I love thinking I'm a hater and then meeting a real hater and going wow that does not look fun actually. Going back to my lukewarm hater ways. Performative haterdom. I couldn't name five hater bands.
"It wouldn't be right for me to enter in a lady's quarters"
You look to Varka with your head tilted to the side, a small pout playing into a frown as you hum.
"Its really okay. I've had Flins in here last night"
Varka's eyebrows shoot upwards,
"Flins...? You mean, the lightkeeper? He... stayed the night?"
You nod, "yes, of course. He slept on the table over there"
Varka looks over to the smaller table where you kept most of your luggage. He looks a little confused for a moment before he sighs, "ah, I see. I forgot you were aware of his... true nature. I assume he turned into a lamp"
You nod quickly with a smile, "yes, he doesnt sleep much, but when he does, he turns into one. Its very interesting"
Varka hums along in agreement before biting onto his bottom lip.
"Even still..." he starts, his eyes on yours, his stare is a little hot, "you shouldn't invite him over again. You're a lady, its not proper."
You smile softly and shake your head, "that I am, but I care little for those nonsense rules."
"They're not nonsense" he huffs, "you should take better care of yourself"
"Are you worried for me, sir Varka?"
Varka blushes at the way you've addressed him, your teasing tone has seemed to do a number on the elder man who groans softly.
"Of course i am" he hushes, "You're impossible sometimes"
"So is that a yes? You'll join me in my room?" Your eyes sparkle as you smile from ear to ear, looking at the man who frowns at you.
"Its a no." He states blandly before tugging onto your waist, pulling you in so you bump into his chest. Your heart pounds as you feel your bodies collide.
"But-" you look up to his eyes, they're stern, yet you notice them wavering as he leans in. His breath hitches, just as yours does,
"Behave" he mumbles into your lips before he lightly nudges your nose with his.
"You're no fun" you huff, your palms on his chest to push away at him, but he holds onto them instead.
You gulp a little when you feel him take a hold of your palms, only to place them near his lips.
Its your turn to fluster when Varka leaves a soft, tender kiss on your knuckles. His eyes, never leaving yours till hes leant back into your ear, whispering,
"Be good and I may just pay you a friendly visit. No more visitors till then, even if they transform into an inanimate object"
You’re convinced that getting fingered is overrated. Your roommate shows you otherwise, since you’ve clearly never been with someone who knows what they’re doing.
2.6k — 18+, roommates to lovers, fingering, mattsun and those goddamn hands
A woman sits in a dark booth in the back corner of a restaurant, lower lip tucked between her teeth, fingers digging into the edges of her seat as she tries not to make it obvious that the man beside her has his hand up her skirt.
“There’s no way it feels that good for her,” you scoff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed as you stare judgmentally at the television screen.
Matsukawa looks from you, to the movie, and back again. “Getting fingered?”
Your eyes flit over to where your roommate’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one brow raised as he lifts a can of soda to his lips.
The woman on the television screen moans.
(This isn’t porn, for the record.)
“Yeah? I mean this is like, false advertising.”
Matsukawa blinks. “I literally do not think I’ve ever met a girl who doesn’t enjoy being fingered.”
A sudden surge of heat licks at the back of your neck at his words, and you force your attention back to the screen. “And just how many girls have you—actually, you know what. Nevermind. Don’t answer that.”
He lets out a quiet huff of a laugh, and the two of you are silent for another five minutes or so before he speaks up again.
“So you’ve never had an orgasm just from being fingered then.”
Matsukawa says it bluntly, plainly, like he’s completely unbothered by the prospect of casually discussing sex with you on your couch on a Friday night.
“Nope,” you shake your head, popping the ‘P’ for emphasis.
He’s not looking at you when he replies, “That’s a shame.”
—
Your phone lights up with a notification for a text message from Matsukawa on Sunday morning while you’re still in bed. You’re pretty sure he left the apartment early to get breakfast with Hanamaki, and he’s yet to return.
Mattsun: can you text makki and tell him you think getting fingered is overrated
Mattsun: he doesn’t believe me
>>: ….
>>: so like
>>: sometimes makki can just maybe not know things
Mattsun: you spent twenty minutes last week telling both of us about your last date who couldn’t get it up
Mattsun: in detail
Mattsun: with a donut and
>>: OKAY YEAH YEAH
Mattsun: :)
Collapsing back against your pillows, you groan before opening your text thread with Hanamaki.
>>: getting fingered is overrated, makki
Hanamaki: wow he wasn’t kidding
Hanamaki: wild
>>: now can you make sure he brings me home a coffee
Hanamaki: k
Hanamaki: u act like he would ever forget something u asked for
>>: what’s that supposed to mean
Hanamaki: also though
Hanamaki: when are u guys going to fuck
You drop your phone on the mattress, looking around the room as if Hanamaki himself is sitting in the corner snickering at you.
>>: i’m sorry what
>>: who
>>: how did we get here
Hanamaki: at least ask HIM to finger u
Hanamaki: because this shit is DEpressing
>>: i’m blocking your number
Hanamaki: u’ve seen his hands right
>>: bye
Hanamaki: cool i’ll email u xo
Groaning, you bury your face under the covers.
—
“I had an idea. A really dumb idea, actually. It’s kind of Makki’s fault, but—“
Matsukawa looks up from where he’s pouring a glass of water, brows furrowing.
“—and honestly just feel free to say no and forget this ever happened—“
He blinks, putting down the cup and leaning against the counter, crossing his arms as he waits for you to fumble through this never ending lead up to a question that’s been eating at the back of your mind all week.
“Can you uh…could you maybe…”
Matsukawa moves a little closer to you, leaning in, as if his proximity is going to help encourage you to drag the rest of the words from where they’re clinging to the backs of your teeth.
“You think you’re the problem?” he asks, taken aback.
“I mean, yeah? If it’s supposed to feel good, and it doesn’t for me, then maybe I—“
“Go put on something that makes you feel sexy,” he interrupts you calmly.
Your heart lurches in your chest. “What? Right now!?” you squeak.
Matsukawa walks over to the kitchen sink, glancing back at you over his shoulder as he slowly presses down the pump on the foaming soap and thoroughly washes his hands.
You’re not sure how or why that sight alone already leaves your throat dry.
He nods. “Put on whatever makes you feel good. It doesn’t matter what it looks like. We’re not going anywhere. And then go in my bedroom, lie down in my bed, and text me when you’re ready.”
Fifteen minutes later, you find yourself on your stomach in Matsukawa’s bed, legs idly kicking in the air to expel the nervous energy simmering in your gut.
And while it was borderline mortifying trying to pick out something “sexy” to wear before tiptoeing into his bedroom, you realize why he said it now as you hit send on a message that simply reads “Ready.”
Because now that you’re lying here in a short, pleated skirt that’s lived in the back of your closet for years, thigh high socks, a delicate, lacy bralette that you’ve yet to find a reason to wear, and a thong with a little pink bow nestled just above your ass—
Now that you’re wrapped up in the familiar scent of Matsukawa’s body wash in a way that’s far more intimate than stealing his clothes or falling asleep on his shoulder on the couch—
Now that you know he’s seconds away from seeing you like this in his bed, from slipping his fingers beneath your skirt—
Well, you can already feel it—the slick, sticky arousal soaking its way into your panties.
“Wow,” Matsukawa murmurs as he walks in, striding over to the foot of the bed. “Nice socks.”
You go to roll over, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, and he shakes his head. “No, stay like that.”
Turning back onto your stomach, you push your phone aside, hugging one of his pillows to your face—though you almost regret it when you subsequently end up burying your nose in the warm and admittedly dizzying scent of him once more. Meanwhile, you feel the mattress dip as he climbs atop it.
“If at any point you want me to stop, let me know, okay?”
You nod, and he slowly starts to run his hands up the backs of your thighs, stopping just shy of the hem of your skirt.
“Didn’t you wear this to that costume party at Oikawa’s a few years ago?”
The first and only time you wore it, given how its meager length leaves almost nothing to the imagination.
“Yeah,” you laugh, though it’s a little weak, given the way he’s now rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs against the inside of your thighs.
Unintentionally, you spread your legs somewhat for him at the sensation, toes curling. He chuckles quietly.
Matsukawa’s fingers finally slide up your skirt, his large hands resting on either of your ass cheeks. You try to fight the sudden urge to arch your spine into his touch.
“Is this still okay?”
You nod, and he squeezes.
A moan slips out past your lips before you can stop it.
“Oh,” you breathe out, fingers grasping his silky dark green sheets for purchase as he begins to massage the globes of your ass.
“Does that feel good?” he asks.
He squeezes a little harder, and there’s a euphoric release of tension that seeps through your muscles.
“So good,” you mumble, face pressed sideways against his pillow. Which you may or may not have drooled on.
Cool air licks and settles against your backside as Matsukawa grasps your skirt and pushes it out of the way. Your thong tightens against your skin with tension for a moment, snapping back lightly once he lets it go.
Sliding his palm down the center of your ass, he brings his hand back to your thighs and stretches his fingers outward, effectively spreading your legs further. You inhale, toes pressing down into the mattress at the foot of the bed.
“Oh, do you want me to take these off?” he pauses, idly toying with the string of your thong.
And while it would certainly be easier, there’s something about the evidence of your arousal soaking into the material, something about the way the lace tugs against your skin—
You shake your head.
“Good, the bow is cute.”
He runs a finger over the delicate piece of ribbon, and you’re thankful he can’t see the embarrassing way you swallow in response.
“Is flattery a part of the process?” you ask.
You can almost hear the grin on his face as he slowly feathers a finger against the wet spot on your panties and replies, “Is it not working?”
“You’re terrible,” you laugh, despite the shiver that runs through you.
“Save your breath.”
You turn slightly to look back at him, brows furrowed. “For wha—“
Your words are cut off by the moan that crawls up your throat without warning as the pad of Matsukawa’s middle finger suddenly slides down the length of your creamy slit.
It catches you off guard, how good that little bit of contact feels. How sensitive you are for him. How—
“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet,” he murmurs, one digit now circling around the rim of your puffy, fluttering entrance while another long finger draws through your folds once more.
He’s hardly doing anything, and it already sounds obscene.
Your chest burns, and your heart thunders in your chest as you find yourself arching your ass up off of the bed. The skirt flops back down over your backside in the process, and Matsukawa’s quick to push it back out of the way, his large hand pressing into the small of your back.
The pillow case grows more damp against your cheek as you quietly pant against it.
“Matsukawa,” you whine, hips pressing backward again as he ghosts a finger over your swollen clit before dragging two digits back through your folds. Your cunt aches.
“You have to tell me if you don’t like how it feels, okay?”
He runs his thumb across your dripping hole.
“Matsukawa,” you gasp again, one hand tightly grasping the top edge of the mattress.
“Just tell me to stop, and I will,” he promises, slipping the tip of a finger into your entrance. Barely past the fingernail.
“Issei, please,” you nearly sob, spreading your legs even further for him. “Don’t—don’t stop.”
He lets out a noisy, rough exhale. One that’s a stark contrast to his easy, syrupy tone.
But you can hardly hear it as he slides his finger into your cunt, not stopping until he’s at the last knuckle.
You can hardly hear it over the desperate, needy moan that he drags out of you on one finger alone.
Matsukawa takes his time exploring your tight inner walls, alternating between pumping his finger in and out while you keen for him and keeping it lodged inside as he curls and strokes your wet channel.
It’s never felt like this.
Not with anyone.
Not even with your own fingers.
But this—
It feels like you’re burning from the inside out, like your nerves are on the verge of going up in flames.
