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gojorgeous · 1 year ago

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"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful��, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

please consider leaving a comment, sending an ask, or reblogging! interacting with authors is the best way to support them! thanks for reading ♡

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neoangelxx · 3 months ago

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suggestive but not very explicit

Nanami knew pretty early in your relationship that you were the woman he was going to marry. Maybe even after the first day. You were everything he imagined, intelligent, outgoing, hardworking, beautiful the list goes on.

Once he got to see you in a more domestic setting his imagination began to run wild. Imagining waking up to you, making you breakfast or eating yours, coming home to you after a long hard day. Just having a reason to not work overtime knowing you’re at home waiting for you.

Then after the first time you two had sex. His mind went crazy. Torturing him with ideas of cumming deep inside of you, pumping you full of load after load until he’s sure his seed takes. He sees you, tummy swollen in his living room, bedroom, kitchen, in sundresses on beaches.

It all becomes too much four months in. He asks you to marry him whiles he’s on his knees removing your heels after a long company dinner. You laugh before realizing he’s serious.

“Oh, Kento, we’ve been together for barely 4 months.”

“I know, but sometimes you just know.”

You lean forward, taking his face into your hand. He leans into in it and your heart skips a beat.

He’s not offended by your dismissal. He just needed to get that off his chest before he went crazy.

You steal a kiss once he gets the other heel off.

“Ask me again in a year or two.”

That night you two make love for the first time. He pours all his emotions into each touch, kiss, stroke. Showering you in praises and promises until you’re crying as you cum.

Nanami waits 2 years, just to be sure, before he asks you again. This time you say yes.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jjk nanami #nanami x y/n #nanami x reader #fem reader

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seongwars · 15 days ago

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mornings

I managed to pull TWO of the 5 star Caleb cards from the new banner in one go, so here's some smut to celebrate

Word Count: 1075 Warnings: SMUT, yandere dad caleb, period tracking, unprotected sex, p in v, unproofread, mentions of impregnation, caleb malewifing manipulating, manhandling part of the lads!dadverse

Caleb’s day started at 5 AM, as it always did.

He stretched his arms over his head, rolling out the tension in his muscles before pressing a kiss to your cheek. He took a moment to admire your sleeping face before moving through the motions of the morning: starting a pot of coffee, pulling out ingredients for breakfast, and prepping lunch boxes.

By 6:30, the first stirrings of life began.

Ciel prided himself on being the oldest at six and got himself ready without any help. Archer, however, was still wrapped in his blanket, clutching his dinosaur plush and groaning in protest when Caleb nudged him awake.

As for the twins, transitioning them to toddler beds had been your idea and Caleb was starting to question it. Eden had turned the mattresses into his personal trampoline, while Stella lay sprawled on the floor, too lazy to get up. With a resigned sigh, Caleb scooped them both up and carried them to the kitchen, where their older brothers were already waiting patiently for breakfast.

By 7:30, the house was empty. The car was loaded, and everyone was buckled in for school and daycare drop off.

Caleb's day started at 5 AM, just as it always did. He made sure everything was taken care of just the way you liked it. There was no reason for you to lift a finger.

Because when you woke up, he wanted your focus to be on him.

You felt it the moment you opened your eyes. Every hormone in your system seemed dead set on one thing: getting absolutely wrecked by the man who had just finished the school run.

Somehow, Caleb always timed it perfectly, as if he had mapped out every fluctuation, every shift in your body like clockwork. As if he had studied you. Tracked you. Controlled you in ways you hadn’t even realized.

You padded sleepily toward the kitchen, drawn to the smell of coffee and there he was, standing menacingly by the fridge, fresh from the shower wearing those damn gray sweatpants.

It wasn’t fair. No man should look that good after wrangling four kids, doing the laundry and cleaning the house from top to bottom. His hair was still damp with droplets clinging to his skin and his muscles flexed as he reached for a glass of water. And those sweatpants? They clung just right, taunting you to pull them down and wrap your lips around his cock.

Caleb turned at the sound of your footsteps, a slow, knowing smile creeping across his lips.

"Morning, baby," he murmured, like he’d been waiting for you.

And just like that, you forgot everything else.

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, every nerve screaming at you to jump his bones—to shove him against the counter, to drag him back to bed, the counter, the floor, any surface to hold you up as he fucked your brains out.

And your husband happily obliged.

“How’re you still so tight after four kids?” he grunted, slamming his hips into you from behind.

You didn't respond, too fucked out on his cock as his balls slapped against your swollen pussy. Instead, you pushed your ass against him, the couch shaking as you gasped into the cushions.

How many times had you cum? You didn’t know—you’d been too preoccupied with begging him to fill you up, as you were faced down and ass up.

“You’re so slutty, mommy.”

He growled and leaned forward, pressing his chest into your back, all while continuing his brutal pace, hitting that spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

Your body jerked forward with each thrust and there was nothing you could do to stop it, to stop him. He was relentless in his need to plant his seed in you, and it left you helpless to do anything but take it.

His large hand slid from your hip up to your tits, squeezing roughly, before rolling a nipple between his calloused fingers. The sound of your squelching pussy spurred him on, urging him to fill your empty womb to the brim. You didn’t think it was possible, but he somehow managed to fit in another inch.

“Gonna put another baby in you. You’d like that, huh?”

“Hnng I love it. Please, please baby, I want it. Cum in me,” you begged, tears pricking the corner of your eyes from the pleasure.

Caleb's fingers reached down to your clit, circling your sensitive bundle of nerves that brought you over the edge. As pleasure wracked your body, your mouth dropped open in a silent scream. It didn't help that he continued pumping his hips into you as he rode out his orgasm.

His hand lingered on your stomach, fingers pressing lightly as if he were mapping out his territory. You sighed, sinking into his embrace, completely missing the way his eyes darkened as he flipped you on to your back.

“Caleb!”

“That’s not my name.”

His lips found your breast, latching onto one of your nipples as his tongue flicked over the hardened peak. His other hand cupped and kneaded your other tit, pinching and fondling just enough to make you arch into him.

“Baby!”

“That’s more like it.”

He smirked against your skin, the warmth of his breath sending another wave of sensation through you. His lips moved from your chest to your neck, your jaw, your cheek, peppering kisses that made you giggle.

But there was nothing soft about the way he held you.

You didn’t the way he had meticulously designed your life to keep you tethered to him.

The kids, your beautiful babies, were his strongest hold over you. He knew you would never abandon them, and in turn, you would never abandon him. The chores, the cooking, the late nights when they were sick? He took it all upon himself, so you never had to worry.

So you’d never have to imagine what life could be like without him.

He made himself indispensable, carving himself into every aspect of your life until the mere thought of doing anything alone felt impossible.

All you saw was the perfect husband. The devoted father. The man who did everything for you, who loved you so much it was almost overwhelming.

Caleb’s lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile as the sharp chime of his phone interrupted the moment.

It was time to pick up the kids.

#love and deepspace #caleb smut #love and deepspace caleb #caleb lads #lads caleb #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #caleb #caleb drabble #lads drabble #lnds drabble #caleb x reader

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churipu · 1 year ago

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YOU SLEEPING ON A COUCH AFTER AN ARGUMENT 𓆝 ⋆｡𖦹°‧

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

note. i hv so many ideas right now apart from what i'm actually supposed to be focusing on, so...pls excuse me.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with gojo are a pain in the ass, he's petty and everything will be a mess. he's so stubborn that it actually baffles you sometimes — and he calls you rock head?

being a sorcerer is never an easy job. gojo wakes up every day, not knowing whether he'd die in a mission or get to live another day. so when you brought up your concerns about it to him, the male didn't take it lightly. things have been tight for him, and you're walking on eggshells for the past few days.

the slightest thing angered him, like how his sleeve got stuck on the door handle, or the way he curses out loudly when he stubs his toe on the coffee table. it puts him in a shitty mood, so when that happens, and you try to talk to him about his job.

gojo gets very pissy about it.

frankly, you understood where his anger comes from. and it was part of your fault to bother him the moment he came back from work exhausted, it was bound to happen so you weren't really blaming him at all from the projecting of his anger to you the night before — he didn't say hurtful things, gojo knew better than that. all he did was tell you to leave him alone and get out of his sight for the night.

and you did. sleeping alone on the couch, all sprawled out, an arm dangling on the edge; while a string of drool dribbled down the corner of your lips.

you seemed to not mind having to sleep on the couch (under your own want). but your boyfriend did, the moment he knew your bed time strikes — he came out of the room and eyed your sleeping form. guilt washing over him when all you did was care about his being and how dangerous the jujutsu world is.

gojo approaches you and gently carried you in his arms, an arm right under your bottom and his other arm around your waist. hoisting you up like a baby as your cheek leaned onto his shoulder, letting the drool blotch his shirt. he doesn't care at all.

the male tucks you in the bed, pulling the covers over you before slipping next to you, chest pressed to your back and an arm resting on your hip. gojo will never let you sleep a whole night on the couch, he will bring you to sleep with him and apologize the very next day for being such an ass.

he also, tried to make it up to you by cooking a classic english breakfast. which ended up in chaos — and you both decided to order take out instead.

GETO SUGURU. geto is usually calm and collected; he doesn't really get angry at anything. even if he does, he mostly keeps it to himself unless it really bothers him. but since humans have certain capacities to their own emotion — geto is not spared from being angry, no matter how calm he is.

after the death of amanai, you could feel him change. your geto. it was traumatizing for him, and you understood. always being there for him, never leaving him alone. the dark circles under his eyes were apparent, and it looked like he hasn't had a good night sleep for what seemed like . . . weeks, or months, if that's even possible.

geto appreciated your company, really. but sometimes, he also wanted to be left alone to dwell on his feelings. he didn't want to end up saying hurtful things to you because he was so angry at himself. but he did, and god was it horrible.

he was already feeling like shit before the argument— which if you see, wasn't really an argument at all. it was one-sided, geto was telling you off and you didn't say anything back. because you knew he didn't mean it. he almost desperately begged for you to leave him alone because your presence was "annoying" him and he couldn't stand it.

although geto said it in a heap of moment. he didn't mean it, and before he could say anything else, you tell him that you were going to be sleeping on the couch, so if he needed anything he was free to come to you.

geto didn't stop you. he was busy hating on himself for telling you that — and believe me when i say that he, right there, almost cried out of frustration.

he tossed and turned on his bed. where you were usually on too, beside him, holding his hand whilst he sleep. your hushed voice lulling him into a peaceful slumber; but you weren't there today, all because he told you to leave him alone. geto sat up, his eyelids heavy, but no matter how long he shut is, they always open back up.

with slow and heavy steps, he approaches you on the couch. and geto had always knew that you were a light sleeper, so his footsteps awoken you. seeing your eyes flutter open, geto slid on the couch, laying himself on top of you — head on your chest, arms clutching onto your shirt like he's desperate for your presence, and his legs intertwining with yours.

getos' hushed apologies were heard as he leaned into your warmth, and you told him that you were never angry. brushing his hair, massaging his scalp using your fingertips before lulling him to sleep, and geto did. almost immediately. and so did you.

he could never sleep without you. whether it being on the bed, the couch, or anywhere else — as long has you were with him, he will find the ability to drift off.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. is an ass. let's face it — he wouldn't give a fuck if you decided to sleep on the couch after an argument, at least for the first couple of hours. toji is a blunt man, and he's a sole believer that nobody could bear sleeping on the couch when there's a bed in the house.

but you were there to prove him wrong.

after an argument going south, he finds you grabbing your pillow and then seeking shelter on the couch. and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, knowing you'd come crawling back on the mattress after a few hours — because who'd choose the couch over the bed?

you. apparently.

he slept without a single care, thinking of words to say when you finally decided to come back on the bed. but when he woke up at three am, his arm searching to find your body, but realizing all he was catching was air — he finally realized that you weren't coming back onto the bed.

and it annoyed him. he was angry that you weren't there. and at three am? he was already wide awake, walking out of the room angrily. but his gaze softened when he saw you asleep, the constant flashing light from the television panning on your body; toji walks over, snatches the remote and turns the device off.

letting out a soft sigh, toji squats down, flicking your forehead. and the action was enough to make you grimace lightly in your sleep — although not enough to wake you up completely. the male chuckled and prepped an arm under the hollow under your knees, and an arm across your shoulder.

with ease he brought you into your shared room and he laid you down on the bed, covering your body with the blanket before he slips into his own portion of the bed. scooting closer to you as you instinctively nuzzled into his chest, seeking for comfort.

toji wouldn't admit that he was the one who brought you into the bed and would end up saying how you came crawling back at three am. you always find out the truth though, and toji tells you to forget about whatever he did because he won't be doing it again (he will).

