#it's barely anything but i'm just sitting here like Now you all finally understand........you can SEE.................. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

amkyor · 3 months 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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himasgod · 1 month ago

Note

Can I request a leona x reader where the reader got hurt during his overblot I’m feeling a little bit of hurt/comfort

LEONA X READER

Where you wake up after his overblot

How would Leona act seeing you wake up in the infirmary, knowing that he damaged you and left you unconscious during his overblot?

The silence is unbearable.

When you opened your eyes with difficulty, everything around you was dim, the smell of dried herbs relaxed you. You're in the infirmary… and you're not alone.

Since you woke up, Leona hasn't said a word.

He's there, sitting in the chair next to your bed, his elbows on his knees, his gaze fixed on the floor. He's wearing the same clothes before you lost consciousness, traces of sand clinging to the folds. His tail isn't moving, his ears are lowered, his expression tense.

He hasn't looked at you once.

And that scares you.

Because if there's one thing Leona Kingscholar never does, it's avoid confrontations.

You blink several times, trying to clear your blurred vision. You feel heavy, as if your body were trapped in a lead swamp. The pain in your side reminded you with cruel precision what happened in the Savanaclaw Coliseum.

The dark sand.

Leona in the middle of all, consumed by his own venom.

The impact of his attack is still etched into your skin. The brute force with which he threw you through the air, the feeling of everything inside you compressing to the point of suffocation, the sharp pain as you hit the floor.

You remember Ruggie's voice calling your name.

You remember the screams of the others.

You remember… the silence afterward.

The emptiness.

Now, in this all-too-quiet room, that same emptiness still surrounds you.

"…You're not going to say anything, are you?"

Your voice comes out weaker than you'd like. You try to joke, but the pang in your chest makes the attempt fade into a whisper.

Leona clicks his tongue, but still doesn't look up.

"What do you want me to say?"

Your throat tightens at his dry tone, but you force a smile, even though it hurts.

"I don't know… 'I'm glad you're still alive' would be fine."

His reaction is immediate.

His expression twists. His ears twitch slightly, as if those words have struck an overly sensitive nerve.

"I have no right to say that," he whispers.

It takes you a moment to process what he just said. And then, you understand.

His fists are balled until his knuckles turn white. His tail is motionless, as if even his own body is paralyzed.

The way he still doesn't look at you.

Leona isn't angry.

He's scared.

And he doesn't know how to deal with it.

"Leona…"

"Shut up."

The rawness in his voice takes you by surprise. It's a low, sharp growl, like a razor's edge slashing at your skin.

Hearing his name on your lips, his hands clench into fists.

"Don't say my name like that," he growls, but not angrily.

It's something else. Exhaustion. Frustration. Something he doesn't dare name.

"As if… as if I didn't almost kill you."

But what shocks you most isn't the anger, but the trembling that runs through him.

Leona Kingscholar doesn't tremble.

Not when he's fighting. Not when he's furious. Not when the whole world is against him.

But now, with his head bowed, his shoulders rigid, and his lips pressed into a tight line… he's trembling.

And that's worse than anything.

The pain in your body is insignificant compared to the knot forming in your chest. You want to reach out, to touch him, to say something that might pull him from this abyss into which he seems to have sunk.

But you can barely move.

Gathering all the strength you have left, you reach out and brush your fingertips against his.

Leona freezes.

His green eyes, dark as a shadowy forest, finally meet yours.

And there it is.

Fear.

Not fury. Not disdain. Not the bitter resignation he usually carries.

Fear. Pure, absolute terror.

As if, for the first time in his life, Leona Kingscholar had felt what it was like to lose something that truly mattered to him.

As if he still couldn't believe you were here, breathing.

As if, deep down, a part of him was still trapped in the moment your body fell motionless onto the sand.

Your hand closes awkwardly around his. It's cold.

"It wasn't your fault," you whisper.

His jaw tenses instantly. His ears flatten even further.

Leona clicks his tongue. His tail whips around sharply.

"Don't be stupid. You are hurt because of me. No one else."

You know what he's really saying is that he hates himself for this. That he won't forgive himself.

"Are you… okay?" you ask, reaching out with a struggle.

Leona tenses immediately, as if you've hit him.

"Me? Are you really asking that?" His voice cracks slightly, and his ears flatten back.

"You're the one bedridden, herbivore."

Still, you manage a small smile.

"Yes… but I want to know."

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then he lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his temple with his fingers, as if fighting off a splitting headache.

"…I hate this," he finally murmurs, his tone almost inaudible.

"I hated watching you fall. I hated knowing it was my fault. I hated not being able to stop myself…"

His hand closes on his knee.

"If you hadn't woken up, I would—"

"It isn't your fault," you insist, more firmly. "You know it isn't."

Leona lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. A dry sound that doesn't reach his eyes.

"If I hadn't lost control, you wouldn't be like this."

His other hand slides across the sheet, almost unintentionally, until it brushes against your bandaged side. His touch is so light you barely feel it, but even so, his hand moves away as if it's been burned.

"I wouldn't be here watching you lying in this damn bed, helpless."

His voice grows raspier with each word. More stifled.

The weight on his back is so visible it seems he could break at any moment.

Leona exhales sharply, as if he's been holding his breath this whole time.

"I didn't want to lose you," he whispers, and this time there's no anger, no pride, no masks.

Only Leona. Only his fear. Only his guilt. And it hurts.

It hurts because you know how hard it is for him to say it. Because you know that in his mind, all of this is his responsibility, even when it isn't.

Because you know he's the one who hates himself the most right now.

"I'm strong," you say, interlacing his fingers with yours. "I won't get rid of you so easy."

Leona closes his eyes tightly, exhaling a long, contented breath.

"…You're an idiot," he whispers, his eyes closed.

"But I guess I'm your idiot."

And for the first time, you feel his grip respond to yours.

Firm. Warm. Alive.

Leona won't leave. Not this time.

And never again.

That was more than enough for you.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted x reader #twst x reader #leona x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #leona angst #leona kingscholar angst #twisted one shot #twst wonderland

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dakusan · 2 months ago

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On The Hard Days, Stay.

stray kids ot8 x reader | comfort, soft angst

🌙 synopsis: Everyone has days where it feels like too much. These are the ones where you fall apart—and they choose to stay. Eight moments. Eight ways love shows up when the world feels too heavy. No grand gestures. Just quiet understanding, gentle hands, and someone who refuses to let you carry it all alone.

💌 a/n: This is for when you're not okay. Each of these pieces is a love letter to the quiet kind of support we often need but don't know how to ask for. If you're going through it, I hope this feels like a deep breath. To anyone struggling: you're not alone, you're love, you're enough and you're doing enough 🥺. Enjoy the mini shots!

📍credits: Just wanna credit @cafekitsune for the divider BCZ IT'S SO FUCKING CUTE... okay, i'm fine :3

🎶 Now Playing: "ONLY" — LeeHi

Bang Chan x Reader | “I’m Here, Okay?”

You didn’t mean to break down at his place. You really didn’t.

But something about the way he opened the door with that easy smile—tired, but genuine—made your throat close up. Maybe it was how he said, “Hey, you made it,” like he was actually relieved to see you. Or how his arms opened just a little like he was waiting for you to fall into them.

You didn’t. Not yet. You just kicked off your shoes, mumbled something about traffic, and followed him to the couch.

He didn’t press. Just let you sit in silence, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists. You stared at the TV without watching it. He noticed.

“You alright?” he asked, turning the volume down.

You nodded. Paused. Shook your head.

“No.”

It came out quieter than you meant. Then the tears hit—hot and fast. You covered your face with your hands like that would somehow keep it all in.

You felt the shift before you saw it—Chan moving closer, careful, like he didn’t want to crowd you.

“Hey… hey,” he said, voice low. “It’s okay.”

You shook your head again, frustrated with yourself. “Sorry. I didn’t wanna cry. I’m just—”

He didn’t wait for the rest. He just reached out, wrapping one arm around your shoulder and gently pulling you into his side. You let him. Didn’t even fight it. Just let your head drop against him, breathing unsteady.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he said. “You’re allowed to cry, you know.”

You didn’t say anything. But your fingers gripped the fabric of his sleeve tighter.

“I get it,” he murmured. “Life gets heavy. Like… it just stacks and stacks until you can’t breathe.”

You nod, barely.

“I’m not gonna pretend I can fix it. But I can sit here with you. However long you need.”

He didn’t try to cheer you up. Didn’t tell you to smile or be strong. He just stayed. His hand rubbed slow circles into your back, and when your breathing finally slowed, he looked down and gave you a small, tired smile.

“Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded into his chest. You didn’t feel better. But you didn’t feel alone. And that? The idea that you weren't alone? It was more than enough.

Lee Know x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Say Anything”

You didn’t even know why you were crying.

It wasn’t one big thing. Just a pile-up of small, stupid things that somehow tipped over the edge today—too many deadlines, not enough sleep, a comment that hit too close. And now you were sitting on Minho’s couch with your knees pulled to your chest, blinking hard at the ceiling like it would stop the tears.

He noticed the second you walked in. You’d said you were fine. He didn’t believe you.

Minho didn’t ask questions. He just handed you a glass of water, sat down next to you, and turned on the TV without saying a word.

It was a comfort thing—noise in the background, something familiar. He didn’t hover. Didn’t touch you. Just… existed next to you. Quiet and steady.

You finally mumbled, “Sorry. I don’t even know what’s wrong.”

He glanced over, then leaned back into the cushions.

“You don’t have to know.”

That was it. Just that.

You didn’t say anything for a while. But eventually, you let your head drop onto his shoulder.

He let it happen, didn’t make a big deal of it. Just shifted a little to make you more comfortable. You felt him breathe out, slow and even. Like he wanted you to match his rhythm.

“Some days are just crap,” he said quietly. “Don’t need a reason.”

You nodded against his hoodie.

He didn’t try to fix it. Didn’t tell you it’d all be okay. He just sat there with you, letting the silence stretch in the safest way.

A little while later, he got up, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with a bowl of rice, kimchi, and eggs. Nothing fancy. Just food you didn’t have to think about.

“Eat,” he said, setting it down in front of you. “Then we nap. You look like you need a nap more than a pep talk.”

And weirdly… that made you tear up again. But softer this time. Because you didn’t need someone to rescue you. You just needed this. Someone who saw you falling apart and didn’t try to make it pretty.

Changbin x Reader | “You Don’t Gotta Pretend”

You’d barely made it three steps inside his apartment before your shoulders dropped.

Changbin was in the kitchen, hoodie sleeves pushed up, something half-cooked on the stove. He turned at the sound of the door, his face lighting up at first—until he caught your expression. That quiet slump in your posture. The way you didn’t even try to smile.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just turned the stove off and wiped his hands on a dish towel.

“Come here.”

You didn’t argue. Just walked into his arms and let your forehead rest against his chest. He wrapped you up tight—arms firm around your back like he was trying to hold you together. You hadn’t cried yet. But your body felt like it could give out at any second.

He didn’t rush you.

Minutes passed like that. Then his voice, low and careful:

“What happened?”

You shook your head. “Just everything. Work. Family. Myself. I don’t know. It’s all too much.”

He let out a breath through his nose. Not annoyed—just frustrated on your behalf.

“You’ve been trying to keep it together too long, huh?”

That got you. You nodded, and then the tears came. Silent. Exhausted. You felt embarrassed, but his grip never loosened.

“Hey,” he said softly, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your head. “You don’t gotta pretend with me, alright?”

You tried to speak, but it all came out as a whisper: “I feel like I’m failing.”

Changbin pulled back just enough to look at you—really look at you.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice steadier now. “You’re not failing. You’re just tired. And overwhelmed. And human.”

You sniffled, lips trembling. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know,” he said. “But it’s okay. You don’t have to power through all the time. Just let yourself fall apart here. I’ll pick up the pieces with you.”

His words weren’t polished. They weren’t some poetic comfort. But they were real. Raw. And exactly what you needed.

“Now sit,” he added, nudging you toward the couch. “I’ll finish cooking. You’re eating, and then we’re watching dumb YouTube videos ‘til you laugh or fall asleep.”

You gave the faintest, watery smile.

That was enough for him.

Hyunjin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Go Through It Alone”

You didn’t even realize you’d gone quiet until he asked.

“Hey… what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You were sitting on the floor of his room, back against his bed frame, legs stretched out. He was next to you, sketchbook open, pencil tapping against the paper. Music played low from the speaker. Everything looked normal. But it didn’t feel normal.

You sighed. “I’m just tired.”

He glanced over at you. “Tired like… need-sleep tired, or tired like everything-is-weighing-on-you tired?”

You gave a weak smile. “Second one.”

Hyunjin didn’t say anything for a second. He just set the sketchbook down beside him and pulled his knees up to his chest.

“Come here.”

You didn’t even hesitate. You crawled over and leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around you like he’d been waiting for you to give in. His chin rested on top of your head, and you could feel his heartbeat against your shoulder.