It’s just one long, deft finger sliding in and out of the eager, needy grip of your pussy. Your tight, soaking wet pussy that’s nowhere near full enough yet still pulsing and dripping with pleasure all the same.
It’s just a single finger, and yet your voice is going hoarse from the moans tumbling from your lips, the repeated whimpers of Matsukawa’s name as your sticky arousal slides down the palm of his hand.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rasps, voice a little rougher than it was before.
“I’m probably making a mess all over your bed,” you mutter against the pillow.
“Good,” you swear you hear him breathe out before he asks, “Still overrated?” His free hand slides beneath the waistband of your thong, wrapping around your hip bone.
“It’s never, I’ve never—“ you gasp.
“Because you sleep with guys who do it for themselves, who see it as a necessity to getting their dick inside of you,” Matsukawa replies in a calm tone that’s a stark contrast to the way you’re unravelling beneath him. “I just want you to feel good. This isn’t about me.”
And you’ve also never been fingered like this—face down, prone. With your pebbled nipples rubbing against your lace bralette and a too-short skirt rucked up around your waist. In a sopping wet thong that keeps rubbing against your clit every time Matsukawa nudges it out of the way, with thigh high socks that continue to slip down lower and lower as you writhe in pleasure against the mattress.
You’ve never been fingered by Matsukawa Issei. Your roommate and your best friend who’s a little too handsome for his own good. Who you’ve had more wet dreams about than you can count.
Matsukawa Issei and his stupidly long, dexterous fingers. Two of which are now stuffed in your tight hole, massaging your inner walls while you drool on his pillow like it’s his cock that’s stuffed inside of you instead.
Matsukawa Issei, who’s somehow on the verge of making you forget every dick you’ve ever had inside of you by fucking you with his fingers and his fingers alone.
“Don’t flatter me that much yet, not till I make you come,” he murmurs, stroking your throbbing clit.
And oh—you fucking said that last bit out loud.
Not that you can bring yourself to care when the coil of heat in your gut is wrapped so tight you can hardly breathe. Every muscle in your body tenses under the liquid pleasure that sears its way down your spine with a bite that has you trembling, sheets slipping beneath the feeble grasp of your shaking hands.
You end up pushing yourself onto your knees as Matsukawa purposely slows his pace, like he’s not ready for you to come yet. Like he wants to edge you until the whole goddamn mattress is soaked.
“Issei,” you whimper in a small, breathless voice that you can hardly believe is your own.
And suddenly you find yourself being tugged backwards into his lap, your legs spread, your back to his chest. You barely have time to marvel over the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass through his pants, not when his lips ghost against the shell of your ear before he rests his chin against your shoulder.
Matsukawa slides his fingers back inside of you, and you moan at the angle, at the way his mouth ends up tucked into the crook of your neck when you roll your hips into his touch. His lips are hot against your skin as he traces the column of your neck, cunt squelching wetly while your pussy greedily takes in the stretch of his digits over and over.
And then he presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your pulse point, biting and sucking at the sensitive spot while your cunt throbs, as you shake with a full-body shiver, as the damn of pleasure inside of you snaps and overflows with an orgasm that leaves tears in your eyes as you sob his name.
Matsukawa tilts your chin and finds your mouth with his, claiming your lips in a messy, spit-soaked kiss as you ride out your climax.
It’s only once you stop shuddering in pleasure that you remember how hard he felt beneath you, and you go to slip a hand between your bodies—
“It’s okay,” he exhales, sounding just as out of breath as you feel.
“You don’t want me to—“ You try not to sound as disappointed as you feel over his sudden rejection.
His eyes go a little wide. “No, no. No, it’s that. I just…uh…I already…”
You blink at him. “I didn’t think that was actually a thing that happens.”
Did he really just come in his—
Matsukawa rubs the back of his neck, biting his bottom lip. “It’s never happened to me before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh?”
For some reason, you feel more than a little smug at these words.
“First time for everything I guess,” he grins.
“Overrated?” you ask coyly, warmth swelling in your chest.
Matsukawa shakes his head, lips brushing against yours when he leans in and murmurs against your mouth, “Definitely not.”
feat. hoshina soshiro narumi gen
requested
i'm so sorry for how late and rushed this one sounds :(
─ hoshina soshiro
it took a while for the third division officers to reach the conclusion that there's nothing else hoshina is happier about than hearing his last name flitter around the defence force.
not for him, though. it's when they call for you.
to be completely honest, as the son of one of the most prestigious families in kaiju-killing history, marriage has always been a consideration, not out of his own will but for the sake of his family. his father had brought it up a good few years ago, but soshiro was never that interested and neither was soichiro.
when you're out there risking your life, what's the point? the best thing to do is keep to yourself and grow stronger so that you don't ever fall into the horrors of everyone's nightmares.
yet when hoshina soshiro met you, it genuinely changed his world.
now, as a happily married man with a woman who bears his last name, he now understands why love is such a big deal. before, if someone had told him that love makes you do ridiculous things, he would've scoffed, mocking the idea in his mind, but never did he imagine that it would be him so soon.
on top of that, being a vice-captain means your title is exactly the same. to hoshina, there's nothing more hilarious than that, but with the problems that arose from it, you were forced to simply change to 'vice-captain (name)' to avoid any more confusion.
knocking on hoshina’s door, you creep in, shutting it behind you with a small click.
he looks up from his desk, his straight face immediately replaced with a child-like grin people would pay to see.
"well, if it isn't hoshina-san," he chuckles, standing up. he tucks his chair back in with the tip of his feet as he approaches you.
he tries wriggling his arms around your waist, but you deftly swoop in by pushing a massive folder into his hand.
"sorry, hoshina-san," you say, trying your best not to laugh at his defeated expression. "i'm here on delivery duty. these came to me, but i don't think i'm hoshina soshiro."
you point to his name on the papers and he sighs, reluctantly taking it from you. he tosses it onto his desk without a care before leaning forward to bury his face in your neck.
your skin tingles as he presses light kisses in between his words. his bottom lip grazes the spot just above your collarbone and he lifts his finger to trace the inner path of your arm.
"so, ya weren't here to see me," he mumbles with another kiss, "but to just give me something."
"oh, fine, let me take a look at my beautiful husband," you tease, reaching up to delicately take his face in your hands. you brush a thumb over his cheek as he remains unmoving, unimpressed with thin furrowed brows as if he’s pouting, and hoshina soshiro never pouts.
"what're ya doin'," he says, his tone completely flat as he stands still under your control. he ignores your quiet laughs. "are ya tryin' to mess up my face?"
"my husband looks soo handsome no matter what i do," you coo. "have i ever told you that i love your genes?"
he tuts and tilts his head, his face still a mush in your palms. "ya have, and every time ya do, i say i prefer yours more.”
─ narumi gen
sometimes, you joke that narumi's forgotten your name.
every time he comms you, every time he demands anything from you or asks someone where you are, he never uses your first name. you're sure that even the officers of the first division don't know either.
it's always 'vice-captain narumi'. ever since you got married, your family name is simply forgotten as if it got pushed into the back of everyone's heads. narumi is more than adamant on making it known to the entire defence force, even chief itami, that you're his darling wife, his weapon, his woman and life.
if someone dares to mention your first name, he's quick to snap at them. you will not go by anything but narumi (name).
"captain, sir, vice-captain (name) is─"
his words are never sharper and his head never turns as faster. "narumi? she's off duty right now, what do you want?"
it's almost embarrassing when people fumble in front of you, too. you tend to stand there, blinking with your hands behind your back as you wait for your fellow officers to choose a name or title to call you. it's bad that they're overly terrified of narumi's outbursts, but it's not like you're going to give them the same fate of pissing their pants because they used a name you've been given... since birth.
currently and much to his growing stress, you're staying a few nights in tachikawa for a meeting with captain ashiro. he was absolutely devastated when he had to send you off, but he's started to deal with it bit by bit by calling you every night.
you're sprawled out on the guest bed with your phone resting between your ear and shoulder, listening to narumi drone on and on about how dull today was without his player two, you, by his side. he mentions watching kikoru pummel his platoon leaders to a pulp, interrogating kafka in the corridors because they made eye contact and also about hasegawa's habit of cleaning his room without permission. there's not a moment to breathe.
you hear him click his tongue on the line, his voice flat as if he's caught you staring off into space.
"oi, narumi."
you perk up, reaching for you phone. "hello, i'm still here."
"you're ignoring me, aren't you?"
a sigh flows out your mouth. "no, but i'll be honest, i'm getting a bit tired, gen. i'll call you tomorrow?"
there's an echoing groan that you can practically sense from miles away, but his voice returns in a second.
"you little─you don't even want to call me, huh?"
you rest your head on your arm, letting it dangle off the bed. closing your eyes, you try let the images in your head form a comforting sketch of narumi lying in front of you, but from how much your body is drifting in and out of sleep, you're forced to peel them open, suppressing a massive yawn.
"narumi!" he shrieks into the call, making you wince, "i heard that! that was intentional right now, wasn't it?!"
you chuckle as you roll onto your other side. "no, gen. i love talking to my husband."
"shut up, you suck at being a wife."
and so you find yourself staying up for a few hours, fighting yourself from falling asleep while he turns on his game. he gives the occasional commentaries on how ugly a character looks or how his controller is drifting out of control, which you do your best to respond to, but by the third hour, you're genuinely seeing the fuzz of an exhausted mind and narumi's voice is growing more distant.
your chest slowly rises up and down as your body succumbs to rest, and somehow, narumi notices this when he realises your soft mumbles have come to a stop.
"narumi? oi," he calls, a little quieter than before. he pauses his game and leans into the silence of the call. "are you dead?"
he gets no response, so he scoffs, setting his controller down before he taps his phone to check the duration of the call. it reads four hours twenty-two minutes and it's also one in the morning.
"i'm letting you off this one time, narumi. we're pulling an all-nighter tomorrow," he scowls to himself, but that tiny tiny disappointment shrivels away in an instant when he whispers his rare i love you into the call.
it’s what lures him to the kitchen where he finds you hunched over, producing a sound that could only be described as a grunt, whine and cry for help all garbled into one resounding sound of frustration.
“what are you getting up to so early in the morning, trouble?” he asks, teasing despite heavy, sleep-riddled eyes and sluggish arms that slither around your waist as he blindly kisses your neck.
“this damn lid,” you huff, frustration seeping through your voice as you attempt to pop the lid off before eventually giving up and turning to face your boyfriend. “it won’t open.”
hajime readjusts, releasing you so his hands are planted on either side of you, placing you between himself and the counter.
pausing for a second, his fond gaze sweeps across your features, a small part of him delighting at the silent plea behind your eyes. “oh dear,” he frowns, tilting his head in a show of faux worry, “have you tried twisting it?”
“ha ha. very funny, haji.” someone had clearly woken up in a playful mood. “i’m dying of laughter.”
deciding he didn't want to start the day off in your bad books, he takes the jar from you, opening it in one swift motion. "happy?"
scrunching your nose, you poke at his bicep. “ugh, show off.”
chuckling, he presses a quick kiss on your nose before proceeding to his next show of brute strength: grabbing you by your waist to plop you on the counter.
“jam toast?” he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
the instant upturn of your lips is all the confirmation he needs as he starts constructing the best jam toast known to man (in your completely unbiased opinion), humming along as you recount the silly dream you had.
“so i turned into a bird and grabbed you off the street to feed you to my kids?”
“yes.” you sulk, upset at dream bird hajime.
you watch as his shoulders shake from his laughter. “here,” hajime presents you with your jam toast. “can i make it up with this then?”
taking a bite, you do a little dance in appreciation that has hajime’s gaze softening and melting like the lovesick fool he is.
midway through, you catch him smiling a bit too hard so you decide it's time to get playful back. clearing your throat, you get ready to deliver your verdict.