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princessbellecerise · 7 months ago

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Court Shenanigans

Summary ✩ Missing their father, your children decide it’s a good idea to interrupt him in the middle of court

Warnings ✩ Mentions of pregnancy

Authors Notes ✩ Everyday I cry cause this man isn’t real but at least I have fanfic

You tried to stop them, you really did.

But being almost nine moons pregnant and having the most swollen feet known to man, it was almost impossible to chase after and keep up with two rowdy tots.

Usually, their nursemaids would have them by now and would be helping to assist you, but Aliza was sick and Joanna was with her family. Both of them would have scolded you for trying to run when you couldn’t even see your feet, but your kids were a mischievous bunch and you had a sinking feeling on where they were headed.

Aemma, the eldest of the two twins, had been complaining all day about not being able to see her father, as Jace had missed out on breakfast and lunch with her in order to hear a few extra petitions.

It seemed as if the Kingdom was more unruly than usual, and Lords had come from all over the realm to plead their cases.

Wanting to be a good King and make sure that he could adhere to all of his subjects, Jace had opted to spend a little extra time on the throne and a less with his family.

This of course didn’t sit well with Aemma, and as her shadow Jaelin followed right on along with her.

Try as you might have, you weren’t fast enough to catch up to them and your protests for them to stop didn’t do much good, either.

Before you could even blink, your twins were flying past the Kingsguard and bursting into the throne room, with little Aemma’s excited shouting making you want to crawl into a hole right there and then.

“Kepa!”

In no time your baby girl ran across the room, interrupting some poor Lord under a pink banner. You thought that he might’ve been from White Harbor, or maybe he was from Maidenpool.

Whatever it was, you didn’t pay much attention as suddenly, all chatter stopped, and you were the center of attention as you wobbled towards Jacaerys and fixed Aemma with a stern glare.

“Aemma! Come back here!” You shouted after her sternly, and thankfully Jaelin was too afraid of your ‘motherly voice’ to get any closer.

He stopped just short of the Iron Throne, choosing to remain by Ser Darklyn’s side rather than follow his sister up the steps. With horror, you realized that Aemma was headed straight to Jacaerys, exclaiming happily as she threw herself in her father’s open arms.

“Kepa!”

She bounced excitedly as Jace pulled her on his lap, looking amused while you struggled to catch your breath.

Running at your size was no joke, and you ached to sit down somewhere and rest. You couldn’t do that though while your two year old twins were causing mayhem.

It was unbefitting of a Queen, you knew that, but desperation had you hiking up your dress, climbing the the steps, and holding your arms out expectantly while Jace chuckled.

“Aemma. It’s time to say goodbye to Kepa and go back to our chambers. Now,” You told her, but that only resulted in the toddler shaking her head and burying herself even deeper into Jacaerys’ arms.

“No! I want to stay with Kepa!” Her defiant little voice shouted, and you winced as a few murmurs echoed through the court.

You were painfully aware that everybody was staring at the scene, which made it even more embarrassing when you reached out again and failed to grab Aemma.

After about the third attempt to pull her away with no avail, your husband seemed to finally take pity on you and sighed.

“It’s alright my love. She can stay,” Jacaerys said, and upon hearing this Aemma beamed. “It’ll be her seat one day after all. Let her gain some experience; even if it is during the middle of a petition.”

You gave him an apologetic look, and you made a mental note to apologize to Lord…well, whoever you were currently interrupting. You had to admit, the sight of Aemma babbling broken phrases to Jace while she tried to grab his crown was adorable.

You sighed reluctantly.

“Alright,” You said, willing to leave Aemma where she was. At the very least you could persuade Jaelin to follow you and take him away, but as you turned to go back down the stairs you suddenly paused.

Had there always been that many, you wondered?

You hadn’t really paid attention that much, but now that your feet were practically screaming at you to sit down, the idea of going down so many steps didn’t seem so appealing.

Of course, you could’ve just asked one of the Kingsguard to help you down, but you didn’t want to be a bother—as silly as it sounded. You also didn’t want to risk your knees giving out and falling, either.

You were in a dilemma, but before you could even decide, Jace did it for you. Your husband, ever attentive, noticed your hesitation and immediately got up.

“Here, my love. Why don’t you rest and I’ll stand for now,” He suggested.

Even more whispers broke out at this. What Jacaerys was proposing was sweet, but it had never happened before and the idea of the Queen sitting on the throne in the presence of the King was…well it was simply unheard of.

You were sure a few people would call the action scandalous, but at the moment though, you didn’t really care what they thought. Your feet were aching and you needed a place to sit down before your knees decided where for you, so you nodded and accepted his offer.

“Thank you, my love.”

You sighed in relief as you sat on the throne. Albeit, it wasn’t the most comfortable of seats with all the swords and points, and you would’ve much rather been in your cushioned chair in your chambers, but it was better than nothing and the pressure on your feet was gone.

Nodding his head, Jacaerys gave you a small kiss on the side of your head and then he stood with Aemma in his arms, and gestured for Lord whoever to keep speaking.

Had you not been out of breath, you would have laughed at his face and the face of many others as they not only witnessed their King give the most powerful seat in the realm to his pregnant wife, but also witnessed him stand up while bouncing his baby daughter in his arms.

It was an unusual sight, but an adorable one that you cherished.

Motioning to Ser Darklyn to bring Jaelin up so that your family would complete, you smiled in content and Jacaerys once again motioned for the man who had been interrupted to continue his petition.

“Lord Mooton. Please, do continue,” He said with a large smile.

You giggled.

Ah, so that was his name.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader

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skyrigel · 7 months ago

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Simon never knew when and how, but he knew he loved you, so it started with that flirty sloppy shoot-a-shot smile at the bar. One glass down and he was kissing you like there was nobody else in the room, one smoke by the alley and the next you were sucking him off in his car, maybe it should've ended there, Simon wasn't the one who liked taking girls home but something sparked and he thought, you deserved a nice comfy mattress if he was going to fuck you and okay, he did, he took you home and absolutely devoured you, he made a real mess out of you, pounding inside you like a feral werewolf, pistoning in and out like he would never get a second chance.

And it should've ended there but it didn't, you should've gone by the morning because the good ones never stayed but instead you were perched on the counter, swinging your legs, your body sore from last night and face blotchy with sleep and unwashed make-up and he was making eggs. He was making you breakfast as you rambled how Nicky stole your jacket, he had no idea who was Nicky but oh boy wouldn't he go to war to get back you jacket, because he will. You really should've been gone by afternoon but instead you were panting on the couch while his face was buried deep in your cunt, humming in your sweetness and sucking every bit nector you had for him. Simon didn't mind when you decided you wanted to make ravioli by the time evening drowned in the sky, from scratch and when you should be finding your clothes and leaving for once and for all, but instead Simon was putting the ingredients you called from your phone screen into the cart, walkin behind you. Two days later, you were putting in your dresses in his lonely-colourless wardrobe along with your favourite jacket, four days later, you were laughing because Simon never watched star wars, one week gone and he was braiding your hair and oiling your scalp, two weeks snapped and Simon was chasing you around the house while you ran with the cute Polaroid you had clicked while he was sleeping, Three weeks and Simon thought this is where you belonged, with him, he didn't know how and when but he did knew it was you, it could only be you.

Two years later and he's massaging your baby bump with cocoa butter, his eyes twinkling at you.

“I love you.” He says, just like that as you blink up from your tacos.

“I love you too sweetheart.” You cupped his cheek and watched him melt into your touch.

“I don't say it enough.” no, he's been constantly chanting it, sometimes whispering it in his sleep.

“You say it just fine.” You pulled his cheek, leaning back because you just felt little Riley baby moving inside.

“I am so blessed.” he looked solemnly, like he was replaying some memory in his mind, before kissing your tummy. So blessed.

Masterlist

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dcxdpdabbles · 1 month ago

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DCxDP Fic Idea: Online Siren

Danny makes a mistake. Or maybe he struck gold. Depending on the perspective you were looking through.

It starts one night when Sam, Tucker, Danny, and Jazz get together for a private party on Tucker's birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Foley had let them have the whole house to themselves on the agreement that it would only be the four of them. They would be keeping an eye on the security camera and motion detectors around the property. At the slightest hints of Tucker having a house party, the pair would return from Mr. Foley's sister's house to shut it down.

The group of teenagers were more than happy not to invite anyone. It's not like anyone would show- at least not with good intentions. They had an entire night plan- coffee drinks based on their types, video games, boardgames ones, painting hour, karaoke, movies, and cake after presents.

They all pitched in for pizza, and Sam offered to buy everyone breakfast in the morning. The party started at four and would end at ten the following morning. The boys would sleep in Tucker's room while Sam and Jazz crashed in the guest room together.

Danny hadn't had that much fun in such a long time that he didn't even shy away from Sam's video camera while singing. The youngest Fenton has always had a fantastic singing voice, but his stage fright has stopped him from showing off his skill in front of anyone who was not close friends or family.

The following morning, while eating at Tucker's favorite breakfast restaurant, Sam checked her phone after noticing all the buzzing. Danny could catch her face turning pastly white at whatever was on her screen. She taps aggressively, nearly frantically, which gains the attention of Tucker and Jazz.

"Sam? Everything good?" Jazz asks gentely.

"I..no..I'm sorry, Danny," She whispers after staring hopelessly at her screen. "I meant to save it in our private share, not...the anonymous one."

"What?"

"I...post poetry anonymously on this voice website. It's audio recordings only." She explains, placing the phone on the table. Her voice is hesitant. "Last night....I accidentally posted the video of you singing from the Karaoke machine I saved. The one from the Realms. And some of my followers saved it and shared it. It's trending."

Danny feels his stomach drop into his legs. "What?"

"No one knows who you are!" Sam blurts as Tucker quickly pulls out his own phone. A few seconds later, Danny's voice blares out of his speaker, the melody blending well with his singing. The Karaoke has a recording option that deletes background noise, making it far more professional than four teenagers dancing around the Foley's coffee table.

"Dude, this sounds amazing," Tucker says after a moment. "I can't believe I finally have a recording of your singing. Just look at these comments!"

The song is an open domain in the Infinite Realms, telling the tell of the first King's fall. It's rather popular for its revolutionary themes and near musical lyrics that blended with the rapid flute melody, so finding a ghost willing to share a Karaoke version took nearly no effort. People online think Danny was the songwriter.

The song on Sam's page had ninty-thousand listens, with just as many downloads- each download places ten cents in her account. So far, Danny's singing has made nine thousand dollars. It's only been twelve hours!

It got so much traction because Damian Wayne had made an edit with a popular anime and posted it on his personal account. His small usage had exploded Danny's song in only a few hours.

"Take it down!" Danny hisses, slapping a hand over Tucker's screen and glancing at nearby tables. "Sam, please take your post down."