“I hate seeing you like this,” he mumbled. “And I know I can’t fix it. But I want to.”

Your fingers curled into his hoodie. “You don’t have to fix it. I just… needed this.”

He held you tighter.

“You always carry so much,” he said quietly. “You act like you’re fine, and everyone believes it. But I see you. I always see you.”

That hit harder than you expected. Maybe because he said it so gently. Maybe because he meant it.

“I feel like I’m falling behind,” you whispered. “Like everyone else is moving forward and I’m stuck.”

Hyunjin pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you—eyes soft, expression serious.

“Life isn’t a race,” he said. “Even if it feels like it is. You’re not behind. You’re just… overwhelmed. And that’s okay.”

Your lip trembled. He noticed, reached up and brushed his thumb under your eye before the tears could fall.

“You’re allowed to feel like this. You’re allowed to have bad days. Just—don’t do it alone. Not when I’m right here.”

You nodded, and he leaned his forehead against yours.

“No pretending with me, alright?”

Han Jisung x Reader | “You’re Still You”

You didn’t say much when you got to his place.

Just dropped your bag by the door, kicked off your shoes, and quietly flopped face-first into his couch cushions. Jisung popped his head around the corner from the kitchen like a curious cat.

“You alive?”

You gave a muffled groan.

He walked over slowly, tossing a bag of chips on the coffee table before plopping down beside you.

“Rough day, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

“I’m so burnt out,” you mumbled. “And I feel like I have to keep pretending I’m okay because no one really wants to hear it.”

Jisung didn’t say anything right away. He reached over, grabbed the remote, and put on some random YouTube video of a guy reviewing the world’s worst frozen pizzas. It filled the silence.

A minute passed. Two.

Then, softly:

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

You turned your head toward him. He was still watching the screen, but his tone had shifted—lighter, but serious.

“I mean, I joke around a lot, but like... I notice stuff. I know when you're not okay.”

Your throat tightened a little. You didn’t want to cry. Not here. Not now.

“I just feel like I’m failing,” you said. “Like I’m trying so hard and still falling short.”

He finally looked at you.

“Falling short of what, though? Whose standard are you trying to meet?”

You shrugged, and it came out half-defeated. “Everyone’s, I guess.”

Jisung leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“You know, I do that too,” he said. “Think I have to be a certain version of myself for everyone. The funny one, the productive one, the ‘doing great’ one. But sometimes... I’m not. And that doesn’t make me less me.”

He turned back to look at you.

“And it doesn’t make you less you either.”

You swallowed hard.

“I hate feeling like a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said instantly, voice firm. “You’re someone I care about. You showing up like this? That doesn’t make you a burden. It makes you human.”

He let the silence settle again.

Then: “I also bought three different flavors of ice cream in case of a breakdown, so like… if you wanna cry and eat cookie dough straight from the tub, I’m fully prepared.”

That finally got a laugh out of you. It was small, a little cracked—but real.

Jisung smiled, leaned back with a soft “There we go,” and tossed a pillow at your face like he hadn’t just lowkey saved your life a minute ago.

Felix x Reader | “I’ve Got You”

You’d been holding it in all day.

Smiling when you didn’t feel like it. Nodding through conversations you couldn’t focus on. Pretending like your chest wasn’t tightening with every hour that passed.

And then Felix texted you. “Wanna come over? No pressure. Just… if you need to breathe.”

You replied, “Okay.” Just that.

When you showed up at his place, he didn’t say anything. Just opened the door and pulled you into the softest hug you didn’t know you were craving.

You stood there for a while. His arms wrapped around your waist, your forehead pressed into his shoulder. The kind of silence that made it okay to not speak.

Eventually, you let out a breath. It came out shaky.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately,” you said, voice muffled. “I feel so… overwhelmed. Like I’m on the edge of something, but I don’t even know what.”

Felix didn’t say anything dramatic. He just hugged you tighter.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said softly. “You’re just human. And tired.”

You nodded against his shoulder.

“I’m trying so hard to keep it together.”

“I know,” he said. “And I’m proud of you for even getting through the day.”

His voice was low, gentle, like he was afraid too many words might break you. He guided you to the couch, pulled a blanket over both of you, and didn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he whispered. “You just have to let yourself be. And I’ll be right here.”

You didn’t cry. Not exactly. But your eyes stung, and your fingers curled tighter into his. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t offer solutions.

He just held you like you mattered. And for the first time in days, you believed that maybe you still did.

Seungmin x Reader | “You Don’t Have to Prove Anything”

You didn’t even mean to start venting.

You’d come over for lunch—normal stuff, nothing serious. But halfway through a conversation about your week, it just… slipped out.

“I don’t think I’m doing enough.”

Seungmin blinked. “Enough of what?”

“Just… everything.” You laughed a little, but it came out wrong. “I feel like I’m always falling short. Like no matter how hard I try, it’s not good enough. For work, for people, for myself—whatever.”

He took a sip of his iced coffee, totally unfazed.

“Sounds like you’re burnt out, not useless.”

You gave him a look.

“I’m serious,” he said, shrugging. “You think pushing yourself past your limit means you’re not doing enough? That sounds backwards.”

You sighed, resting your chin on your hand. “I just hate feeling like I’m behind.”

He leaned back in his chair, looked at you for a long second.

“You’re not behind,” he said. “You’re just… stuck in your own head.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that your professional opinion?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “That’s my ‘I-care-about-you-and-I-don’t-want-you-to-self-destruct’ opinion.”

You cracked a small smile at that.

Then, softer, he added, “You’re allowed to be tired. You’re allowed to not have your shit together sometimes. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. It just means you’re human.”

You looked down at your drink. Your fingers fidgeted with the straw.

“And if I’m tired of trying?”

“Then stop trying to prove something to people who already love you,” he said. “Including me.”

It was quiet for a second. You glanced up—and yeah. He was serious.

You didn’t say anything. Just looked at him with a tight throat and blurry eyes.

He looked back, totally steady. Then added casually, “Now hurry up and eat before I finish your food too.”

And somehow, that very Seungmin line made the tension in your chest crack just a little.

Jeongin x Reader | “I’ll Stay”

You hadn’t meant to stay this late.

But hours passed while you sat on Jeongin’s bed, hoodie wrapped tight around you, scrolling on your phone in silence while he sat across the room, doing the same. No pressure to talk. Just quiet company.

Eventually, he looked up.

“You okay?”

You hesitated.

“I don’t know,” you said. “I think I’m just… numb.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just set his phone down and leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like he was thinking it through.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked. “Or just sit?”

You looked over at him. “Can we just sit for a bit?”

He nodded once. “Yeah. Of course.”

A few minutes passed.

Then, your voice broke the silence. “Everything feels like too much lately. But I also feel like… if I say that out loud, it makes me weak.”

Jeongin tilted his head slightly.

“It doesn’t,” he said. “It makes you honest.”

You looked down at your hands, fingers tightening around the sleeves of your hoodie.

“I feel like I’m supposed to have it together by now.”

“You don’t have to,” he said simply. “People act like there’s a deadline for figuring life out. There isn’t.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how calm and certain he sounded.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” you admitted, voice small.

Jeongin gave a soft smile and moved closer, sitting beside you now, shoulders touching.

“That’s fine,” he said. “I don’t always know either. But I’ll stay. Even when you don’t have answers. Even when you’re falling apart.”

You glanced over. His expression was gentle, but steady. No pity. Just care.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

He nudged your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me. Just… let me be here, yeah?”

You nodded, and leaned your head on his shoulder. The silence returned—but it felt different now. Safer. Warmer.

And you started thinking that yeah, yeah maybe that is exactly what you’d needed all along.

#stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids ot8 #comfort fic #soft angst #bangchan x reader #minho x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han x reader #jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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joecoolburrow · 1 month ago

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Seduction Playbook

Joe Burrow x wife!reader

Joe is spending so much time on his film study, he's neglecting his horny wife (you). So you come up with a play of your own.

SMUT! Warnings: a tiny bit of angst, use of the word slut (affectionate), unprotected sex, p-i-v, and explicit sexual content. 18+ only MDNI

My masterlist

Half-asleep, you subconsciously reached over to Joe's side of the bed. Announce bubbled in you as you were met with only bed sheets. With one eye open, you peeked at the clock and saw it was 2:20 AM. Why the fuck wasn't your husband in bed yet?!

You decided to make him answer that question. Throwing on a bath robe and slippers, you begrudgingly got out of your warm sanctuary and stomped off in frustration.

Down the hall, a blue light emanated out of Joe’s office. You could hear muffled commentary from ESPN hosts as you marched toward the room.

Joe was sitting crisscross applesauce despite being in an ergonomic chair. He was hunched over a notebook, scribbling fervently, only glancing up at the screen every few moments. He didn’t notice you in the doorway.

“Ah hem” you cleared your throat, hoping to get his attention.

Nothing.

Hands on your hips and jaw clenched you called out to Joe, “I guess I’m sleeping alone tonight.”

He finally looked at you, but instead of an explanation or an apology, a little nod was the only acknowledgment you got.

“JOE!”

"I couldn’t sleep. I’m getting some important work done.” He spoke without looking up from his notebook.

“The tape will still be here in the morning.”

Joe ignored your words.

You were getting mad. It wasn't just tonight, Joe had been spending every evening and increasingly long hours of the night studying film. The season’s tough loses weighing heavily on him, as a leader of the team he felt responsible for finding a way to win. You love Joe’s work ethic and competitive drive, but lately it had consumed him. This wasn't healthy for him or your relationship.

You approached Joe. His eyes were puffy and his button lip was chapped like he’d been stress biting it again. But in his eyes were the same determined hunger you knew so well.

"Joe,” your voice softened as you knelt beside him, trying to be sympathetic to his pain.

He met your gaze but said nothing.

“I’m worried about you, babe. You know how important sleep is. Please come to bed.”

“I don’t feel tired.” Joe shrugged.

“You’ve been up since 6 AM, had a workout, practice all day, and you’ve been studying for at least 5 hours. You have to be tired.”

Joe wasn’t in the mood for reason. “I’m just not.”

You were unconvinced and Joe knew it. But, he didn't have a good argument, so he stayed quiet.

“I feel like I barely see you.” You pouted.

The whine in your voice was a little exaggerated, but the statement was true. You and Joe weren’t getting much quality and you missed your husband.

Joe gave you a half-hearted smile.

“I know, darling. I’ll make it up to you during the off season.”

Now you were exasperated. You dropped your head in your hands, tired physically and tired of this conversation.

“Joe-” you started, but he cut you off.

“Are you hungry? I can order us some delivery. That pizza place we tried a few weeks ago stays open late. We can have a little pizza date right here.”

He was trying. But holy fuck that was the least romantic thing he’d ever suggested. You looked at him, unsure if you were going to laugh or roll your eyes.

"A pizza date in your office? At 3 AM? Watching the Ravens and Bears game from 3 weeks ago?” You hoped when Joe heard it he'd understand why it was ridiculous.

“Ok, why don’t you go back to bed and I’ll be there in a couple hours?”

"A couple hours?!" You repeated.

Joe gestured at the screen and then to his notes. “I'm making progress! I have to keep going."

“You have to rest!”

“Y/n,” Joe’s voice was stern. “This is my job. You’ve always known how much it means to me. I told you there would be tough times when I had to focus more on the game than anything else. You said it’s one of the things you love about me.”

This time you stayed quiet. It was true. But it didn’t make this any easier.

Joe saw your pain. He took your hand and kissed it. You missed his touch, his affection.

“I love you. I'm sorry we haven't had a lot of time together lately. I’m going to finish soon and then I’ll come bed. I promise.” He said earnestly.

Too tired to keep arguing and seeing how it was only causing Joe more stress, you relented.

“Ok. I’ll be waiting for you in bed.”

Jos pulled you in for a kiss. It was supposed to be a chaste, goodbye kiss. But, you drew him in. Your lips were intoxicating. You swirled your finger over the short hairs on the back of his neck, sending chills down his spine. It was a silent plea for him to follow you.

While he still had an ounce of strength in him to resist, Joe pulled away.

You made your way out of the office, turning once to look back at Joe. He was already engrossed in his film study.

Your bed felt so big and so cold without him to share it with. Despite feeling tired, you tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Soon you accepted that sleep was a lost cause. You considered watching something on TV when you found yourself looking at the dresser. It gave you an idea. You sprang up and opened the bottom drawer, your favorite drawer.

It was where you kept your lingerie. Lace panties, plunging bras with little bows, thigh high stockings, and-one of Joe's personal favorites- a babydoll nightgown that wasn't quite long enough to cover your butt.

You changed into your sexist lingerie and went to the mirror to admire yourself. You felt very sexy. Your pulse was racing. You were getting hot just thinking about the look on Joe's face when you show up in the office this time. To finish the look, you put on a pair of strappy red stilettos that were tall enough to put you and Joe at equal height. You puckered her lips and applied a dark red shade of liquid lipstick.