“hmm, i’m not sure this is cutting it.”
hajime lets out a laugh. “oh yeah?” he grins, inviting himself into your personal space. “what about now?” he tries, lips barely grazing your skin as he leaves a kiss on your shoulder. "can you forgive dream me now?"
the jam toast is long forgotten as your hands find themselves wound around your boyfriend’s neck. “i think you could do better.”
your words don't stutter but your breath does and it makes his grin stretch wider.
slowly, his kisses travel across your shoulder and up your neck. “and now?” he asks.
not trusting your voice, you give a small shake of your head.
“hmm,” hajime noses along your jaw before capturing your lips for the daintiest of kisses. "any closer to forgiveness?"
you don't know who you're forgiving and for what anymore. all you can do is tangle your fingers into his hair, signalling your desire but you end up whining out his name in protest when he pulls back instead.
“that doesn't answer my question, baby.”
“give me a kiss first.” you demand, pouting. “a proper one.”
it’s all he needs to hear to eliminate the remaining space between you two.
𝜗𝜚 Never in a day in his life would’ve Katsuki bakugou imagined his cute roomate to stand infront of him with lingerie.
Well a dream came true that night…
“Katsuki” you called from your room only getting a grunt as respond from you broad, tall, muscular roomate who came, walking towards your room, anyway.
“What do you want from me now”
he complained but softening the minute he saw you look at with those doe eyes.
“Katsuki” you slowly walked up to him under his gaze
“i need you to do me a favour, okay?”
you softy asked while taking his hands in yours pulling him in. Dragging him behind towards your bed. He didn’t even had a chance to respond before he was seated on the soft cushion.
“What do you want”
he eyed you up and down while licking his lips knowing exactly he wouldn’t deny any of your wishes. You started to take of your clothes responding
“Well i want you to be honest like always…”
Shocked to see this bakugou tensed and interrupted
“wait y/n-”
but the next second he turned silent taking in what is presented infront of him.
You standing infront of him in red lingerie.
He took in your thick thighs and how they slowly squeezed, how your stomach look so soft wanting to kiss it, how your tits almost spilled from the bra cups,nipples poking through the red fabric begging to be sucked by him and ofcourse that face … that damn face.
“Do i look good… well sexy. Idk i just felt like nowadays all the guys like thinner girls and i-“
“Y/n”
he growled stopping you right there.
You looked at him innocently and wondered what he was thinking
“yeah Katsuki?”
He only stated in his deep primal voice
“C’mere”
making you itch towards him like you’ll listen to his every command. Suddenly you felt hands on your waist pulling you ontop of his lap.
But that’s not the only thing you felt.
“Felt that, doll? That’s how much i want you right now ‘cause you look that sexy and you don’t even know it”
He starts caressing the underside of your thighs going up to feel up your ass in his big hands.
“Fuck- so innocent presenting yourself so slutty infront a man like me thinking i could control myself when seeing a goddess like you”
He thrusted upwards making you gasp and grab onto his biceps.
“Katsuki”
“Yeah baby, grab me like that ‘cause you better hold on tight when i fuck you tonight”
And if that wasn’t already hard enough, he makes it worse…by being exactly who the fuck he is.
“No." You hiss under your breath, heels clicking as you walk ahead of him toward the press room. “You can’t call the guy a dumbass on air. I don’t care if he was one.”
Katsuki scoffs behind you, unbothered. “He was. If he’d kept his fuckin’ head down like I told him, I wouldn’t’ve had to blast through a whole damn wall.”
You stop walking. Turn.
He nearly walks into you, catches himself just short, and glares down at you like you’re the problem.
“You’re on live TV in four minutes.” You say calmly, like you’re not seething. “Do not go in there and curse out the other pro. Don’t grunt. Don’t scowl. Don’t call anyone an extra.”
He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s half my fuckin’ vocabulary.”
“I know." You mutter, then force a bright, PR-trained smile and spin back around. “That’s what keeps me employed.”
And you walk away.
Heel. Toe. Clip. Click.
You know he’s staring. You always do. Especially when you're wearing tights.
——————
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
The tension.
The bickering. The heat. The way you look at each other too long.
You’re his public relations rep, for fuck’s sake. You handle his sponsorships. His press coverage. His approval ratings.
You’re not supposed to want to kiss the way he spits out a swear word.
Not supposed to like the way he leans back in an office chair, thighs spread, chest still heaving after a patrol, sweat clinging to the collar of his suit.
Not supposed to stare.
But god. When he's in that black and orange hero suit? Hands braced on his thighs? Jaw clenched like he's still thinking about the fight?
You’re not blind.
And he notices.
The way your eyes drop to his chest. The slow blink you give him when he runs a hand through his hair.
The sigh you let out when he shrugs out of his gear.
He notices. And worse?
He smirks.
——————
“You need to stop saying ‘fuck’ in interviews." You mutter, eyes on your clipboard, not looking at him.
He’s standing behind you. Way too close.
“What the fuck else should I say?”
“NOT that.” You whirl around.
He leans in.
Close enough that your nose almost brushes his. Close enough to see the mild amusement behind the scowl on his face.
He likes this. He likes riling you up.
“You got a better suggestion?” He murmurs, voice low. “Wanna write me a script, princess?”
You hate when he calls you that.
You hate that it makes your stomach clench.
Your gaze drops - for half a second - to his mouth.
His gaze drops - for half a second - to the neckline of your blouse.
You’re close. Too close.
You step back.
“I’m sending you talking points for the next segment.” You say, sharp and professional.
But your voice comes out breathier than it should.
It happens again two days later.
You’re both backstage at a hero gala, arguing in low tones near the emergency exit. You’re wearing a dress that hugs your thighs. He’s in a suit he clearly hates.
“You’re not skipping the meet-and-greet.”
“Tch. Waste of time.”
“You promised the agency.”
He rolls his eyes. “I never fuckin’ promised-”
“Bakugo.” You grit, stepping into his space.
He steps right back into yours.
You’re chest to chest. Breath to breath.
You can feel the tension rolling off him. That storm-thick frustration, the itch in his jaw, the impatience humming just under his skin.
Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides.
His arms are folding, muscle flexing even under the expensive fabric.
Neither of you moves.
You can feel his eyes on your mouth.
“You’re real fuckin’ annoying." He mutters, like a reflex.
Your voice is steady. “You’re lucky I haven’t walked out yet.”
“Why don’t you?”
You blink.
And for a moment, the room feels too hot.
“Because you'd fall apart without me.”
It slips out before you can stop it.
And to your surprise - he laughs.
Low. Under his breath. A smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah?” He mutters. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”
“No." You say. “But I know what happens when you don’t have someone to clean up your messes.”
You turn. Start to walk away.
But not before he mutters low just loud enough for you to hear.
“...Wouldn’t mind makin’ a mess outta you.”
You stop. You don’t turn. But your legs go weak for just a second.
You pretend they don’t.
——————
It’s a quiet evening.
Your phone buzzes with approval ratings. Even after that snarky remark to the press.
You’re in his office. He’s half-undressed, the tie from his suit he aggressively ripped off thrown over his chair.
“Did good tonight." You mutter, glancing at your tablet. “Only cursed twice.”
He’s watching you. From the chair. One leg spread wide, ankle crossed over the other.
“Did better than that." He says.
You glance up.
And he’s not smirking.
He’s watching you with that look - the one that makes your pulse skip. The one that feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes.
Your throat tightens. You clear it.
“You’ll still need to do the morning interview." You say softly. “Public’s loving the new outreach campaign.”
“Yeah?”
You nod.
You try to look back at the screen.
But he leans forward in the chair. Arms braced over his thighs.
“Y’know I’m not stupid, right?”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“I know what you’re doin’. Walkin’ away every time I get close. Pretendin’ you’re not into it.”
You open your mouth. Close it.
“I’m not-”
“Yeah, you are.”
His voice is low. Certain. Unapologetic. And it hits something in your chest that makes your heart beat louder.
You don’t move.
Just stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his gaze slides over your legs. The way he looks like he’s holding himself back.
“You’re my client." You whisper.
“So?” He mutters.
You swallow. And you don’t say anything else.
Because he’s not wrong.
Not really.
You clear your throat.
The air feels too thick.
“I’ll… see you tomorrow, Bakugo.”
It’s the most professional thing you can manage.
You grab your tablet. Keep your expression neutral even though your pulse is a hammer in your throat.
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you leave, jaw tight, that unreadable look in his eyes that sits somewhere between challenge and want.
——————
The next few days, you pretend everything’s normal.
You sit in meetings. Draft press statements. Edit highlight reels from his latest rescue operation.
You tell yourself it’s fine. That the heat in your stomach every time he says your name is nothing but stress.
But then night comes. And it’s just you, your couch, your laptop, and the soft blue glow of the TV screen.
Katsuki is on the news again. Hair still damp from the fight, arms crossed while he answers questions. You watch the way his throat flexes when he swallows, the way his forearms tighten under the black fabric of his uniform.
The way he doesn’t smile. Not even when they praise him. He just nods once. Lowers his eyes. Grunts something short.
And god, you shouldn’t. But you imagine what it would be like to shut him up with your mouth. To grab that stupid collar of his uniform and drag him down until his words die between your lips.
You press your thighs together. Turn the TV off.
——————
Three nights later, you’re packing up to go home.
The sun’s already down, the office nearly empty. You’re standing at your desk, tugging on your coat, considering the text from your friends:
Come out. Drinks?
You hover over your phone. Wonder if maybe getting drunk would drown out this thing that’s been sitting in your chest all week.
And then you hear it.
Heavy boots.
The door clicks open.
He walks in still in uniform - black and orange gear streaked with dirt, the faint smell of smoke clinging to him.
“Bakugo.” You straighten up. “Come to bother me for the last few minutes of my work day?”
“Was in the area.” His voice is rough, casual. “Figured I’d stop by.”
You raise a brow. “To do what? Critique my reports?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you - slow, deliberate.
“What’re you doin’ tonight?” He asks finally.
Your heart stutters. “Why?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Just askin’.”
“You don’t need to know everything I do after hours.”
“Tch. The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you say evenly, grabbing your bag, “I have a life outside babysitting your public image.”
He snorts. “Babysittin’, huh?”
You glance up - he’s smirking, sharp and cocky. The kind of smirk that crawls under your skin.
“Yeah." You snap. “Babysitting. Because you can’t go a single day without me cleaning up your-”
“You goin’ out with someone?”
The question hits like a slap.
“That’s none of your business.”
“Didn’t fuckin’ ask if it was." He growls. “I asked who.”
You step closer, glaring up at him. “You don’t get to ask me that.”
And for a second, neither of you moves.
Just shallow breaths.
The sound of the clock on the wall ticking too loud.
Then -
Bang.
He slams the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the glass rattle.
Your stomach drops.
“Bakugo-”
But he’s already crossing the room.
You back up instinctively - until the edge of your desk hits the backs of your thighs.
He doesn’t stop. He grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel, and crashes his mouth against yours.
It’s rough. Unapologetic. Teeth. Tongue. Breath.
You shove at his chest once - not to stop him, but to feel how solid it is - and then you’re pulling him back in by his collar.
The sound that leaves him is somewhere between a growl and a sigh.
He kisses you harder. Deeper. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first breath after weeks underwater.
You grab a fistful of his uniform. He grips your hips and lifts you - strong enough that your breath catches as you’re set on the desk, papers scattering, his body slotting between your legs.