"I did! I swear! But it's too late to stop it from spreading on the WorldClip." She tells him, and Danny's heart feels like it will explode until Jazz gently speaks up.

"Sam, can Danny have those nine grand?"

His best friend blinks momently, thrown by the question before she nods, "Of course! It's his money."

"Hmm." Jazz taps her fingers under her chin before turning Danny's face towards her. It's not until her gentle pats on his back that he realizes he is hyperventilating. "You should post more on that anonymous website. Sam can write the songs, Tucker can make the music, and you can sing."

"What!?" He choked, shocked she would even ask him. Tucker and Sam are eyeing them with wide eyes, frozen in their seats. No one knew where the fear had come from, but the two knew how badly Danny reacted to the idea of performing.

Tucker first met Danny when the boy panicked in the music room. After it was announced, the students would be singing Twinkle Little Star in the first grade. It was the first time Tucker had ever called nine-one-one, too.

He was praised as a hero, while Danny was scolded for overreacting. Tucker had held his hand until the sobbing boy's parents came to pick him up and has never left his side since.

"Danny, this fear has always left you in shambles. I think it would help you. This could be a form of exposal therapy," She says, then shrugs her shoulder. "Think about it. No one will know who you are, but your music could reach thousands without you ever having to show your face. You could pay for the college you wanted to go to in Gotham this way. All of you."

Neither Danny's nor Tucker's parents could afford to send them to Gotham University despite it being their dream school. Sam's parents refused to pay for a "useless" degree such as Botany. They had been growing uneasy with the realization dreams were not always promised as the end of the senior year approached in only a few short months.

They would never ask it of him, but Danny could see the genuine hope tucked in their eyes as they waited for his response. He licked his lips, feeling his heart still beating a mile a minute under his rib cage.

He didn't like being this paralyzed by an irrational fear. He also really wanted to help them reach their dreams.

So Danny opens his mouth and whispers, "Only until we can get to Gotham to find jobs"

Jazz's smile is bright.

________________________________________________________

A few months later, Damian practically runs Tim over in his rush to connect to the game room's surround system. Jon is hot on his heels and has the decency to shout an apology as the pre-teens rush by.

"Hey! Watch it!" He still screams at their backs, irritated. "I could've dropped my croissant!"

"Sorry again Tim!"

"You're fat anyway, Drake!"

Tim rolls his eyes, adjusting his hold on his plate as Dick rounds the corner that the children had appeared from. "What's got them rushing?"

"Online Siren just dropped a new song." Dick laughs. "Dami is a bit of a fan."

"Online Siren?"

"That's right, you were in space for five months. Online Siren is this anonymous singer that everyone is going crazy over on the internet. He's an amazing singer, but because no one knows anything about him. Not even Babs."

Tim raises a brow. "He could be using autotune."

"Maybe, but Tim, I'm telling you. Listen to his music, and you'll find you can't stop. Siren is a fitting name."

"He can't be that good," Tim mutters, following his eldest brother into the game room, where Damian and Jon have blared the speakers to the loudest setting and dancing around.

Tim draws up short at the sight of Damian Wayne actually crying as he sings along to the lyrics, acting as if the singer was right there in front of him and he was a long-time fan.

Then, the music invades his ears, and Tim feels like he is ascending on a different plane. The smooth, near silk-like voice glinds into his chest, rattling his bones, and his knees shake when the man holds a soft, seductive "Oh" for a few seconds longer then necessary.

It sends shivers down his spine.

"What is this!? It's so good!" He screams at the dancing Dick, who laughs.

"I know, right!?"

"It's too good. I think this is a real siren." Tim continues, pressing his hands over his ears. His mind flashes back to the few months he spent with his team, running for a mind-controlling alien that had nearly trapped them in the third space sector. "Dick, we're in danger! Get around from the speakers! Mind control!"

Dick stops dancing with a sigh, muttering under his breath as Tim rushes to the control panel of the speaker system. As soon as he slams it off, Damian releases a screech of an angered cat and launches at him, demanding his music back. Jon flouts nervously on the side as the two youngest Waynes brothers roll on the ground, yelling insults and taking dirty shots.

"I wish I could enjoy things with my siblings without them ruining it." He mumbles, striding forward to break up the fight, only to scream when Tim pulls out pepper spray, yowling like a madman.

"Mind control! Mind control!"

"My EYES! "

"Drake, stop!"

"You'll never get me Siren! Never!"

".I'm going to go get Mr.Wayne!"

"Make haste, Jon! Bring my father to stop this baffoon-my eyes! Drake, you bastard!"

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Online Siren #Part 1 #Crack taken seriously #Danny has a crippling stage fright #Time skip for the last part #The Trio are in gotham but still making music #Damian is tweleve with Jon #Tim is just a tad bit paranoid from his mission #Danny is a star #Who is the greatest online singer?#TW: Panic attacks mentioned

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sturnioz · 6 days ago

Text

‘RIDE.’ — CHRIS STURNIOLO

pairing. chris sturniolo x fem!reader genre. smut, friends with benefits au.

word count. 3.4k

❝you can wear the hat and you can ride me.❞

content warning. friends with benefits, friends to potential lovers, explicit content, porn with some plot, teasing, unprotected sex, riding, light dirty talk, light mentions of hair pulling, creampies.

“Don’t leave—can’t leave. Not yet.” Chris mouths against your neck with what almost sounds like a whine, locking his arm around your waist to pull you flush against his chest as he rubs slow, deliberate circles into your back.

What was supposed to be a simple Friday hangout with your friend with benefits had spiraled into a full weekend together. Friday afternoon bled into Friday night, and before you knew it, Saturday had come and gone just as quickly. Now it’s Sunday morning, and the last two days feel like a blur of messy kisses, tangled sheets, lingering touches and midnight drives for greasy takeout.

You hadn’t intended to stay this long—not that you’re complaining.

You’d even tried to leave Friday night as planned, but Chris had other ideas; he begged and pleaded, wrapping himself around you like a vice, coaxing you to stay just a little longer—much like he’s doing now.

“I can’t stay,” you say, a soft laugh escaping as you squirm away from his persistent touch. “You’ve had me all weekend… don’t be greedy.”

“I am greedy,” Chris counters, his lips curling into a playful grin as he presses a kiss to your neck, his mouth lingering on your skin, warm and inviting, while his arms hold you stubbornly in place. His fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, gripping it like it’s the only thing tethering you to him. “Y’know if you stay, I could make you breakfast…”

You raise an eyebrow, shooting him a sceptical look. “When have you ever made breakfast?”

Chris lets out a dramatic huff against your neck, his breath warm and just the slightest bit damp against your skin from the proximity. Clearly, he’s not above pulling out his most effective strategy: guilt-tripping.

His chin settles against the curve of your shoulder, and his hand continues its soothing path along your side, his thumb brushing idly over the bare sliver of skin just below the hem of your shirt.

“Please just stay?” he whispers, his voice soft but insistent.

“You’ve already had me for the weekend,” you repeat with a light tone as you manage to slip from his arms to settle onto your knees, shifting comfortably in the rumpled sheets to face him and offering him a soft smile.

Chris lets out a low whine of protest at your movement, but despite his best attempt to sulk at you, his gaze betrays him. His eyes roam over you, lingering on the bare skin of your thighs peeking out from beneath the hem of his shorts—the same pair he insisted you borrow when your own clothes became less practical over the weekend.

It’s a sight he definitely doesn’t mind, and judging by the way his lips curl into a faint smirk, his mind is already wandering to places that make you roll your eyes playfully.

Propping himself up, he leans back against his bed, his weight resting on his hands as he arches a brow at you, “... So?”

“So… no.” you simply reply, your smile widening as you meet his gaze.

The pout that spreads across his face is instant and very dramatic—but genuine. He shifts again, this time sitting up fully so he can properly look at you, his expression bordering on desperate as he tries again.

“Please?” he asks, and his tone is far more whinier than normal, but he is trying to convince you to stay. “Please, please, please…?”

He reaches for you, his fingers curling into the hem of your shirt and giving it a few insistent tugs in an attempt to pull you closer.

“C’mon…” he coaxes, his tone softening just a little as he tilts his head and looks at you with those annoyingly irresistible puppy eyes. “One more night won’t hurt, yeah? You’re being mean…”

“I like being mean,” you tease with a smirk, clearly trying to get under his skin. But the smug look on your face is short lived as a surprised squeal escapes your lips when Chris growls—a low, playful snarl—before he suddenly lunges forward. He pounces on you with zero hesitation, rolling you onto the bed until you’re firmly beneath him.

His weight presses you into the mattress, his body caging yours with ease. A wide grin spreads across his flushed face, a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he pins your wrists above your head, holding you in place. Your giggles spill out uncontrollably, and his knee nudges between your thighs, keeping you from squirming away.

“I forgot how much of a brat you are,” he murmurs with a click of his tongue in mock disappointment. He leans down, his lips brushing against yours before capturing them fully in a kiss that’s both firm and playful. Your giggles fade into the kiss, a noise vibrating in your throat when you feel his teeth tug gently at your bottom lip.

But you’re not one to let him win for long.

You pull back just enough to give him a look—one that makes his brow arch in curiosity. His grip on your wrists doesn’t loosen up as he tilts his head slightly, studying your expression.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“I’ll stay,” you begin, drawing it out just enough to keep his attention, “on one condition.”

He narrows his eyes at you, “Which is?”

Your gaze flicks upward, landing on the red backward cap perched on his messy hair. “You let me wear the hat.”

There’s a beat of silence as your words sink in. Then, his expression shifts so dramatically it’s almost comical. He stares at you like you’ve just insulted his entire existence, the disbelief in his face is palpable, and his jaw drops slightly before snapping shut.

“No,” he says flatly, shaking his head, the corners of his mouth tug downward in a stubborn pout. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?” you ask, your tone light but challenging as you look at him.

“... It’s mine.” Chris replies, his voice firm, as if that’s enough of a reason—and to him, it is.

His hats are practically an extension of himself—he rarely goes a day without wearing one, and the idea of letting you wear it feels strange, like he’s going to be handing over a piece of his soul.

He gets defensive just thinking about it.

“Dramatic,” you scoff teasingly, rolling your eyes as you slip your wrists free from his grasp, and with a playful shove to his chest, you push him back onto the mattress, watching as he flops down beside you. “I was going to wear the hat while I ride you, but… never mind.”

Your words are casual, almost dismissive, but they hang heavy in the air and Chris freezes, his flushed face slowly turning toward you in stunned silence. The dumbfounded look he gives you is priceless—his mouth opening slightly, like he’s not entirely sure he heard you right.

The disbelief quickly shifts into irritation… and then something far more heated.

His eyes narrow, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head and he glances up at the ceiling for a moment, as if he’s trying to compose himself, but it’s no use.

His head snaps toward you once again, his voice a little rushed, almost panicked. “Hey—hey… no need to be hasty—”

“Nope.” you cut him off, your tone dead serious, though the teasing glint in your eyes betrays you. You shift away from him, making a show of ignoring him even as he scrambles to pull you back.

“C’mon…” he groans, reaching for your arm, his fingers brushing against your skin. “You can’t just say somethin’ like that and then—”

“I can,” you interrupt, biting back a grin as you keep up the act. “Mood’s ruined.”

“Hey…” he whines, shifting on the bed as he leans over your body, trying to catch your gaze. His expression softens into something resembling desperation, his lips pulling into a slight pout as he frowns. “I don’t think the mood is ruined yet.”

“Yet?” you repeat, sitting up in bed to face him completely, amusement dancing in your eyes as you tilt your head. “Are you telling me the mood’s going to be ruined eventually?”

