this is a side blog for fics, yapping and self-shipping. moved here from @paperplvto to embrace the dark side. took some time off writing but i'm slowly coming back to it.
my humble offerings:
Katsuki Boyfriend List hc thing that's based on nothing but very important to me
a Katsuki x Reader Drabble, friends to lovers - you seek comfort in your best friend and somehow end up riding him. if it works, it works.
a Toji x Reader Drabble, dissociation comfort fic catered to exactly myself
Katsuki x Reader (barely) Catsitting Drabble
I'm most likely working on something right now, so head on over to my progress tag ( ♡.am writing ) or shoot me an ask to find out more. Alternatively, come chat with me about my current reads or what i'm watching! I'm always down for a chat, we're all here to make friends, after all :)
In the meantime, you can find some amazing fics by other awesome writers under the various character tags here. Just search for ♡ { [CHARACTER NAME] } and peruse to your hearts content! You'll find something worth your time, I promise.
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ content: semi-canon compliant, some discussion around wounds but no explicit gore, no use of Y/N, cross-cultural clash (lycan x human lul), unresolved romantic tension (eventual smut maybe...), fated mates, himbo-coded Valko but really its just emotional transparency, MC is suspicious as hell of it all though, references to and loosely based off trailers
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ A/N: decided to change the title to the romanized version of родная (in russian, an endearment I believe the meaning is closer to "my own" which comes from the root for "family" ahhh) aaand here is part 2 (earlier than I said I would post it heh the next one wont be early yall)! part 1 can be found here
The third time it’s mentioned, surprisingly, you’re the one to bring it up.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah I know.” Valko takes in your grimace with a look of his own, stern golden eyes peering over his glasses. “Hang in there, alright?”
The sharp pinch of his powers probing in your leg is growing unbearable— an excruciating ache that has your fingers digging into his back, breath hissing through clenched teeth.
“Just a little longer,” he encourages. “Almost got ‘em.”
The ache builds until it suddenly sears white-hot, something shifting deep inside the wound. Cold sweat drips down your temple as you struggle to breathe through the sensation. His muscles underneath your grip tense. The pressure inside the wound tightens, eases, and then shifts again in painstaking increments, his careful adjustments making it clear that whatever he’s caught is resisting every attempt to draw it free.
Each minute tug seems to multiply the pain a thousandfold, cresting into a wave of agony that vibrates up your leg, your hips, your spine, your clenched hands. Then he pulls again— slower, deeper— you smother a scream into his shoulder, teeth sinking in as tears gush hot down your cheek, mingling with the cold sweat soaking the fabric of his shirt.
“Yeah, that’s it— take it out on me.” The clink of metal against glass barely registers. “Good, you’re doing so good.”
You must have lost consciousness somewhere along the way because the next thing you know, you’re blinking beneath the lab’s muted lights. There’s the steady rush of water from the sink, the gentle clatter of instruments being set down one by one, the faint sticky rustle of damp gauze being peeled away. The dull throb in your leg and the tight pull of fresh bandages, followed by the softness of a blanket tucked close under your chin. The blanket’s warmth quickly becomes overwhelming, trapping heat against your still feverish skin. You shift, bracing a hand against the table, beginning to push yourself upright.
“Hey.” Valko is already at your side, a supportive hand under yours as you sit up with a wince. “Take it easy, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“Did you—” Your question dissolves into a rasp, though whether it’s from how dry your mouth feels or how thin your voice sounds, you can’t be sure.
“Here.”
He presses a cup of water into your hands. You manage a grateful nod before tipping it back, draining it too quickly, too thirsty to care when water spills down your chin.
“Did you take a look yet?” At his blank look, you clarify impatiently, wiping your chin. “At what was in my leg?”
He hesitates, then nods decisively with a small frown. “Even from a quick look, I can tell these ain’t ordinary weapons. They’re advanced— some sort of microtech. It’s why they were such a pain in the ass to extract. The little fuckers kept moving, almost like they had minds of their own.”
The muscles in his jaw work and release.
“And I had to immobilize them without tearing your leg up any worse than it already was. That kind of precision with my Evol...” He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’ve never had to do anything like that before.”
His eyes settle back on you, gold crystallizing to flinty yellow.
“And something that sophisticated ending up inside you? Ain’t no way that’s a coincidence.”
You sit with the sobering information, letting it settle. “... You’re saying that explosion was intentional?”
Valko huffs, dipping his head to your eye-level. “I’m saying that someone has their eyes on you and I’m not happy about it. In fact...”