He’s still kissing you - the kind that leaves your lips raw and your lungs aching. You can taste him. Smoke, salt, adrenaline.
You drag your nails down his neck and feel him shudder.
He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, breath harsh.
“You done tellin’ me it’s not my business?” He mutters.
You tilt your chin up, meeting his eyes.
“Maybe." You whisper. “If you keep your mouth busy.”
And he does.
He grabs your hips, pulls you closer, and kisses you again - deeper this time, slower, tongue sliding against yours like he’s learning you one breath at a time.
The kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting months to happen.
You should shove him back, get your shit together, tell him this is a massive breach of every ethical boundary in your job description…
But instead, your fingers are tugging at the buckle on his duty belt, hands shaking with the effort.
Bakugo’s mouth is hot against yours and he groans when he feels you pull the strap free.
“Fuckin’ god, finally." He pants, helping you get it off. It drops to the floor with a loud, metallic clunk, utility clips rattling on impact.
You don’t even look at it. Too focused on the way he’s already dragging your blazer off your shoulders, his gloved fingers fumbling at the buttons of your blouse.
“You wear too many fuckin’ layers." He mutters against your mouth.
You huff a breath into his. “You’re the one in a Kevlar corset.”
He smirks - barely - lips brushing yours like he’s laughing. “‘S tactical.”
You roll your eyes.
Another kiss - rough and open-mouthed - and his fingers finally get one of the buttons undone. Then another.
You gasp when he brushes the fabric aside, his palm warm over the skin of your ribs.
Your own hands are already under his uniform compression shirt, fingertips gliding over the edge of his abs, the heat of his body soaking through the suit.
And then -
“Fuck.” He curses softly, tugging at your tights. “How the hell do these things come off…”
“You’re a pro hero.” You breathe, lifting your hips. “Figure it out.”
Your tights are halfway down your legs, bunched at your knees, when he leans back with a groan.
“Fuck this." He mutters. “I don’t have the patience.”
He fists your skirt and shoves it up around your hips instead, bunching the fabric at your waist in one quick, rough pull.
You exhale a sharp breath, blinking down at him. “Seriously?”
“I’m busy." He grits, voice low, eyes flicking to the dark panel of your panties. “Unless you want me to waste time getting it off right.”
You snort, breathless. “God forbid you use any finesse.”
Katsuki smirks -- that fucking smirk - and leans forward, crowding your body until you’re flat on your elbows, back arching, skirt hiked up, legs spread wide on the edge of your own desk.
“Finesse." He echoes, almost teasing. “You want finesse, princess?”
His fingers hook the waistband of your panties, tugging them all the way down, pocketing them easily.
And then you feel him. Two fingers, thick and callused, sliding through your folds - slow, firm pressure dragging over slick heat.
Your head falls back with a soft, involuntary gasp.
Katsuki leans in at the same time. Mouth catching the underside of your jaw. Kissing slow, possessive, hungry.
“Not so smug now, huh.” He murmurs against your skin, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat, biting softly at the hinge of your jaw.
You open your mouth to fire something back, but he curls his fingers, just right. Your breath catches. Your thighs twitch.
“Fuck.”
He grins again and kisses lower, under your chin, tongue flicking slow just beneath your ear.
You feel him breathe you in, that little grunt in the back of his throat when he realizes how wet you already are.
“All this for me, huh?” He mutters. “Just from makin’ you mad?”
Your hand fists in the collar of his uniform, yanking him back up to your mouth.
“Shut up." You whisper, voice wrecked. “You talk too much.”
“Thought you liked my mouth.”
You kiss him hard before you can answer - open, messy, his fingers still working between your thighs.
It’s hot. Deep. Desperate.
“You should’ve said somethin’ sooner." He rasps, dragging his thumb slow over your clit. “Fuckin’ coulda been doin’ this for months.”
Your answer is another moan. Sharp, breathy, hips grinding down like you’re chasing the friction, fast and sloppy.
And all he does is smile. That same cocky little grin against your mouth as he curls his fingers deeper, wrist flexing just right.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “There she is.”
You can barely think.
He drags his fingers slow through your slick. Rubbing tight, cruel little circles on your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch, just enough to make your stomach coil, just enough to make you almost come then backing off.
Again.
You grit your teeth. “Bakugo.”
He grins against your throat, not even trying to hide it. “Yeah?”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“You’re cute when you’re pissed.” He mutters, kissing under your ear.
You slap a hand down on the desk behind you, lifting yourself up on one elbow, staring him down.
He's still in his hero uniform. Boots planted between your spread thighs.
And fuck, you hate how hot it is.
His hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, arms flexing every time he moves. You can see the curve of his biceps, the thick straps tight across his chest, the way his utility vest rises and falls with his breath.
You can smell sweat. Smoke. Him.
It’s all too much.
You’re wet, aching, toes curling in your heels. And he’s standing there acting like he’s got all the time in the world.
Your voice drops. “Stop fucking around.”
He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?” He mutters. “You want it that bad?”
You stare him down. “You know I do.”
He breathes out a rough laugh. Then…
He licks his fingers.
Slow. Deliberate. Eyes on yours.
Your stomach flips.
Then he reaches for his belt, yanks his zipper down…
And your mouth parts before you can stop it.
Oh.
Oh.
You weren’t ready.
He’s thick, flushed, already leaking. You blink once, caught completely off-guard - and he sees it.
He smirks. “You gonna sit there with your mouth open or you want me to fill it later?”
You blink hard. “You’re such a…”
But you don’t finish, because he’s already grabbing your hips, dragging you forward across the desk like you weigh nothing.
You gasp, hands bracing behind you, legs spread wide -
He’s in. One hard, deep thrust.
He pushes all the way in, slow enough to feel every inch, but fast enough to make your back arch and a full, helpless moan spill out of your mouth.
“Fuuuck -”
His hips grind against yours, breath caught, head falling forward onto your shoulder as he groans just as loud.
“Holy shit - baby…”
You both freeze at the sound - loud, echoing off the office walls - and then, like instinct, you grab the front of his uniform and pull him down, slamming your mouth into his.
The kiss is messy, all lips and teeth and open gasps.
You moan into him. He groans into you.
His cock pulses deep inside, the stretch insane, thick enough that you feel it everywhere.
You’re clenching without meaning to. He swears again. Low, guttural, and thrusts shallow, just once, like he can’t help it.
His mouth breaks from yours, panting.
“Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt." He breathes, voice wrecked.
"Harder." You demand.
And yeah. He fucks you like it’s all he’s been thinking about.
Just deep, hard thrusts, slamming into you with all that strength he tries so fucking hard to hide during press events.
Your hips knock against the desk with every push, the wood creaking underneath you. Papers scattered, pens long gone.
He grunts with every movement, his jaw tight, eyes locked on your face like he wants to see every second of it.
“God. Fuck.” He pants. “So fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ tight."
You claw at his arms, nails dragging over fabric and skin. "You gonna narrate the whole thing?"”
He grabs your thighs, hoisting you higher on the desk, getting a better angle before slamming in again.
You moan, loud, eyes fluttering shut.
It’s almost filthy. The contrast. How professional you look half-undressed. Blouse unbuttoned, bra still on. While he’s slamming into you like it’s the only thing that’ll quiet his head.
He palms at your chest, squeezing. “Been thinkin’ about these fuckin’ tits since the first week I met you." He mutters, mouth brushing your collarbone, tongue flicking the sweat pooling there.
You roll your eyes, breathless. “Charming.”
“Shut up." He pants. “You know I have.”
His hands fumble at your back, cursing low when he can’t get the clasp - until it finally snaps free.
Your bra slides off your shoulders.
He doesn’t hesitate. Mouth drops to your chest, teeth grazing the swell of your breast, tongue licking a hot stripe over your nipple.
You cry out, legs locking around him, and he fucks into you harder, rutting deep and fast and rough.
You suck in a breath when he bites down - not hard, just enough to make you twitch. He soothes it with his tongue immediately after, lips wrapping around your nipple, groaning into your skin like he’s fucking starved.
Your hands are in his hair, tugging hard. His mouth is everywhere. Your throat, your chest, your jaw - sucking, biting, kissing, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach.
The sound of skin slapping fills the office. Your moans. His grunts. His voice muttering low filth into your neck.
“Been wantin’ this since the first time you yelled at me." He admits, nipping your ear. “Every fuckin’ meeting. Every press run. You’d stand there all smug in your little heels…”
And he can’t stop touching you. Even with his cock buried deep, slamming into you like he wants to carve himself into your body.
He can’t stop.
One hand claws at your waist, gripping your skirt like it offended him. The other’s everywhere. Cupping your tits, dragging down your sides, spreading over your stomach like he’s trying to memorize you by feel alone.
“So beautiful.” He grits, voice cracking on the words.
He palms your breast again, rougher this time, thumb brushing your nipple as he leans down to take it into his mouth for the third time, sucking so hard your hips jolt.
You moan - loud, unfiltered - one hand braced behind you on the desk, the other buried in his damp hair.
He groans against your skin, tongue flicking fast, teeth grazing, biting before he kisses the sting better again.
You suck in a breath when he pulls back just enough to look at you.
“This what you wanted?” He pants. “Shit - this what you been thinkin’ about when you stare at me in that fuckin’ pencil skirt?”
You roll your hips up into him, gasping. “Maybe.”
“Maybe?” He repeats.
Then he grabs your tits in both hands and fucks you deeper.
Harder.
It punches a cry out of your throat.
“Say it.” His voice is all gravel. “Say you’ve been thinkin’ about this.”
“Fuck…yes.”
“Say you wanted me.”
“I wanted you." You cry out. “God, I - fuck, Bakugo.”
He kisses you again - filthy, wet, lips dragging against yours with no aim but contact, connection, pressure. Tongue curling into your mouth like he owns it.
It’s insane.
It’s so wrong.
It’s your office.
But you don’t care. Not even a little.
Not when his teeth are back at your collarbone, sucking hard. Not when his hand slides down between your bodies to rub your clit in hard, perfect circles.
Not when he groans low into your ear, voice wrecked and possessive…
“You’re mine now. You know that, right?”
You can’t speak. Just nod.
You’re right there. So fucking close it’s unbearable.
Your legs are shaking around his waist, skirt bunched, tits bouncing with every thrust. One heel’s still on. The other is god knows where.
And Katsuki is pounding into you like he’s possessed. Jaw tight, sweat running down his neck, grunting through clenched teeth.
“You feel so fuckin’ good…tight little pussy….so fuckin’ wet for me….”
You’re panting so hard your voice breaks. And then you say it.
You whine it.
“Katsuki…”
His whole body jerks like you punched him.
“Say it again." He rasps.
You do. You’re not even thinking anymore, just crying out through gritted teeth, eyes shut, hand clawing at his bicep:
“Katsuki - Katsuki….fuck….don't stop…"
He loses it. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, thrusts deeper and rougher like he wants to fuck his name right back into you.
You moan it again, higher, more broken - and he grabs your thighs tighter, slamming into you so hard the desk rocks with it.
“C'mon baby…” He pants. “Keep sayin’ it. Fuckin’ love the way you say my name…”
You’re right on the edge. And it snaps. White-hot and sharp, coiling tight, then ripping through you like a wave that hits too fast, too strong—
“Katsuki!” You cry out one last time, voice cracked, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm slams into you, long and blinding and overwhelming.
You sob into his mouth, back arching, thighs locking around him like you’re trying to take him deeper.
“Shit…fuck…” He gasps, head dropping to your shoulder, and suddenly he freezes.
“Wait, ah…fuck.”
But it’s too late.