Chris’ lips twitch into a lopsided, a quiet huff of laughter escaping as he moves in closer, kneeling between your thighs. “I was goin’ to say the mood would be ruined if you actually ignored me and left instead of ridin’ me…” he murmurs, and the smile widens. “But now you’re up—so.”

“Oh? So me sitting up is basically me not ignoring you anymore?”

“Mhm,” he hums as he reaches for your face, his palm cupping your jaw and thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he tilts your head back just enough for your eyes to meet his. His voice drops slightly, his tone low. “So, you gonna put me out of my misery and ride me, or are you just gonna keep teasin’ me?”

You bite down on your bottom lip to hide your smile, your amusement barely contained as you weigh your options. “Do I get to wear the hat?”

“Yeah,” his answer comes instantly—no hesitation, no grumbling, none of what he showed earlier. His eyes remain locked on yours, “You can wear the hat, and you…” he pauses, shifting back slightly until his body is lying flat against the bed, one of his arms resting behind his head as he slowly crooks his fingers, beckoning you closer. “....can ride me.”

You smile widely, swinging a leg over to straddle his lap and his hand instinctively drops to your hips, guiding you closer with ease. His fingers squeeze the supple flesh beneath the shorts you’re wearing, and a quiet hum escapes him as his other hand reaches up to grab the hat from his head.

“There we go…” he murmurs softly as his eyes rake over you once the hat is on your head. His gaze travels the length of your front, lingering on the way you adjust the cap. You wear it backwards—just like he does—and the simple action makes something shift in his expression.

Chris watches you with wide eyes, his lips parting slightly as he takes in the sight of you. It’s something he didn’t expect to affect him this much, leaving him completely speechless for a moment.

He swallows hard, trying to push past the lump in his throat as his hands slide unconsciously up and down your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you catch the faintest twitch in his jaw as he fights the urge to make a sound of protest when you rise up on your knees, taking your weight off his lap.

But the protest dies on his lips when he sees why.

His eyes drop, immediately drawn to the way your fingers fumble with the waistband of your shorts. The fabric slides down, revealing more of your skin inch by inch, and Chris’ gaze darkens, his breathing hitching every so slightly.

There’s no hiding the hunger in his eyes now.

Another quiet hum rumbles deep in his chest as you settle back down in his lap, and his hands find their way to your hips again, this time gripping just a little tighter.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, “You look fuckin’ good in my hat.”

You smirk, leaning forward just slightly, “And you didn’t want me to wear it at first,” you tease as you grip his shirt, slowly pulling it up.

Chris grins and lifts his arms above his own head to let you pull the shirt off of him, letting the material land somewhere off the edge of the bed as his muscles flex beneath you. But the slight attitude in your tone earns you a light pinch against one plump thigh, causing you to jump and giggle softly.

“I was being stupid…” he tells you, gently rubbing your thighs once again in a silent signal for you to just get on with it. “Now, you gonna keep distractin’ me, or are you gonna ride me?”

“So demanding,” you tease once again, but you let out a fake sigh and click the roof of your mouth with your tongue as you stare down at his own shorts that he’s wearing. “Can’t really do much with those in the way, y’know? Looks like I’ll just have to sit here… all comfortable…and not do anything…”

A low rumble vibrates through Chris’ chest at that, and the grip he has on you tightens at your words. He’s trying his hardest to maintain his composure; to not give you the satisfaction of seeing him lose it so quickly—even if there is an obvious strain in his shorts.

His breaths grow slightly ragged, and his eyebrows furrow. “Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not teasing you.”

“You’re sittin’ on my lap in nothin’ but your underwear—you’re teasin’ me,” he frowns, pressing his fingers into your thighs once again as he stares up at you. “You.. you can’t sit there and not do anythin’... you’re really—”

Chris is cut off by his own sharp gasp, his eyes shooting down toward his lap as you shift just a little more firmly on him, grinding your covered pussy on the bulge in his shorts.

“Really what?” you press with a teasing tone.

A noise catches in his throat at your question, and his eyes flit up to look at your face. He looks almost taken aback at the grind, and he swears he can feel the dampness from your cunt seep against his clothed lap.

“Don’t... don’t move like that.”

“No?” you hum, feigning innocence as you tilt your head to the side. “And I thought you wanted a ride?”

“You’re enjoyin’ this too much,” Chris glares with a growl, tonguing at his cheek. “If you keep grindin’ on me like that, then I’ll flip you over.”

“Well… that’s not nice.”

A hint of annoyance flashes across Chris’ face at your relentless teasing, and he shifts back a little as he leans up on his forearms. He’s looking up at you intently, and his jaw clenches to keep himself from flipping you over and taking you right then and there.

“You’re being…” he mutters under his breath, unable to finish his sentence as his biceps flex, struggling to fight back the urges.

“Sorry,” you whisper with a giggle and a smile, leaning down to press a quick kiss to his forehead. “But.. seriously. I can’t ride you if you’re wearing your shorts.”

Chris exhales deeply before he begrudgingly loosens his grip on your legs and moves his hands down to the waistband of his shoes, lifting his hips up a little to push the material down. It bunches somewhere down around his ankles and he relaxes back against the pillows, his expression a bit smug as he looks up at you again, his arms coming up to rest beneath his head.

“There. Better…?”

“Much,” you grin as you bite down on your bottom lip, peeling your damp panties to the side as you angle yourself above him, gripping his cock with one hand to gently rub it through your puffy folds, causing him to hiss. You pause for a moment, staring at him, trying not to smirk, “D’you want to be my boyfriend?”

Chris lets out a huff of surprise, the question taking him so off guard that he just blinks at you. “Huh—w-what—” he falters, his brows knitting together as his expression contorts. “I—yeah, yes,” he stops himself short to clear his throat. “I’ll be your boyfriend.”

“Okay.”

“Why would you—” Chris’ question is cut short by a strangled noise that emits from the back of his throat, and he nearly chokes on the sounds as he watches you sit down onto his lap, his cock sliding between your folds to sink into your heat. “Fuck—you didn’t warn me you were gonna do that—shit.”

He lets out another strangled gasp as you squeeze your gummy walls around his cock, and you grin as you watch his head fall back against the pillows: one of his arms shooting up to cover his eyes, his face a mixture of pleasure and overwhelmingness.

“Shit—shit—hold on, can you—” There’s a pause, a shaky breath drawn between his lips as he tries to steady himself. His voice falters and breaks, and his muscles start trembling beneath you. “N-nevermind, just… keep—keep going.”

Slowly and deliberately, you begin to rock back and forth, grinding against him with each movement, and he moans softly, his hands moving down to your ass as you ride him. He feels like his head is spinning, feeling every inch of your hot, wet pussy wrapped around his cock, and his gaze draws to where you’re connected like a magnet.

You let out a shaky breath, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you brace your hands on his chest, taking him deeper inside of you as you roll your hips, his cock rubbing your walls and brushing against your cervix.

Chris sits up to lean against the headboard comfortably, and he mouths gentle kisses across your throat as his hands move up your spine, the pads of his fingers pressing against your skin to keep you close to him.

“Feel so fuckin’ good—tight… s’wet f’me,” his voice is a faint grumble against the warm skin of your neck, and he nips at your pulse point.

“Am I?” you hum softly, raking your fingers through Chris’ hair, gently tugging at the curly roots and a soft grunt escapes him. He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you in closer, his nose brushing the side of your neck as he mumbles a few faint grumbles to himself, panting as you clench around him.

“Mhm..” he affirms quietly, his teeth grazing your pulse point once again before he begins to kiss and suck at the spot.

You pick up the pace, an airy whine slipping from your lips as he pulls you down harder onto his cock, your breath hitching at the back of your throat as you alternate between bouncing and rolling your hips in circular motions when the strain in your thighs becomes too much.

Chris lets out a low groan when you tease him with shallow bounces, sinking back down to the hit before repeating the process. He tugs his head away from your neck, and he takes a moment to really look at you now.

“Fuck, baby…” he breathes out, his fingertips digging into your skin once again as his eyes darken. “Look at you…”

Chris swallows thickly as he takes you in; he’s practically in a trance with the way your eyes look a little hazy, and how your lips are parted to take shallow breaths as you ride his cock wearing his hat. It’s an image that’s going to be burned into his mind forever—something that he refuses to forget as his chest heaves when you roll your hips down against his.

Chris’ hands slide around from your back to thumb at your hardened nipples, and he smiles when you arch your back, pushing your chest further into his touch, desperate for more stimulation. He squeezes and rolls the sensitive bud between his fingers, and you cry out in pleasure as you clench around his throbbing cock.

Sweat glistens on each of your skins as you both lose yourself in the moment, and you gasp as he grabs your waist this time to guide your movements, bucking his hips up into yours to drive himself deeper into your pussy with a hiss.

Each plunge sends waves of pleasure through your body, making your head spin. You feel so full and stretched out, and the sensation of your clit rubbing against his pubic bone with every roll of your hips makes your breath come in sharp gasps, your lungs burning as your heart pounds in your chest.

You feel Chris’ hands roam over your curves, and his fingers dig into the plush skin of your ass as he urges you on.

“Fuck, m’gonna cum soon,” his voice strains, his eyes locking onto yours. “Gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna fill y’up so fuckin’ good.”

“Cum,” you beg through heavy pants, clenching your inner walls around him. “Please… cum for me. Fill me. I need it.”

Your mouth drops open as Chris thrusts upward, burying himself to the hilt within your pussy as he spills inside of you, his cock pulsating as he fills you up. A sharp cry escapes your lips as it triggers your own, and your muscles spasm wildly in time with the erratic pumps of his hips.

Both of your bodies tremble and shudder, and your arms loosely cling to Chris’ shoulders as you collapse against his chest, tucking your face in the crevice of his neck as he hums softly, holding your close as he strokes your sweaty back.

#chris sturniolo smut #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets smut #©sturnioz

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amkyor · 1 month ago

Note

Hey! I'm a big fan, annnd I have a bakugou x y/n idea... where bakugou hasn't been paying attention to y/n his girlfriend lately and it's been lonely.... so y/n is watching a romance anime with Mina and y/n says... "I wish I had that"....and then Mina ask if she loves bakugou and she says ...."hes okay"..... but the whole time bakugou and his friend kirishima were listening....and bakugou his mind is like "I'm a bad boyfriend? Does she love me? Im...okay?"

K. BAKUGO SHORT STORY

Synopsis: Bakugo has been distant toward his girlfriend (you), and she realizes how much it is actually affecting her while watching a romance movie that includes the love that she wishes she had.

Short note: Chapter 23 of my Bakugo x Reader Fanfiction is out now! If you like my stories on here, I'm sure you'll like my fanfiction, so go check it out! The link is at the end of this post!!

Distance Between Us:

It all started slowly, too slow for you to realize.

The day you started to notice it was when it was late in the evening, and you were sitting on the couch, waiting for Bakugo to come home.

He had promised to spend the evening with you after work, but as the hours ticked by, your excitement turned into frustration. Finally, you heard the front door open.

Bakugo walked in, still in his hero uniform, his face tired and serious. "Sorry, I got held up at work. Some idiot caused a mess in the city," he muttered, tossing his gloves onto the table.

You smiled, trying to be understanding. "It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re home now. Want me to heat up the dinner I made for us?"

"Not hungry," he replied shortly, already pulling out his phone. "I need to check the patrol schedule for tomorrow. There’s a lot going on."

You sighed, your shoulders dropping. "Katsuki, can’t it wait? You’ve been working all day. We barely get time together."

But he didn’t seem to hear you, his eyes glued to the screen. "Huh? Yeah, sure, whatever you say."

The evening dragged on, and though he was physically present, his mind remained consumed by hero work.

You ended up eating dinner alone while he sat at the kitchen table, typing away on his laptop.

---

Another time was when he had made plans out of nowhere to hang out with his friends and ditch out on the two of you had planned.

