yours, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back began to lull you both toward sleep. the air was warm, his body even warmer, and for the first time in days — maybe weeks — your mind wasn’t racing. there was just him, and the steady rhythm of the two of you breathing together.

“i love you,” you whispered into the quiet, not even sure if he was still fully awake.

but he heard you.

“i love you too,” he murmured back, softer than anything, but real.

and in that warmth, tangled together beneath the covers, you both drifted — slowly, peacefully — into sleep.

[wolfhard13]

kenma kozume as your boyfriend

tags : timeskip kenma x gn!reader, smau, he’s needy :3, streamer kenma, “kys” used

a.n : i missed writing about kenma sm T-T

[wolfhard13]

Lovebirds’ observation log ~ Y.I.

Pairing: Yuji Itadori x Reader

Summary: when two idiotic lovebirds try to keep their relationship a secret from their even more idiotic friends chaos ensues.

CW (content warning): Yuji and reader being painfully in love, Tokyo gang being chaotic, nothing else really just fluff and chaos.

AN: I’m currently working on another instalment of my Nanami series that you can find HERE to compensate for the angst of the last two parts 🫡 A reminder that English isn’t my first language and I’m typing this on my phone so I’m sorry if there’re any typos/mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

It started with the little things.

The way Yuji smiled at you for just a second too long. The way you always seemed to end up next to him. The way he remembered your favorite vending machine drink without asking. The way your hoodie disappeared and reappeared smelling faintly of his shampoo.

They weren’t exactly obvious. Not at first.

You had been friends for over a year now, ever since you were both assigned to Tokyo Jujutsu High. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with Yuji. He was sunshine wrapped in muscle, with a heart way too big for someone who regularly drop-kicked curses into oblivion.

Somewhere along the line, friendship turned into something else.

You noticed it the day he took a hit for you on a mission without hesitation, he just dove straight into the curse’s path and flung you out of danger. You’d yelled at him for being reckless. He just grinned as he wiped the blood from his cheek and said “Worth it.”

Later, in the infirmary, he’d reached for your hand without thinking.

You’d let him.

Neither of you talked about it. Not then.

But from that point on, everything shifted.

——————————————————————————

You didn’t start dating right away.

There was a lot of “accidental” hand-holding. A lot of lingering looks. Late-night walks that ended with quiet silences and awkward, breathless tension. Neither of you made a move, but the closeness grew. Soft and slow. Like a secret blooming in the space between you.

The first kiss didn’t happen until nearly a month later, after a training session where you both got caught in the rain.

Soaking wet, laughing under the campus overhang, his fingers brushed yours and for once, he didn’t let go.

You kissed him. It was sweet, and a little clumsy, and very, very real. After that, there was no going back.

——————————————————————————

You agreed to keep it secret almost immediately.

Not because you were ashamed. Not because you didn’t want the others to know. But because... well, the Tokyo team wasn’t exactly subtle. Or quiet. Or, frankly, sane.

Nobara would start teasing you relentlessly. Megumi would act like it was beneath him and then quietly judge every interaction. Gojo would do whatever the hell Gojo always does and you didn’t have the mental strength for that.

So you and Yuji swore yourselves to secrecy.

You pinky-promised in the dorm kitchen. Then promptly high-fived and made celebratory sandwiches like idiots.

It was going to be fine or so you thought.

——————————————————————————

It wasn’t fine.

The first mistake came less than a week later.

You and Yuji were walking back from town, carrying groceries. A normal, friendly errand. Nothing suspicious about that.

Except... Yuji was holding your bag. And his. And had offered to carry your jacket, too. And kept doing that thing where he looked over at you and smiled like you hung the moon.

Nobara passed you both on the stairs. She paused. Blinked. Looked between you.

“Did he finally pay off a debt or something?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” You both chorused, panicked.

She stared at the jacket over Yuji’s shoulder. “Just... you’ve got him doing the mule work. Respect.”

You both laughed, way too loudly. Too in-sync.

Nobara squinted. “Okay... weird.” She walked off.

Yuji turned to you, whispering, “That was close.”

You poked him in the ribs. “Stop smiling like that. You’re suspicious.”

“You’re suspicious.” He shot back, still grinning.

And you were. So, so suspicious.

——————————————————————————

Then came the training slip-up.

Yuji had just landed a clean hit on a practice dummy during group training and looked up, clearly searching for you across the yard. When he spotted you, he raised his arms in triumph and blew a kiss.

In the middle of class.

You just smacked your palm to your face and prayed for the grind to swallow you.

Megumi, standing next to you, didn’t miss a beat.

“I don’t even want know what’s going on.” He muttered. “But I know it’s stupid.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You replied, voice high-pitched and tight. Totally not suspicious.

“Mm-hm.”

That night, Megumi stared at you both from across the dinner table like a dad piecing together the exact moment his kids started hiding something.

Yuji cracked under the pressure first.

“I- I think I left my socks in the gym.” He announced, standing abruptly.

“Socks?” Panda echoed, confused.

“Yup. Super important. Gotta go.”

You followed him two seconds later with the world’s worst excuse: “I- I need... the sock... too?”

No one said anything but the room was far too quiet when the door closed behind you.

——————————————————————————

Things only got worse when Gojo decided to get involved. He didn’t know, per se. But he sensed. Gojo had a sixth sense for chaos. And potential drama.

He started lurking.

He started assigning missions in pairs, casually always putting you and Yuji together. Always with a little wink. Always with a parting comment along the lines of “Don’t let love distract you from the exorcism, kids!”

“Love?” You repeated once.

Gojo just sipped his juice box and disappeared.

The worst part was, you couldn’t tell if he actually knew, or was just screwing with you for sport. With Gojo, it was always both.

——————————————————————————

You and Yuuji did your best.

You never kissed in public. Never hugged where anyone could see. You didn’t call each other pet names or sneak into each other’s rooms. Except for that one time you got stuck in the rain again, but technically, that was for health reasons.

But the others weren’t idiots.

Panda started watching you both like a hawk. Maki noticed Yuji’s shirt was inside-out once and asked “Did you get dressed in the dark, or someone else’s room?”

Yuuji nearly fainted.

You threw a bag of chips at her.

Nobara developed a theory she shared loudly over breakfast one morning.

“I think they’re dating.” She declared.

Everyone looked up. You choked on your toast.

“They keep doing that thing.” Nobara continued as if the two of you weren’t sitting right there with them. “You know. The thing. The ‘We’re not dating’ thing that totally means they’re dating.”

“What thing?” Megumi asked, not looking up from his phone.

“The eye thing! The whispering thing! The suspiciously specific ‘I just happened to run into them both at the vending machines again’ thing!”

You pointed your spoon at her. “That’s circumstantial at best.”

“That’s pattern recognition.” Nobara shot back.

Gojo leaned in, sunglasses sliding down. “I give them two weeks before they get caught kissing on the roof.”