He pulls out right at the edge, cock twitching as he spills hot and messy against your thigh, the edge of your skirt.
"Didn’t pull out fast enough…damn it." He swears again, breath shaking, watching it drip.
Neither of you move.
You’re panting, chest heaving, bra discarded, his release leaking down your leg. Katsuki is standing between your thighs with his pants halfway down, still in full pro hero gear, eyes locked on you like he’s never seen anything better in his life.
And the room is hot. Sticky. Silent - except for your breath and your thighs still trembling open around him.
You lick your lips. Shaky.
“That was…”
Your voice breaks. You clear it.
“…so fucking stupid.”
He grins. Hair in his eyes. Still flushed, still panting.
“Yeah.”
And then - without even blinking - his hand slides back down to your ass, fingers massaging rough and slow, squeezing the soft curve of it.
His voice is hoarse.
“Now let’s do it again.”
… i have bakugo katsuki brainrot rn sorry guys xxx
boyfriend!lorenzo who flirts with you like it is his second language —
lazy grin, soft eyes and a honey slick voice:
the kind that makes every girl in the room turn their head when they hear him,
but he is only ever looking at you.
boyfriend!lorenzo who calls you mon amour even when he’s annoyed,
rolling his eyes as you tease him with a giggle;
but still tugging you close by the waist,
muttering something soft and sinful against your neck about how he’ll get his revenge on your later.
boyfriend!lorenzo who keeps a little black book in his back pocket —
these days it is filled with half-finished poems, doodles,
and tiny notes.
your favourite flowers, the shade of your eyes under candlelight,
the name of that song which made you cry last week in the common room.
it used to be a list of his rendezvous and escapades;
but now.. it's a little devoted diary of you.
boyfriend!lorenzo who sneaks you out past curfew to sit on the quidditch stands,
just because he felt like company and to talk about everything and nothing.
you always end up wrapped in his robes —
just because he likes seeing you in his house colours.
“if i win next match, you owe me a kiss beautiful.”
you always do: win or lose.
boyfriend!lorenzo who pretends he’s made of charm and mischief,
but falls silent when you run your hands through his hair,
when you trace the lines of his jaw,
when you call him ‘enzo’ like it’s a promise not a regret.
boyfriend!lorenzo who leaves you cryptic little notes in your textbooks —
'page 207. think of me'.
and on that page;
a pressed daisy, a lipstick stain, a smudge of ink that looks suspiciously like a heart.
a scribble of his name with a love heart above your own.
boyfriend!lorenzo who never lets you walk alone.
the castle, in Hogsmeade;
he’ll linger behind you in the corridors, along paths,
hands deep in his pockets,
whistling a lazy tune as he catches up…
“miss me, my angel?”
the answer is – always.
boyfriend!lorenzo who won't ever admit that he’s jealous,
but his tone drops dangerously low when another boy touches you.
his arm slides around your waist a little tighter,
his lips ghost your ear as he murmurs,
“don’t make me remind him who you belong to.”
boyfriend!lorenzo who smells like caramel and ink,
who kisses with lips as soft as confessions;
who lives every day like it might be the last one he gets with you.
boyfriend!lorenzo who swears he hasn’t changed,
but oh he has.
you’ve made him sweet, you’ve made him honest, you’ve made him human —
a boy who sees the beauty in stars because looking at them remind him of you.
omg i’m thinking about bakugou discovering the boob photocard trend. (context here )
like…bakugou not really being entertained by like the kpop-ification of pro heroes. he doesn’t get the concept of his fans having photocards of him and designing fanmade dynamight photocard holders, collecting them and decorating top loader, people carrying them around etc…
it’s not like he hates it, and katsuki wouldn’t deny his fans any fun… he just doesn’t care much.
that is until a certain dynamight fan account takes part in a particular trend. one where pictures of the explosive pro hero’s face are printed out onto pieces of cardboard — nestled perfectly into your lace cut bra.
he happens to come across it whilst scrolling through the dynamight hashtag — looking for updates on his stats but instead coming face to face (chest) with the ultimate display of dedication. your expression is cute, a blurry wink and a soft pout, but the camera’s focus is on the katsuki bakugou photocards peeking out from the scalloped edge of your pretty black bra — the holographic orange stickers you’ve decorated them with matching the sunset shaded silk bow tacked to the underwire.
his face… between your tits. your soft, mouthwateringly perfect tits. the blonde’s heart races, his cheeks flush and something stiff kicks between his legs… because to put it frankly, you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.
and you’ve got your boobs out for him.
‘adding something to the trend #dynamight’ you’ve captioned the post.
bakugou finds himself bookmarking your tweet — he’ll come back to it later, imagine his own face buried between soft mounds of flesh when he works his cock after hours. for now, he leaves his own comment with a new found appreciation for photocards.
‘you’ve won.’ he simply types out and clicks the lock on his phone — he’ll worry about what the head of PR has to say later.
for now, katsuki will await your adorably excited message going on and on about how you’re his biggest fan whilst he comes up with a plan to see your tits in real life, instead.
Summary: After your boyfriend cheats with your best friend, you enlist Theodore Nott in a fake relationship to get revenge
A/N: I fear this was better in my head
credits to @cafekitsune for the divider!
There comes a moment in every girl’s life that cements itself into her mind. It takes up a corner of her brain and becomes the foundation for every action she takes thereafter. It rewires her chemistry, ensuring that, years later, it will resurface unbidden, vivid and relentless.
She remembers it as though it’s happening right then. Every detail is etched onto the canvas of her mind with the precision of a master painter. She recalls every word, every inflection, every syllable. She feels again the rush of emotions, as if the pit of her stomach were reliving the moment in real time.
That was how it felt when your eyes landed on your boyfriend making out with your best friend, the girl who had been by your side since first year, the one you trusted implicitly. You stepped into the Hog’s Head that night, and your vision tunneled the second you saw them in the booth, lips locked.
The clinking of glasses around the pub sparkled mockingly in the dim light, a cruel contrast to the way your heart sank, your body shutting down as ice ran through your veins.
First came confusion. Perhaps you’d seen wrong, perhaps your mind was playing tricks. But as the seconds passed, certainty settled in, burning the image into your brain.
What do I do?
In any instance where you had been betrayed like this, your first instinct would have been to go to your best friend—the girl who had stuck with you since your first year when you were placed as dormmates.
Stuck in your place, your brain was short-circuiting, trying to, but in the end unable to do anything else but stare at them.
For fuck’s sake—are they scuba divers? Are they ever going to come up for air?
It seemed like they heard you, finally parting, and it seemed that your boyfriend—or rather, ex-boyfriend, and if he’s so lucky, not late-boyfriend—spotted you first, his face going pale the second he saw you.
You scoffed.
They were doing this in a public place, and he had the gall to look surprised when you managed to spot them?
And then you felt it—the emotion that managed to crush through all of the others like a tidal wave, filling your body and clouding your thoughts. Rage. Fury.
You spun on your heel, barreling through the crowd toward the door.
“(Y/N)!” Your boyfriend called behind you, but you ignored him, sidestepping another patron as you charged and left him in your dust. It seemed like your anger had managed to blur the edges of your vision, and you collided with another student.
“Watch it—!”
Theodore Nott stood at six feet tall, towering over you more than your boyfriend ever had, jawline so sharp it could cut you—if not for that, his words certainly would. He glared down at you with stormy eyes that you couldn’t quite call blue but couldn’t call green.
You heard your boyfriend call your name once more as he approached you, and it seemed the desperation on your face was apparent to someone as apathetic as Theodore, who only raised a brow at you.
And in that instant, you made one of the most reckless decisions of your life.
Your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket before you could even command your body to do otherwise, yanking Theodore toward you and leaning up on your tiptoes to close the gap, pressing your lips to his.
A split second passed, and your head was spinning, body coming back to life.
Have I lost my mind? I’ve just been utterly humiliated by my boyfriend and my best friend. Now I’ve kissed one of the notorious snakes—without consent, no less—which makes me literal scum. He’s going to push me away any second, probably hex me, and make this humiliation ten times worse.
All those self-deprecating thoughts came to a silent standstill the second his arm looped around your waist, another hand cupping your cheek as you tilted his head to deepen the kiss.
The moment stretched, every second dragging out as if the world itself had decided to pause and watch. His lips moved against yours with a deliberate, almost teasing patience that sent a shiver down your spine, making your knees threaten to buckle. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the subtle press of his chest against yours, grounding you even as your mind screamed in disbelief.
Your hands tightened on his jacket, nails digging in slightly as if anchoring yourself to reality. Your mind screamed in protest, reminding you of every reason this was reckless—this was Theodore Nott, the last person you should be doing this with, and yet… you couldn’t stop.
The kiss was urgent, hungry, but also careful, as though he could sense the storm raging inside you and wanted to meet it without drowning you completely.
Finally, reality slammed back into you. You broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath after being so violently knocked out of orbit by a kiss you could only describe as divine.
When your eyes met his again, you were rendered speechless.
Oh, you better admit yourself into St. Mungo's tonight, you imbecile.
“Oh my—uh… I—I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry—” You stammered, tearing your hands from his jacket and stepping back. Embarrassment burned hotter than your anger had moments ago.
You swallowed, shamefully looking down as you moved toward the exit once again, "I'm gonna go—"
Your voice trailed off, choked by a mix of embarrassment and disbelief. You wanted to disappear, to vanish from the pub before anyone could process what had just happened. Before he could.
You pivoted toward the door, picturing yourself in the cool night air where your face might finally stop burning.
But before you could take another step, a firm hand caught your wrist. You froze, the warmth of his grip rooting you in place.
“If you leave first,” He said, his voice low and smooth, carrying that unmistakable edge of challenge, “you lose."
You didn't even know if your ex-boyfriend was still there, you had lost any awareness of your surroundings the second your lips met his.
Your eyes widened, and you stammered, “I… I’m not… I don’t—”
The corner of his lips twitched as though he was fighting a smile at your pathetic state, a teasing glint in those stormy eyes that made your knees threaten to give out again. “Why don’t you… join me and my friends?”
You swallowed, heart hammering, and glanced back at your ex. He was still standing there, awkward, flustered, clearly humiliated. It was… satisfying, in a small, dark way.
If you left now, before they did, it would look like you had something to be ashamed of. You didn’t deserve that.
They didn’t deserve to enjoy the rest of their night undisturbed. They deserved to squirm in their seats, to feel the weight of your stare drilling holes into them. They deserved their night ruined. Their lives ruined.
“…Fine,” you whispered, almost against your will. Your voice trembled with a mixture of exasperation and something dangerously close to thrill. “But only for a little while.”
Theo’s grin widened, that teasing glint in his eyes sharpening. “Oh… I don’t know,” he said, placing his hand on the curve of your waist, leading you to the table that had been taken by the other Slytherins, "We can be quite a fun bunch."
Theodore guided you through the Hog’s Head, arm casually looped through yours, like you’d belonged there all along. You couldn’t help but notice the way the pub-goers glanced at you, whispers flickering through the crowd. Your stomach fluttered with a mix of nerves, shame, and something you didn’t dare name.
When you reached the table, his friend's eyes immediately lit up. They were lounging casually, drinks in hand, and the smirk on Blaise’s face made it clear that they had clearly witnessed your make out session.
"Well, well, well, looks like someone’s been busy." Mattheo drawled, his wicked grin hidden half behind his glass as Theodore pulled out a chair for you and then slid his own closer.
It took everything in you to not look so startled when he wrapped his hand around your shoulder, trying to hide your incredulousness at how seamless this act managed to come to Theo.