It was a rare weekend when Bakugo didn’t have patrol or missions lined up.

You had planned a quiet day together—something simple, just the two of you.

But as you were setting up breakfast, his phone buzzed on the counter.

Bakugo glanced at the screen and smirked. "It’s Kirishima. He wants to hit the gym and grab lunch afterward. I’ll be back later."

Your stomach sank. "I thought today was for us? We haven’t had a day off together in weeks, Katsuki."

He blinked as if realizing for the first time that you might have feelings about this. "We can hang out later. It’s not like I’m gone all day. Plus, I haven’t seen the guys in a while."

You bit your lip, trying to keep your disappointment in check. "But we haven’t seen each other in a while either."

He paused for a second, then ruffled your hair in a halfhearted gesture. "Come on, it’s not a big deal. I’ll see you tonight." Before you could argue further, he was already grabbing his gym bag and heading out the door.

---

Another day came, and he did the same.

Bakugo’s dedication to his work often left him exhausted, and his sleep schedule was all over the place.

One night, you stayed up late, waiting for him to come to bed.

You had something important to talk about, but he was still in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, catching up on sleep.

"Katsuki," you called softly, standing in the doorway.

He grunted, barely lifting his head. "What is it?"

"I wanted to talk to you about something. It’s been on my mind for a while."

He groaned, sitting up slightly. "Can it wait? I just got back from a double shift, and I’m dead tired."

"But it’s important," you insisted, stepping closer.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Y/n, I can’t deal with anything serious right now. Let’s talk tomorrow, okay?"

The next day came and went, and so did the conversation. You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d ever get the timing right.

---

Then, of course, came another.

One evening, Bakugo was in the backyard, practicing his explosions while you watched from the patio.

You had been waiting for him to finish so you could spend some quality time together, but he was completely absorbed in his training.

"Hey, Katsuki," you called out, waving at him. "How much longer are you going to be out here?"

"Not now, babe," he shouted back, his voice carrying over the sound of crackling explosions. "I’m almost done!"

Almost turned into an hour, and by the time he came inside, you were curled up on the couch, half-asleep.

He walked past you, grabbing a water bottle from the kitchen.

"Sorry, I lost track of time," he said, but there was no apology in his tone.

You gave him a small smile, too tired to argue. "It’s okay," you mumbled, though deep down, you wondered if he even realized how much you had been waiting for him.

---

In each of these scenarios, Bakugo’s priorities—whether work, friends, or personal routines—seemed to overshadow his time with you. While his intentions might not be malicious, his actions often left you feeling overlooked and craving the attention he gave to everything else in his life.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The evening was calm, the golden light of the setting sun filtering through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow across the counters.

You stood at the stove, carefully stirring the simmering pot of stew. The gentle aroma of sautéed vegetables, rich broth, and spices filled the air, blending seamlessly with the soft hum of the overhead fan.

Tonight, you had decided to prepare something special—something hearty and comforting, like the conversation you hoped to have with Bakugo.

It had been a while since the two of you had truly spent time together.

His hero work had consumed most of his days, leaving you with fleeting moments of his presence.

You understood, of course, the weight of his responsibilities, but that didn’t make the distance any easier.

So, as a gesture of love and an attempt to reconnect, you had spent the better part of the evening preparing this meal.

The kitchen was cozy, lit by the soft glow of under-cabinet lights.

Plates were set neatly on the table, silverware arranged perfectly beside them.

A bottle of chilled sparkling water stood in the center, and the faint crackle of the stovetop added a soothing rhythm to the room.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, noting the time. He should be home any minute now.

You adjusted the flame under the pot, letting the stew bubble gently, and moved to check on the freshly baked bread cooling on the counter.

The sound of the front door opening broke the quiet, followed by the rustling of heavy boots on the doormat.

Your heart gave a small flutter at the familiar noise.

He was home.

You didn’t look up from your task, your focus fixed on the pot as you gave it one last stir.

Toward the front door, the faint creak of the door closing reached your ears, followed by the soft thud of a duffle bag hitting the floor.

Bakugo’s presence filled the space immediately, even without a word.

The faint scent of smoke and ash mingled with the aroma of dinner, a signature of his return after a long day on patrol.

You heard the stretch of leather as he raised his arms high above his head, likely working out the stiffness from hours of action.

His footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as he made his way down the hall.

You could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, his hair likely a mess from the day’s exertion.

The sound of his approach grew louder, each step deliberate yet unhurried, as if he were easing back into the calm of home.

You stayed at the stove, stirring slowly, waiting for him to join you in the kitchen, the moment of connection hanging in the air like the steam rising from the pot.

The clatter of the wooden spoon against the pot ceased as you set it down gently on the counter.

Wiping your hands on the apron tied snugly around your waist, you turned toward the kitchen's pillared entrance.

The soft shuffle of Bakugo’s steps nearing the kitchen tugged at your curiosity, and you couldn’t help but abandon your task momentarily.

You stepped around the corner, leaning casually against the frame of the kitchen entrance.

Resting your hand lightly on the wall, you peeked out toward him.

The sight of Bakugo, mid-stretch with his arms behind his head, immediately brought a fond smile to your lips.

His usual scowl was softened by a tiredness that clung to him, his messy ash-blond hair catching the dim light of the hallway.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck, likely sore from a long day.

His broad shoulders rolled slightly as he worked out the tension, the faint sound of his knuckles popping filling the quiet space.

The corners of your lips curled further upward as you admired him in his element—worn out yet still exuding the confidence and strength you loved about him.

Before you could say anything, his crimson gaze lifted, finally catching sight of you standing there.

His expression didn’t shift much—just a subtle raise of his brows as if to acknowledge your presence.

You straightened slightly, your smile warm and inviting as you prepared to greet him.

But before you could utter a word, he spoke first, his gravelly voice breaking the silence.

“I’m going upstairs to shower. Gotta get this grime off my body.” His tone was matter-of-fact, and he started walking toward you without breaking stride, cracking his knuckles as he moved.

Your smile didn’t falter as he approached, though the hurriedness of his words made you hesitate. “Oh, well, that’s great,” you began, your voice light and teasing. “But don’t take too long becau—”

“Oh yeah, by the way, before I forget,” he interrupted, his voice cutting through yours without a hint of malice, just his usual bluntness. “The gang and I are gonna hang out later, so I won’t be home for long.”

The abruptness of his words hit you like a splash of cold water. Your mouth hung slightly open mid-sentence, the rest of your words caught in your throat.

Bakugo’s gaze didn’t linger long, already focused ahead as though his announcement was nothing out of the ordinary.

Bakugo’s heavy boots thudded softly against the wooden floor as he approached you, his expression unreadable but relaxed.

He stopped just in front of you, his tall frame towering slightly over yours.

The familiar scent of ash and sweat lingered faintly, a testament to his grueling day.

Without a word, his hand reached out, rough but warm, and landed gently on your head.

His fingers ruffled through your hair in a way that was both playful and dismissive, tousling it slightly.

A light smirk played on his lips as he pulled his hand back, his crimson eyes meeting yours briefly.

“I know you can handle things here, so I’ll leave you to it,” he said, his voice low and casual, like he hadn’t just brushed past the idea of spending time with you.

As you stood out in front of him, the confidence and courage you had gathered from cooking in the kitchen had disappeared.

Now that you felt this way, there was no way you were going to bring up spending time with him over dinner.

Even though you had spent all evening preparing this relaxing for the both of you to enjoy, you couldn’t bring yourself to to tell him.

You were scared that if you had opened up, he might have gotten angry and dismissed all your worries with his furrowed brows.

Your heart sank a little at his words, but you forced a small smile, not wanting to let it show.

He turned on his heel without a second glance, his footsteps carrying him toward the staircase that led to the second floor of your shared home.

As he walked, his broad shoulders swayed slightly, his relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the tension that suddenly gripped your chest.

You stood frozen for a moment, your mouth hanging slightly open, the words you wanted to say stuck somewhere in your throat.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked rapidly, willing them away. You hated how they burned, how they threatened to spill over.

This wasn’t the first time Bakugo had brushed things off, but tonight, with the effort you’d put into dinner and the mounting distance you felt between you two, it stung more than usual.

He reached the first step of the staircase, his hand brushing against the railing as he prepared to ascend.

At you stood, something inside you snapped—a small but resolute voice urging you not to let the moment slip by.

Swallowing hard, you gathered the courage you had left, your voice trembling slightly but steady enough to cut through the air.

“Can I go too?”

Bakugo paused mid-step, his back still facing you, as the silence stretched between you both.

For a moment, you wondered if he had even heard you or if he’d continue up the stairs without a response.

Then, he turned his head slightly, revealing his side profile, his crimson eyes glancing at you.

“You wanna come?” he asked, his tone even and unreadable, a single brow raised in surprise.

Your hands instinctively came together, fidgeting as you avoided his gaze.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Gathering a bit more courage, you glanced up at him, noticing his blank expression.

It only lasted a second before you looked down again, unsure how your request would be received. “I mean, if that’s okay…”

Bakugo stared at you for a beat longer, his brow still raised as if trying to gauge your seriousness.

Then, his features softened, his raised brow lowering as he gave a small, nonchalant nod.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” he said, his voice carrying a casualness that made it hard to tell how he really felt.

Without another word, he turned back toward the stairs.

Relief washed over you, and a small smile crept onto your face as you followed his movements with your eyes.

It wasn’t much, but his agreement made you feel a little better, a small step toward closing the gap that had been forming between you two.

As Bakugo reached the first step of the staircase, he stopped again, his hand on the railing.

He turned his head just enough to look back at you, his expression neutral but firm.

“I’m leaving by 6, so get ready,” he said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Then, without waiting for a response, he ascended the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through the quiet house.

You stood there in the kitchen, your smile slowly fading as his words sank in.

Glancing at the half-finished dinner you’d worked so hard on, your arms dropped to your sides, mirroring the exhaustion settling in your chest.

The kitchen felt colder now, emptier, as you stood there alone, staring at the plans you’d made that now felt insignificant.

With a deep breath, you tried to shake off the weight of disappointment, forcing yourself to move and tidy up the counter.

But no matter how much you willed yourself to focus on the task at hand, the sting of his casual dismissal lingered, leaving a quiet ache in its wake.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The soft hum of the Porsche's engine filled the quiet evening air as Bakugo sat in the driver’s seat, his hand drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel.

His gaze occasionally flicked toward the house, his sharp crimson eyes scanning for any sign of you.

The minutes ticked by, and though he didn’t say it out loud, he was growing impatient.

But there was a part of him that understood why you were taking your time—he had sprung this last-minute outing on you, and you deserved a moment to get ready properly.

Inside, you were slipping on your white Converse, carefully tying the laces with precision.

The finishing touch to your outfit had just been added—a chic combination of blue jeans, a navy blue tank top, and a white cardigan that fell perfectly against your frame.

You smoothed down the fabric, giving yourself a once-over in the mirror by the door.

Your navy blue purse rested comfortably on your shoulder, and the messy bun you’d styled earlier sat perfectly atop your head, with the white headband completing the look.

Satisfied, you grabbed your keys and reached for the door handle.

As you stepped outside, the soft glow of the porch light illuminated your figure.

The evening air was cool against your skin, and the faint scent of freshly cut grass lingered.

You glanced toward the sleek black Porsche parked in the driveway, where Bakugo sat waiting for you.

Inside the car, Bakugo looked up as the light from the open door seeped out, drawing his attention.

His sharp gaze landed on you, and for a moment, his breath hitched.

You looked stunning—effortlessly chic yet understated, the kind of beauty that didn’t need to try too hard.

The way the soft curls framed your face, the navy blue of your tank top complementing your skin, and the casual elegance of your outfit made his heart skip a beat.