“That’s kind of specific.” Maki said, sipping tea. “I give them three days.”

Inumaki held up a whiteboard he’d written “5 days” on.

“Why does everyone have bets on this?!” Yuji yelled.

Gojo just smiled. “Because you two are terrible at hiding.”

——————————————————————————

You tried to regroup. Late one night, the two of you sat in Yuji’s room, plotting.

“We need a better cover story.” You said, lying on his floor.

Yuji rolled onto his stomach beside you. “Like... what?”

“Like why we’re always together. Or why your shirt is mysteriously in my laundry.”

“That’s where my favourite shirt is?” He said defensively.

“Focus!”

He thought for a moment. “What if we pretend we’re just... best friends?”

You stared at him.

“We are best friends.” You deadpanned.

“Oh. Right.” He paused. “So now what?”

You groaned. “What if we just ride it out? Maybe if we just act normal, everyone will forget.”

Yuji nodded solemnly. “Operation Normal Mode.”

You kissed him and then promptly forgot all about the plan.

——————————————————————————

What neither of you realized was that the others were keeping score.

They had a spreadsheet that Gojo himself had titled it “Lovebirds’ observation log”

Columns included:

Number of ‘accidental’ shoulder brushes: 23

Suspicious giggling incidents: 17

Times they left the room together: 12

Times they said “We’re not dating!” in unison: 6

Kisses caught on camera: 0

They were convinced they were close. They were waiting.

Meanwhile, you and Yuji thought you were in the clear. You walked together to the library. You shared snacks at lunch. You “accidentally” bumped knees under tables.

You were happy. Giddy. So in love it was ridiculous.

And completely, utterly doomed.

——————————————————————————

The downfall began with a vending machine.

Specifically, the one near the courtyard behind the training field. You and Yuuji met there after sparring still flushed, still smiling, still pretending everything was fine.

You leaned against the metal, towel around your neck, Yuuji bouncing on his heels beside you like a golden retriever on a sugar high.

“I got your drink.” He said, handing you a bottle with a grin. “The strawberry one you like.”

You blinked. “They restocked it?”

“Yep. Only one left.”

Your heart did a full somersault. “You got the last one for me?”

He shrugged. “Of course.”

He wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. Not really. Not when he looked at you like that, like you were a miracle in track pants.

You looked at the drink. Then at him. And you kissed him. Just a quick one. On the cheek. Just one second.

That one second was all it took.

——————————————————————————

Nobara, Megumi, and Panda were coming around the corner. They stopped dead in their tracks at the sight before them.

You didn’t see them until it was too late.

You pulled back from Yuji slowly, the sound of the vending machine humming behind you the only thing breaking the silence.

Three sets of eyes blinked at once. You and Yuji stood frozen like deer caught in headlights.

Panda pointed dramatically. “AH-HA!”

“Oh my god!” Nobara shouted. “I knew it!”

Megumi made a face like he’d just walked in on his parents. “I want to leave.”

“I TOLD YOU!” Nobara screeched, doing a full victory lap. “I TOLD YOU! PAY UP, EVERYONE!”

Yuuji covered his face with both hands. You groaned loudly.

Panda pulled out his phone. “Calling Gojo-sensei.”

“DO NOT CALL GOJO-”

“Too late.”

——————————————————————���———

Ten minutes later, the courtyard was full.

Gojo arrived first, teleporting through the trees like a gremlin. He didn’t even walk. He floated.

“Am I dreaming?” He gasped as if he was on some dramatic play, clapping. “Did my favorite little secret romance just go public?”

“We weren’t trying to make it public-” Yuji tried.

Gojo pointed at your intertwined hands. “Too late, snugglebutts.”

Nobara beamed like she’d won an Oscar. “I get bragging rights for life.”

Megumi sat on the bench, sulking. “This is why I don’t go outside.”

Maki showed up next, looked at the scene, and just said, “Finally.”

Panda nodded solemnly. “My spreadsheet was right.”

“You had a spreadsheet for this?!” You shrieked.

“The lovebirds’ observation log,” Panda said proudly, holding it up. “Filed weekly.”

“There are charts on it!” Yuji yelped.

“And line graphs.” Panda added. “Bar graphs. A pie chart labeled ‘Chances They’re Dating vs Just Weird.’”

You turned to Yuji. “I think we should flee the country.”

“Agreed.”

Gojo pulled out his phone. “Wait! Let me take a picture first!”

“No.” You both said in unison.

“Say ‘we’re caught and in love!’”

“GOJO!”

——————————————————————————

Eventually, the chaos died down. Slightly.

You and Yuji sat under the old tree near the practice field while the others scattered. Nobara was still muttering “I KNEW IT” under her breath. Panda and Maki had started arguing about whether Gojo’s dramatic reenactment was accurate.

Yuji leaned back on his elbows and looked at you, eyes soft. “Well... that could’ve gone worse.”

“They could’ve made a PowerPoint presentation.” You agreed.

“Gojo probably will.”

You groaned. “We’re doomed.”

Yuuji bumped your shoulder. “Hey. I don’t mind.”

You looked at him, and he smiled calm and open and real.

“I liked sneaking around a little.” He admitted. “But I like this more.”

You smiled back. “Even if they all tease us forever?”

“Especially then.”

You leaned into him. “You’re so weird.”

“I’m your weird.”

“Ugh. Gross.”

“You love it.”

You did. You really did.

——————————————————————————

Later that night, the teasing turned affectionate.

Nobara handed you a homemade “Official Couple of the Year” badge.

Megumi refused to acknowledge the situation but handed Yuuji a coupon for discounted mochi. “Don’t read into it.” He muttered.

Maki offered silent approval in the form of not insulting you for a full day.

Gojo made matching T-shirts.

You both burned them.

Panda cried. Just a little.

Inumaki gave you a thumbs up and said “Salmon.”

But when everyone returned to their usual antics. Missions, training, arguing about dumpling flavors the vibe shifted.

It wasn’t that everything changed. It was that now, you could exist out loud.

You could reach for Yuji’s hand after a fight. You could hug him after a win. You could sit next to him in the lounge without pretending you were “just cold” or “accidentally sitting too close.”

You could love him. Freely. Openly.

And that was worth every second of being caught.

——————————————————————————

One night, curled up together under a blanket on the dorm roof, Yuji kissed your forehead and whispered, “This is the best dumb secret I ever had.”

You smiled, eyes closed.

“Good thing it’s not a secret anymore.”

Tags: @noooo-onee @hawkwithsocks @pickledsoda

Taglist is open so let me know if you want to be added for future works! :)

[wolfhard13]

mothe !! what ab jealousy hcs for any bllk boys of ur choice?? im always a sucker for those hehe <3 <3

# JEALOUSY

𖤐 nagi seishiro ; bachira meguru ; itoshi sae x reader

⟢ fluff, slight angst, headcanons // when they get jealous & how they deal with it <3

𖤐 NAGI SEISHIRO

Nagi isn’t really one to get jealous, finding it too much of a pain to have such unnecessary feelings. But when someone tries stealing your attention away from him, he can’t help it.