You lowered your gaze from Mattheo's who was set on staring at you with an ear-to-ear grin like an imp, only to catch Theo’s eye—he seemed to read your thoughts instantly and, without missing a beat, chucked a fry at his best mate, "Stop ogling my girl, you prat."
“Ohhh,” Mattheo drawled, leaning back in his chair, "She's your girl now? That's the first I've heard of this."
Draco snorted, smirking at Theo, “Yeah, Theo, since when? You never mentioned a girlfriend before.”
Before you could even sputter, Theo’s calm, controlled voice cut through the teasing. “Yeah,” He said effortlessly, as if stating the weather, “We’re dating.”
You froze. What?! You were still reeling from the kiss, and now he was lying with such ease that it made your brain stutter. You were so caught off-guard, so out of your comfort zone that you couldn't even say anything.
He didn’t even flinch, "And we're not first-year girls that I should tell you everything."
Enzo let out a low whistle. “Wow… Theo, good for you, man."
You felt like your chest had been sucker-punched. How could he lie so effortlessly? So convincingly? You were still fumbling over your own thoughts, heart racing from the kiss, and he was… untouchable.
Theodore leaned slightly closer, voice low enough that only you could hear. “Relax. Just play along. Trust me.”
Trust him? You barely knew him. And the two people you’d trusted most in the world had just ripped you to shreds.
This was a bad idea.
But you didn’t move. You couldn’t. Because Theodore was right—if you left, your ex would see it, and you’d lose.
So you stayed. You plastered a grin on your face and let Theodore enjoy himself with his friends. You tried your best not to glance at the betrayers—refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they occupied even a single neuron in your brain.
When tears threatened to prick your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheek hard and reached for Theo’s drink, taking a slow sip to ease the tightness in your throat.
Thankfully, it seemed they weren’t as shameless as you’d feared. They looked too uncomfortable to enjoy themselves, shifting in their seats, eyes flicking toward you before darting away. The sight of them leaving some time later brought you a sliver of satisfaction. However, that was made very bitter at the realization that they were leaving together.
You held out for another twenty minutes before finally turning to Theodore with a tired smile. “Walk me back?”
He didn’t hesitate. He stood immediately, earning a chorus of jeers from his friends about being a “simp” who couldn’t let his girl walk alone. Theodore just flipped them off before guiding you out with a warm hand at the small of your back.
The walk was quiet. Snowflakes gathered in your hair and clung to your coat, the world muted by the thick white dusting over Hogsmeade. Then, halfway down the path, you stopped abruptly.
Theodore turned to you, “What’s wrong?”
You stared down at the snow-covered road, tears burning at the edges of your vision, “She’s back at my dorm.”
You pressed the heel of your gloved palms into your eyes, your chest trembling with the sobs you’d been holding in all night, “And if she’s not… then I’ll be left wondering if she's with him for the rest of the night.”
Theodore sighed, steering you toward a small alcove behind the pub. It overlooked the rest of Hogsmeade, quiet and dim under the glow of lanterns. You sank down against the fence, not caring about the wet snow soaking through your clothes, hiding your face in your knees as the dam finally broke.
The image of them at the pub replayed relentlessly behind your closed eyelids, no matter how much you willed it away.
They’d done it so unabashedly, so arrogantly—her practically in his lap. Comfortable enough to humiliate you like that in public meant it couldn’t have been the first time.
Your mind reeled back to every time they’d both been absent, every “we just ran into each other in the hallway” excuse, every occasion they’d been “too busy” to join you in Hogsmeade.
They’d done this where other students could see. Had no one thought to tell you? Did your other friends just… choose to stay silent? Were they ever really your friends at all?
Theodore didn’t say a word. He just stood beside you in silence—until the soft clink of his lighter broke through your thoughts. You looked up, face blotchy and eyes raw, just in time to see him take a long drag from a cigarette, the smoke stark against the winter air.
“Can I have one?” You asked.
"No," He glanced down at you, “Take it from me, sweetheart—once you start, it’s very hard to stop.”
You exhaled sharply, lowering your forehead back to your knees. You tried to breathe deep, to steady yourself, to make sense of any of it, “What good even are you?”
There was another beat of silence.
“I’m sorry,” He said, and you looked up again, “I sprang that whole thing on you. If you don’t want to, I’ll take it back. Make it seem like I was the one mistaken. You don’t need to worry.”
“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, “You could’ve easily pushed me away. I mean, I was the one at fault there.”
“Because,” He said, taking another slow drag, “you looked desperate.”
You huffed a humorless laugh, “I’m swooning.”
Theo’s mouth twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “Besides,” He added, tilting his head so the dim light from the pub hit the sharp cut of his jaw, “I wasn’t about to let them see you run off like you’d done something wrong.”
You blinked at him, caught between wanting to roll your eyes and wanting to thank him, “So you just… decided to announce to half the school that we’re dating?”
“It’s better this way,” He said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Rumors spread fast. By Monday, everyone will think you’ve moved on—and not just moved on, but traded up.” His gaze flicked to you, calm but deliberate, “Let them choke on it.”
Your throat tightened, but this time it wasn’t from wanting to cry.
"And what do you get out of this arrangement?"
Theodore glanced at you through the thin curl of smoke leaving his lips. His expression didn’t flicker, but there was a spark of something behind his eyes—mischief, maybe, or calculation.
“Let’s just say…” He exhaled slowly, the smoke catching in the cold air like ghostly ribbons, “…I have my reasons.”
You swallowed and then sighed, watching as your breath became visible in the cold air, tears now dry on your cheeks, “I want them to pay for it.”
Theodore smirked, the corner of his mouth curling like he’d just been waiting to hear those words, "And so they shall."
You pushed open the door to your dorm, ready to collapse onto your bed and pretend the last twenty-four hours hadn’t happened. After talking with Theodore for a while, you’d waited until well past curfew to sneak back into Hogwarts, hoping your ex-boyfriend and ex–best friend had either gone to sleep separately or she was holed up in his dorm.
Honestly, at this point, you didn’t care where they were or what they were doing. They’d been dead to you long before you saw them at the pub tonight.
All you wanted was a bed. Sleep. Silence.
Theodore had still given you the option to change your mind about him — told you he’d take the blame if you wanted to pretend you didn’t know each other. But you were too wrung out from crying, too hollow to think. Your body was ready to collapse the second your face hit the pillow.
Except the moment you stepped inside, sleep vanished.
She was there.
Sitting cross-legged on her bed, biting her thumbnail — that nervous habit of hers you hated that you knew.
Your mind started firing questions faster than you could breathe. Was she nervous? Guilty? Regretful? Did she feel anything at all?
Her head snapped up.
“Hey,” She said softly, eyes wide with something dangerously close to guilt, “Can we talk?”
You froze. Part of you wanted to say yes. She’d been your best friend, the person you’d cared about more than anything. You didn’t want to lose her.
Your heart almost opened the door.
Your mind slammed it shut.
“No.”
She blinked, flinching like you’d slapped her, “Please, just—”
“I said no.” You moved past her toward your bed, shrugging off your coat, “Whatever you think you need to say, save it. I don’t care.”
“(Y/N), please! I didn’t mean for it to happen—”
You laughed—sharp, humorless, “You didn’t mean to kiss my boyfriend? How exactly does that work? You trip and fall face-first onto his mouth?”
Her jaw twitched. Then she scoffed, “Fine. If you’re gonna act like you’re so perfect, maybe remember you’re not exactly a saint either.”
Your head snapped up, “Excuse me?”
She crossed her arms, chin tilting higher, “We all saw your little show with Nott earlier. Don’t think you can sit there acting holier-than-thou when you cheated too.”
Heat surged under your skin.
“What I was doing with Nott is none of your business. But don’t you dare pretend that makes you right. You are the lowest, ugliest, skankiest slag I’ve ever met in my life.”
“That’s rich,” She spat, “Coming from the slag who spread her legs for the first guy she saw. Nott probably thought you were easy, didn’t he?”
You took a step forward. Then another. She backed up.
“Theodore has nothing to do with this, and neither does anyone else. The person I’m pissed at is you.” Your voice shook now, not from fear, but fury, “You were supposed to be my best friend! How could you betray me like this? Humiliate me in front of everybody? Go behind my back? I would never have done this to you. I wouldn’t have even thought about it!”
With each sentence, you jabbed a finger into her chest, until you finally shoved her, the force surprising even you.
She didn’t back down.
“You deserved it, didn’t you? Acting all high and mighty — then turning around and doing the same thing.”
Something in your chest cracked. You looked at her, really looked, and realized you didn’t recognize her anymore.
You laughed, breathless and disbelieving, “The only difference between us is I didn’t throw away seven years of friendship for some asshole who can only think with his dick. You think he won’t turn around and do the same thing to you that he did to me? You’re deluded.”
One more shove.
Then you straightened, voice quiet but lethal.
“If you ever approach me again, I’ll kill you. Until then?” You took a step back, smirking like she was something you’d scrape off your shoe, “Have fun with my sloppy seconds, slut.”
The next morning, the corridors were alive with the usual rush of students heading to the Great Hall, but your thoughts were still tangled in last night’s chaos. You tightened your coat around you, trying to focus on anything but the memory of their faces, when a familiar voice cut through the din.
“(Y/N)!” Your ex-boyfriend called, catching up just as you reached the entrance to the Great Hall. His face was flushed, a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and confusion, “What the hell was that yesterday?”
You froze for a heartbeat, then let a sardonic smile creep across your face, “Oh, that? I thought your tongue down my best friend’s throat was a pretty clear indication that we were both seeing other people.”
His face burned red, guilt and humiliation flickering across his features. You barely felt any satisfaction—what you felt yesterday had been raw, scorching, and unshakable. This was just a pale echo.
“Look, I—” He began, his voice tight, “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
“Didn’t mean to cheat on me with my best friend? Or didn’t mean for me to find out?” You let each word land like a slap.
His jaw clenched, his gaze hard, “You’re one to talk, acting like you didn’t leave with Theodore Nott of all people yesterday.”
You tilted your head, cool and deliberate, “I did. So? That doesn’t give you the moral high ground to lecture me. If you think you’re the victim here… think again.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a dangerous murmur, “Wait—are you serious? Are you actually—”
And then you saw him. Theodore Nott, leaning against the wall with that impossibly calm expression, arms crossed, watching like the world had paused for his amusement.
Your chest tightened, but you squared your shoulders. “Yes,” You said clearly, deliberately loud enough for both of them to hear, “I am dating Theodore Nott.”
The color drained from his face, the clever retorts dying on his tongue. You didn’t give him a chance to recover.
Theo’s smirk sharpened, eyes flicking between you and him, silently daring him to challenge your words, to give him a reason to rearrange his sorry mug this fine morning.
You started walking, leaving your ex behind, and Theodore fell naturally into step beside you. His presence was calm, confident, infuriatingly infuriating—and comforting at the same time.
“You promised, Nott,” You murmured, your voice low and dangerous, “We’re going to make them pay.”
Theo’s grin widened, the corner of his mouth lifting into that familiar, teasing arc. “Oh, don’t worry, mia cara,” He said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief and you felt your ears get hot, “We're gonna make them regret ever messing with you.”
Side by side, you stepped into the Great Hall. Whispers began immediately, flickering through the crowd like wildfire. And as the students’ eyes turned toward you, you realized—the game had officially begun.
The chatter of students filled the Charms classroom as you stepped inside, your nerves buzzing the way they always did when eyes might follow you. You hesitated in the doorway for a fraction too long, scanning the rows of desks. Usually, your spot was second row, left side—the place you always shared with your best friend. But now? The thought of sitting there made your stomach twist. Should you take it anyway, claim your ground, and glare if she had the audacity to join you?