His face is so close, the tip of his nose almost touches yours. Awareness prickles across your skin, every nerve abruptly attuned to the narrowing space between you and the heat of his body. And for a moment, it looks like he means to close the distance. But Valko catches himself at the last second, one hand settling at the edge of the table beside your leg.
“You did quite a number on my heart today.”
Maybe it’s the fever still simmering underneath your skin; maybe it’s the bone-deep exhaustion blurring the edges of your thoughts. Or maybe it’s the dark half moons under his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders, the vivid crescent of your teeth imprinted in his upper arm— either way, you find yourself asking the question in the back of your mind ever since he spoke it into existence.
“Do you really think I’m your mate?”
He blinks slowly. “Why’d you ask?”
“How do you know...?” You let the question fade, a strange sense of self-consciousness throttling the words in your throat.
“How do I know what?” he prods gently.
A thousand different racing thoughts but after a long silence, all that you can muster is: “I just... I don’t know if I believe that stuff.”
You can’t bring yourself to look anywhere but the floor. Valko makes that soft huffing noise again from somewhere above you. “What do you know about lycans?”
“Not much,” you admit.
A succession of faint pops breaks the silence. You glance up to find him tilting his head from side to side, eyes closed as his fingers knead the back of his neck.
“Wolves mate for life,” he says slowly, as though weighing each word. “For lycans, it’s the same. And s’not so much knowing, as it just is.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “But obviously, that doesn’t mean you’re obligated to return my feelings.”
“So,” you ask, feeling a bit on edge without knowing why, “if I don’t agree to it, what— you’re just single forever?”
He shrugs again. “More or less.”
“That sounds awful.”
He snorts, eyes snapping open to reach over and rap your nose with a knuckle.
“S’not like I’m gunna die alone, ya goof.” He pulls over a nearby chair, looking thoughtful as he settles back into it. “Of course, rejection ain’t ideal, but s’not the end of the world. I have my clan too. Cousins, aunties, uncles—”
Valko yawns, an impressive display of his canines before shooting you a teasing grin.”Have I mentioned the sixteen puppers? You’ve got some pretty stiff competition.” His smile grows fond, warm with unseen memories.
“But...” The question prickles at the tip of your tongue, pushing past the uneasy twist in your stomach. “You’re not resentful?”
He tilts his head, one ear tipping forward while the other flicks back in confusion. “Resentful of what?”
“Having your partner chosen for you? Forced into some predestined bullshit?”
You nearly jump out of your skin when Valko throws back his head and laughs, a booming, full-bodied sound that reverberates from deep in his chest, the glass vials in the room faintly rattling with every rolling chuckle. It carries long enough for your annoyance to flare up, but he gathers himself before you have a chance to retort.
“That’s a... new way to think about it,” he says with a wry tilt at the corner of his mouth. “But no. I find myself lucky.”
“Lucky?” You can’t even fathom how he arrived at that conclusion. “Why?”
“Predestined or not,” his gaze finds yours, steady and true, “I’m lucky to have met you.”
Immediately, you jerk your gaze away, a dreaded blush crawling up your neck. “And what if all you’re feeling is just a biological imperative?”
“A biological... imperative?” he echoes, as if he can’t quite follow.
“I mean,” you say, mind racing, words tumbling out before you can process them, barely knowing what you’re trying to say. “Based on what I’ve seen, scent seems to be a really important part of your bond with me. Makes sense right? After all, you’re able to sense so much with your nose, of course you’d be able to sniff out genetic markers or complimentary immune systems—”
You’re in the air, weightless, and for a second you don’t understand— not until Valko deposits you right onto his lap. And technically, you’ve already spent half the night there— sitting across his thighs, your face buried against his shoulder as he worked to remove the debris from your leg. But stripped of medical necessity, the position feels entirely different. Now... Well, now, heat flushes your entire body as every point of contact becomes suddenly, mortifyingly apparent.
“You’re stubborn, so it’s gunna take a while for this to sink in.” He sighs, his nose softly brushing against yours. “But even if my nose stopped working tomorrow—hell, even if it got cut off this very second— I’d still feel lucky to have met you.
“Your scent may have kickstarted this whole thing, sure. But after spending time with you, fighting beside you...”
The gold of his gaze is warm, rich as amber reflecting firelight.
“I’m interested in you. Not in how you smell, not your damn genetic markers. You. Your tendency to question every little damn thing, your bull-headed tenacity, that terrible, terrible habit of neglecting your own needs— not a favorite, for the record— and…” He nuzzles your temple. “And that beautifully atrocious temper of yours.”
You’re stunned silent.
“Yasno?” he asks, looking incredibly self-satisfied as he draws back. “Got it? Got it.”