Namely, there was a time it happened on a date. You and Nagi had decided to spend time together at the arcade. You bet him you could beat him at every game you played, but you were only able to play three games together before some guy tried to talk to you. Nagi kept glancing at him while playing the game in front of him, but he didn’t think much of it when the guy first started. Your answers to him were short and dismissive, trying to politely end the conversation. But at this guy’s persistence, Nagi felt the irritation creeping up his neck.

Nagi just couldn’t understand how this guy couldn’t take the hint that you didn’t want to talk to him — no less that you were on a date with someone. But it didn’t take long for Nagi’s bubbling jealousy to make him come up from behind you and rest his head on top of yours, draping his looming 6’3 figure over you and staring blankly at the guy in front of him. “Hey,” he started, “Are you dumb? They’re not interested.”

𖤐 BACHIRA MEGURU

Bachira may be the quickest to jealousy out of these three boys, but it doesn’t happen often. His jealousy really only comes out if you hit it off with someone rather quickly and he’s more or less left out of the conversation.

Probably the first (and only) example to come to mind would be when he introduced you to some of the boys he considered his friends from the Blue Lock facility. He was excited for you to meet them, since they’re really the only friends he’s made in his life (other than you, his s/o <3). And, things were going great! You got along with them all and were even quick to make friends with them; Chigiri, specifically. You two had bonded over the books you’ve read, getting excited at the mere mention of some of your favorites. This was when a slight problem arose.

Bachira listened to you and Chigiri going back and forth, firing off names of books and sharing your opinions on them. The smile Bachira had on his face, watching you converse with his friend, slowly dwindled down as the conversation continued and you hadn’t tried glancing or saying anything to him once. There was also nowhere in the conversation for him to jump into. Bachira’s jealousy started to ebb in his mind, but his feelings were more melancholic than angry; he just wished to have your attention once more. So as you spoke with Chirgiri, Bachira wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder, which you instantly reciprocated with one of your arms snaking around his shoulders. He continued, after that, to try and steal your attention away from Chigiri — not with words, but with his small touches. And it worked.

𖤐 ITOSHI SAE

Sae is probably the last person you’d expect to get jealous. For the most part, he is. But on the off chance that he does get jealous, he won’t show it. He remains unbothered on the outside, though on the inside he’s burning up.

A prime example of this would be when you had gone to his practice with him for the first time. You just loved watching him play, and after you had asked, Sae considered it for a couple seconds before agreeing. He didn’t really think anything would happen, but in the time it took for him to change into his uniform and gear in the locker room and come back out to you in the hallway, one of his teammates had started trying to chat you up while slightly caging you against the wall. At the sight, Sae felt a foreign emotion flare in his chest. Oh wait, this feeling… it was jealousy. He recognized it vaguely.

It took him a second to approach, but when he did make his way over to you, watching the scene unfold, he remained neutral on the outside; on the inside, however, he felt as if he was boiling over. At Sae’s appearance, his teammate straightened up and greeted him nonchalantly — to which, Sae gave a bored expression. Sae continued to ignore his teammate and instead interlocked his hand with yours before walking past. If his teammate didn’t already know he fucked up, he sure as hell knew now. And after Sae walked you to the stadium seats and practice had begun, Sae targeted the guy who hit on you and ran him into the ground for the full extent of the 4 hour training.

note: i had so much fun writing these omg jdbdjd thank you mai for sending this in <33 lowkey i think the most fun to write was sae

[wolfhard13]

thinking abt unofficialbf!katsuki who's so soft for you

it was almost impressive how easily bakugo katsuki flipped the switch from raging 'die! die! die!' hothead to... well, this. the grumbly, red-faced mess curled up against you in the quiet of his dorm.

you were lying in his bed, your legs tangled with his under the blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world. which, to be fair, it kind of was. no one could really pinpoint when you and katsuki had become a thing. not even you two. one day you were four years old, standing in a sandbox while he handed you a bright bunch of dandelions and wildflowers and announced that you were his, and somehow it just... stuck?

now, over a decade later, you still found yourself in his bed more often than not, curled into his side, his stupidly strong arm pulling you closer until your face was pressed against the curve of his neck.

he'd grown lots and at the same time not at all since you were kids. physically, his biceps were now the same size as his 4-year-old body. his jawline had gotten much sharper

“…y’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, voice muffled by his skin.

“tch. shut up,” he grumbled, but his hand started rubbing lazy, soothing circles against your back anyway.

you smiled.

he always did that. pretended like your presence was an inconvenience while simultaneously holding you like he’d fall apart if you weren’t there. your fingers reached up to card through his messy blond hair, nails gently scraping his scalp in the way you knew made him melt.

sure enough, he let out a sound that was dangerously close to a purr.

“…quit that,” he said, sounding exactly zero percent convincing, his whole body melting under your hands. his eyes fluttered shut anyway.

you both lay there in silence for a while, his arms tightened around you, protective and warm. you could almost hear the echoes of your childhood in moments like this. the tickle fights, the hand-holding, the way he used to drag you around like some tiny, furious king with his favorite sidekick. he’d never really stopped. even now, your hand was locked with his under the blankets, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles into your palm.

“katsuki?” you murmured.

“hm?”

“hi.”

"what?"

"jus' sayin' hi."

“don't be annoying. i will throw you off this bed.”

“no you won’t. you like cuddling me too much.”

he growled under his breath. no, he wouldn't.

“…shut up.”

you didn’t. you just nuzzled into his chest, warm and safe and full of something that felt like forever. he let out a tired sigh and held you tighter, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you against him.

you could feel the way his breathing was slowly evening out, signalling he'd be asleep in a minute tops. this was usually the point he'd get stupid affectionate, brain riddled with sleepiness. he probably wasn't even aware of how sappy he'd act, sweet things slipping out without him realizing.

“…’m gonna marry you one day,” he mumbled suddenly, barely audible.

you blinked, frozen. that was not just a sweet comment.

“…huh?”

his ears turned bright red.

“nothin’. go to sleep, dumbass.”

but you didn’t miss the way his thumb never stopped rubbing slow, affectionate circles into your hand. or the soft kiss he pressed to the top of your head just before you finally drifted off.

"just friends" my ass.

masterlist if you enjoyed bc unofficialbf!katsuki is the only thing i think abt.