Before you could decide, a warm hand brushed against the small of your back.
“Over here.” Theodore murmured, voice low but commanding. He didn’t give you room to argue, guiding you through the rows with a confidence that ignored every curious glance that followed. You ended up in the second-to-last row, his chosen territory.
You dropped your bag to the floor and slid into the seat he indicated, shooting him a quick, reluctant smile. Almost instantly, you became acutely aware of the heat of his knee brushing yours beneath the desk.
Theodore leaned back in his chair with practiced ease, stretching his arm just far enough to rest casually along the back of yours. “That’s better,” He said, deliberately louder now, his voice carrying through the classroom. His smirk deepened, “Need my girl next to me.”
The effect was immediate. The two Hufflepuff girls in front of you whipped their heads around under the pretense of adjusting their books. They tried to be subtle, glancing sideways from the corners of their eyes, but the way their shoulders pressed together and their whispers turned sharp made it obvious who they were talking about.
Theo noticed too. His smirk widened, one eyebrow arching as if to say exactly as planned.
You resisted the urge to elbow him in the ribs, ducking your head instead as heat crept up your neck. Subtle was not in Theodore Nott’s vocabulary, apparently.
Your heart jumped when the door opened again and she walked in—your ex–best friend, sliding into the classroom like nothing had happened. She looked tired, as she always did on mornings like this; Charms was the earliest class on your schedule, and she never managed breakfast before dragging herself out of bed. No, instead she always smuggled in a handful of Honeydukes’ cockroach clusters, nibbling on them through class.
And sure enough, there they were, sitting in a paper bag on her desk.
Your lips curled into a knowing smirk.
How could she be so careless? She knew you better than anyone—had known every one of your tricks, your habits, your moods. She should have known you wouldn’t leave her unpunished.
You waited until Professor Flitwick had begun explaining wand movement on the board, until the room was full of the faint swish of quills and the scratching of parchment. Then, when her hand dipped into the bag, you flicked your wand under the table. A silent transfiguration. Smooth, clean, precise.
She popped the cluster into her mouth. Chewed once.
And then froze.
Her eyes widened just a fraction, and then she gagged, clapping a hand over her lips. You bit down on your own smile as, with a sharp cough, she spat onto her desk—not a melted chocolate, but a fat, wriggling cockroach that skittered across the wood.
The room erupted.
Screams, laughter, the scrape of chairs as people leapt away. Someone shouted, “Bloody hell, they’re moving!” as two more clusters in the bag twitched and burst into chittering, crawling life. Your ex-best friend shoved her desk back in panic, her face pale as the cockroaches spilled out in a wave across the floor.
You didn’t react like the rest of them, watching as chaos struck and she turned green in the face, barely able to breathe. You lifted your feet and bag from the ground, careful to avoid all the cockroaches that seemed to multiply from her bag—the replenishing charm you cast on the bag doing wonders.
Theodore didn’t even glance at the teacher; instead, his attention was entirely on you, on the way your chest rose and fell, eyes still sharp, just barely contained.
With a single fluid motion, he pulled your chair a little closer, resting your legs in his lap. You froze, breath hitching, heat crawling up your spine—but there was no time for that. The room still hummed with whispers and laughter, and you could feel every pair of eyes glancing back at the scene.
“Elegant work, sweetheart.” He murmured low, the words meant only for you. His fingers brushed lightly along your ankle, light enough to be intimate, heavy enough to claim attention.
You suddenly understood why in the olden days showing ankle was considered scandalous, judging by the set of shivers Theodore's thumb against your ankle had sent up your spine.
“Detention! For eating in class and causing this disruption! Minus ten points!” Professor Flitwick’s squeaky voice rang across the room.
You fought the grin tugging at your lips, eyes sliding back to your former best friend, who sat frozen, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Oh, poor girl.
That pitiful, shocked face only made you hate her more.
The library was quiet, the soft rustle of pages and the occasional scratch of quills filling the otherwise hushed room. You were bent over a stack of textbooks, notes scattered across the polished wooden table, eyes straining to keep focus as the afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows.
You were so absorbed in your work that you didn’t notice the shadow falling across your page. A soft, familiar warmth pressed against the back of your chair, and a low chuckle reached your ears.
“Can’t study forever, you know.” A deep voice murmured.
Before you could turn around, a pair of lips pressed gently against the top of your head. A small, contented sigh followed as Theodore rested his chin lightly on your shoulder.
“Missed you, sweetheart.” He said softly, his words meant only for you, though the air between you carried them enough for nearby students to murmur.
You froze for a heartbeat, pencil hovering mid-note, then tilted your head slightly, allowing him the small indulgence. His hand slid to rest on yours, fingers brushing against your notes, grounding you in the moment.
A few whispers floated through the library, subtle but unmistakable: “Is that…?” “Theodore Nott and—” “Wow.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was the thrill of being seen with him, the quiet intimacy, the silent power you both held over anyone watching.
Especially the power it held over you.
You didn't know how he was able to touch you so intimately, pretend like you had a long history, hold you close and fake that look in his eye that made you feel like you were the center of his universe.
It was baffling.
Theodore rested his head for a moment longer before leaning back just enough to peer at your notes, “Though… you’re really focused, aren’t you? I’d almost feel guilty interrupting.”
You gave a small smile, eyes still on your parchment, “You could say that, yeah.”
He chuckled, nudging your shoulder gently with his own, “Then I’ll just keep you company… silently.”
And with that, he settled next to you, close enough that his warmth was constant, silent enough that you could still work—but every so often, he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple or brushing a strand of hair from your face.
Then you sensed movement behind you. Glancing up, you caught sight of your ex and your former best friend sneaking into the room, eyes immediately locking on you and Theodore.
They didn’t just glance—they stiffened, shoulders squared, and suddenly it was like a performance. She leaned close to him, laughing a little too loudly, brushing against him in a way that screamed look at us, we’re happy, look at what you’re missing. Your ex mirrored her, puffing out his chest and whispering something that made her giggle.
It was painfully obvious—they wanted you to see them, to feel jealous, to react.
You didn’t.
Instead, you reached up, grabbed Theodore by the collar, and pulled him down into a deliberate, teasing kiss, letting them watch the undeniable spark between you. He responded immediately, moving his hand to your waist, deepening the kiss and cupping your cheek.
But of course, they weren’t going to give up that easily. Determined to “out-do” you, they moved to the far side of the library, your ex hugging her from behind and peppering kisses to her neck as she giggled. They ducked into the alcove at the back that was notorious for students fooling around.
Theodore raised a brow, lips curling into that maddeningly flirtatious smirk, leaning to press his lips to your ear, “What do you say, love? Feel like beating them at their own game? I’m sure we’d have a better time anyway.”
You chuckled, shaking your head, trying to ignore the heat crawling up your neck.
With a subtle glance toward the librarian’s desk, you caught Madam Pince’s attention. Quietly, you waved her over, corners of your mouth tugging into a grin.
“Oh, you love it.” You murmured, still holding his hand. You pointed to the bookshelf where they were hiding, leaning back with a sly grin.
What happened next was beautiful chaos.
A shriek echoed through the library—sharp, furious, unmistakably theirs. Madam Pince’s voice rang out, shrill and indignant: “What on earth are you two doing in here?!”
You and Theodore exchanged a glance and stifled laughter as you heard her yelling, her wand flashing to confiscate their belongings, and chasing them down the aisles, half-dressed and completely humiliated.
The whispers and stares of the other students only added to the spectacle. You suppressed another laugh as you watched points being deducted from their house records, their humiliation complete.
For now.
The stands were packed, the cold wind whipping your hair around your face as you and Theo leaned against the railing, watching the match unfold below. You watched as your ex’s team began collecting points, you and Mattheo booing their every move at the top of your lungs.
“YOU CALL THAT FLYING?!” Mattheo yelled, and you cupped your hands around your mouth, “MY GRANDMA CAN FLY BETTER THAN THAT!”
You coughed—cold air and screaming taking their toll—before a scarf was gently draped around your neck. You turned in surprise to see Theodore, not even looking at you, more intent on wrapping it carefully so it covered your ears and nose without smothering your mouth. When it proved impossible, he conceded and settled for placing a warming charm on you.
You smiled bashfully, hiding your pink cheeks in the scarf, “Thank you.”
“Anytime, bella.”
“Disgusting behavior in public.” Mattheo muttered under his breath, earning a soft chuckle from you.
Everything seemed normal—until the golden blur began acting strangely.
Even for a snitch, its movements were erratic. But this was worse than usual. It seemed to purposefully avoid the opposing team, darting exclusively toward your ex’s side. The match ground to a halt as the players floated to a stop, confusion spreading across the pitch. Madam Hooch called everyone together, frowning as she tried to assess the situation.
When the groundskeepers and referees inspected the field, the truth became clear: the snitch in play wasn’t real. Someone had swapped it.
Confusion rippled through the stands as whispers grew louder.
“Where’s the real Snitch?” The head referee demanded, scanning the players.
A quick locating spell revealed it immediately—tucked neatly in your ex’s bag, as if he had accidentally carried it with him. The real snitch sat there, innocently gleaming in the sunlight, waiting to be discovered.
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Every eye in the stadium turned to him.
Your ex’s face drained of color, hands fumbling over the bag in shock. “I—I didn’t—!” He stammered.
But the damage was already done. The spectators murmured furiously, teammates muttering accusations, and whispers of “he cheated” began circulating instantly.
Theo leaned back against the railing, smirk spreading across his face, and whispered in your ear, “Are you enjoying the show, my love?”
You bit your lip and nodded, trying not to laugh aloud, and reached for his hand under the railing, giving it a subtle squeeze. No words were needed—the humiliation was working exactly as planned.
“Due to tampering with the snitch, it’s an automatic loss for Ravenclaw—Hufflepuff wins!” Madam Hooch announced, confirming the disaster.
“Another impeccable plan. I’m impressed,” Theo murmured in your ear, voice teasing, “You make it look easy.”
The crisp Hogsmeade air nipped at your cheeks as you stepped off the train, Theodore’s hand sliding easily into yours. The village was bustling with students, their laughter echoing over the cobblestone streets, but all you could feel was the warmth of his grip and the soft pull of his presence beside you.
Theodore was actually the one to suggest that you guys spend the day together. At first, you were going to opt out, feeling bad that the last couple weeks had been revolving around you and wanting him to get some time with his friends but he insisted, saying that you couldn't spend your Hogsmeade apart or people would talk.
You couldn't argue with that.
But even then you found yourself looking forward to it.
Despite this being only a temporary arrangement with no feelings behind it, Theodore was actually great company. He was thoughtful and considerate, he liked hearing you talk and a quality people didn't really appreciate a lot was that he was hilarious.
You couldn't go five minutes without him prompting a belly laugh from you.
You paused in front of a small shop, your eyes catching a delicate necklace in the display window. A thin chain with a tiny, intricate charm glinting in the sunlight—it was beautiful. Your breath caught.
“Oh… that’s gorgeous.” You murmured, pressing your palm lightly against the glass.
Theodore leaned over, following your gaze. His eyes softened when he saw the necklace, “You like it?”
“I do… but…” Your voice trailed off as you peeked at the price tag. Your eyes widened, “but I do not love the price tag.”
The bell above the shop door jingled as you both entered. You wandered near the counter, trying to convince yourself it was just a dream. Theodore approached the shopkeeper, exchanged a few words, and before you could even process what was happening, the necklace was being handed to you in a small, neatly wrapped box.