'Show time!' you thought to yourself as you fixed your hair.

Your heels clapped against the floors as you made your way down the hall. This time Joe knew you were in the doorway though he still didn't look up.

"Give me one more hour." He said, face buried in his notebook.

You smirked. It wasn't going to be more than one minute. You walked in front of Joe's chair, blocking his view of the screen.

Joe looked up slowly, eyes widening as he realized how you were dressed (or undressed). He dropped his pencil.

Finally, you had his attention.

"I thought I could help you study." You said in her most sultry voice.

You sat on the edge of his desk and put one foot on the armrest of his chair to show off your leg.

Joe was struggling to maintain composure. "W-What are you doing?"

"Just waiting for you." You purred.

"I need to finish my film study."

"Go ahead." You folded your hands in your lap in feign innocence. Your arms were pushing her boobs together, making them a little more prominent.

Joe tittered. He looked you up and down, considering his options for a moment. Would he choose his stubborn pride and tell you to go back to bed? Or would he do the right thing and take you to bed?

You licked your lip and looked at him, confident he'd make the right choice.

"Damn it, Y/n."

Joe reached out to touch you. You intercepted his hand before he could and made him caress your cheek. Slowly, you moved his index finger across your bottom lip and slipped it into your mouth.

Your tongue swirled around it. Joe no longer looked tired or stressed. The gleam in his eye was unmistakably of amusement.

His other hand journeyed up the your leg, feeling the firmness of your calf, the softness of your stocking, and finally, the smooth warmth of your upper thigh. You let out a little moan at the feeling of his big hand making it's way towards your panties.

You pulled his finger out of your mouth with a pop. You moved his hand down your chest and settled it on your breast.

Meanwhile on your leg, Joe's hand was inches away from your panties. He noticed there was a little shiny spot in the center, making him even more eager to get there.

As desperate as you were for him to get there, you wanted to tease him a bit more. You put your leg down and leaned your body back along the desk.

"I hate being in bed without you, Joe. It's so lonely." You whined. "You can't just leave me there, so needy."

Joe wanted to tease you right back. "I should've known a slut like you couldn't go too long without getting fucked by my big cock."

He got up. Standing over you, burning with desire. You were getting wetter and wetter. He spread your legs and stepped between them.

"I want you so bad, Joe." You gasped. "I need you."

He massaged your inner thighs and pushed up the your babydoll. He left a trail of hot kisses along your pelvis.

"I'll always give you what you need, baby." He whispered as he slid your panties off.

You ran your hands through Joe's velvety curls. He threw your legs over his broad shoulders. His hands snaked underneath you to unclasp your bra, then quickly pulled it off. He ran his hands over your body, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"Please Joe." You begged.

One of his fingers swirled around your center, gathering your wet heat. He rubbed you gently, torturously slowly. You squirmed trying to get more friction.

"Mmm, you really are desperate for me."

There was no denying it even if you wanted to. You grabbed at Joe's sweatpants and urged him on. You could see how hard he was.

"I'll take care of that, darling." He said, batting your hand away. He undressed quickly and put his hands back on your sides. He leaned his body over yours. His mouth went for one of your breasts. First grazing his lips over the hardened peak, then giving it a slight tug with his teeth.

"Oh fuck, Joe!" You cried.

He sucked and teased your nipple, while sliding one hand back to your center. One finger entered you. You clenched around him and he pushed in another.

Your head was spinning when Joe suddenly pulled his fingers out and leaned up. You whined in protest, lustful eyes looking up to see him lick your arousal off his fingers.

"I told you, you make me so wet, Joe." You breathed.

"And I left you laying in bed, horny and lonely."

"Aching for you!" You added.

Joe shook his head as his finger danced over your clit.

"Begging for me?" He baited you.

"Yes! Please Joe. God, I need to feel you inside me. I need you to fuck me, please!!!"

He kissed your neck.

"With pleasure." He hummed against your skin.

Joe positioned himself and slowly pushed inside you. You inhaled sharply. He was so big, no matter how many times he fucked you, you still needed to adjust.

Before moving, Joe kissed your lips, deeply, lovingly, giving you time to stretch. Then, his dick retreated and slammed back into you. You yelped in pleasure.

"You like that?" Joe whispered in your ear.

You couldn't answer. You threw your head back in ecstasy as he thrust into you again and again.

Joe held you in place with one hand on your hip. The other used his long fingers to delicately work your clit till you were a writhing mess underneath him.

"You feel so good, baby." Joe praised. "I missed your perfect, tight little pussy."

Joe soon brought you to a trembling, quivering, orgasm.

"That's right, cum all over my cock." He encouraged.

Your back arched off the desk and tears formed in the corners of your eyes. You cried out Joe's name as you came down from your high.

Your pulsating walls took Joe to his delight. He came right after with a throaty moan.

As you each caught your breath, your eyes met.

Joe blushed, he typically got shy after sex. You smiled as your legs melted off his shoulder. You pulled him into a kiss.

"You were right." Joe admitted. "I needed that."

"So did I."

"I'm sorry for the way I've been. I won't leave you alone in bed anymore. And I'm going to make more time for us to spend together. You're the most important thing to me, not football."

You appreciated the effort. As you wiped a sweaty curl off his forehead you reminded him, "I understand it's really important to you. I know you won't be satisfied until you win."

Joe smiled. "I'm pretty satisfied right now."

You giggled as he pulled you to sit up.

"I'm ready to go to bed now." Joe said.

"Took you long enough."

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine #joe burrow fan fic #joey b #joe burrow x you #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow fic #nfl fan fic #My fic #Joe burrow imagines #joe burrow smut

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months ago

Text

New Girlfriend IV

Lucy Bronze x Teen!Reader

Summary: Pokémon card trade night

"Don't," Lucy says as Ona watches her.

"I haven't said anything."

"But you're going to go."

"You're a good mum, Luce," Ona says earnestly," And I know she thinks so too."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with?"

"I just got off a plane. I'll stay here with Narla. Go and bond with your daughter."

"At trade night?" Lucy says in disbelief," And sweaty Pokémon fans? I'll try."

"Yes," Ona laughs," You're a real hero for that."

Lucy shoves on her shoes and coat, leaning up the stairs. "I'm leaving!" She yells," So you're either coming to trade night or I'm going to KFC!"

She waits barely a second before a thump comes from your room, sounding suspiciously like a game controller being flung at a table.

You come sprinting down the stairs, tying the drawstrings of the tracksuits bottoms that you've clearly just shoved on.

"I'm coming! I'm coming! Hi, Ona. I'm coming!"

Ona laughs. "Hi, y/n. Have fun at trade night."

"Mum couldn't convince you to come?"

"I think I'm happy getting over the flight."

"Your loss." You shrug, turning back to Lucy. "So, are we going or not?"

"I hope you're not playing on bringing that mouse with you."

You frown, looking down at the pocket at the very front of your jumper, where Ezio pokes his nose out of.

"I'll..." You laugh nervously. "I'll put him back. Don't leave without me!"

It's not often that you like leaving the house. For school and for Lucy's games and (more frequently now you're back in England) seeing your grandparents.

Most of the time, you don't leave the house because you want to, but rather because you have to.

Except for nights like these, at the local 'nerd shops' as Lucy calls them to trade some Pokémon cards.

"You've got everything?" Lucy checks as she finds a parking space out on the street," You didn't bring all your binders."

"I brought my trade binder and a few of my other sets that I need to fill up."

"Your...trade...binder?"

You roll your eyes, swinging your bag over your shoulder and slamming the car door shut. "Yes, my trade binder. It's got all the cards that are duplicates and I don't mind trading away for other ones."

"I don't get this," Lucy says, hands in her pockets as she walks up to your nerd shop," You don't even play the card game."

"It's not about playing the card game. It's...It's..."

"It's?"

"I just like it, okay? Is that too much to understand?!"

Lucy's teasing smile is wiped off her face. "Hey, no, wait. I'm so-"

"Leave it," You say, shoving past her," I wish Ona were here instead!"

Lucy watches you go in, hand still out and reaching for your shoulder.

People have told her so many times how good she's done at raising you. Your teachers have nothing but glowing remarks. You're smart and studious and you didn't interrupt in class. Perhaps you could talk more but that's not a life ruiner.

Her friends have always said you're polite and you speak well and you don't purposely try to get under their skin. You're nice and you're sweet and you're friendly with everyone.

But Lucy can never fully understand you.

She's always been moving, even as a child. She'd played football for as long as she can remember, always high energy, always going-going-going until she had no more energy to go any longer.

You're not like, not in that way anyway.

You're more reserved and solitary, happy to sit in your room with your gaming consoles and your YouTube videos and your mice.

This card collecting thing had happened when she was still with Keira and away for the weekend. Keira had bought you a pack while at the store and you'd been hooked ever since.

Lucy can't even remember the last time your allowance hadn't been spent on those dumb plastic booster packs. She's never understood it.

Keira used to take the reins on this kind of thing while they were still together so Lucy's way out of her comfort zone when she finally steps inside of the nerd store.

It's more packed than she thought it would be, with people of all ages.

She catches sight of you up ahead. It's hard not to when you're wearing the Assassin's Creed coat she got you for Christmas last year and your binders are kept safe in the Mario Kart backpack you usually use for school.

Lucy fights the crowd to get to you.

"Whoa. Are you Lucy Bronze?"

There's some little kid staring up at her, clutching a binder with wide eyes and their mouth hanging open.

"I am."

"Wow! Can...Can...Mummy! Mummy can you get my Squirtle? I want Lucy Bronze to sign it!" The kid turns back to her. "I don't have my Bronze shirt with me but can you sign one of my cards?"

It's not the weirdest thing Lucy's ever had to sign but it's certainly the weirdest place she'd ever signed anything.

"Sure, kid!"

"Thank you," The mother says as Lucy grabs a pen from a random table. "It means the world to him."

"Mum!"

The pen has just been uncapped when Lucy looks up, stopping everything she's doing to respond to you.

"Yeah, what's up? Are you okay?"

Her eyes rove over you, checking for bumps and bruises but coming up empty.

"You can't sign that!"

"What?"

The little boy's bottom lip wobbles and you nearly push Lucy out of the way to kneel down in front of him.

"You don't want her signing a common card," You tell him," Get her to sign this instead." You produce a card from your trade binder.

It's an illustration rare Squirtle from your Scarlet and Violet 151 set.

The little boy gasps, reaching for the card your offering but his mum stops him.

"This is trade night, Micheal," She reminds him," Give her something in return."

You gave him a grin, sitting cross legged on the floor.

"You got a binder for me to look through?"

The boy nods hurriedly, prying it out of his mother's hands to flip through.

"Which one do you like? Why don't you pick me one out?"

You give the little boy your 151 Squirtle Illustration Rare and he gives you a Paldean Fates common Fidough.

Lucy signs the new Squirtle card with a little frown, waving as the boy and his mother head off.

"Why'd you do that?" She asks, arms over your shoulder so you can't escape again.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid," Lucy says," I know that was a rarer card. I know you've already got like twelve of the card you got in return. Why'd you do it?"

You shrug. "I don't know. It made him happy. Does it really matter?"

"Yeah but..."

Lucy goes quiet, glancing back at that little boy.

She made him happy by signing his card. You made him happy by giving him one.

You've never asked her why she signs people's jerseys.

Lucy glances back over at you as you trade away cards for new ones and open packs amongst people that are just like you.

Her hand itches to open one with you but it's just a twitch in her fingers. She keeps it by her side though, refusing to interrupt this safe space you've built for yourself.

The staff here know you by name and Lucy doesn't want to ruin that for you.

So, she stays in the background, looking through the shelves and through the bulk items and holding some of your half finished binders of sets that you're yet to complete.

"You looking for anything specific?" One of the staff members asks, leaning against the table as Lucy looks up like she's just been delivered a fairly painful electric shock.

"No!" She says hurriedly, hoping to fade into the background like she's been doing for most of this evening. "No, I mean...er...My kid...?"

The woman laughs. "I get it. First trade night? Kid's excited? You have no idea what's going on?"

"Something like that," Lucy says," My-My ex-partner used to take her to these and my new one's waiting at home for us and I-" She sighs. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"I get it. First time for anything. So, you looking for yourself or for your kid?"

"For her," Lucy says," I don't know. I'm just looking."

"Well," The woman replies," I'm happy to help any parent out of their depth. Any specific sets or Pokémon?"

Lucy tries to rack her brain for anything you've mentioned specifically before, coming up short for a little while before:

"Eevee?" She asks cautiously," No, not Eevee. The evil Eevee? You know, the black one with the ears and the rings?"

"Umbreon?"

"Yeah, that! She's trying to collect all of them."

"Ah, now that I can help with."

Lucy's hands shake as she approaches you.

You've found a little corner to sort through all your new cards, slipping some of them into binders waiting for only a scant few more.