[wolfhard13]

thinking abt unofficialbf!katsuki who's so soft for you

it was almost impressive how easily bakugo katsuki flipped the switch from raging 'die! die! die!' hothead to... well, this. the grumbly, red-faced mess curled up against you in the quiet of his dorm.

you were lying in his bed, your legs tangled with his under the blanket like it was the most natural thing in the world. which, to be fair, it kind of was. no one could really pinpoint when you and katsuki had become a thing. not even you two. one day you were four years old, standing in a sandbox while he handed you a bright bunch of dandelions and wildflowers and announced that you were his, and somehow it just... stuck?

now, over a decade later, you still found yourself in his bed more often than not, curled into his side, his stupidly strong arm pulling you closer until your face was pressed against the curve of his neck.

he'd grown lots and at the same time not at all since you were kids. physically, his biceps were now the same size as his 4-year-old body. his jawline had gotten much sharper

“…y’re warm,” you mumbled sleepily, voice muffled by his skin.

“tch. shut up,” he grumbled, but his hand started rubbing lazy, soothing circles against your back anyway.

you smiled.

he always did that. pretended like your presence was an inconvenience while simultaneously holding you like he’d fall apart if you weren’t there. your fingers reached up to card through his messy blond hair, nails gently scraping his scalp in the way you knew made him melt.

sure enough, he let out a sound that was dangerously close to a purr.

“…quit that,” he said, sounding exactly zero percent convincing, his whole body melting under your hands. his eyes fluttered shut anyway.

you both lay there in silence for a while, his arms tightened around you, protective and warm. you could almost hear the echoes of your childhood in moments like this. the tickle fights, the hand-holding, the way he used to drag you around like some tiny, furious king with his favorite sidekick. he’d never really stopped. even now, your hand was locked with his under the blankets, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles into your palm.

“katsuki?” you murmured.

“hm?”

“hi.”

"what?"

"jus' sayin' hi."

“don't be annoying. i will throw you off this bed.”

“no you won’t. you like cuddling me too much.”

he growled under his breath. no, he wouldn't.

“…shut up.”

you didn’t. you just nuzzled into his chest, warm and safe and full of something that felt like forever. he let out a tired sigh and held you tighter, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you against him.

you could feel the way his breathing was slowly evening out, signalling he'd be asleep in a minute tops. this was usually the point he'd get stupid affectionate, brain riddled with sleepiness. he probably wasn't even aware of how sappy he'd act, sweet things slipping out without him realizing.

“…’m gonna marry you one day,” he mumbled suddenly, barely audible.

you blinked, frozen. that was not just a sweet comment.

“…huh?”

his ears turned bright red.

“nothin’. go to sleep, dumbass.”

but you didn’t miss the way his thumb never stopped rubbing slow, affectionate circles into your hand. or the soft kiss he pressed to the top of your head just before you finally drifted off.

"just friends" my ass.

masterlist if you enjoyed bc unofficialbf!katsuki is the only thing i think abt.

[wolfhard13]

CRASHOUT CENTRAL!

synopsis: katsuki has no idea if you like him or not

notes: bubbly + affectionate reader. umm implied hetero girl i think? but could also apply to not hetero i have no idea im sorry im just writing. idk if men crashout the way girls do but i like to think so. a lot of excessive unnecessary swearing bc it's katsuki. this is so ooc bc lets be fr when does katsuki talk abt *puke* feelings

he’s pacing.

shirtless. agitated. hair all mussed from his own frustrated hands.

kirishima’s lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, watching his best friend spiral for what has to be the third time this week.

“she said i smelled good,” katsuki huffs, whirling around. “who says that? who just..! says that to someone?”

“people who think you smell good?” kirishima offers helpfully.

katsuki glares at him like he’s the dumbest person alive. “she said it while huggin' me. and she said it in that sweet fuckin' singsongy voice.”

“right.”

“and then laughed when i didn’t say anything back. all fuckin' giggly and stupid.”

“you like when she’s giggly and stupid,” kirishima points out.

katsuki makes a noise in his throat. “not when i’m trying to figure out if she’s in love with me or just likes everyone.”

kirishima hums. “well. she is kind of a naturally affectionate person.”

“exactly!” katsuki snaps, flinging his arms out. “what if i’m just one of her little fuckin'.. plushies she likes huggin' or some shit? what if she’s going around being all sweet and smiley with everyone and i’m here thinking she wants to marry me? like, seriously. i've seen her cuddle with fuckin' pinky and round cheeks too, and she's always so.. giggly! and when i think she's flirting, she says it so fuckin' casual. like it's nothing. and i must be fuckin' delusional to think that it's anything more.”

kirishima snorts. “well, ashido and uraraka are both girls. and she doesn’t cuddle me the way she cuddles you.”

katsuki freezes.

“…you think?”

“bro, she lies on top of you like you’re a mattress. more than that, she like really curls in to you. no one does that platonically. that's just not a thing.”

katsuki makes another miserable groaning sound and throws himself down into the beanbag chair like he’s been wounded. he drags his hands down his face, muffling a scream into his palms.

“i don’t know anymore,” he mutters. “she calls me ‘kats’ like it’s just a nickname but then she’ll say it in that soft fuckin' voice like it’s something else. she’s always touching me and smiling and calling me cute but she does it so casually, like it’s just her being her. i don’t know what’s real. i don’t know if i’m hallucinating. i think i’m losing my goddamn mind. like, it's the tone. she goes all 'aweee, thanks kats!' in that stupid fuckin' sing-songy tone. i hate it! fucking..!” kirishima has no idea what katsuki's trying to punch to death. the air, maybe?

after watching him flop around like a dying fish for a moment, he offered gently, “why don’t you just ask her how she feels?”

katsuki sits up. furious.

he says nothing, but kirishima can tell what he's trying to say just from his look.

“well then,” kirishima shrugs. “guess you’ll just have to keep suffering.”

and katsuki does. every time you brush your fingers over his knuckles or play with his hoodie strings or grin at him from across the room with that stupid sweet look in your eyes, he suffers. quietly. dramatically.

because he wants you to mean it so badly.

but he has no idea if you do.

masterlist

[wolfhard13]

how to train your curse

[wolfhard13]

"DON'T STOP LOVING ME."

synopsis: things were always easy between you and katsuki. until suddenly, they weren't. (aka you pull back and katsuki notices and hates it)

notes: ALWAYS w the unofficialbf!katsuki agenda. wc ~5k. childhood bffs bc duh. barely proofread sorry

ever since you were three years old with your scraped knees and sticky fingers to now, where teenage life could not be more confusing, there has always been one, unwavering, constant fact.

you're absolutely, utterly, head-over-heels in love with bakugo katsuki.

and you've never been afraid to show it! backhugs, tackling him to the floor, jumping on top of him and climbing him like a jungle gym, telling him you love him like it's the most obvious thing in the world. (it is)

he always scoffs and grumbles, but you'd never take it personally, because when he tells you to get off, he pulls you close. when he complains that you're annoying when you're sick, he brings you soup and medicine and cuddles you to sleep. when he blushes and tells you he hates you, his eyes tell a different story.

so what if he doesn't express it the same way you do? everyone has different ways of showing they care. even if he doesn't say it much, you know katsuki loves you.

right?