The self satisfaction grates so thoroughly on your already frayed nerves, your hands fly out to grab his cheeks. Viciously scrubbing your palms back and forth all over his face, you smother his eyes and nose while he sputters in startled protest. Once you’re satisfied with your work, you give his face one last shove.
“Don’t get so cocky,” you shoot over your shoulder as you limp off his lap, “you big oaf.”
girl whose type is strictly caretakers but refuses to let herself be taken care of on the principles of being independent and trust issues so she runs away from it for a while before the caretakers coax her into it bit by bit until she's sooo soft and pliant and spoiled from it...
shouta pretends not to make a big deal over his godlike physique in bed. not that you have time to verbalize it when he's spearing you on his cock as the warm up part of his exercise routine. unless, he's busy making a slick mess of his own cum all over his six pack abs.
when he's balls deep, it's criminal - those beefy arms, veins that bulge with each flex of his biceps and his tendency to trap both of your wrists behind the small of your back with only one large hand. he claims it's just his natural instinct at this point, having subdued and disarmed countless villains with similarly swift movements.
no way would he fuck a villain like this, though. he reserves a special type of brutality when it comes to splitting his girlfriend in half, one that doesn't involve his capture weapon. he doesn't need it, not with a lover who offers her sweet body up so willingly. your submission feeds his ego unlike anything else, a drug he'll forever be addicted to. to your dismay, not all positions make it possible to witness his masterfully sculpted abs flex and broad chest heave.
the solution had its downsides, forcing him to pull out just as he's about to cum. but hell, was it worth it - hearing the slap of his massive cock slapping against his stomach and leaking pre cum down his shaft. the rapid stroking of his cock that slows near his tip when he's right there. the guttural groans torn from his throat as each jerk of his hips has even more cum pooling near his happy trail.
outside of the bedroom, don't actually remind him how fucking sexy he is. there's a slim chance he'll take your word for it, but it gives him more of an incentive to work out.
F/o who knows you’re on the rebound from a messy breakup and doesn’t care what your reason is for winding up in their bed because they’re going to make you see how much better they are for you. They’ll make sure to fuck you so thoroughly and make you feel so good that you’ll wonder what you were ever thinking to believe this could be a passing fling or that you could go back to your shitty ex. Of course, if your ex does finally text you one night while you’re sated and fucked-out, dozing in their bed… it’s not exactly wrong of your f/o to take the liberty of texting back that you don’t want them and you found someone better, right? And blocking their number and deleting the texts is just for good measure. You have what you need right here, anyway.
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ content: semi-canon compliant, scent marking/scenting, no use of Y/N, cross-cultural clash (lycan x human lul), unresolved romantic tension (eventual smut maybe...), fated mates, himbo-coded Valko but really its just emotional transparency, MC is suspicious as hell of it all though, references to and loosely based off trailers
┈┈⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ A/N: what can I say... I've been bitten by the werewolf LOL gunna be a multi-part series
The first time he says it, you’re not sure you hear him right.
“I’m your what?”
Clearly your reaction isn’t quite the one he expected; his golden eyes go wide with consternation.
“Uh…” The man raises his hands in a show of surrender. “Could we at least put the gun away—?”
You rack your gun, the distinctive metallic click-clack echoing in the night.
“Take that as a no—” He takes a step closer and you aim directly at his heart, the red laser burning a bright crimson point against his metal armor. “Easy there, easy.” His tail has gone from wagging furiously to a slower sweep, lower to the floor. “I swear, I’m not your enemy—”
“Then who the hell are you?” Keeping your aim steady, you glance at your chirping Hunter’s watch. Shit, a horde of incoming Wanderers.
“Valko,” he offers hopefully, gaze darting across your face. “A friend.”
You take him in, from the russet furry ears pinned back on his head, to the hulking claymore across his back. “That’s not what you said earlier.”
To your surprise, he laughs sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Gotta admit I got ahead of myself there—”
An inhuman shriek from your far left makes you tense, your body itching to turn to assess the new threat.
“Look.” Valko is stealthier than his hulking frame has any right to be; he’s already another three steps closer, ignoring the clink of your weapon against his chest. “We both hear ‘em coming. Let me help. Two people, half the work— a win-win for everyone.”
You don’t trust him, not by a long shot. But if your watch’s sensors are correct, the incoming swarm could be more trouble than you accounted for.
“Fine.” You swing your rifle up on your shoulder, easing the barrel away. His tail starts wagging faster despite his carefully blank expression. “Stay where I can see you.”
Valko breaks into a wicked grin, fangs and golden eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Always.”
The second time it comes up, you watch him stutter around the idea in a panic.
“What the hell?”