"Hey," Lucy says, uncharacteristically nervous as you look up at her.

"Hey?"

"I...er..." She clears her throat. "I got you a gift. A few gifts, I guess."

She places her offerings in front of you and you shuffle through them, eyes getting wider and wider.

"You got me a Moonbreon?!"

Lucy finally makes eye contact, alarmed. "No?! I promise I told the girl Umbreon! I'll get you a new one. Crap. I didn't mean to make a mista-"

You crash into her, arms curling around her as she cautiously puts her arms around you as well.

"It's the nickname of the card, Mum," You say," I've been looking for one for ages. It must have been expensive. Thank you."

"Of course, pumpkin," Lucy says," Of course."

You look up at her, searching for something that Lucy hopes she's showing in her eyes.

"Do you...Do you want to open some packs with me?" You look hopeful and Lucy's throat goes dry as she nods.

It's late when you finally look to be winding down and people finally start looking like they're leaving the store.

You snag Lucy's sleeve.

"I..Can you open these for me?"

You hand over two packs.

One's in English.

One's in Japanese.

Lucy frowns.

"These look...old..."

"They are," You admit," It's the base set. Like, first edition."

"These must have been expensive."

You bite at your lip. "I traded away my completed Brilliant Stars set. These are probably worth more but I think the guy who had them just wanted them gone. I..I can't open them myself. Can you?"

"I can. Don't worry."

Lucy fights to keep her hands from shaking as she tears open the packets.

She swipes through each card. They're completely meaningless to her but you freeze.

"Is this good? Godzilla?"

"Charizard."

"Huh?"

"Godzilla's a movie franchise, Mum. That's Charizard."

"Oh, is it?"

You shakily offer her your Japanese packet. "Mum, here."

The second Charizard is in your hand a moment later.

"Whoa!" Lucy laughs," What's with all the hugging today, huh?"

"You're the best," You tell her earnestly," I don't tell you enough but you're the best, Mum."

Lucy smiles at you, kissing the top of your head. "Just want to make you happy."

#woso x reader #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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he-calls-me-kitten · 1 year ago

Note

Recently got busy and haven't had time to be around at all .. I just skimmed through whatever I have missed while I was away and I realized how badly I missed your writing style... It's just so ue2ge8eh27db❤️❤️⁉️⁉️ I can't really explain it.. its scrumptious, very very yummy... So I come with a little request... We know the obey men are quite and as a short girlie that's just like so fucking attractive like?????????? Sirrrr???? 😖😖

Imaginee... getting picked up by them and quite literally hanging off their cock as they just dangle you in the air, your feet not touching the ground as they just fuck yiu silly, watching your writhe and sob as their cock leaves a bulge on your stomach as you claw at their arms. They don't even gotta be trying, your just go dumb on their cock, crying how it's too big and having them bully themselves in you...

Basically that prompt with barbatos, Simeon and beel

I'm a very horny Tumblr user as you can tell LMAO

Love you though, take rests, eat, drink, stay healthy, darling. Mwah 💋

-M. 🪭🪷

Oh my god look who's back?!!! Hey M!!! Missed you loads, hopefully life eases up on you, busy little thing! Thank you for checking in, it means the world ❤️

And your ideas...just *chef's kiss*. Here's another treat for the short AFAB folks with size kink out there!!!

Little Body Big Heat

Afab! MC x Barbatos, Simeon, Beelzebub

Barbatos mock apologizes as you pant and plead him to stop. But he's barely even doing anything really. All he's doing is just standing there, carrying you in his arms, holding you so close.

You're the one struggling and twitching to take him in more or push him out. The way you are writhing - he genuinely cannot tell but he sure is enjoying the show.

"MC, use your words, won't you? I'm sorry I can't understand you when you're like this, my love." He coos, brushing hair away from your face.

"Mhhmm- B-Barb please.... please it's too much. Please ....just... help me move..." You struggled to string a sentence together.

And he finally the gracious butler takes pity on you. You're asking so nicely after all.

"Is this better?" He moves so painfully slow, you whine into his ears. "Oh? Would you like me to be... faster?" He kisses your neck, feeling the vibrations of your delightful complains, which soon would turn into delightful screams. And he wants everyone to hear them too.

Simeon's angelic side simply ceases to exist when it comes to his desire for you. Honestly what were you thinking falling asleep, sitting on his lap. Don't you know he already has a hard time behaving himself around you?

"Did you have a good sleep, MC?" He threads his fingers through your hair, pulling you closer for a kiss. "As you can see...I've run into quite the problem. I can't go home to Luke while I'm like this now, can I?"

You take some time to come to your senses. After all, it's not every day you wake up with Simeon's erection between your legs.

"Would you like to use me...to calm it down?" You gingerly try to hold him down there, it took both of your hands yet he was still much too big for you. He made a low groan at the contact.

"Really, you wouldn't mind?" He asks even as his fingers are already touching your waist, slowly pulling off your top.

"Your sense of duty is really admirable, MC." He chuckles as he pulls off your shorts, now undoing his own pants. "Now then, where would you like me?"

"You...can choose." You let him feast on you with his eyes and hands, enciting soft whimpers and moans. His fingers delight at the wetness pooled between your legs, toying with you before pressing his erection against your puffy clit.

He pushes into your hole, stretching you out but before you can't even let out a sound. His tongue is inside your mouth devouring your screams. You've taken him in so well. He can feel himself bulge out your stomach. "Does that feel good, my little lamb?"

You nod even tears collect at the corner of your eyes. "So good..so... full... It's toobiigg... you'resooo big S-Simeon... please..." Oh how he loves doing this to you.

Beelzebub's length is only the second most dangerous thing about him. The first is his stamina. You realise this now as you have been pressed against his lockers for what feels like hours. Your feet haven't touched the ground in so long.

"Beel...a-are you still.. not done..." You watched him pant, looking at you with a frenzied look in his eyes. When you told him you'd help him get his mind off food, this is not how he thought it would go.

"Beel! I-I know you're really famished ..but ...but you can't... keep...doing this...ahhhmn..mnhn Beel I'm about to...cum again...stop please..." He kept sucking your slick up, right through your orgasm. Talk about overstimulation.

He already tormented you with his tongue down there till you were leaking through your underwear. And now that he was too aroused to calm down, you simply had to let him fuck you. "Just...one last time, MC. I promise."

Yeah sure. He said that two rounds ago. Seriously you wondered how you had not passed out yet. But then again, everytime he moved - you swear he kept discovering a new pleasure point inside you.

"MC your face right now...you look so cute...I'm sorry I couldn't stop myself...and you feel so warm..." He plunged in and out of you again, bouncing you on his dick effortlessly. Of course he hasn't thought about food, he's been too busy devouring you.

#obey me smut #obey me barbatos #obey me beel #obey me Simeon #obey me x reader smut #obey me asks

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cami040405 · 4 days ago

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Can i plz get a michael bo and thomas version of that morticia and gomez one? Sfw and nsfw plz

NSFW/SFW: Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair & Thomas Hewitt X Reader with a Relationship Dynamic like Gomez and Morticia (SEPARATE)

Summary: This is a version of that post here, but now with Michael Myers, Bo Sinclair & Thomas Hewitt.

A/N: I'm very surprised, happy and honored that you've enjoyed my writing, especially on topics like this. Thank you for the request, I loved writing it and imagining once again what it would be like with these slashers, I hope you like it!

Michael Myers

Michael watches you like you're the last soft thing in a world of rot. He’s quiet, always present. You’ll feel his gaze long before you see him—leaning against the doorframe, watching you read, cook, draw… just exist. He doesn’t speak, but you’ve learned to read his body.

He brings you little things: a flower he picked, a book you left somewhere, a bloody trinket from someone who looked at you wrong. His love is protective. Obsessive. But it’s strangely comforting. When he’s near, you’re safe—even if the rest of the world isn’t.

You once traced your fingers along his mask, whispering, “You’re mine, Michael.”He didn’t reply. He just pulled you close, and let you rest against him in silence, arms wrapped tight around your body like he never planned to let go.

Michael doesn’t rush. Not with you. When he finally lets you take off his mask, it's because he wants you to see him—raw, real, human under all the myth. He kisses with restraint, unsure at first, but the longer your body is pressed against his, the more control he loses.

In bed, he's silent but intense. Hands gripping your thighs, large and strong, holding you open like you’re something sacred. His eyes never leave yours. No words—just grunts, groans, and the sound of your name when it slips from your lips.

He worships you with his body. His movements are deliberate, focused solely on you—your pleasure, your gasps, your trembling legs. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, begging, breathless. And then he holds you after, possessive, pressing kisses to your skin like it’s a language only he understands.

You don’t know what draws him to you—but you feel it in your bones.

The way Michael stands at the edge of your room when the world is quiet. Not breaking in. Not speaking. Just watching—as if waiting for you to shatter the silence first.

And one night, you do.

You turn in your bed and meet his eyes, the mask gleaming under the moonlight. Your voice is barely a whisper. “Are you going to hurt me?”

He steps forward slowly. One hand rises—not to strike, not to grab—but to take off the mask. You watch as the rubber lifts away, revealing a man beneath the legend. His face is shadowed, jaw clenched, lips parted slightly from heavy breaths. He looks almost… nervous.

You sit up. Your breath catches.

He’s beautiful in the most haunted, terrifying way—tragic, raw, and unashamed. But more than anything? He’s yours.

Your fingers reach out to touch his face, and he flinches, just barely. But he doesn’t pull away. He lets you explore him—cheekbones, scars, stubble—until your hand slides into his hair and pulls him down to kiss you.

He responds like a man starving.

His mouth is rough, wet, hungry. He groans softly into the kiss—the sound of a man finally breaking after years of restraint. He doesn’t speak, but his hands say everything. One wraps firmly around your waist, dragging you flush to his chest. The other cradles the back of your head as if you’re fragile. His mouth crushes yours, tongue slipping between your lips as he exhales into you like he can finally breathe.

You pull back just enough to pant against him. “Michael... please.”

And he answers with action. He grabs your thighs, lifts you like you weigh nothing, and lays you across the bed.

Your shirt is gone in seconds—his large, warm hands gliding up your ribs, memorizing every inch. You watch his eyes as they devour you, pupils blown wide. When he leans down to kiss your collarbone, it’s reverent. Slow. Holy.

He kisses his way down your stomach, his breath hot and uneven. Then he pauses at your hips, dragging your panties down with trembling fingers, eyes locked on your face like he’s waiting for a signal.

You whisper, “Yes,” voice shaking. “I want you.”

That’s all it takes.

He dips down, mouth pressing into your inner thigh. Then higher. His breath is molten heat as he buries his face between your legs, tongue slow, deliberate, devastating.

Michael groans when he tastes you.

It’s not sloppy—he’s focused. Obsessed. He licks like a man worshipping a goddess, firm strokes that build pressure, his nose brushing just right. His hands pin your thighs down, strong and possessive, but never painful. He listens to every moan, every gasp, adjusting, learning your rhythm. The sight of your head thrown back, your hands gripping the sheets? It makes him growl—low and guttural—against your clit.

You’re already close, your thighs trembling around his head, and Michael doesn’t stop. He licks you through it—watching you fall apart for him, desperate to see you unravel.

When you cum, you cry out his name—and it breaks something in him.

He drags himself up your body, mouth glistening with your release, lips parted as he stares at you. His cock is hot and heavy against your thigh, and you gasp when he presses it between your folds, not entering yet—just letting you feel him.

You grab his jaw, eyes locked to his. “Michael. I want you inside me.”

He finally thrusts in—and it’s deep, slow, claiming. His mouth drops open in a soft, broken gasp. He feels too good, too thick, filling you completely as he sinks deeper with every slow roll of his hips.

He fucks you in silence, but every movement screams his need—his obsession, his possession. His fingers lace with yours, pinning them above your head. He stares into your eyes, fucking you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense.

When your second orgasm crashes over you, clenching around him, he finally loses control—thrusts becoming frantic, uneven, desperate. His groan is animalistic, breath hitching as he finishes inside you, burying his face in your neck as he rides it out.

And afterward? He doesn’t leave.

He stays wrapped around you, strong arms caging you in, silent chest heaving as his lips brush your shoulder.

You stroke his hair, whispering, “You don’t have to go. Stay.”

And he does.

Because you’re not afraid of the monster.

You’ve tamed him.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is all attitude and cocky grins, but when it comes to you? His whole demeanor shifts. He still talks shit, still acts cool—but his eyes? They go soft. You see it when he watches you sleep, when he tucks your hair behind your ear, when he gets jealous and tries to hide it with sarcasm.

“You think you’re funny, huh, sweetheart?” he says, leaning against a wall, arms crossed—but he’s already planning dinner, already fixing that broken chair for you. He kisses your forehead when you’re tired and says “ya look cute when you’re all sleepy and shit.”