-

it was late when you accidentally overheard it. when you froze up and felt your heart drop to the floor. when you started shaking and sweating, eyes darting around for a trash can in case you threw up.

"bakugo, bro, when are you and y/n gonna make it official?" kirishima had teased, throwing an arm around katsuki.

katsuki scoffed and shoved him off. "tch. it's not like that."

"you suuure?" sero questioned. "you two seem awfully close for just friends."

"mannn, if i was bakugo, i'd be all over that. y/n is such a pretty girl!" kaminari chimed in, clearly jealous over his lack of love life.

the teasing continued. you couldn't see him from your angle, but you knew that katsuki definitely had a vein on his forehead that was getting larger by the second.

"you're always carrying her bag, walking her to class.."

"cuddling with her during movie nights, scratching her back.."

"oh! and don't forget how she never forgets to tell him she loooves him whenever they say goodbye!"

"c'mon, bakubro, just spit it out! you two are practically married already!"

the three laughed heartily, clearly enjoying the rise they were getting out of katsuki.

"all of you, shut the hell up!"

"just admit it. you're in love."

he gritted his teeth.

"i'm not in love." he grimaced, venomous anger bubbling to the surface.

"she's just there all the fucking time! always fucking doing girlfriend-y shit when she knows damn well she's not! always clinging and trying to cuddle and all that stupid sappy shit. she's just an annoying fuckin' habit ive learned to tolerate." he spat.

you froze.

what?

was he serious? like, really, truly, deadass serious? you knew he wasn't exactly the super affectionate type, but even still! you thought he really cared about you! clingy? annoying? tolerated?

your head spun as you broke out into a cold sweat. you could've sworn that that wasn't true. you and katsuki have been friends forever. surely he wouldve gotten rid of you by now if he hated you that much, right? and he cuddles you! and hangs out with you! he takes care of you when you're sick! there's just no way, right? he's just angry because he's being teased, right?

..right?

"damn, dude, that's pretty harsh," sero snickered. "you always take care of her, though, no?"

you held your breath.

"tch. doesn't fuckin' mean shit. just gotten used to her because she's been around so long."

your stomach dropped to the basement. he tolerated you. he thought of you as nothing more than an annoying habit.

insecurity pooled inside of you. now that you think about it, was he really cuddling you, or just not bothering to move you off when you laid on him? maybe he just thought you were too much of a hassle to get rid of when you came to hangout, so he just let you stay even thought he didn't want to. when he brought you medicine and stuff, maybe your sickness made you delirious and made you think he was being more affectionate and caring than he really was.

you felt nauseated. you recall all the times you threw a quick "i love you!" over your shoulder or while you clung to him. had he ever once said it back? ever? the room started spinning as you realized you couldn't think of a single time. he'd always deflected. gave you a classic "tch." rolled his eyes. messed up your hair. you dont think you'd ever even heard the word "love" from his lips.

had you just been deluding yourself all this time?

you couldn't take it anymore. sweating, you sprinted out before you could be spotted.

-

it's been two days since you overheard that conversation, and you'd been avoiding katsuki ever since. or rather, not quite avoiding completely, but there was an undeniable shift in your behavior. you stopped trying to cuddle with him. you stopped showing up to his dorm room to hangout. you especially stopped saying "i love you," even though it killed you every time.

katsuki hadn't shown much of a reaction to your change in behavior. he'd raise an eyebrow when your usual daily hugs disappeared or ask a gruff, "where were you?" when you didn't show up to your unofficial but completely established after school hangouts, but he had otherwise put up no protest.

you didn't know whether to be relieved or heartbroken.

on one hand, katsuki's kind of scary when he's confrontational. also, you don't know how you would be able to talk to him. "i overheard a conversation where you said you hate me but im madly in love with you and want to marry you and have your kids?" yeah right. you were sort of glad to be getting off easy.

but on the other hand, you were devastated. his apathy served as further confirmation that he meant every word he said. he really didn't mind that you were pulling back, and seemed perfectly content not being nearly as close as before.

you really had been deluding yourself. secretly, you had been hoping that he was just saying stuff in the heat of the moment and would actually be upset if you pulled back. because that would mean he cared. but he didn't give two shits about you. you really were just some stupid childhood habit he'd learned to tolerate.

you became less energetic as a person. not just with katsuki, but simply in general. your days seemed unbearably longer and darker without him. you had a hard time engaging and staying in the present, your mind wandering to katsuki again and again. it was pathetic, really. you two had never even dated. why were you so hung up about it? you two were just friends, and in fact, it seemed like he never even liked you in the first place. you were just stupidly hopeful and naive.

-

katsuki was dying.

two days. it had been two fucking days since you'd touched him or even just been remotely affectionate with him and he was going crazy. hell, he'd give the whole damn world even for just a smile at this point. he was desperate.

he didnt understand why you were being like this. it was like everything he knew about you had shifted, and he was just standing there, waiting for some kind of sign or something like an idiot.

katsuki had noticed the shift in your behavior immediately. of course he did. he knows you better than he knows himself, after all. at first, he thought you were just playing some dumb game or pulling some stunt to get his attention, but that wasn’t it. you waved instead of hugging. said a simple "bye" instead of "love you, bye bye!" it's not like you were completely avoiding him. you still talked. you still laughed. only now, it didn't quite reach your eyes.

and it was fucking killing him.

he hated that you were pulling back. he hated how off everything felt. he hated how fucking empty his dorm room felt when you weren't there to pester him. but most of all, he hated how he couldn’t even figure out what he'd done wrong. he couldn't think of any fights or reasons to be angry, but if that wasn't it, what was it? why were you suddenly just.. leaving?

he wanted to confront you. he wanted to pull you aside and demand to know where the fuck you went. but for the first time in his entire life, he didn't know how. because this wasn't like confronting stupid deku about his new powers. it wasn't about asking icyhot what his fuckin' deal was. it was you. his whole fucking world, even if he never said it out loud. he was nothing short of terrified to ask, because he feared it would drive you away even further, and he couldn't think of any alternate universe where he'd be able to handle that.

he found himself looking for excuses to be near you, to talk to you, to just be around you in any way possible. the last two days had been a torture of silence, of missed chances to sit next to you or casually reach out and tug you into his space like he used to. the times when he’d shove his arm around your shoulders or playfully mess with your hair, it had all stopped. he didn't feel like he could anymore. like he'd somehow lost the privilege. and now, all he was left with was this gnawing feeling in his gut that something was horribly wrong.

he had finally worked up the courage and tried asking you once, but you had shut him down with that all-too-familiar "nothing, just tired" bullshit and that damn closed-off look on your face that made him feel completely hollowed out.

he was desperate. he needed to feel you. needed to hear your bright laughter and see your stupid smile. it was so fucking stupid and sappy and so unlike him, but he couldn't even bring himself to care about that. he needed to cuddle with you until you fell asleep. have you curl up on his chest and get swallowed up by his much larger frame and watch you as your breathing quickly evened out from his touch. you could never stay awake long when cuddling with him. he found himself smiling at the thought.

he scowled. this is so fucking stupid. he thought to himself.