He blinked, trying to maintain his usual composure, but the faintest tint of pink crept onto his cheeks, betraying him.

It was subtle, just enough to hint at the effect you had on him, but it was there.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly as he tore his eyes away for a brief second, trying to recover.

"Damn," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the dashboard as if it could somehow distract him.

But his gaze inevitably drifted back to you, his expression softening in a way only you could bring out in him.

He didn't say anything just yet—he wasn’t the type to gush—but the way his cheeks betrayed a rare blush spoke volumes.

The soft hum of the Porsche’s engine was steady as Bakugo sat, his hand draped nonchalantly over the steering wheel while the other rested against his mouth.

His sharp crimson eyes flicked away from you as you descended the steps toward the car, trying to keep his focus elsewhere.

The blush that had crept onto his cheeks earlier lingered faintly, and though he wouldn’t admit it, seeing you like this had thrown him off his usual composure.

You opened the passenger door with care, stepping into the car and adjusting yourself in the plush seat.

The faint scent of Bakugo’s cologne mingled with the new-car smell, giving the cabin a warmth that was uniquely him.

As you closed the door gently behind you, you glanced up to see him leaning against the driver’s side, his elbow propped on the car door and his hand casually gripping the wheel.

His relaxed posture was natural, but the way his eyes darted toward you from the corners of his vision betrayed a subtle curiosity.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said softly, brushing a loose curl behind your ear.

Your voice broke the quiet tension, and you weren’t sure if you imagined his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“It’s fine,” he replied, his tone gruff yet calm, as he adjusted himself in the seat and placed both hands on the wheel.

Hearing the simplicity of his response made you smile, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest.

You carefully removed your bag from your shoulder, placing it neatly on your lap.

Bakugo, meanwhile, shifted the car into reverse, the soft rumble of the engine vibrating beneath you as he backed out of the driveway with precision.

You stole a quick glance at him from the corners of your eyes.

The streetlights outside cast a warm, golden hue that framed his sharp jawline and stern features as he focused on maneuvering the car.

He looked so effortlessly confident, so in control—it was hard not to admire him.

Reaching up, you flipped open the vanity mirror above your head, giving yourself a quick once-over.

You smoothed down a stray curl and checked your lipstick, making sure everything was still in place.

Satisfied, you closed the mirror with a soft click and adjusted in your seat, letting your gaze wander back to him.

The quiet of the ride was broken only by the sound of the tires rolling over asphalt and the faint hum of the radio playing low in the background.

You bit your lip lightly, debating whether or not to say what had been on your mind.

Finally, you took a small breath, your fingers beginning to fidget nervously with the strap of your bag.

“Sooo…” you began, your voice tentative as you glanced out the window, gathering your thoughts.

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately, his focus remaining on the road ahead. His silence urged you to continue, so you did.

“How do I look?” you asked, your tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

Your gaze flickered toward him briefly before quickly looking back down at your lap, where your fingers continued to toy with your bag strap.

The quiet hum of the car filled the space between you and Bakugo, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes were fixed on the road, one hand on the wheel, while the other rested lazily on the gear shift.

You waited patiently, watching him through your peripheral vision, hoping for some kind of reaction to your question.

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze momentarily darting toward you before returning to the street ahead.

The streetlights flickered as they passed, casting warm, golden hues across his sharp features.

His silence stretched on, and for a moment, you wondered if he hadn’t heard you.

Finally, Bakugo turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering toward you.

His gaze traveled up and down, taking in the effort you’d put into your outfit—the way your cardigan fell over your tank top, the way your jeans fit perfectly, and the way you’d styled your hair just so.

His expression remained stoic, but his eyes lingered just a beat longer than usual before he turned back to the road.

“You look,” he began, his voice even though there was a slight edge of hesitation.

He glanced at you again, briefly meeting your expectant gaze before focusing back on the street.

You could see his jaw tighten slightly, as if he were searching for the right words. “Good.”

That was it. Just one single, lackluster word.

Your shoulders sank immediately, the corners of your mouth pulling down as disappointment washed over you.

You slumped back into the passenger seat, crossing your arms loosely over your chest and shifting your gaze out the window.

You had spent so much time getting ready, hoping that maybe this time, he’d notice—really notice—and say something that would make you feel special.

But “good” was all you got.

Bakugo, on the other hand, was far from unaffected, though he certainly didn’t show it.

His mind was racing, replaying the moment he’d glanced at you and the way your face had lit up with hope.

His knuckles tightened slightly on the steering wheel, and a bead of sweat formed at his temple as frustration with himself began to build.

His brows furrowed as he stole another glance at you.

You were staring out the window now, your expression unreadable but your body language screaming disappointment.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, gripping the wheel tighter.

You remained quiet, sinking further into your seat as the car rolled through the neighborhood streets.

Your fingers toyed with the edge of your cardigan, your mind replaying the moment over and over.

Maybe you’d set yourself up for disappointment.

Maybe this was just who he was—gruff, blunt, and not the type to shower you with compliments.

Still, you couldn’t help the small ache in your chest.

Bakugo’s jaw clenched as he continued to drive, the silence between you both growing heavier with each passing second.

───────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

The drive to Kirishima’s house was silent, the tension lingering like an unspoken weight between you and Bakugo.

He didn’t try to make conversation, and honestly, you weren’t sure you’d be able to respond even if he did.

Your disappointment sat heavy in your chest, though you were doing your best to push it down and keep your composure.

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of Kirishima’s house, Bakugo shifted into park and stepped out without a word, slamming his door behind him.

You sighed softly, your fingers gripping the strap of your purse as you reached for the handle of the passenger door.

Opening it, you slid out of the car, closing it gently behind you.

Bakugo was already several steps ahead, his strong strides carrying him toward the house without so much as a glance back at you.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling tight as you followed behind him, your fingers nervously playing with the strap of your purse.

You felt small and distant, the space between you and Bakugo feeling far more than just physical.

As Bakugo reached the front porch, the sound of laughter and chatter drifted through the air, spilling out from behind the closed door.

The lively atmosphere of the gathering inside only seemed to amplify the quiet distance you felt from him.

Bakugo raised a hand and knocked on the door firmly, stepping back slightly as he waited.

You stopped a few paces behind him, your hands gripping your purse strap tightly as your mind raced.

You were determined to stand tall, to keep your emotions in check and not let anyone see how you were feeling.

The door swung open after a few seconds, revealing Kirishima’s grinning face.

His red hair was as wild as ever, and his cheerful energy was almost infectious.

“Yo, man! You made it!” Kirishima greeted Bakugo with a hearty slap on the shoulder before turning his attention to you. “Hey! Good to see you too!”

“Hey, Kiri,” you said softly, forcing a small smile as you stepped closer to the door.

“Come on in! Everyone’s already here,” Kirishima said, stepping aside to let the two of you in.

You followed Bakugo inside, the warmth and energy of the room enveloping you immediately.

Mina, Jirou, Denki, and Sero were sprawled out in the living room, laughing and chatting amongst themselves.

Mina was the first to notice your arrival, her eyes lighting up as she waved enthusiastically.

“Hey, you two!” Mina called out, jumping up from her seat and rushing over to you.

She wrapped you in a quick hug, her bubbly personality as bright as always. “You look so cute tonight! I love your outfit!”

“Thanks, Mina,” you replied, your smile faltering slightly as you glanced toward Bakugo.

He was already making his way toward the group, offering a brief nod of acknowledgment before settling into a seat near Sero.

Denki grinned, leaning back on the couch and tossing a chip into his mouth. “Look who finally decided to show up. We thought you might’ve bailed on us, Bakugo.”

“Shut it, Sparky,” Bakugo shot back, though there was no real bite in his tone.

As the group erupted into laughter, you found yourself lingering near the edge of the room, unsure where to place yourself.

Mina noticed your hesitation and grabbed your arm gently.

“Come sit with us! You can’t just stand there looking all pretty and quiet,” she teased, leading you toward the group.

You let her guide you, settling into a spot on the couch beside Jirou.

The lively conversation around you was a stark contrast to the swirling emotions in your chest, but you did your best to blend in, laughing when it felt appropriate and nodding along to the banter.

All the while, your eyes occasionally flicked toward Bakugo.

He was laughing with Sero and Denki, his usual gruff demeanor softened slightly by the presence of his friends.

But not once did he look your way, and that small detail gnawed at you more than you wanted to admit.

You inhaled deeply, forcing yourself to focus on the moment and not the ache in your chest.

Tonight was about being with friends, and you were determined to make the most of it, even if things with Bakugo felt more complicated than ever.

You sat on the couch, nestled between Jirou and Mina, trying to focus on their lively conversation.

Bakugo was across the room, laughing with Sero and Denki as if the weight of the world didn’t exist.

You glanced at him briefly, your chest tightening before quickly averting your eyes back to Mina, who was animatedly recounting a story about a recent date with Kirishima.

“So, get this,” Mina said, her face lit with excitement. “Kiri and I went to this new arcade last week, right? And they had this claw machine he swore he could beat. It was filled with these little red dragon plushies—totally his thing, you know?”

Jirou smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Let me guess. He spent way too much money trying to win one?”

“Way too much!” Mina exclaimed, throwing her hands up dramatically. “But he finally got it, and he was so proud of himself. It was adorable.” She giggled, her expression softening.

“Honestly, though, it’s not even about the claw machine. Kiri and I just… we have fun, you know? We go out, we talk about everything.”

Jirou nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “That’s exactly how it is with me and Denki. He’s a dork, but he’s my dork. We go to concerts, hang out at record stores, and just… talk. Like, really talk. He tells me about his day, his dreams, even the dumb stuff that happens during patrols. It’s nice, being so connected.”

The warmth in their voices as they spoke about their relationships was palpable, and it made you feel like a shadow in their light.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the tightness in your throat.

“And you,” Mina said, turning her bright eyes toward you. “How are things with you and Bakugo?”

Jirou tilted her head, her expression curious but kind. “Yeah, how’s it going? You two seem solid.”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out at first.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your cardigan, and you forced a smile, even as your chest felt like it was caving in.

“Oh, we’re fine,” you said, your voice a little too high-pitched. You cleared your throat quickly, trying to steady yourself. “Everything’s good. Really good.”

Mina beamed. “That’s great! You two are like, the power couple. I mean, he’s Bakugo—grumpy as hell but so in love with you. It’s obvious.”

“Totally,” Jirou added, nodding. “You balance each other out, right? He’s all intensity, and you’re like this calming presence. It works.”

You laughed softly, the sound hollow to your own ears. “Yeah, it works,” you echoed.

They bought it, smiling warmly at you before diving back into their own banter.

But inside, you felt like you were crumbling.

The truth was, things weren’t fine.

They hadn’t been for a while. Bakugo’s constant focus on work, his friends, and his own world had left you feeling like an afterthought.

You glanced at him again.

He was leaning back in his chair, laughing at something Denki said, his sharp features softened by the rare smile on his face.

It was a side of him you loved, but right now, it only made the ache in your chest worse.

Forcing yourself to stay present, you turned back to Mina and Jirou, nodding along to their conversation.

You couldn’t let them see the truth—not here, not now.

So you plastered on your smile and pretended everything was fine, even as the weight of your unspoken feelings threatened to crush you.

---

An hour passed as you, Mina, and Jirou chatted away about everything under the sun—relationships, patrol stories, and even a hilarious moment when Denki shocked himself trying to fix a broken lamp.

Despite the warmth of their company, a small part of you still felt detached, your earlier feelings lingering like a shadow.

Mina, ever the bubbly one, suddenly perked up. “Hey, I just thought of something! Let’s go to the other room and watch a movie! I’ve been dying to see that new romance everyone’s talking about. What do you think?”