He gets frustrated with the world, but never with you. For you? He simmers down. He protects you fiercely, and won’t let Ambrose take a breath without knowing you’re safe in it.

Bo’s not gentle by nature—but with you? He holds back. Barely.

He teases, bites, growls into your skin—but the way he touches you? Reverent. Worshipful. The kind of touch that says “you’re mine, and no one else gets this.” You pull his hair, and he moans against your throat. You scratch his back, and he smirks and thrusts deeper. But when you whisper “I love you”?

He pauses. His breath stutters.

And then he’s worshipping your body with everything—tongue, fingers, filthy words in your ear about how “you drive me fuckin’ crazy, baby.” His hands roam every inch, marking you, tasting you like he’s starving. And when he’s inside you? It’s not just sex— It’s claiming.

He looks you dead in the eye and growls, “You’re mine, sugar. Every fuckin’ inch of you.”

And you are. Willingly.

Ambrose was still, tucked beneath the blanket of night. But inside the Sinclair house, behind the locked door of Bo’s bedroom, the silence didn’t last long.

Your back was pressed to the cool wooden door, breath caught in your throat as Bo leaned over you—his hands caging you in, blue eyes dark with something hotter than anger, heavier than lust. His voice was low, thick with want. “You really think you can walk ‘round here lookin’ like that and not expect me to go fuckin’ insane?”

He kissed you hard—mouth claiming yours with a growl that vibrated through your chest. His hands slid up your thighs, calloused fingers dragging your skirt higher. “Jesus, baby… you’ve been drivin’ me up the goddamn wall all day.”

His lips trailed down your neck, biting just enough to make you gasp. He chuckled against your skin, proud of the way your legs trembled.

“You like makin’ me crazy, huh?” His voice was a purr now, hips grinding against you. You could already feel how hard he was through his jeans—thick, heavy, aching for you. “Good. ‘Cause I’m about to ruin you, sweetheart.”

He lifted you easily—strong arms hooking beneath your thighs, carrying you to the bed with practiced ease. Your back hit the sheets, and Bo was already tugging your panties down your legs, eyes locked on you like you were his favorite sin.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he muttered, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Always so wet for me, ain’t ya? Can’t get enough of this pussy.” He spread your legs wide and lowered his mouth slowly, kissing along your inner thigh, taking his sweet time. Then—

Contact.

His tongue slid between your folds with a groan of approval, lapping at you like a man starved. His stubble scraped your skin, just enough to send a shiver up your spine, while his hands held your thighs apart—not rough, but firm. Worshipful.

He devoured you like you were the only thing that could satisfy him. Tongue deep, then slow and teasing, flicking your clit until your hips arched off the mattress. You grabbed his hair and he moaned in response, grinding into the bed like it was torture to not be inside you already.

You cried out his name—and that was it. He growled against your core and pulled away just enough to pant, “Gotta have you now, darlin’. Need to be inside that sweet little body of yours.”

He stripped with impatience, cock hard and leaking at the tip. When he knelt between your thighs, he paused—just for a second—rubbing himself against your entrance, soaking in the heat.

“I’m gonna take my time with you, sugar,” he said, his voice gravel. “Gonna make you remember who this pussy belongs to.”

He slid inside you slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel every thick stretch, every pulse of him filling you up. Your mouth fell open. You could barely breathe. And Bo—he was watching your face, eating up every reaction with dark, possessive pride.

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Fuck, you feel so good. Tight little thing, squeezin’ me so good. You were made for me, weren’t ya?”

He began to move—slow at first, then rougher, harder. His hips snapped into yours with heavy, hungry thrusts, his mouth finding yours in between growls and curses. He grunted in your ear, voice wrecked. “You love it, don’t you? Bein’ mine like this. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to hear you cry out like that.”

Your nails dug into his back, drawing blood, but he only hissed and drove deeper. He grabbed your thighs and pushed them up to your chest, folding you open, taking you deeper than you thought possible.

“Look at me,” he growled. “I wanna see those pretty eyes when I fuck you like this. When I make you come on my cock like the perfect fuckin’ girl you are.”

And you did.

You came around him hard, shaking and crying out, clenching down so tight he nearly lost it right then. He cursed, fucked you through it, and spilled inside you with a low, broken moan of your name.

Afterward, he collapsed beside you, sweaty and panting, arms immediately wrapping around your waist. He kissed your forehead, then your shoulder, then the back of your hand, whispering softer now:

“Damn, baby… you ruin me every time.”

And when you curled into his chest, still dizzy, he pulled the blanket over both of you and mumbled:

“Next time I’m takin’ you slower. Gonna make love to you so sweet it’ll make the devil blush.”

But for now, he just held you. Heart racing. Breath steadying. And a quiet smile on his lips.

Because you were his.

And he’d make sure the world knew it.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas is shy, tender, and incredibly aware of how dangerous he can be—but he would rather die than hurt you. He follows you around the house like a massive, anxious puppy. He brings you wildflowers, lets you braid his hair, rests his huge head in your lap while you hum to him.

He doesn’t speak, but he makes soft sounds of joy when you smile. He loves cuddling—pulling you into his lap, pressing his nose into your neck, humming deep in his chest. You make him feel safe. Normal. Loved. When the world looks at him with fear, you look at him with warmth. And that means everything.

Thomas is careful. He touches you like you’re porcelain. He checks in constantly, through soft whimpers and wide eyes. When you nod, when you pull him closer—that’s when he finally lets go.

He’s gentle but intense. His strength never feels scary—it feels like you’re being held by a man who would tear the world in half to keep you satisfied. He pants heavily into your skin, leaving kisses and soft moans against your breasts, your thighs, your stomach. He buries his face between your legs and groans like it’s home.

And when he makes love to you? It’s slow, deep, full of heart. He presses his forehead to yours, your fingers locked with his massive hands, and he lets you guide the pace—until he’s shaking, letting out a low, whimpering growl as he finishes, his entire body wrapped around you.

Afterward, he curls against you, his head tucked under your chin, whispering soft, broken sounds of love into your skin.

The barn was dim and warm, the scent of hay and earth heavy in the air. Thomas stood at the door, broad frame silhouetted by the fading light. He watched you like he always did—eyes wide, chest rising and falling with anxious tension. You could see his hands fidgeting, the tips of his fingers flexing like he didn’t know what to do with them.

You approached him slowly, brushing your hand up his thick arm.

“You don’t have to be scared,” you whispered, gazing up into his shy, uncertain eyes. “You’re not gonna hurt me. I trust you, Tommy.”

That name—Tommy—always made him melt. No one else called him that. You saw the way his shoulders slumped, his mask tilting down as if he were hiding the bashful warmth that bloomed across his chest.

You reached for the knot of his apron, slowly untying it.

He let you.

He stood still, towering over you, trembling like a man ready to fall apart. You pulled him down gently, guiding him to sit on the thick blanket you’d laid across the floor. You kissed his mask first—soft and slow. Then, with careful fingers, you removed it. He flinched—but when you smiled at him, touched his scarred cheek with nothing but affection, he leaned into it.

“You’re beautiful,” you said, and he made a deep, broken sound in his throat—like he couldn’t believe anyone would say that to him.

You straddled his lap, and he was already half-hard just from the weight of you. You could feel him beneath you, thick and pulsing, restrained only by his jeans. You reached down to stroke him through the denim, and he whimpered. It was helpless. He buried his face in your neck, clinging to you with shaking hands.

When you unzipped his jeans, he hissed through his teeth—his size intimidating even to you. Thick, heavy, and hot in your hand, he twitched at every touch like he didn’t know how to handle the pleasure. You kissed him again, rubbing slow circles up his length, and he choked on a groan so sweet it made your thighs clench.

“Do you want me?”

He nodded frantically, gripping your hips with those enormous hands.

You rode him slow, sliding down inch by inch, gasping at the stretch. He filled you completely—stretching you in a way that was both delicious and overwhelming. But he didn’t move. Not until you did. Thomas never moved first. Not unless you told him it was okay.

When you started grinding against him, rolling your hips in lazy, needy circles, he growled—deep, animalistic, almost pained. His hands clutched your waist like he thought you might vanish, and he couldn’t stop moaning. Every squeeze of your walls, every breathy gasp from your mouth, drove him wild.

He worshipped you with his body.

His mouth latched onto your breasts, tongue swirling, sucking gently while his hands roamed over your back, your ass, your thighs—touching everything, as if trying to memorize you. He was vocal, gasping and grunting, his eyes locked on your face like you were everything.

And when you started to come undone—legs shaking, nails digging into his shoulders—he made a needy noise, thrusting up into you just a little harder, desperate to feel all of it.

“Tommy—I'm—oh god—”

He growled your name into your neck as you came, hips trembling. His release followed shortly after—deep inside you, hot and overwhelming. His whole body trembled beneath yours. He held you so tight, groaning through clenched teeth, arms wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

You collapsed against him, his chest heaving. His hands didn’t stop moving—petting your back, stroking your hair, pressing sweet, clumsy kisses to your shoulder. And then he did what he always did afterward:

He wrapped you up in a blanket, pulled you close to his massive chest, and rocked you gently.

Like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held. Like he couldn’t believe you were real. Like he loved you so deeply it scared him.

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dee-the-red-witch · 8 months ago

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Okay, this is it.

It's been ten years of fucked-up, and it's been ramping up more and more over the last three since I came out. Between getting used emotionally and financially to be the sole support for this family, Getting harmed daily by a kid that I want to love and support but who can't understand who this stranger is that replace his dad and more and more things on top of it. To the point where I've had no resources, barely any energy to work or function, and near constantly hit adrenaline rush responses at random loud noises. But things are moving forward. Monday, my son moves into care that's well-equipped for him, and they'll be better for him than I ever will be at this point or any time in the future. My oldest kid is old enough to be independent and start doing their own thing enough to get out of here. I don't have to worry about or protect them.

I can get out. Just move, on my own, find a safe place and rest and heal. Finally. Just, I have zero resources to do it with. The last decade has fucked my credit and rental history badly, I'm sure, as well. Which means finding a place within my normal budget and sweetening the pot by pre-paying as many extra months as I can. Plus that way I can be covered for housing during my transition surgery recoveries, since this family and apartment managed to drain every last cent from my transition fund to keep from becoming unhoused. And it'll mean me having to do a lot less asking for support and help, because I won't be supporting four people on one income any longer. But all of that means I need to get money together. Quick. And a lot. At least 5k, if not closer to ten. So, yeah, I'm asking for help again. To donate: http://paypal.me/tormentedartifacts

If you want to get something in return for helping, there's also always http://tormentedartifacts.com but I'll be clear. Anything big ordered right now is likely not happening until after I move, if not after my surgery recovery, since I won't be able to sit fully upright or work for a big chunk of that. Which means you may not see it until next year.

But anything helps. Please. Even just five bucks. And so does reblogging and sharing this wherever you can. So, if you do, thanks.

#help #signal boost #trans woman in need #artist in need #trauma survivor in need

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insidekatmind · 2 months ago

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New Professor~Hwang Jun Ho

Wearning: +18,smut, age-gap.

The start of the school year is always a mix of excitement and anxiety for you. You’ve always been the shy and reserved girl, the one who sits at the back of the classroom and prefers the soft sound of pages turning to the loud chatter in the hallways.

This year, however, it seems like the whole school is in an uproar over a new thing that everyone is talking about: the new literature teacher. Word spreads fast and wild among the girls in your year, painting him as some sort of divine apparition.

“Have you seen him? He’s beautiful!” Minji exclaims one morning as she emphatically places her tray on the cafeteria table. “Tall, muscular, and that chiseled jawline… he doesn’t even look like a teacher!”

You barely look up from your book, curious but not too convinced. However, when you finally sit down in the literature classroom for your first class and he walks in, you immediately understand what they mean.

Hwang Jun Ho is young, probably in his mid-thirties, with dark, intense eyes that seem to scan every detail of the room. His black hair falls lightly over his forehead, and his perfectly pressed white shirt highlights his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He certainly doesn’t have the stern look of a typical literature professor.

“Good morning, everyone,” he greets in a deep, warm voice. “I’m Professor Hwang, and I’m here to take you on a journey through classic and modern literature. I hope we can learn a lot together.”

The girls in your class seem to have lost the ability to speak. Even Jisoo, who is always ready to launch into frivolous chit-chat, is left speechless, her cheeks flushed.

You, however, only care about the way he speaks. His voice glides smoothly over the words, as if each sentence has been carefully chosen. There’s a genuine passion in the way he explains that impresses you more than any appearance.

In the days that follow, it becomes clear that your classmates all have a crush on him. The classroom seems increasingly crowded, especially during his lectures. Girls you’ve never seen interested in literature now sit in the front rows, smiling enthusiastically and asking questions that don’t seem to have anything to do with the program.

Yet, he never seems to be truly distracted by their attention. His eyes, dark and piercing, always end up lingering on you, as if trying to understand what you’re thinking as you carefully take notes.

One afternoon, after class, as you gather your books more slowly than usual, he approaches you.