-

it all came to a bubbling point for him on friday. 5 whole days of "hi's" and a half-smile instead of "KATSUKIIIII's," and a running hug. he was losing his fucking mind.

usually, you convinced him to join the weekly 1a movie night by taking his hand and dragging him out of his room. he'd grumble about it, but he'd never refuse. he'd sit on the corner of the couch and you'd sit close to him before gradually inching closer, the night ending with you two cuddling. now, he willingly trudges to movie night of his own free will and sits in the same corner of the couch, but this time alone.

the room buzzed with quiet chatter and the flicker of the TV as the opening credits rolled and iida turned the lights off. it was some dumb romcom movie katsuki couldn't bring himself to care about in the slightest. you would definitely like it, though. kirishima passed around popcorn, sero argued with kaminari over which movie was the best, deku was doing his stupid nerd rambling as todoroki and hagakure gawked at him. and you? you sat on the other end of the couch.

not just away, but away from him.

the usual spot right beside katsuki, practically in his lap, head on his shoulder, knees draped over his thighs sat empty. you sat next to mina instead, curling into the armrest and pulling your legs up to your chest. you offered sweet smiles to everyone, laughed when something was funny, made conversation when prompted. but katsuki saw it. he saw you.

and he saw that you weren’t you.

he stared.

throughout the entire first half of the movie, he barely processed a single second of it. he kept looking over, waiting for you to glance at him, to shift closer, to give him a sign, anything, but you stayed curled in on yourself, legs angled away from him. he hated it. he hated how you looked like you were trying to make yourself smaller. like you were trying to disappear.

katsuki’s heart thundered. his leg bounced impatiently. his jaw was tight. he couldn’t take this shit anymore.

he stood up abruptly, catching your attention. he stalked straight over to you, jaw clenched and shoulders tense. he hovered over you, looking down and saying nothing.

you blinked up at him. "...what?"

his eyes were sharp and unreadable to most. but to you, who knew him better than he knew himself, you could see the anxiety and desperation swimming in his eyes.

no, no, no. remember, don't delude yourself. he doesn't like you, not even as a friend.

"are you okay..?"

"no." he snapped, his tone making you flinch. he softened at your reaction. "i just.. you've been.." he started, but his tone cracked, eyes flashing, and something in him snapped. "fuckin’ hell, just—"

he reached down and grabbed you.

gently, but with zero room for argument. strong arms slid under your knees and behind your back like it was the most natural thing in the world, and you barely had time to yelp before he was sitting down again, with you in his lap, pulled tight into his chest like you were his lifeline. (you are)

you froze, wide-eyed and stiff, but he just held you. his arms locked around you. he didn’t look at anyone else, didn’t give a shit about the stares or the knowing grins. he buried his face in your shoulder, muttering low and rough into your neck.

"i don't know what the fuck i did," he said. "but you don't get to just... take all that away. not from me."

you blinked, suddenly breathless.

he held you tighter. his voice cracked again, this time softer. "whatever i did, 'm sorry. i'll make it up t'ya, i swear. but don't just.." his voice trailed off. "dont stop loving me." he wanted to scream.

you felt your heart stutter, but you didn't say anything.

not at first, anyway.

because what is there to say when your heart is lodged in your throat and your body is caged in the arms of the person you swore you were going to get over?

you just sat there, crumpled in his lap like some lost puppy that finally found its way home again. your face is pressed into his shoulder, and you think if you speak, you’ll cry. so you don't. you just let yourself relax and melt into him.

he doesn’t say anything else either. his grip doesn’t loosen, not even a little. his fingers press into your back, not hard, just steady. grounding. enough to keep you pressed firmly against him. like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

the room’s still noisy with all the side conversations, but it's all background noise now with you two just in your little bubble away from the rest of the world. you feel safe and like you’re about to fall apart at the same time.

you shift a little in his lap and glance up at him.

“…you didn’t have to drag me across the room, you know,” you finally mutter, voice hoarse.

he scoffs, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “yeah, well. you weren’t comin’ on your own.”

you wrinkle your nose at him. “you could’ve asked.”

“whatever." he grumbles. "this is more efficient."

you snort. "the hell?"

he shrugs, completely unapologetic. “worked, didn’t it?”

you don’t answer. because yeah. it did.

instead, you rest your head back on his chest, and he immediately shifts to accommodate you. your legs drape over the couch, his arm hooked under your knees to keep you anchored, and his other hand settled at the base of your spine. he starts tracing slow, absentminded circles there, hand slipped under your hoodie to rub at the bare skin like nothing had ever changed. like you hadn’t just gone five whole days without touching him. like you hadn’t spent those five days trying to unravel every version of reality where he didn’t love you back.

you sit like that for a long time.

finally, he speaks up, his voice low.

"what did i do?" he asked, his voice oddly shy. "why'd ya stop.. you know..?"

your breath hitches. because you do know. but you don't know what to say or how to say it. "i thought you completely hated me" doesn't quite seem like an appropriate response.

"nothing," you settle with.

he gives you a look.

you sigh. you never could lie to katsuki. he's known you for too long and too well to fall for them.

"i just.. got insecure. overheard some conversation where you said i was, um, clingy and annoying." you murmur, your voice small. if katsuki wasn't pressed up against you and hanging on to your every word, he wouldn't have been able to catch it.

but he did.

and you swore you saw complete heartbreak in his eyes.

you let out a small gasp of surprise when he pulls you flush against him, arms tight around your body and face nuzzled deep into your neck. he holds you with such a gentle intensity you think you might cry. he holds you in a way that makes you feel loved and safe.

"'m sorry." he mumbles into your neck, voice watery. "didn't mean it. i was just.. mad that they were makin' fun of me. none of it was true. at all."

your breath hitches.

"you're.. so fuckin' special to me. i mean it. these last few days without you have been hell."

you think you might cry.

"been missin' your fuckin' smile and your damn laugh. and your stupid hugs that make me almost topple over."

you hold back a giggle.