Valko waves cheerily from the balcony railing, looking a bit too at home perched on its edge. Sliding open your glass door with more force than necessary, you scan the neighboring windows and balconies, relieved to find no one gawking at the bizarre scene. “How’d you even find me?”
He taps his nose. “Followed your scent,” he says matter-of-fact, as if it were obvious. “You texted about wanting to meet—”
“I didn’t mean—” A neighbor’s window lights up, and you hunch down. “Just— get down, will you? Hurry up and get inside!”
The pointed ears on his head perk up. “I can come in?”
Your eyes narrow. “Wha—”
Any effort to follow this wolf-man’s logic was manifesting into nothing but an impending headache. Before you can snap at him again, the rattle of a window spurs you into latching onto his arm in a panic, tugging him inside. When you finally close the door and turn back to face him, his eyes are closed, a small furrow between his brows, chest expanding as if he’s in the middle of breathing deep. You’re taken aback... for all but half a second. At this point, not knowing what he’s about to do next is about the most predictable thing about him.
“Valko?”
His eyes slit open. “I uh... Your place—” His voice cracks, and you stare up at him, bemused. He clears his throat. “Is nice. Smells like you.”
“Right.” If he can track you down with his nose alone, is it possible being in your apartment was a bit overwhelming for him? Zeroing in on the precarious tower of takeout boxes accumulated from the last week to the haphazardly thrown socks on the floor, you grow hot with mortification. What if he’s smelling all of that—?
“Hold— uh, hold on.” You rush past him, swiping the socks before he can turn around. “Sit tight on the sofa for a second, okay?”
Dumping your assortment of notebooks, pens, and sticky note covered laptop in a drawer, throwing your dirty clothes into the wash, gathering your scattered hair ties and sheets of salonpas, sweeping the dining table clear of your half finished milk tea cups and crinkled protein bar wrappers— a frantic five minutes of erratic surface-level cleaning finds you back in the living room, eyebrow raised.
“What’re you doing?”
Valko jumps, tail puffed up and ramrod straight. Pulling himself abruptly up and out from planting face first in your pile of plushies, he immediately turns to you, his eyes glued to the floor, an uncharacteristic blush raging across his cheeks.
“I... I can explain?”
But before you can say a word, he’s already speeding ahead, his words stumbling over each other. “I swear, s’not— s’not what you think it is. Lycans, we— we have this heightened sense of smell and it tells us everything, and I mean, everything. And being here, especially with you as my ma— my uh—” He skitters around the word, clearly remembering your last reaction. “You— you know— and you love these and I— I couldn’t help it— oh, not— not that I can’t control myself— I have total control over myself! Please don’t worry— I’m not— I won’t— I’m not a pervert—”
He stops his own tirade with a groan, smacking his forehead with an open palm. “... Is exactly what a pervert would say,” he mutters, before he hangs his head in his hands.
“Fuck.” His sigh is so dejected, he visibly wilts. “Sorry, this is not... yeah, fuck. Sorry. I can let myself out...”
Should you laugh? Your lips are fighting to stay a neutral line. When he heads toward the balcony (again?! Is this man allergic to using the front door?), you raise the report that made you text him in the first place.
“You had new findings on this protocore?”
He freezes, the only indication that he’s heard you are his ears straining in your direction. “You... still wanna know?”
You cross your arms with a huff. “You are already here. Unless you have somewhere to be?”
The speed at which he swerves back around is straight up comical. “I’m free.” He sits back gingerly on the sofa. “I am free.”
“Good.” You set the report on your coffee table across from him. “Tell me what you know.”
Daydreaming about Katsuki playing an instrument for you. The quiet focus as he zones out and focuses on the sound he produces. The way his deft fingers move over the strings of a guitar or tighten around a drumstick.
The almost peaceful way his eyes shut as he pictures the music staff in his head and follows the notes. The way he rocks back and forth to keep rhythm. The care and attention that goes into each note as he strums. The little curl of his nose when he hits a sour note and needs to retune the instrument slightly.
The way his eyes soften when he looks up at you, smiling softly at him and rocking back and forth to the tune as he plays. An intimate little performance, just for you. You didn't have to ask. He pulled you into the garage and sat you down on the counter and said "Wanna show ya somethin'. Just listen."
He was excited to show you, though no one else would be able to tell from his quiet gruff voice as he guided you into his safe space. But you could tell from the way he swallowed loudly before starting to play, the way he flexed his fingers before strumming the guitar, the way his eyes flicked up to yours a few times when he first started playing just to make sure you were still engaged before closing again to focus on giving you the most perfect performance.
A song he's been chipping away at, one that he heard on the radio once before and thought it sounded like you. He'd practiced it and added his own little spin and named the little tune after you.