“Can I ask you something?” he says, with a gentle smile that seems to melt away all your defenses. “You have a way of looking at things that’s different from others. As if you read more deeply. Have you ever thought about writing something of your own?”

The question takes you by surprise. No one has ever asked you something like that. You blush and look down, stammering out an answer you don’t even remember. But he smiles again, and his gaze remains fixed on your face.

“If you want, we could talk about it someday. Maybe over coffee. Not as professor and student, but as… literature enthusiasts.”

Your heart is racing. You don’t know if it’s a professional invitation or something else. But a part of you wants to find out.

And that’s just the first of many conversations that will change everything.

As the weeks went by, you and Professor Jun Ho ended up sleeping together many times. Each time you told him it was the last time but there you were again, bouncing on his cock in his empty classroom.

Jun Ho's eyes darken with desire as he watches you, his gaze trailing over your curves. He leans back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Is that so?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you can't get enough of me."

He stands up, his tall frame towering over you. In a swift motion, he pulls you close, his strong arms wrapping around your waist. You can feel the heat of his body, the hardness pressing against your stomach. "You say it's the last time," he whispers in your ear, his breath hot against your skin, "but your body tells a different story."

His hands roam over your back, your sides, your ass, squeezing and kneading. He grips your hips, lifting you easily onto his desk. Papers scatter as he spreads your legs, stepping between them. "Tell me again," he demands, his voice firm, "that this is the last time. Look me in the eye and say it."

But you can't. You're too lost in the sensation of his touch, the smell of his cologne, the way his eyes burn into yours.

"You feeling so good, so big" you whimpered as you clung to his muscular shoulders.

Jun Ho's smirk widens into a grin at your words, his ego clearly boosted. "That's right, baby," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your thighs. "I'm the biggest you've ever had, aren't I?"

He leans down, capturing your lips in a rough kiss. His tongue pushes into your mouth, dominating you completely. One hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss.

"You love it, don't you?" he growls against your lips. "Love the way I fill you up, stretch you out. Love the way I make you scream."

He reaches between your legs, finding you soaked. He chuckles darkly. "Look at you, so wet for me already. You're insatiable, you little slut."

Jun Ho's lips close around your nipple, sucking hard as his hand guides your hips, impaling you on his thick shaft. He groans against your skin, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice strained. "Take every inch. Fuck, you're so tight."

He starts to move, thrusting up into you as he pulls you down onto him. The desk creaks beneath you, papers flying off the sides as he fucks you harder, faster.

"Look at you," he pants, his eyes glued to where you're connected. "Taking my cock like a pro. You were made for this, weren't you?"

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub. "Come on, sweetheart. Scream for me. Let the whole school hear who you belong to."

“Jun ho” you moaned scratching his back. “I’m coming."

Jun Ho's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he feels your walls clamp down around him. "That's it, baby," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic. "Come for me. Milk my cock."

He buries his face in your neck, biting down on your shoulder as his own orgasm crashes over him. He fills you with his hot seed, each pulse sending a shudder through his muscular body.

"Fuck," he pants, collapsing back onto the desk. "Every time is better than the last. You're going to be the death of me, woman."

He pulls you down onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you possessively. "But what a way to go," he murmurs, kissing your forehead. "My little student slut."

You cuddled up to him, sighing softly, your legs shaking with pleasure.

Jun Ho holds you close, his large hand stroking your back soothingly. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, inhaling deeply. "You're so beautiful when you come apart in my arms," he murmurs.

He shifts slightly, his softened cock slipping out of you. You both groan at the sensation. Jun Ho reaches for some tissues, cleaning you up gently before tossing them aside.

"We should get dressed," he says reluctantly, helping you sit up. "Someone might come looking for me soon."

He starts to gather your clothes, handing them to you with a wink. "But don't think this is over, sweetheart. I'm not done with you yet."

He pulls you in for a deep, passionate kiss before releasing you. "Tonight, at my place."

#hwang jun ho #hwang jun ho x y/n #hwang jun ho x you #hwang jun ho x reader #jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho imagine #squid game x you #smut imagine #squid game x reader #squid game x oc #squid game x fem!reader #squid game x y/n #squid game imagine #squid game imagines #squid game fic #jun ho squid game #squid game fanfic

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emichanted · 2 months ago

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➷ BAD HABITS ft. Sae Itoshi (MDNI)

Synopsis: Sae is your ex. But you somehow always end up back in his bed.

Contains: Sexual Content (MDNI), a little bit of angst.

Warning: NOT proof read (I apologise for any mistakes)

Word Count: 2.8k

You found yourself in Sae's bed again, your legs were wrapped around his waist as he slid in and out inside of you. God you missed this. You missed him.

Sae is your ex. You had closed that door month ago when he made it very clear he would always put soccer above you. Which you did understand. It was his career, his dream. But what about you? Where did you fit in? Because he surely never made the time or effort to show you that you meant anything to him.

But you never locked that door. And that was a mistake on your part. You were hoping, praying, he would come back and tell you how much he loved you. But instead, you somehow ended up finding yourself entangled in his bed, just like right now. It was a bad habit of yours. One that you loved and hated at the same time.

You were mad at yourself, but you also couldn't imagine letting any other man fuck you. Sae just did it sooo good.

But you were also mad at him. Why did he let this happen? A part of you was hoping that maybe, just maybe, he missed you, too.

You throw your head back as you feel your orgasm coming, you feel Sae's heavy breaths agains your neck, he was about to finish too. Both of you cling onto eachother as you reach your climaxes. Sae drops down beside you, relaxing his breath, your head spinning.

You feel Sae's hand come up and rest on your stomach. You turn your head to look at him and see him already staring at you.

"What?"

That annoying smirk of his appears on his face as he uses his finger to trace little circles on your stomach, sending shivers down your spine.

"Nothing. You're just very beautiful like this."

You roll your eyes at him and turn your head away from him. Because, what the fuck?

"Hey, Y/N?"

You don't look at him. You simply answer with an annoyed "what?" As you sit up from his bed, grabbing your clothes.

He grabs your wrist, stopping you. That's when you finally turn around and look at him again.

"Don't... Don't go just yet..."

Was the Sae Itoshi who doesn't give a fuck about anything literally asking you to not leave just yet? You weren't sure if your mind was playing tricks on you.

"What?" Your words come out quieter than intended.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs, rolling onto his back. God, he was beautiful.

"I've just been thinking, Y/N... We've been broken up for months now."

Yeah, you have been. And yet, here you are, in his room, naked, sitting on his bed.

He turns his head to face you again.

"But yet, we always find ourselves back in each others arms."

Was that a smile you saw on his face? A genuine smile? You gulp, wondering what's coming next, not wanting to let your hopes up.

"I mean... I may just be hoping for too much but... Maybe, you still love me?"

Same props himself up on his elbow, staring into your eyes. You feel so... Bare... Under his stare. Even though you are still naked, you feel like he's staring right into you.

You gulp. "And what would that change?"

"Everything."

Before you know what's going on, Sae grabs your arm and pulls you on top of him. You stare down at him underneath you, your hands on his chest. You feel like you're about to explode.

"I'm sorry, Y/N." Is all he says before he pulls your face to his and kisses you with more passion than ever. After a few seconds, he pulls away and stares at you again. "Can you give me another chance? I promise to do better this time..."

Andyou just couldn't hold it in any longer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and you kissed him. Harder than ever before. The words you've been longing to hear. He finally said it. You felt like you could die right this moment.

Maybe this bad habit of always ending back up in his bed was not such a bad habit after all if it ended like this? You couldn't be more happier.

A/N: pls I love Sae sm I could write fics about his every day, all day 🤧

Masterlist

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deusfoundry · 4 months ago

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Hii again, sorry if I'm asking for a lot of Cedric requests (you can ignore this if you'd like). But there's this idea that's been plaguing my mind, where Cedric has always been told he has a lovely, charming, or beautiful smile that brightens up people's day or anything of the sort. But to him he doesn't really know what people mean when they say that. Until he sees reader's smile that just instanyly brightens up his day. "7 billion smiles, but yours is my favorite"

Thank you for reading thiss

hi nonnie! im assuming you're also the one who sent the ced request i got prior to this one and if so, please dont apologize!! i truly adore this man and i love writing for him! i hope i was able to do your prompt justice w this one eheh MWAH <333

if cedric's got a sickle for every time someone has told him he had a pretty smile, he'd be bloody rich by age fourteen.

he's heard it from everyone. from strangers on the street, older men with a head full of gray hair seeing a reflection of themselves decades ago in his youthful eyes. from letters he'd find slipped into his bag, secret admirers waxing poetic about his smile, how it had been enough to make the hour and a half they spend in snape's class bearable, how seeing him from across the great hall at dinner was the one thing they look forward to the most.

he's heard it first, and perhaps most often, from his own mother, who'd take his cheeks into her hands and look at him as if she's holding the entire galaxy between her palms.

"you've got the loveliest smile, my dear boy. never lose it."

but he doesn't know what it means, to have a smile that brightens up the room. he can't wrap his mind around how one tiny smile can be enough to rid someone free of the burdens they accumulate as dawn turns to dusk.

cedric doesn't understand until he finds himself tucked in a corner of the library, buried under a mountain of books and parchment on what's supposed to be a weekend spent at hogsmeade.

he normally has a better hand at managing his responsibilities, but the combination of head boy duties, quidditch season starting in two weeks, and the workload that comes with n.e.w.t. level classes has made it impossible to do anything but thank merlin that he even manages to get through a single day.

cedric fights the urge to groan as he feels the seeds of an all familiar headache sprouting. an invisible force pounds against his head, a faint thud every few seconds that sends a twitch to his eye, but he knows it won't take long until he feels like an ogre is bashing his head against the thick books laying in front of him.

he wishes nothing more than for you to be here, with your own share of work, filling the stifling silence of his own little corner of the library with your frantic scribbling on parchment.

you'd let him take a break by now, body slumping against yours as he slots his head on the crook of your neck. he would breathe you in, greedily, and bite back a grin when you giggle at the ticklish feeling of his nose brushing against your skin. your fingers would find themselves tangled with his hair, tugging at the roots and digging at his scalp with enough pressure to release the tension on his shoulders.

he needs you, overwhelmingly so, but your friends had already whisked you off to hogsmeade before he could even ask if you'd want to join him.

at this point, he'd much rather take the ogre than spend another second alone.

"there you are."

cedric's head snaps towards the direction of your voice. he knows you're talking, watches the open and close of your mouth and the almost animated expressions your face dons as you approach him, but he's not hearing any of it.

he sees your smile, a reflection of the sun and the stars, and finally, he understands just how powerful it can be. he remains in a trance even as you clear a spot on the table for you to sit. his body moves entirely on auto-pilot, thighs spreading apart to make way for your legs as he drags himself and his chair closer to you. you've barely touched him, and yet he feels as if he's being pulled into a warm embrace by the clouds as you fish for his hand, locking your fingers together.

"love? are you alright?"

cedric swiftly slides his arms around your waist. he rests his head on your lap and hopes that the quiet hum he lets out is enough to quell your worries.

"better, bug. now that you're here."

vividly, he can imagine the face you make. a grimace in feigned disgust, your bottom lip between your teeth as you try to hold back a giggle.

"that's cheesy, ced." you give his head a light shove before running your fingers through his hair, to which cedric responds with a laugh and the tightening of his arms. he's given you no chance of escape, palms clutching onto the flesh.

"it's the truth."

and it is. if your smile had been enough to ease the ache in his body, brighten his day despite his workload that refuses to decrease, what more now that he's got you in his arms.

#cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fluff #harry potter x reader #harry potter fluff #harry potter #deusfoundry writes!

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nylauninterrupted · 3 months ago

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OP81 x Reader [Let's Get Out of Here]

before reading: this is a repost, since I am desperately trying to learn how to manage posts and format them, thanks for your patience! (I am currently open to requests and slowly working through them<3)

summary: You thought Oscar was your enemy, yet things seem to change after a party, when you're not feeling so well.

content warnings: smut, dom!Oscar, kinda rough at times

word count: 2357

You've known Oscar for a couple of months now. You first met the driver at a casual party of a mutual friend. And for some reason, unlike everyone, you seemed unable to hold a civil conversation with him.

Maybe it was the way he looked completely uninterested when you came up to him to ask a simple question. Or how he was always calm, no matter the situation, no matter how you felt. You truly didn't know.

But the fact is, every chat, every even slightly pointed glance, the smallest interaction would ignite flames and fighting. And you didn't understand it. You didn't understand yourself and your feelings.

There you are, sipping a cola on ice, in a slight haze, as your eyes take in the stuffy room of a friend's apartment. The movement of the people dancing around seems slowed and a bit blurry.

You're not drunk at all, but rather detached. You've had a bloody awful day after you had an argument with a family member. You wish to forget, to take your mind off things, to think about only the pleasant things.