"i love you."

the world stills.

you don’t move.

you don’t speak.

hell, you're scared to breathe.

your heart is beating so loud you’re worried he might hear it. your face is burning, your lungs feel tight, and your throat’s a warzone of words you can’t quite say.

he said it.

he said it.

and now he’s quiet. breathing you in. arms wrapped around you like you’re something precious. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go.

you pull back just enough to look at him. your hand comes up to brush his bangs from his eyes, and your fingers linger at his temple, trailing down his cheek like you’re memorizing him.

his expression is soft in a way you rarely get to see. wide-eyed. hopeful. a little scared.

you offer him a tiny, quiet smile.

no teasing.

no trying to be brave or play it all off.

just soft. honest. the kind that only he gets to see.

you lift your hand and touch his face. not dramatic, not shaky, just steady. fingers brushing along his cheekbone, thumb ghosting over the edge of his jaw like you’re memorizing the shape of him again.

his eyes close for a second and you swear you see him leaning into it a little.

you say nothing.

you don’t need to.

because you’re here. because he’s holding you. because you’re not pulling away, and he's pulling you in.

you nuzzle your face into his neck, like it's right where you belong, and you breathe in.

he breathes in too.

slow. like the world’s stopped spinning for a second just so you can exist like this, tangled up in each other without saying anything. no talking about what's going on, no complications, just.. being.

you both don't notice how mina and kirishima are gossiping wildly about how you two are practically married and wondering how you still claim not to be dating. you don't notice the way that ochaco squeals after glancing over at your position, and you don't notice the way izuku looks fondly at you two with soft eyes. (he's been shipping the two of you since childhood)

you and katsuki are the only two people in the world who matter.

"i love you," you whisper as you feel yourself dozing off.

you think you feel his lips press gently against your forehead.

"i love you too."

masterlist

[wolfhard13]

Hiii! I hope your day is going well. I was wondering if you could write about the blue lock boys reaction when you tell people you’re just friends but you’re in a situationship 😰 (Rin, sae, ness, reo) thank youu 😋

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !!

ᡣ𐭩 ft: rin itoshi, sae itoshi, alexis ness, reo mikage

ᡣ𐭩 notes: not all four of them spiralling over being “just friends.” if you’ve ever been in a situationship and accidentally gaslit yourself into thinking you don’t care. this one’s for you 🥹 (not proofread!)

ᡣ𐭩 cw: angst, eventual fluff, might be ooc, ness crashing out, suggestive, hurt/comfort

꣑ৎ RIN ITOSHI ꣑ৎ

you and rin have been meeting up in secret for the past few months. he’s known for his cold demeanour and sharp tongue— the kind of guy who keeps the world at arm’s length. no one suspects a thing, because no one could imagine rin itoshi caring about anything other than soccer.

it started with an accidental bump in the school hallway. nothing intentional or dramatic but somehow, that fleeting moment unraveled into secret midnight visits, shared beds, and a kind of quiet intimacy that felt too tender to be casual, yet never quite real enough to be labelled as love.

so you say it like it meant nothing.

“oh, rin? we’re just friends.”

because when someone asks what the two of you are, it’s easier to lie than admitting, you don’t even know anymore.

what you didn’t realize… was that he was standing just a few feet away — and he heard everything.

──★

later that night, you climb into his bed like you usually do. there’s always been an unspoken rule or more like a quiet understanding to never define whatever this was. but tonight feels different. rin doesn’t pull you into his chest like he normally does. from the moment you stepped into his room, he’s been distant— colder than usual.

“…what’s up with you?” you ask, finally breaking the silence that’s been pressing down on the room.

he doesn’t answer right away. just stares at the ceiling, voice low when it finally comes:

“i heard you said we’re just friends… is that what we are??”

you blink, thrown off by the shift in his tone. his words feel too direct— too raw which was so unlike him.

“…are we not??”

the question leaves your lips hesitantly as you’re unsure whether you’re defending yourself or genuinely asking.

he turns to you without a word. for a second, you think he won’t respond— but then his fingers wrap around your wrist; delicate and grounding, as his hand rises to your cheek. there’s a kind of weight in it like the gesture carries every word he’s never said out loud.

“i don’t want to be just friends anymore,” he murmurs.

“…w-what do you mean???” your voice comes out quieter than you intended, brows furrowing as you were unsure where this conversation was going.

“don’t play dumb. you know exactly what i mean,” he mutters, jaw tight.

“…and i might need you to stop spending so much time with isagi.”

his fingers twitch at his sides, curling into fists before he catches himself. he lets out a breath like he’s trying to keep it cool but the slight shake in his voice gives him away when he speaks.

“he’s been stealing time that’s supposed to be mine.”

꣑ৎ SAE ITOSHI ꣑ৎ

no one ever thought you’d be the one tangled up in a situationship with the sae itoshi. he only cares about soccer — literally everyone knows that. he doesn’t do distractions but somehow, you became the exception to that rule.

what you have with him isn’t official. you don’t know what to call it— don’t even know if he wants it to be called anything at all. sometimes, it feels like he’s right there with you. and other times??? it feels like you’re the only one hoping it might turn into something more.

you don’t even realize he’s behind you when someone asks what the two of you are. and without thinking, you say it casually, like it means nothing:

“sae??? we’re just friends...”

because if he’s not going to define it, you won’t be the one to risk it either.

──★

that night you’re curled up in his lap, the weight of the day slowly melting off your shoulders as his hand strokes your arm absentmindedly, thumb grazing your wrist in slow, grounding circles. and then out of nowhere he says something out of pocket.

“so…. is this what friendship looks like now??”

he doesn’t even look at you when he says it; just lets his fingers trail from your wrist to your hair like he didn’t just drop a bomb.

you let out a breathy, awkward laugh while trying to lighten the air that suddenly feels too heavy.

“… wait you heard that?” you ask it softly this time, all the teasing stripped away.

he hums. still not looking at you. and then—

“yeah, i did,” he says, his eyes finally meeting yours.

you blink, genuinely caught off guard by how serious he suddenly looks. there’s no smirk or sarcasm, just quiet frustration flickering in his expression.

“…w-why are you looking at me like that? we’re just friends aren’t we??”

he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “ y’knw, i’m not great at this,” he mutters. “saying how i feel… never have been.”

you don’t say anything right away. not because you don’t want to. but because you’re still caught in the silence between his sentences, the tension in his posture, and the way he said ‘feel’ like it physically cost him something.

it’s obvious he’s never let himself be this open before. not with you.

not with anyone.

“….. right,” you say, even though you don’t know what you’re agreeing to exactly.

his gaze softens. not entirely, but enough for you to notice. and that’s all it takes for your resolve to falter.

you immediately fold into his touch like your body remembers something your mind is still afraid to admit.

afterwards, even with your heart still unsure of where this is going, you stay in his lap; because somehow, it’s the only place that feels like home.

and you’re not ready to walk away from that just yet.

꣑ৎ ALEXIS NESS ꣑ৎ

you and ness started out as just friends. you’d always known him as kaiser’s best friend and honestly, you thought he seemed too sweet to be that close to someone like kaiser.

they were total opposites, or so you thought.

ness knew you had a crush on kaiser. and when you found out kaiser had a girlfriend, he was the one who stayed & comforted you throughout the whole heartbreak. he didn’t mind being the one you leaned on even if you weren’t looking at him yet.

and then slowly…. one thing lead to another, and now you’re in a situationship with the boy you were never meant to fall for. you’re not sure which secret is worse; the one you kept, or the one that’s already unfolding.