The way he softens up so much when he’s done playing and you hop down off the counter and say “That was beautiful Katsu.”
The way he blushes when you grab his hand and kiss his knuckles and mutter something about how creative his hands are.
The way he thinks about it all night after you say it because he’s so used to thinking that his hands were meant to destroy.
The way he thinks “but maybe…” when he thinks of the soft way your lips brushed against his knuckles, the way he believes you when you say he can be capable of two things at once. Creation and destruction.
PEACH! Do you think the first time you’re with Sanemi intimately he is scared to hurt you? Maybe not hurt but more like doesn’t want to mess up, un purify, or end up not being what you want? Genuinely my dream is to be inside this mans head while something intimate goes down for the first time.
OHHHH YES YES YES I CAN TALK ABOUT THIS FOR HOURSSSSSS
WARNING! NSFW BELOW!
I did a little exploration of this headcanon in Compass and it comes up again in Wind and Moon. But short answer: absolutely. 200%. Multiple things influence him with respect to intimacy, the largest and most obvious of which is his father and how Sanemi witnessed Kyogo’s treatment of Shizu (his mother). Sanemi canonically isn’t blind to how others perceive him — brutal, cruel, rough. He’s acutely aware of it and actively encourages it in a desperate attempt to keep his loved ones far away and safe. So of course, that’s going to come back and bite him in the ass the first time he even considers getting intimate with someone because fuck, they know what he is. How could you possibly want him knowing he’s exactly the monster you must think he is, the same one his father was? In that regard, he probably thinks you’re stupid or have zero sense of self preservation, in which case, he’s going to protect you from yourself. And that means he resists.
Naturally, he can’t do that forever because at the end of the day, he is a lonely boy with so, so much capacity for love. So his apprehension to intimacy shifts course — it becomes about shielding you from being tainted by him. He’s dark, fucked up, too traumatized for anyone to genuinely want the cowardice and weakness beneath his hardass exterior, and if you touch him and let him touch you, you’ll only expose yourself to it. It doesn’t matter that your fingers on his cheek make him feel whole, chase away all memories of the scars marring his skin until he forgets they’re there all together. It doesn’t matter how badly he wants to explore the soft planes of your body with his hands or mouth, map out every inch of you until he knows you like the back of his hand. It’s dangerous because he’s dangerous, and you’re good. He doesn’t deserve you and you’re supposed to be smart enough to know that.
I think, when he’s finally worn down though and unable to hold back any longer, he’s still very in his own head. He’s extremely delicate in how he handles you and constantly checks in — when he kisses you, when he tentatively begins undressing you and hesitates when undressing himself, when he’s got you spread out on the bed while he sits between your thighs, nothing separating you except a few inches of space and his one last hesitation. He’s asking you if it’s really what you want, throwing you every out he has just in case you make the smart decision and back out. But, you don’t, and Sanemi is helpless when it comes to you, so he obeys your soft commanding please, and gives himself up to you.
During the deed? Sanemi’s very cautious. Don’t get me wrong, he feels fucking incredible and it takes an enormous amount of self restraint he’s not sure he has to not bust the second he’s fully seated inside you. It’s his singular focus on you that keeps him from doing so, and he’s so attuned to how your eyebrows scrunch with the slight discomfort of having him fully in you that he can’t really give a fuck about how amazing he feels. He feels only slight anxiety, knotting in his stomach, and fear hardening in his throat because he knew it, you regret it, this isn’t what you want and above all, he’s hurting you —
Yet, you strip him down and flay him open when you pull him in for a kiss, shyly roll your hips up to meet his, signaling you want him to move. After that, Sanemi’s mind finally goes blank and he lets himself be lost in the moment. Oh, it’s passionate. Deeply intimate, something most would be surprised to know Sanemi Shinazugawa was even capable of. He’s wrapped up in you, arms tight around your waist, your shoulders, face buried in the crook of your neck while you two rock together and become one. Yeah, he probably gets a little emotional (even if he’d rather swallow his own sword before admitting it), but how could he not? You trust him enough with your body to let him bend it to his, make it his, and for the first time he doesn’t feel like a brute. He feels like a man, every bit what his father wasn’t. And he swears, in that moment, he will do everything, become anything, to be the man you don’t just want but deserve.
I like a man whose personality trait is being his wife’s husband. Brings up his wife into every conversation. Doesn’t do a single thing without debating if his wife will approve. Sits and stresses about whether his wife will get mad. He can’t enjoy a single thing without his wife bc, fuck, she’d really love this if she were here right now. Men should always be living a life completely revolved around their wives