It's honestly a perfect situation to get drunk and forget, yet you hold yourself back, knowing that this isn't the thing you should be doing. Moments like that always end up the same, with you barely able to walk, stumbling to your cold, empty apartment, having to clean your own puke the next morning, with a massive hangover.

The world around you seems to swirl, the seconds tangling together into minutes, as you sit alone, swirling the liquid in your glass. You exhale shakily, placing your heavy head on your hand. You close her eyes tiredly before opening them and looking up, just in time to see him walking through the door.

You want to scoff seeing Oscar, his unnerving calm expression present on his face as always. His eyes meet yours, as if feeling your stare... Or were you glaring?

He raises an eyebrow at you, his face nonchalant as if in a challenge. You straighten up, pulling out of your haze, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you vulnerable.

Oscar almost rolls his eyes at your gesture, reading it correctly. His eyes soften slightly as he approaches you slowly. You don't take your eyes off him, having to look up more the closer he gets.

"Piastri," you say coldly, though your voice cracks slightly, indicating your slightly shaken state.

He observes you closely, his eyes narrowing knowingly, figuring out that you are not feeling too good.

"What's with the sour expression? You look unhappy; it's definitely not just because I'm here."

"Maybe it is." you mutter, but your eyes relax a little as you give up on looking tough, knowing that he's got you figured out already. "Why do you suddenly care?"

Oscar pulls out a chair and sits right in front of you without looking away for even a split second. He takes in the way you're dressed, your expression, your hair, and every single inch of you that he can see.

"Dunno. Maybe I just feel curious." He shrugs, with absolutely no shame, studying every single movement of the muscles of your face. "So? What happened?"

You exhale, giving up on trying to chase him away, knowing that while he usually looked like he didn't care about anything, once he settled on something, he stubbornly kept to it.

"It's not a good day for me," you say quietly, finally showing slight sensitivity, meeting his eyes, which soften slightly at your words.

"And so you chose to go to a party instead of taking care of yourself at home?" He asks, and although his tone sounds a bit scolding for some reason, for once it doesn't make you want to punch him in the face. His questions came off more as his way of showing concern.

You would like to keep believing he doesn't care. That he is completely insensitive to everything you feel, maybe even enjoys it when you're miserable. But in this moment, he's anything but that. Even though his words are reserved, the way his honey brown orbs follow yours makes your heart flutter a bit for some reason. His lips suddenly look more full than usual, and oh, did he always have such a nice nose?

You open her mouth a bit, a little overwhelmed by those sudden thoughts. You quickly shake them off, trying to focus on forming a coherent response.

"I really don't want to be alone right now. The loud music and people are still better than sitting in my empty apartment right now. Even if it's not the best setting." you manage to say, taking a deep breath. "I didn't have any better ideas."

Oscar keeps looking at you, actually taking your words seriously. Seeing how you sit here, trying to handle your heavy heart, makes him soften. He gets up and holds his hand out to you.

"Come on. You shouldn't spend an evening like that at a party. You can stay with me tonight."

Your eyes widen at those words. The guy who'd show disinterest in everything you said, who you'd fight with all the time, saying something so sympathetic? It feels unreal.

Your face heats up a bit, soft hints of a blush barely visible on your cheeks. You blink quickly, trying to calm down a bit, not able to look away from the man standing in front of you.

"We won't do anything you don't want to do," he says quickly, noticing your subtle reaction to his words. "I promise."

To hell with it.

You carefully take his warm hand and get up, stumbling a little, even though you are completely sober. Oscar immediately catches you, steadying you and looking down to meet your eyes, which are still wide.

Still in a slight daze, you let him lead you out of the party and walk down the street with you in the chilly evening air. You shiver a little, as you didn't bother to take a jacket with her.

Without hesitation, he takes his large hoodie off and helps you put it on carefully, not saying a word. His scent immediately envelops you, as the fabric warms you up almost instantly.

He takes your arm gently and walks you through the empty streets. You press your lips together, utterly confused by the whole situation. Why did he start taking care of you like that?

"Thank you," you say quietly, not wanting to be ungrateful. A few hours ago you'd probably say that you hate his guts, but now... His actions leave you confused.

You walk in silence for a while before finally stopping in front of his apartment door. For some reason you feel nervous, never having been to his home before. The whole evening made you doubt yourself and every single emotion you ever felt. Even though none of the things Oscar did were that big, they made you feel like a whole different person.

He glances at you and opens the door for you, actually acting like a gentleman for once. Or maybe he's always been one, and you were just too busy focusing on his faults to notice? You really didn't know anymore.

He helps you to a seat, even though you are perfectly capable of walking by yourself, and kneels down, carefully undoing all the little straps of your shoes. You feel her face heat up once more, looking down at the man on his knees before you, helping you with everything, without you even having to ask.

"Why are you doing this?" you whisper softly, looking at Oscar, who just got up and sat down in front of you. Your eyes are shining in the dim light; you are almost fascinated by the man and his doings.

"Because you need to be taken care of." He answers softly, looking back at you, with something resembling determination in his eyes. "And I'll provide anything you need so you can feel better."

Your breathing slows down a little, while your heart speeds up at that.

"Anything?" you whisper softly, your body almost aching to touch him, feel the warmth of his hands on your skin again.

Oscar nods his head, and before he can say anything else, you lean closer, gently supporting his chin, while your lips touch his. Without hesitating, he puts his hands on both sides of your head, tangling your hair in his fingers as he takes the lead of the kiss.

You lean back after a few seconds, your breathing shaky, making eye contact with the Aussie.

"Just tell me what you want me to do," he whispers to you, his eyes full of affection and warmth you didn't think he was capable of showing.

"Just... Make me forget about it. I want to feel you. Just you."

"Do you want me to be gentle?" he asks, assuming that you need only care and affection.

"The opposite," you whisper, making Oscar's breath hitch slightly. He gets up and lifts you up from the couch, twirling you around a bit, before rather quickly making his way to the bedroom with you. He didn't want to have you on the couch for the first time. This had to be more intimate.

He throws you down on the bed a bit roughly, crawling on top of you. You're still wearing his hoodie over your silver party dress, which honestly turns him on quite a bit.

"My beautiful girl," he murmurs, breathing in the sweet scent of your perfume, as he buries his head in your neck. "All for me to have."

He places soft kisses on your jaw and quickly moves lower, to your collarbone, progressively getting rougher. He nibbles and leaves hickeys all over you, marking all the sweet spots that make you whimper and moan.

"O-Oscar." You stutter, gripping his muscular back a bit, before immediately releasing it as the sensations continue.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" He asks quietly, a small smirk on his face, "Tell me how it feels, honey."

You bite your lower lip softly at the nickname, not expecting him to get this intimate so quickly, but definitely liking it.

"Feels... amazing," you whisper, which makes him continue. He takes his hoodie off of you before lifting up your party dress. His lips curl at your underwear. It's a simple lacy set, nothing too fancy. He doesn't need anything fancy, though.

"Light green, interesting choice." He teases slightly, undoing your bra and sliding it off, careful not to scratch you with the clip. He'd rather leave all the marks himself after all.

His hands move to your now-exposed breasts, kneading them in a painfully slow way, before taking one of your nipples in his lips, sucking on it, and teasing it with his tongue.

It makes you moan, which causes him to smirk against your breasts.

"Eager, are we?" He mutters, his head buried in your chest. Without moving his face away, his hand goes lower, sliding under your panties and feeling your already wet core.

His lips curl at the fact that he makes you so wet, but he doesn't comment on it for now, slipping a finger into you, making more beautiful sounds come out of your mouth. He attacks your chest with his tongue and grazes it with his teeth occasionally, all while working on your slit.

It doesn't take long before you are close. Your mouth opens slightly as you let out another whiny whimper.

"Oscar... I'm..." she stutters out, looking down at the man who's busy pleasuring her body.

"I know, pretty girl." He smirks. "But I can't let you yet." He pulls away, leaving your hole empty for a moment.

He takes his shirt off, making your eyes drift to his muscular stomach. He can see you enjoying the view, which makes him smirk again. Soon enough, he is completely naked, just like you. Still on top of you, he positions himself in front of your entrance.

He leans closer, his mouth close to yours. His dick is of regular size, maybe just a bit bigger than most. Still, you observe him a bit carefully, knowing that you asked him to be rough.

"You can take it; I know you can, baby." Oscar whispers and begins pounding into you. His movements are quite quick, cutting your breaths short, as he thrusts away. You both pant and moan, feeling pure bliss. You never would have thought having sex with him could feel so exquisite.

"God, you're taking me so well," he murmurs, going faster, which makes your moans grow louder. "That's right, let me hear your filthy whines."

You both finish at the same time, breathing heavily. He collapses on top of you, making eye contact.

"You did so good for me, pretty girl," he whispers into your ear and rolls to the side, lying next to you, as you catch your breath.

You look at him, your eyes turning watery. You suddenly feel even more vulnerable after sharing this intimate moment with Oscar.

"Why wouldn't you ever look at me? Why were you always so cold?" You whisper, not able to stop yourself from asking the question that keeps disturbing your peace of mind.

He looks back at her, his expression soft but serious; he wraps his strong arms around you, hugging you tightly.

"Because you intimidated me. I don't think I have ever seen a woman more enticing than you. I don't understand it myself, but I cannot keep my thoughts away from you. And it scared me sometimes."

You don't say anything to his words. You didn't need to. You let yourself sink in the warm feeling of being cared for. You look up to meet his gorgeous brown eyes and peck the tip of his nose, making him smile widely. He immediately responds with a soft kiss, only on your lips. You nuzzle up against him, breathing softly.

Neither of you say anything, simply finding comfort in each other's presence. Soon enough, your eyelids start feeling heavy, and you feel yourself dozing off in his arms.

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagines #f1 smut #f1 x reader #op81 x reader #oscar piastri smut #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine

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allgoodnamesrgoneee · 18 days ago

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hii! can we get a story were jude and the reader are expecting a child and he’s being super protective and attentive with her and just being the best husband ever maybe a little smut if you’re feeling like it😉

Heyyy… so, remember me?

Yeah, it feels like it's been about eighty-four years. I swear I didn't fall off the face of the earth, life just decided to humble me a little. Between school, work, and a near-death experience (yes, seriously), I've basically been living on caffeine and sheer willpower.

Now, with the end of the semester creeping up, things are somehow even busier than before. BUT(cue dramatic music)...summer Break is almost here!! Yayy!

Starting May 20th, I'm going to try (emphasis on try) to post at least twice a week! Fingers crossed. Pray for me. Light a candle.

Thank you so much for being patient with me. I promise I'm cooking up some really good stuff, and it's going to be so worth the wait. I can't wait to finally share everything I've been planning with you guys!

Love you all & see you soon!

-Bianca🌻

P.S. Don't forget my fics now available for ONLY $3 ($4.50 on iOS) each on my Patreon shop if you're looking for something specific; don't miss your chance to catch up on all the exclusive content!

I've uploaded way more fics to it. I just haven't posted them on Tumblr.

In All the Little Ways

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — Your son isn’t even here yet, but Jude is already head over heels—fiercely protective, endlessly patient, and so in love with the little family you’re building together.

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Husband!Jude Bellingham x Pregnant!Wife!You

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.9k

Warnings! FLUFF, protective Jude, domestic sweetness, lots of baby fever, Jude being the most attentive husband ever, soft!dilfJude energy, boydad!Jude

You learn very quickly that there are two types of pregnant women in the world: the ones who glow like goddesses, and the ones who swear they're being slowly taken out from the inside.

You, for better or worse, fall solidly into the second category.

"Sit down, love. Please."

You blink down at your hands, still buried wrist-deep in the kitchen sink, suds clinging stubbornly to your knuckles like a second, soapier skin. The dishes clatter faintly against one another as you scrub, a mindless rhythm that’s become almost meditative these days—one of the few chores that lets you feel halfway normal.

Behind you, you can feel Jude hovering. His hand is half-extended, frozen awkwardly between reaching for you and holding back, like he’s ready to physically lift you away from the sink if it comes to that.

"Jude," you sigh, exhaustion threading through your voice as you turn slightly to look at him. "I'm just washing a few plates."

"You’re seven months pregnant," he counters immediately, his voice rising a fraction, that note of helpless urgency slipping through. His dark eyes—usually so steady, so soft—are wide and pleading, like he’s trying to will you into understanding the sheer scope of his concern. "And you’ve been on your feet for nearly an hour. An hour, babe."

You glance over your shoulder and catch the full effect of his worry. His brows are drawn together in a fierce line, his mouth pressed into a thin, stubborn line of determination. His arms are crossed tight over his chest, but he’s leaning toward you like he can’t physically help it, practically vibrating with barely restrained anxiety.

God, he looks so sincere it almost makes you feel guilty.

Almost.

You huff out a breath and dry your hands on a towel, more out of pity for his poor, fraying nerves than anything else. "Fine. But not because you're right," you mutter, flicking water droplets in his direction for good measure. "Because I’m tired."