──★

one night, you, ness, and a few other friends were hanging out at a café. everything was easy; warm drinks, good music, the kind of atmosphere that makes time blur. laughter spilled across the table, and it was the kind of night that felt light, unbothered—

until… someone casually leaned forward, and asked “so… i saw you and ness walking home together the other day. is there something going on there or??”

and you being you— were not prepared for that question. you laughed too quickly and waved your hand almost as if it was ridiculous. your nerves buzzed beneath your skin as you answered on impulse:

“what???? no way… we’re just friends.”

you didn’t even look at him when you said it and he didn’t correct you, or call you out on it; he just sipped his drink like your answer didn’t matter.

but you knew, the moment his gaze dropped to the table— when his laugh sounded just a bit too forced the next time someone cracked a joke, and when he didn’t look at your direction for the rest of the night, that he was not happy about it.

──★

after that, the two of you walk home together like usual. but tonight, he’s quieter. his hands are shoved deep in his pockets, eyes fixed on the ground like he’s trying not to say something he knows he won’t be able to take back. and you can feel it—the weight of something unsaid, brewing in the silence like a storm that hasn’t broken yet.

and then he says it.

“everyone prefers kaiser. it’s always been like that.”

“he walks into a room and people naturally gravitate towards him… i walk in and people barely look up.”

you open your mouth to protest, but he keeps going. his voice stays soft. but his words??? they slice.

“but i didn’t care because i had you. i thought maybe— just maybe… someone would finally see me, but then you called me your friend. like all of this meant nothing…”

he laughs, but it’s hollow.

“is that all we are???”

he’s not yelling but this is the most you’ve ever seen of him. the most honesty he’s ever let slip past the boy-next-door mask that he usually puts on.

“i should’ve known— should’ve known the second you cried over kaiser and i still stayed.”

“you were never mine... you just needed someone to hold you until it stopped hurting.”

he won’t meet your eyes, so you reach for him— pulling him down until your lips crash immediately into his.

you kiss him like you’ve been aching to, both hands cupping his jaw, thumbs brushing the edges of his cheekbones. your fingers are trembling, but your lips are soft— urgent, as if you’re trying to convince him of everything you couldn’t say.

there’s a beat of hesitation in his body like he’s still deciding if this is real—

and then it breaks.

all of it.

like something inside him finally gives in. and then he’s kissing you back harder like it’s the only way he knows how to stay.

the kiss lasts a few minutes before you finally pull away— hands still curled in his shirt.

“now… does THIS look like just friends to you??”

you’re nearly breathless when you say it.

“i didn’t mean it.”

“when i said we were just friends— i didn’t mean it okay??”

and this time, you don’t look away.

because this is the moment everything shifts. the moment it stops being casual, and starts becoming real.

꣑ৎ REO MIKAGE ꣑ৎ

you and reo’s families have known each other for years; long enough that people always assumed the two of you would end up together someday. same industry, same social circles, so it wasn’t a complete surprise when you needed a plus one to a formal gala and thought of him.

and of course, reo said yes instantly.

he was the perfect date. a complete gentleman; charming, attentive, always arriving at least 30 minutes early just to make sure you had everything you needed. he made you laugh, made you feel seen and without realizing it, being with him started to feel natural; almost as if he always belonged there beside you.

after a while, he started showing up to more than just formal events. you two would hang out on quiet weekends, sneak off after dinners just to drive around the city, spend hours talking about things that had nothing to do with work or family. the two of you even had a usual spot now. the bond eventually deepened, but neither of you ever officially put a label on it.

until one day, at a casual gathering— you ran into your cousin. she smirked, nudging you playfully before saying:

“so… you and reo, huh?? is it official yet or are you just being secretive?”

you laughed— obviously nervous & unprepared for that question. you didn’t know what to say because honestly??? you didn’t even know what this was.

so you shrugged and blurted, “nahhh… we’re just friends.”

and when you turned around— there he was. reo. standing just behind you. and the look on his face??? it absolutely gutted you.

──★

he didn’t speak the entire ride home. not a single joke, not even a glance; just that same tense— aching quiet that made the car feel colder than it actually was. it was almost as if, all the warmth he usually carried had been left behind somewhere you couldn’t reach.

he sat beside you in the car, gaze fixed out the window, hand resting in his lap instead of reaching for yours like he usually does.

you tried to break the tension once.

“… reo??”

he didn’t even turn his head.

“tired.”

one word & that was it. you wanted to say more but something in his posture said ‘don’t push’. so you stayed quiet and the silence stretched the entire ride home.

his silence loops in your head— the empty look in his eyes, the way he said “tired” like he was done with you. and you hated it. because you’re not used to reo being cold or distant.

──★

the next day, you go to your usual spot without telling him prior.

you: hey… can we talk? i’m at our spot right now. i know i didn’t give any warning so… i’ll wait.

you: even if it takes a few hours.

you watch the messages deliver. 3 minutes later, he reads it.

but he doesn’t reply.

your stomach twists. you don’t know if he’ll actually come, or if you’ve already lost him. but you wait anyway.

and 20 minutes later, you see him pulling up.

your heart immediately drops in relief.

he hesitates when he sees you at first— hands in his pockets, shoulders a little tense like he’s not sure if he should actually come closer but he does anyway.

“… you wanted to talk??” he asked while sitting next to you.

you nod as you take a breath.

“sooo about yesterday at the gathering… i-i just panicked okay??? i didn’t know what to say because we’ve never talked about it. we never called it anything, so I didn’t know if I was allowed to...”

you glance at him before continuing, “but it didn’t mean nothing to me— you don’t mean nothing to me…”

he finally looks at you. his expression is composed, but beneath it??? you can see the hurt.

“then why’d you say it like I’m someone you barely know?? you hold my hand. you call me when you can’t sleep. you even let me kiss you”

“and then tell people we’re ‘just friends??’”

his voice cracks on that last part— just enough to tell you he wasn’t fine.

“i swear, i didn’t mean it.”

you reach for his hand. and this time, he lets you take it. his eyes flick up to yours, softer now before saying, “please... say it again.”

“i didn’t mean it, you’re not just a friend… you’re more than that.”

his hands immediately slide to your waist, as his forehead drops to yours. and when he kisses you, it’s not like before. it’s not playful or teasing. it’s real…. like he’s finally letting go of every doubt he was trying to pretend didn’t exist.

“then be mine for real.”

“not just for the events... not just when no one’s watching.”

in that moment, his eyes are locked with yours; full of unsaid things, like he’s searching your face for a sign, anything, to tell him he’s not the only one feeling this.

and that’s when you whisper back:

“i already was…. i just didn’t know how to say it.”

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