Jirou shrugged, a hint of a smile on her face. “Sounds good to me. I could use a break from all the noise out there.”

You hesitated, but the thought of getting away from the others, even for a little while, seemed appealing. “Yeah, sure,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The three of you made your way to a quieter room down the hall.

It was cozier than the bustling main area, with soft lighting and a plush couch that wrapped around most of the room.

The atmosphere immediately felt more intimate and calm, a perfect escape.

Mina grabbed the remote and flopped onto one side of the couch. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road!”

Jirou settled next to her, her legs tucked beneath her while you took the other end of the couch.

The movie started, its opening scenes filled with charming banter and budding romance.

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the story drawing you in.

As the movie progressed, the lighthearted moments gave way to more emotional scenes.

The characters faced challenges, their love tested by misunderstandings and miscommunications.

Then, the pivotal scene arrived.

The male lead stood in the rain, his face etched with regret as he argued with the female lead.

Her voice broke as she shouted, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t get it! I feel invisible to you!” she cried, her words hitting too close to home for your comfort.

Your chest tightened as you watched her crumble, her emotions raw and unfiltered.

The male lead, realizing his mistake, stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed against his chest.

Your heart ached, the scene striking a chord that you couldn’t ignore.

The floodgates opened, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face.

Your breathing grew shallow, and your palms began to sweat as you clutched the couch cushion beside you.

Mina and Jirou, engrossed in the movie, didn’t seem to notice your reaction at first.

But as you sniffled quietly, Jirou glanced over, her expression softening. “Hey, you okay?” she asked, her voice gentle.

You quickly wiped your cheeks, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… really emotional,” you said, your voice wavering slightly.

Mina turned her head, concern flickering in her eyes. “It’s okay to cry, you know. Scenes like this get me every time,” she said, offering you a reassuring smile.

You nodded, appreciating their kindness but feeling exposed nonetheless.

The movie continued, but your mind was elsewhere.

The female lead’s words echoed in your head, intertwining with your own unspoken feelings.

“I feel invisible to you.”

The weight of those words settled in your chest, and though you tried to focus on the screen, the tears wouldn’t stop.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep it together, but the truth was, you felt more vulnerable than ever.

The tears came harder, no longer quiet sniffles but soft, trembling sobs that you couldn’t hold back.

The scene on the screen blurred as your vision clouded with tears, and your chest felt impossibly heavy.

Mina and Jirou both turned toward you, their expressions shifting from casual concern to alarm.

“Whoa, hey… are you okay?” Jirou asked, leaning closer, her voice gentle but tinged with worry.

Mina’s brows furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

She grabbed the remote and paused the movie, the room falling into silence except for your shaky breaths.

She scooted closer to you, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

“Alright,” Mina said firmly, her tone serious but warm. “What’s going on? This isn’t just about the movie, is it?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to wipe the tears away with the back of your hand, but they just kept coming.

“It’s nothing,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jirou gave you a skeptical look. “Come on, don’t do that. You’re obviously upset.”

Mina nodded, her grip on your arm tightening just slightly in encouragement. “Yeah, we’re here for you. So whatever it is, just say it.”

For a moment, you hesitated.

The lump in your throat made it hard to speak, and you didn’t want to burden them with your feelings.

But the way they looked at you, genuinely concerned and ready to listen, broke down the last of your defenses.

“It’s… it’s Bakugo,” you finally admitted, your voice cracking as fresh tears rolled down your cheeks. “I just… I feel like we’re drifting apart.”

Mina’s eyes softened, and Jirou tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?” Mina asked, leaning forward, her tone gentle now.

You took a shaky breath, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. “I don’t know… it’s like he’s always so busy, and when he’s home, it’s like I’m not even there. He doesn’t notice when I try to do things for him. I cooked dinner tonight, hoping we could eat together and talk, but he just brushed it off and left to hang out with you guys.”

Mina’s face fell, a pang of guilt crossing her features. Jirou’s lips pressed together, her brow furrowing.

“I know he’s a hero, and I know his job is demanding, but… I just feel so invisible to him sometimes. Like I’m not a priority,” you continued, your voice trembling. “And I’m trying so hard to be okay with it, but it’s just… it’s hard.”

Mina reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t realize things were like this.”

Jirou nodded, her gaze serious. “That sounds really tough. You shouldn’t have to feel like that, especially not with someone who’s supposed to care about you.”

You sniffled, grateful for their support, but still feeling the weight of your emotions. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I love him, but… it feels like he’s slipping away.”

Mina wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting hug. “You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ll figure it out. And honestly, Bakugo needs to hear this too. He probably doesn’t even realize how much he’s hurting you.”

Jirou nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s not exactly the most emotionally aware guy, but he cares about you. You just have to tell him how you feel.”

Their words brought a small measure of comfort, but the thought of confronting Bakugo about your feelings still terrified you.

You knew they were right, though. Something had to change.

You sat there in Mina’s embrace, your tears slowly subsiding, though your chest still felt tight.

The weight of their words lingered, and you knew they were right.

As terrifying as it seemed, you had to talk to Bakugo.

But how? He wasn’t exactly the type to sit down and have a heart-to-heart.

Mina pulled back slightly, her warm hands resting on your shoulders as she looked you in the eye. “You have to tell him,” she said firmly.

“And not in a ‘hinting’ kind of way. Lay it all out. He’s not good at picking up subtle stuff.”

Jirou nodded, leaning back on the couch. “Yeah, Bakugo’s not gonna magically figure it out. But if you’re honest with him, I think he’ll listen. He’s stubborn, but he’s not heartless.”

You sniffled, wiping your face with the sleeve of your cardigan. “I just… I don’t want to come off as needy or like I don’t support him. I know how hard he works.”

Mina sighed, shaking her head. “Girl, no. This isn’t about being needy. This is about being in a relationship where you feel seen and loved. You’re allowed to have needs, too.”

Jirou added, “And honestly? If he doesn’t get that, then that’s on him. Relationships are about both people putting in effort. It’s not all on you.”

You nodded slowly, their words sinking in.

It wasn’t easy to hear, but deep down, you knew they were right.

You couldn’t keep bottling everything up and hoping things would magically improve.

Mina smiled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Look, Bakugo might be a hothead, but he’s not a bad guy. If he knew you were feeling this way, I think he’d do something about it. But you’ve got to give him the chance to step up.”

You sighed, fiddling with the strap of your purse. “I guess I’ll try talking to him later… when we’re alone.”

“Good,” Mina said with a nod, her tone encouraging. “And if you need backup, you know where to find us.”

Jirou smirked slightly. “Yeah, we’ll set him straight if he doesn’t get the message.”

The three of you shared a small laugh, the tension easing just a bit.

Mina grabbed the remote and turned the movie off completely, standing up and stretching.

“Alright, let’s get back to the others before they start wondering what we’re up to.”

You nodded, standing up and smoothing out your clothes.

As the three of you made your way back to the main living room, you felt a mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Anxiety, hope, and determination all competed for space in your heart.

As you stepped into the room, Bakugo was standing near the corner with Kirishima, laughing at something Sero had said.

His usual sharp smirk was etched on his face, but there was something different in the way his eyes flickered toward you, a hint of something unreadable beneath his confident exterior.

For a moment, you just watched him, debating how you’d navigate the rest of the evening while the conversation with Mina and Jirou still echoed in your mind.

What you didn’t know, however, was that Bakugo had heard everything.

It wasn’t intentional.

On his way to the bathroom earlier, he had walked past the closed door of the cozy room where you and the girls had been talking.

At first, he hadn’t thought much of it—just chatter from Mina and Jirou, nothing unusual.

But then he caught the sound of your voice, trembling slightly, and his feet had stopped.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Really, he hadn’t.

But something in your tone made him pause, leaning against the hallway wall just out of sight.

He listened as Mina and Jirou pressed you about how things were going between the two of you.

He heard the way your voice wavered when you said everything was fine—so unconvincing that even he could tell it was a lie.

And then came the confession.

You weren’t happy.

You felt ignored, neglected.

You felt like he didn’t see you anymore.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

You, the person he cared about most, felt like you were slipping away, and he hadn’t even noticed.

His knuckles clenched, and his jaw tightened as he leaned his head back against the wall.

Guilt surged through him, hot and unrelenting. He wasn’t great with emotions; he knew that.

But hearing you spill your heart out to your friends, feeling like he didn’t care enough—it stung more than he wanted to admit.

When Mina and Jirou encouraged you to talk to him, he heard the hesitation in your voice, the fear of being seen as needy or overbearing.

It made his chest ache. You should never feel like that—not with him.

He had walked away before you left the room, needing a moment to collect himself.

By the time he rejoined the group, his mind was racing.

As you stepped into the living room, Mina nudged you gently with her elbow. “You’ve got this,” she whispered before heading to the group, leaving you to take a deep breath and square your shoulders.

Bakugo, standing near the corner, glanced your way.

His sharp smirk remained, but his eyes lingered on you a little longer than usual, softening for the briefest second before he turned back to Kirishima and the others.

He didn’t say anything, but in the back of his mind, he was already planning.

He wouldn’t let you feel like this again. Not if he could help it.

---

The night had wound down, and one by one, everyone began saying their goodbyes.

Mina and Kirishima gave you tight hugs, Mina giving you a reassuring smile as if to silently remind you of the conversation you’d had.

Jirou patted your arm, her subtle way of showing she was rooting for you.

Bakugo, meanwhile, was his usual self—casual nods, a few gruff “See ya’s,” and a fist bump for Kirishima.

His energy seemed as steady as ever, though you noticed the way his eyes flickered toward you more than once, a slight crease in his brow that he didn’t quite hide.

As the two of you made your way to his car, the quietness of the night enveloped you.

The cool breeze brushed against your skin, and the sound of your shoes crunching against the gravel filled the silence.

You felt Bakugo’s presence ahead of you, his confident stride unchanging, though he occasionally glanced back to make sure you were keeping up.

When you reached the car, he pulled his keys from his pocket, unlocked the doors, and slid into the driver’s seat.

You followed, gently closing the passenger door behind you and placing your bag on the floor by your feet.

The faint scent of leather and his cologne filled the space, a scent you usually found comforting.

Without a word, Bakugo started the engine.

The low rumble of the car filled the stillness as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

His hands rested on the wheel, firm but relaxed, his eyes trained on the road ahead.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, trying to read his expression, but it was the same stoic mask he always wore.

The weight of the evening felt heavy in your chest, and despite the warmth of the car, you felt a chill run through you.

The drive was quiet at first, the soft hum of the engine the only sound between you.

You wanted to say something, anything, but the words felt stuck in your throat.

You fidgeted with your fingers, your gaze shifting between the passing streetlights outside and Bakugo’s profile.

He hadn’t said much since you left Kirishima’s house, and it left you wondering if he’d noticed the distance between you—or if it even mattered to him at all.

Bakugo’s hands tightened slightly on the wheel as he drove, his jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was working through something in his mind.

His gaze remained steady, but every now and then, you noticed his eyes flicker toward you, though he said nothing.

The silence was deafening, and with every passing second, it felt like the space between you grew larger.

Finally, unable to take the tension anymore, you shifted in your seat and let out a soft sigh, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Thanks for driving,” you said, your tone polite but distant.

He grunted in response, a low “Yeah,” his focus still on the road.

The quiet settled again, heavier this time, and you found yourself staring out the window, the lights of the city blurring past.

You wanted to say more, to breach the gap between you, but something held you back.

Bakugo, meanwhile, stole another glance at you, his expression unreadable.

He wanted to speak, to address the weight in the air, but the words felt foreign to him.

For now, he just drove, the road stretching ahead, both of you caught in your own thoughts.

The car hummed softly as the city lights flickered past, but the silence between you and Bakugo felt louder than anything else.