"Same difference," he says immediately, flashing a grin that's more relief than triumph. He steps forward, gentle but firm, and catches your elbow in his hand like you're made of blown glass. Like you might shatter if he isn't careful enough.

You roll your eyes dramatically, but you let him lead you away from the sink, secretly grateful to be off your feet.

"Feet up," he instructs as soon as your back hits the couch. His voice has taken on that soft, bossy lilt he only uses when he’s pretending to have any say in the matter.

Before you can even protest, he’s already fussing—grabbing one of the giant, overly fluffy pillows he once swore he hated ("Why do we need a graveyard of cushions?") and tucking it carefully under your ankles, adjusting it once, then twice, until he’s satisfied.

It’s ridiculous, really. Over the past few months, Jude has evolved—or maybe devolved—into some insane hybrid of husband, bodyguard, and personal butler.

If you so much as breathe funny, he’s at your side with a glass of water and three different suggestions for prenatal yoga. He’s read every book, highlighted every article, downloaded every app the internet has ever recommended. He meal-preps your favorite comfort foods on Sundays now—though he always burns the roasted vegetables—and has stocked the pantry so full of prenatal vitamins it looks like you’re preparing for the apocalypse.

Last week, he spent three hours installing some ridiculous contraption in the car that promised to make your seatbelt “more bump-friendly.” You didn’t have the heart to tell him you weren’t entirely sure it was legal.

You’d tease him mercilessly if it wasn’t…well. Kind of the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

"You comfortable?" he asks now, crouching down in front of you so you’re eye level. His hand—big, calloused from years of gripping footballs but somehow still warm and impossibly gentle—finds your knee. His thumb traces slow, absentminded circles there, grounding you.

"I'm good," you reassure him, giving him a small, real smile.

Still, he hesitates, scanning your face like he’s waiting for you to suddenly combust or cry or both. And to be honest, you don't blame him. The mood swings lately have been… unpredictable at best. Yesterday you cried because the cereal box wouldn’t open properly.

"Really," you insist, reaching out to cup his jaw. His scruff has grown in a little, prickly against your palm, but familiar in the most comforting way.

He leans into your touch immediately, closing his eyes for a second and releasing a breath you didn’t realize he’d been holding. The noise he makes—somewhere between a hum and a sigh—blooms warm and soft in your chest.

"Okay," he says finally, though he still sounds like he’s ready to spring into action at the slightest twitch. "You need anything? Tea? Water? Grapes?"

You lift an eyebrow. "Grapes?"

"You said you craved them the other day," he says defensively, looking almost sheepish.

You laugh under your breath. "That was one time, Jude."

"Still," he shrugs, as if that explains everything. "Just in case."

You shake your head and tug at the sleeve of his hoodie, coaxing him closer. "Just sit with me."

It’s all he needs to hear.

The tension bleeds out of him like air from a balloon. He shuffles onto the couch beside you with comical caution, lowering himself like he’s afraid the cushions might collapse under his weight.

Almost immediately, his hand finds your bump—it's instinctual by now—his fingers spreading protectively across the stretch of fabric covering your stomach. His thumb moves in slow, reverent circles, as if he's wordlessly communicating with the little life inside you.

You cover his hand with yours, weaving your fingers between his, squeezing lightly. His touch is steady, reassuring.

He smells like fresh laundry and the faintest trace of the aftershave you got him for your last anniversary—the one he insists on saving for “special days” but you know he wears just to make you smile. It's a stupidly perfect combination. It smells like home.

You let your head fall back against the cushion, your body finally surrendering to the tiredness that's been gnawing at your bones all day. Your eyelids flutter closed, your breathing syncing up with the slow, steady rhythm of his. He’s so warm.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The television hums softly in the background, some late-afternoon cooking show playing reruns you're not really watching. The clatter of pans and soft chatter from the screen fills the living room with a kind of easy, domestic noise. Outside, the sky bruises into early evening, colors bleeding together in dusky streaks of violet, gold, and deepening blue. The kind of light that makes everything look a little softer. A little slower.

Jude’s hand stays splayed protectively across your bump, thumb tracing lazy, mindless circles. His touch is warm, grounding. You can feel the steady beat of his pulse under your fingers where your hands are still tangled together.

It’s peaceful. So peaceful you feel yourself drifting a little, lulled by the steady background noise, the weight of Jude's palm, the rhythmic inhale and exhale of his breathing beside you.

And then—A flutter. Small, quick, like the flick of a bird’s wing inside you.

You blink, roused from your haze, and press your hand a little more firmly against your belly, right over where you felt it.

"He's kicking," you murmur, your voice barely louder than the hush of the television. You smile, small and instinctive, as the tiny movements continue beneath your skin. It’s a strange and beautiful sensation. A secret only you and your baby share—until you let Jude in on it.

Jude’s face lights up instantly, the transformation so pure it makes your chest ache. His whole expression softens, his eyes going wide and glassy, lips parting in awe. "Yeah?" he breathes, already leaning closer like he’s afraid he might miss it if he doesn’t move fast enough.

You nod, shifting a little to give him more space. The couch creaks under your combined movements. Jude's hand slides lower, fingers splaying wide across the curve of your stomach, just above your hip bone. His touch is gentle, tentative, like he’s afraid of pressing too hard.

"There," you whisper, catching his hand and guiding it to the right spot. You hold your breath as you wait, heart thudding in your ears.

For a few long moments, nothing happens.

Jude stays perfectly still, head bowed, brow furrowed in concentration. So still you can almost feel the tension vibrating under his skin. You can see it, too—the faint crease between his eyebrows, the slight pinch at the corners of his mouth. You wonder if maybe the baby’s decided to nap just to spite you both.

But then—

A kick. A little harder this time. A tiny, decisive thump right against Jude’s palm.

He jolts like he’s been shocked, sucking in a sharp, disbelieving breath. His head snaps up, his eyes locking onto yours with a kind of wide-eyed wonder that makes your throat close up. He’s so close you could count every freckle dusting his nose, every individual eyelash framing his gaze.

"Did you feel that?" you ask, grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

"I—yes," he stammers, looking completely dazed. "I did. Shit." His fingers flex instinctively, trying to catch the feeling again. "It was…shit, it was amazing."

You laugh wetly, blinking back a sudden, stupid rush of tears. Because it is amazing. And because you know that look. The look that says he’s falling a little more in love with both of you every time he feels that tiny life moving. The way he stares at you, like he’s seeing something sacred. Like he can’t quite believe any of this is real.

Like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

Your heart twists so hard it’s almost painful.

He doesn’t look away for a long time. His thumb strokes absentmindedly over your hip bone, the touch feather-light and reverent. "How are you feeling?" he asks eventually, voice pitched low and careful, like he’s afraid to break the moment.

You take a beat to answer, savoring the way his hand still cradles you, the way his thumb keeps brushing soothing, absentminded strokes against your side.

"Not too bad," you say finally, smiling through the knot of emotion tightening your throat.

It’s not a lie. Not really. These days, the morning sickness is more like occasional afternoon queasiness. Still unpleasant, but nothing like the all-consuming misery of the first trimester when you couldn't even think about food without dry-heaving. You’re sleeping better now, too—well, most nights—propped up on a fortress of pillows Jude arranges for you religiously.

You may not be able to walk up a flight of stairs without needing a full recovery nap afterward, and you definitely haven't seen your own toes in weeks…but you’re here. You’re okay.

Better than okay.

"No headaches?" Jude presses gently, his brows knitting together again, that familiar, earnest worry back in full force. "Back okay? Feet?"

You nod. "All good," you reassure him, squeezing his hand where it still rests over your belly.

He searches your face for a few seconds longer, his gaze darting between your eyes like he’s trying to read something invisible there. Like he knows you too well to just take your words at face value. Finally, he seems satisfied and turns his gaze back down to your bump.

"Jude?"

"Hmm?"

Your voice is soft, almost shy in the quiet room. You lean down, pressing your forehead gently to his. His arms come around you without hesitation, wrapping carefully around your waist, mindful of the bump between you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

You can feel the tension in him—the way his muscles stay taut even as he pulls you closer, the way his breathing hitches slightly when you exhale against his skin.

"I just…I worry," he says after a long beat of silence, his voice so low you almost miss it under the soft hum of the television and the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the far wall. "That you’re doing too much. That I'm not doing enough."

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes—those familiar chocolate brown depths that have always been a mirror for every thought he’s too stubborn to say out loud. They're wide and earnest now, glinting faintly in the low evening light. Vulnerable in a way that makes your heart twist.

You lift your hand to his face, tracing the strong line of his jaw, feeling the faint prickle of stubble beneath your fingertips. Your thumb sweeps softly over the shallow cleft in his chin, the way it always does when you need him to believe you.

"You're doing enough," you whisper, meaning every word with a fierceness that almost startles you. "You're perfect."

He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s trying to let the words sink in—but when he opens them again, there's still that shadow of doubt lingering. He shakes his head slowly.

"But I can't carry it for you," he says, voice cracking the tiniest bit, raw around the edges. His hand slides instinctively back to your belly, resting there like an apology. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a second longer than usual. "I fucking hate that I can't."

"Jude." You grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, gentle but firm. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do," he says without hesitation, the easiest truth he's ever told.

"Then trust me when I say you’re doing everything you can. More than everything. You carry me. That's more than enough." Your voice wavers, but you steady it, pulling him closer until there’s barely an inch between you. "This is our baby. Our job. Not just yours, okay?"

He stares at you for a long moment, his throat bobbing with the force of the emotion he's trying—and failing—to swallow down. Then, slowly, he nods, leaning heavily into you like he’s finally letting himself be held, too.

You wrap your arms around his neck, cradling him against you, your fingers combing through the soft coils at the nape of his neck. His breathing evens out against your collarbone, slow and shaky, like he’s exhaling every fear he’s been carrying alone.

When he lifts his head again, his eyes are glassy, lashes clumped together with unshed tears he stubbornly refuses to let fall.

He nods after a moment, leaning heavily into you. You wrap your arms around his neck, combing your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. He closes his eyes, exhaling a slow, shaky breath. When he opens them again, they're glassy.

"I'm gonna be there," he promises, voice thick and raw, a solemn vow sealed between your heartbeats. "For everything. The late nights. The nappies. All of it. I'm not gonna miss a second." His hands tighten around your waist like he's anchoring himself to you. "Swear to God."

You believe him.

You believe him with every fiber of your being.

"I know," you whisper, brushing your thumb along the curve of his cheek, feeling the slight tremble there.

Because Jude Bellingham doesn’t do anything halfway.

Not on the pitch.

Not in life.

Not in love.

Your baby kicks again—a sharp, cheeky little nudge against your ribs—and both of you laugh, the sound bubbling up to soothe your tears. Your foreheads stay pressed together, and it feels like the whole world has been distilled down to this: the two of you, and the tiny life growing between you.

"You're sure I can't get you anything?" Jude asks a few minutes later, breaking the silence, though his hands stay firmly planted on your bump. "Juice? A snack? Anything?"

You roll your eyes fondly, leaning back into the couch cushions with a sigh. "Jude, you just brought me lunch. Like, two hours ago."

"Yeah, but that was forever ago," he insists, brow furrowing in earnest worry. "You need to eat more. You’re eating for two, remember?"

You lean back against the couch cushions and sigh. "I promise I'll tell you if I want something. Now come sit with me. Your show’s on."

"You sure?"

"I’m positive."

He hesitates—torn between wanting to keep fussing over you and finally accepting that maybe, just maybe, you’re okay for now. Eventually, he nods, dragging himself onto the couch properly and settling beside you, one arm slipping around your shoulders, the other instinctively returning to your bump. His fingers stroke over your clothes, tracing invisible patterns only he knows the meaning of.

It’s been his favorite thing to do ever since your bump started forming.

At night, when you’re curled up in bed, he’ll rest his head there, ear pressed against your stomach, almost trying to catch whispered secrets through your skin. Sometimes he stays so still you think he’s fallen asleep—but then you’ll feel the faint hum of him, humming to your bump, a low, soothing rumble that vibrates through you both.

Sometimes he talks, too.

Whispers soft things he thinks you can’t hear. Promises. Hopes. Fears he’s too proud to say out loud when you're awake.

Later, when he thinks you’ve drifted off to sleep, you hear him whisper it again against the soft curve of your belly:

"You're my whole world. Both of you."

You don’t open your eyes. You don’t have to. You can feel it in every careful brush of his fingertips, in the way he tucks the blanket a little tighter around you both, in the way he kisses your bump with a tenderness that could tear you apart if you let it.

He rests his cheek there, humming under his breath, and you think—no, you know—that whatever storms might come, whatever fears might lurk in the edges of the night, you’ll never face them alone.

Not with Jude by your side.

Not ever.

-Bianca🌻

#footballer x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham #jude x you #bellingham #jb5

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