You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, your eyes fixed on the blurred scenery.

Your hand rested on your lap, fingers nervously fidgeting with your nails as your thoughts raced.

What had started as disappointment had now spiraled into uncertainty.

You couldn’t shake the weight of the conversation with Mina and Jirou, nor the growing chasm between you and Bakugo.

You’d tried so hard to keep it together, but being here, so close yet feeling so far, made it even harder.

Bakugo kept his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel firm.

Inside, he was battling a storm of emotions.

The echoes of your words from earlier replayed in his mind, mingling with the snippets of the conversation he’d overheard at Kirishima’s.

“I just… I don’t know how much more I can take.”

He wasn’t good with words.

Hell, he wasn’t even good at feelings most of the time. But he wasn’t stupid—he could feel the distance, and it frustrated him because he didn’t know how to close it.

His crimson eyes flickered to you briefly.

The way you sat there, so quiet and withdrawn, tugged at something deep in his chest.

He hated seeing you like this, especially knowing he’d been the one to make you feel this way.

After what felt like forever, Bakugo’s resolve finally cracked.

His hand hesitated on the wheel, fingers tightening for a moment before he let out a sharp breath.

Slowly, almost cautiously, he reached over.

His hand covered yours, warm and slightly rough, the weight of it grounding you.

You blinked, startled by the sudden contact, and turned your head to look at him.

Bakugo didn’t meet your gaze right away.

His eyes stayed focused on the road ahead, his jaw tight, like he was bracing himself for something.

His thumb shifted slightly, brushing against your fingers in an awkward but earnest gesture.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant. “Stop doin’ that.”

You stared at him, confused. “Doing what?”

“Fidgetin’ like that,” he muttered, finally glancing at you for a split second before looking back at the road. “You’ll mess up your nails or somethin’.”

His words were gruff, almost dismissive, but the way his hand stayed on yours told you there was more to it.

He wasn’t just talking about your fidgeting—he was trying, in his own clumsy way, to tell you he cared.

Your chest tightened as you looked down at your joined hands.

The warmth of his touch, the slight awkwardness of the gesture—it all made your emotions bubble up again, but this time, they weren’t as heavy.

“Katsuki…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. “Don’t say it. Not here, not like this.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, and leaned back against the seat.

For the first time that evening, the silence between you didn’t feel quite as suffocating.

The car came to an abrupt stop at a red light, but the tension in the car felt like it had slammed into a wall at full speed.

Bakugo’s hand hovered over the wheel, his knuckles white as he gripped it.

His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, but your anger was a storm now, and it couldn’t be contained.

“Seriously?” you demanded, your voice sharp and trembling. “If not here, then where? If not now, then when?”

Your hand yanked away from his, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold sting of frustration. “You always say that, Bakugo. You always brush our problems away. You… you brush me off like I’m some kind of bug.”

His eyes darted to you, his lips parting as if to defend himself, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“You treat me like I’m not worth your time,” you continued, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions. “Do you even know what I was doing before you came home? I was cooking dinner. For you. For us.”

Your hands shook as you gestured toward him, your words pouring out in a rush. “I did all of that so we could talk, so we could try to fix this. Just so I could know—know for sure—that I mean something to you.”

The light turned green, and Bakugo hit the gas with a little more force than necessary, his jaw tight as he stayed silent.

But you couldn’t stop now.

“But of course,” you spat, your voice rising, “your friends are more important! Work, training, hangouts—all of it is more important than me!”

The car swerved slightly as Bakugo’s grip faltered, and he shot you a glance, his brows furrowed in frustration and guilt. “But they’re not! You’re more important—”

“Don’t give me that crap!” you cut him off, your voice almost a shout now. “If I’m so important, then why do you keep pushing me away? Why do you make time for everyone and everything else but not for me? Huh? Answer me!”

Bakugo’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His silence was deafening, and it only stoked the fire inside you.

“Why, Katsuki?” you pressed, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Why do I have to fight so hard to feel like I matter to you?”

The car pulled into your driveway, and Bakugo threw it into park, his hands gripping the wheel so tightly it looked like he might snap it in two.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the faint hum of the engine.

Finally, Bakugo exhaled sharply and turned to you, his crimson eyes filled with a mixture of guilt, frustration, and something else—something softer, something that looked a lot like regret.

“You do matter,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You mean everything to me, damn it. I just… I don’t know how to show it.”

But you shook your head, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “That’s not enough, Katsuki. It’s not enough to just say it. I need to feel it. And right now, I don’t.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable, as Bakugo stared at you, his expression unreadable.

For once, the explosive hero had no words, and the silence between you felt like it could split the world in two.

Your chest heaved as the emotions you’d been holding in for so long spilled over.

Tears streamed down your face, your voice trembling and raw as you finally let everything out.

“Why couldn’t you have just spent time with me?” you cried, your voice breaking as your gaze locked on Bakugo.

He flinched at the pain in your voice but said nothing, his hands clenching into tight fists on his lap.

“Why couldn’t you see that while you were having fun, I was feeling miserable?!” you continued, your words cutting through the silence like shards of glass.

Bakugo’s eyes darted toward you, filled with a mix of guilt and helplessness, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop.

“Listen, Katsuki...” you began, your voice softer but no less intense. “I love you. So much it hurts.” Your words hung in the air, trembling with sincerity. “But it’s starting to feel like... like you don’t feel the same.”

His head snapped up at that, his crimson eyes wide and frantic. “That’s not true!” he blurted, his voice rough and unsteady. “Don’t—don’t say that, alright?”

But you shook your head, your tears falling harder now. “Then why does it feel like I’m always fighting for your attention? Fighting for a moment of your time?”

Your voice cracked, and you pressed a trembling hand to your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together.

Bakugo opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.

His jaw tightened, and his gaze fell to his lap, his fingers gripping his knees so hard it looked painful.

You could see the frustration, the guilt, the turmoil swirling in his expression, but it wasn’t enough.

It didn’t fix the ache in your heart.

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Like I’m not enough for you. Like I’m not your priority.”

Bakugo’s head snapped up again, his eyes blazing with emotion. “You are my priority!” he insisted, his voice desperate now.

“You’re everything to me, alright? I just... I just don’t know how to handle all this shit sometimes!”

His voice cracked at the end, and for the first time, you saw something in him you rarely did—vulnerability.

He looked at you like he wanted to say a million things but didn’t know where to start.

But it wasn’t enough. Not yet.

“Then show me, Katsuki,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. “If I mean so much to you, then show me. Because words aren’t enough anymore.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the faint hum of the engine.

Bakugo looked at you, really looked at you, and for once, the explosive hero seemed completely lost.

Bakugo’s chest rose and fell with unsteady breaths as he stared at you, his crimson eyes shadowed with guilt and frustration.

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to die in his throat.

His hands clenched tighter on his lap, and he turned his gaze to the steering wheel, as if looking at you was too much to bear.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating.

You could feel your heart breaking all over again as you watched him struggle to say something—anything—that could make it better.

“You’re right,” he finally said, his voice low and strained. “I’ve been a shitty boyfriend.”

The admission startled you.

Your breath hitched, and you blinked through your tears as you waited for him to continue.

“I’ve been so focused on everything else—work, training, trying to keep up with everyone—that I didn’t realize what it was doing to you. To us.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion rough and frustrated. “And that’s on me.”

His voice trembled slightly, and he slammed his fist against the steering wheel, the sharp thud breaking the tense quiet. “Dammit, I didn’t mean to make you feel like this. Like you don’t matter.”

You watched him, your tears still falling, but something in his voice tugged at your heart.

It wasn’t just guilt; it was desperation.

“But you do, alright?” he said, turning to face you fully now. His crimson eyes locked onto yours, raw and unguarded.

“You matter more than anything else in my life. I just... I don’t know how to balance it all without screwing it up.”

His hands trembled as they rested on his thighs, and you realized how much it was costing him to admit this.

Bakugo Katsuki, the man who always seemed so sure of himself, so strong and unshakable, was unraveling in front of you.

“You’re not the problem, alright? I am,” he continued, his voice softer now. “And I swear to you, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us. Just... don’t give up on me yet.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but the pain you’d been carrying for so long still lingered.

You looked at him, your tears blurring your vision, and took a shaky breath.

“Katsuki, I’m not asking for perfection,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’m asking for you to try. To make me feel like I’m worth it. Like we’re worth it.”

He nodded, his jaw tight as he swallowed hard.

“I will,” he said, his voice firm despite the emotion in his eyes. “I’ll prove it to you. I’ll be better. For you.”

You stared at him, searching his face for sincerity, and what you saw there made something in your chest loosen.

He looked at you like you were his whole world—like he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.

For the first time in a long time, you felt a flicker of hope. It was small, fragile, but it was there.

“Okay,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Bakugo nodded again, his eyes never leaving yours. “You can.”

The car fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy or suffocating.

It was filled with unspoken promises, with the beginnings of something better.

And for now, that was enough.

---

Bakugo’s hand enveloped yours, firm yet gentle, as if he was anchoring himself to you.

The warmth of his grasp communicated what his words had struggled to convey earlier—a need, a desire to hold on to you no matter what.

The silence in the car was filled with unspoken understanding as you both sat there, the weight of the evening settling between you.

When the car finally pulled into your driveway, you barely had time to move before Bakugo was already out of the driver’s seat.

He strode purposefully around the car, his movements sharp yet filled with intent.

You blinked in surprise as he opened the passenger door, crouching down to your level.

His crimson eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. “You mean a lot to me,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion.

“So much... and I’m sorry for not showing you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words tumbled out, each one more heartfelt than the last.

“I’m sorry for not replying. I’m sorry for not being there. I’m sorry for not showing up,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he leaned closer.

“I promise, though, from now on... everything I do, I’ll do it with you on my mind.”

His hands found their way to your thighs, a touch so gentle and deliberate it sent a shiver through you.

It wasn’t just an apology—it was a plea, a vow.

“I promise you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “that from now on, I’ll do everything in my power to make you feel loved. So please, don’t give up on me. Please, don’t lose hope.”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability in his tone, the rawness of his confession.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small, wavering smile as you placed your hand over his.

“You swear?” you asked, your voice trembling with emotion.

His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly, his crimson eyes boring into yours with unwavering determination.

“I promise,” he said, his voice firm yet soft.

That was all you needed to hear.

A small, genuine smile spread across your lips as you nodded.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt the weight lifting off your chest.

After a moment, Bakugo stepped back slightly, holding out his hand to you.

You placed your hand in his, and he helped you out of the car with a gentleness that contrasted his usual brash demeanor.

Once you were both standing, he didn’t hesitate—he pulled you into a tight, almost desperate hug.

His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

His head rested against your shoulder, and you could feel the tension in his body slowly melting away.

“I missed you,” you whispered, your fingers threading gently through his spiky blonde hair.

“I missed you more,” he murmured against your shoulder, his voice low and filled with emotion.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, the world around you fading into insignificance.

It was as if time had paused, giving you both a chance to reconnect, to heal.

When he finally pulled back, his hands still rested on your waist, and his gaze locked onto yours.

The intensity in his eyes took your breath away, and before you could say anything, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an apology, a promise, a declaration.

His lips moved against yours with a fervor that made your knees weak, his hands tightening slightly on your waist as if to ground himself.

You responded just as passionately, pouring every ounce of love, frustration, and hope into the kiss.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

His crimson eyes softened as he looked at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For not giving up on me.”

You smiled back, your hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

He chuckled softly, his voice lighter than it had been all evening. “I won’t. I swear.”

In that moment, standing together in the driveway under the soft glow of the porch light, you felt something shift between you.

A new beginning, built on honesty and love. And for the first time in a long time, you believed things could truly get better.

ADULT BAKUGO FANFICTION

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