You stared at it, then at him, “No… no, you can’t. This is way too expensive. I can’t—”
“It’s only ten Galleons.” He said, clearly perplexed by your reaction.
“Only… ten Galleons?” You repeated, your voice rising slightly in surprise, “That’s… that’s like… my entire pocket money for the next two months!”
Theodore smirked, as if your shock were the most amusing thing he’d seen all day, “Yes, and? You’re my girl. You like it, you get it. What’s the problem?”
The problem was you weren't really his girl.
So, why was he going out of his way to behave like you were? This was a question that had stayed in your head since that first night in Hogsmeade. What was he getting out of this? Why would he be so readily enthusiastic in your plan when it was clear you were the only one truly benefitting from this?
When you met his eyes again, stormy blue that looked green in some lights, the questioned died on your tongue.
Because whatever the reason, you weren't sure you wanted him to stop.
You stared at him, half in disbelief, half in awe, “You—really? You’re just… giving it to me?”
You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief as you let him fasten the necklace around your neck. The charm glinted against your chest, and the warmth of the gesture left you grinning.
When you turned to meet his eyes again, you smiled bashfully up at him before leaning in to press a soft kiss against his cheek.
Theo froze in surprise the second your lips touched his cold skin, and the sight of his startled expression made something warm bloom in your stomach.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t done more than that—in fact, in your persistence to prove to your exes that you were well past moved on, you’d taken to making out with Theo in nearly every public space Hogwarts had to offer. And if it wasn’t that, it was the way he always had an arm around you, casual and possessive, no matter where you went.
So the fact that something as small as a cheek kiss could knock him off guard made you smile. Made you feel like all the intimacy you shared wasn’t just a front. Wasn’t all fake.
“Thank you.” You whispered.
You settled cross-legged on the soft carpet of the Slytherin common room, leaning back against Theodore’s legs as he sat comfortably on the couch. His hands were busy in your hair, while his scarf lay draped across your lap. Carefully, you threaded the fringe at the end of the scarf, showing him how to braid it so he could mimic the motion on your hair.
“So then you take this left strand and bring it over—it becomes the new center strand—and then you bring the new right strand and bring it over.” You explained, feeling the occasional tug on your hair. You immediately noticed the braid slipping.
“It keeps slipping… your hair is too greasy.” He muttered, brow furrowed.
You scoffed, feigning offense, “I think you mean… smooth and silky.”
“This isn’t working.” He grumbled, letting go of your hair and starting over, separating it into three neat parts.
“Baby, this is the easiest braid ever. You’re going to faint when I teach you about a Dutch braid.” You teased, tugging gently on a strand to demonstrate.
Before he could respond, the door creaked open and Mattheo sauntered in, smirk plastered across his face. “Ohhh, what do we have here?” He drawled, “(Y/N) (L/N), Hogwarts’ first houseless student considering we never see her in her own common room, and Theodore Nott, her loyal… dog.”
He then grimaced at the sight of the two of you, “Can y’all not do this in a public space? Some of us think the sight of happy couples is enough to induce projectile vomiting.”
Theo didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth tugged into a small smirk. You felt a small thrill as his thumb grazed the space under your ear, leading to your neck, grounding you in the moment.
You raised a brow, voice dripping with mock menace, “You really wanna piss me off when I’m at prime height to punch you in the balls?”
Mattheo rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the couch, still grinning, “You’re coming to Theo’s birthday next Friday, right? Considering you practically live here.”
You hesitated, unsure, “I… I don’t know. I mean—”
Theo leaned over you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head. “You'll be there right?” He murmured, voice low and coaxing, the simple gesture making your chest tighten, "Please?"
You bit back a smile, looking up at him, and realized there was no way you could say no—not when he asked like that.
You stepped into the Slytherin common room, barely able to hear your own thoughts over the bass that rattled the walls. It thudded deep in your chest, vibrating through your bones as you descended the staircase to the dungeons.
The room was packed, bodies moving together in a blur beneath the strobing lights, faces indistinguishable in the chaos. But your eyes found Theo instantly. He was surrounded by his friends, laughing at something Mattheo said, until his gaze landed on you.
His entire expression shifted—lit up like you were the only thing in the room. Without a second thought, he left them behind and crossed the room to meet you at the base of the stairs.
His eyes swept over your little black dress, the necklace he gifted you resting prettily on your collarbones, and his hands found their way to your waist—low, possessive, warm against the thin fabric,
"Che bella, carissima."
"Happy birthday, Theo." You murmured, your palms resting lightly against his chest.
"Grazie, dolcezza." He replied, voice low and smooth as he leaned in. His mouth met yours without hesitation, your fingers sliding into his hair. Lip gloss smudged against his skin, and the artificial taste of lollipop lippie flooded both your mouths.
If you hadn’t been so caught up in the kiss, maybe you would’ve questioned it. Why you were kissing Theo when neither your boyfriend nor your best friend was anywhere in sight. Why you were feeding into the rumor mill in the shadowy corner of the common room instead of center stage where everyone could see.
Maybe you would’ve wondered why you shaved your legs, wore the dress that made your breasts look perfect, took extra time curling your hair, and reached for the expensive perfume you saved for special occasions.
But with Theo’s fingers brushing bare skin along your spine—thanks to the low back of your dress—those thoughts didn’t stand a chance.
You pulled away, laughing softly at the sight of glittery gloss smeared across his lips. You tried to wipe it away with your thumbs, but that proved nearly impossible when he kept catching your fingers in quick kisses.
"I have a present for you." You whispered, revealing the small gift bag you’d kept tucked behind your back. Theo pressed a kiss to your temple before taking it, digging through the tissue paper until he pulled out a steel flask—cool, heavy, and etched with intricate designs like something stolen from an ancient temple.
When he felt the liquid slosh inside, he unscrewed the cap and took a sip, brows lifting in surprise when the familiar taste hit his tongue.
"I cast a replenishing spell on it," You explained, "When it runs out, it’ll refill on its own."
His lips curved in a slow smile, still holding your gaze.
"I was just thinking about that day you said you’d miss my cocoa," You added, "So…I thought you’d appreciate it."
Theo chuckled quietly, looking down at the flask with an expression you couldn’t quite read—something deeper than amusement.
"Do you…not like it?" You asked after a beat.
He shook his head immediately, "I adore it, pretty girl."
Before you could respond, Mattheo’s voice cut through the music.
"If you guys are done ASSAULTING OUR EYEBALLS—" You both rolled your eyes in perfect unison, "—IT’S TIME FOR CAKE!"
You followed the crowd toward the long table where the cake waited, candles flickering under the dim lights. You expected to melt into the group somewhere between Enzo and Blaise, but before you could even drift in that direction, Theo’s hand shot out, curling firmly around your wrist.
“Where do you think you’re going, Dolcezza?” He murmured, tugging you to stand at his side—his spot—right in front of the cake.
“Theo,” You hissed under your breath, “it’s your birthday, I should be—”
“You're exactly where you should be.” He cut you off smoothly, eyes glinting in the candlelight. His hand didn't lift from your waist, keeping you pinned to his side, the faint smell of smoke and cocoa clinging to him like a second skin.
You didn’t have time to argue before Blaise slid over, holding out a small slip of parchment and a quill, “Here you go, mate."
Your brows furrowed, “What’s this?”
Theo took the quill without hesitation, his head bending low as he scribbled something on the paper in quick, sure strokes.
“It’s an old Nott thing,” Mattheo explained, “Birthday boy writes down a wish, folds it, and keeps it with him until it comes true. You’re not supposed to tell anyone what it is.”
Theo didn’t even glance up, just folded the parchment neatly, tucking it into the inner pocket of his jacket with deliberate care.
“And you keep it on you?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you.
“Always,” Theo said simply. His gaze met yours, sharp enough to make your stomach twist, “A wish doesn’t work if you let it out too soon.”
You should’ve looked away, but there was something about the weight of his stare—like whatever he’d written down was more dangerous than anyone else in the room realized.
“Now,” Mattheo groaned, breaking the tension, “can we please sing so I can eat some damn cake?"
You laughed, but your mind was already racing, replaying the way Theo’s lips had curved just slightly when he’d sealed the parchment away.
And for the first time, you wondered if that wish had anything to do with you.
The common room was a haze of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and the faint tang of cider and punch. You’d just come back from the corridor with Theo, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your waist, when Mattheo leaned over with a mischievous grin.
“You need to try this,” He said, holding out a tall glass filled with a neon-colored drink. At the bottom, a small, bright candy rested like a hidden treasure, “It’s our latest cocktail—sweet and sour. The sweetness of the drink with the sour candy at the bottom is fucking good.”
You raised an eyebrow, examining the glass that looked radioactive, "This looks cursed."
"It's good, baby," Theo said smoothly, eyes sparkling as he handed you the glass, “You should give it a try.”
With a shrug and a laugh, you took a sip. At first, it was sweet, almost pleasant. Then your tongue hit the candy, and your eyes widened in shock. Your face scrunched up immediately.
“Oh—oh my god,” You choked out, spitting it back a little, "This is awful! I feel like I'm sucking on a lemon!"
Theo chuckled low, leaning closer, his hand brushing against yours as he reached for the glass. “Give it here.” He murmured, voice teasing.
You held the candy between your teeth, letting him tilt your head and take it into his mouth. The kiss that followed was slow, teasing, and intimate, the world around you fading as he skillfully removed the candy without breaking the connection between your lips. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers tangling naturally like it does whenever you kiss.
When he finally pulled back slightly, forehead resting against yours, his eyes shone with playful delight, "You're crazy," He said, swishing the candy around in his mouth, "This is delicious."
"You two are disgusting." Mattheo muttered again, shaking his head.
You’d slipped out into the quieter corridor for a moment’s reprieve. The cool dungeon air was a relief after the heat of the crowd.
You were seated on one of the stairs, catching your breath, when footsteps echoed down the hall. You didn’t turn, but the scent of Theo hit your senses the moment he draped his jacket around your shoulders and settled beside you.
“Hi.” You murmured, leaning your head down to rest on your knees, offering a small, tired smile.
“Hi. You alright?”
You nodded, “Just a little tipsy. I needed some air.”
“Oh, I know just what to do about that.” He teased, reaching into his jacket and pulling out the flask you had gifted him. You chuckled as he opened it, handing it to you, steam curling into the cold air. You took a few sips, letting the warmth spread through you.
“When I said I was going to miss your cocoa,” He began, a hint of mischief in his voice, “I didn’t mean you should give me a lifetime supply.”
Your brows furrowed, a pang of worry settling in your chest. Did he not like the present?
"I don’t want the flask if it means you won’t be around to share it with me,” He said softly, leaning closer so only you could hear, “I’ve always just wanted you."
You took a sharp inhale, your heart beginning to pound against your ribcage.
"Are—Are you being serious?"
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his pocket and held something out between two fingers—a folded slip of parchment, worn at the edges, looking as though it might crumble if handled too roughly.
You frowned, “What’s this?”
“My birthday wish from last year.” He said simply.
You blinked, “Won’t giving it to me mean it won’t come true?”
His lips curved into that maddening, calm smile, “Take a look.”
You hesitated, then unfolded the paper. The ink was slightly smudged, but the words were unmistakable:
I wish for (Y/N) to notice me.
Your stomach flipped in disbelief, “Theo…”
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember.”
The air seemed to thin around you, your pulse loud in your ears, “You… you’re serious?”
He nodded, “I’ve felt this way for a long time. I thought last year would finally be the year I made my move, but then you started dating him, and I thought I lost my chance.”
“I didn’t know you felt that way.” You whispered.
“I was ecstatic when you finally turned your attention to me that night. Not the way I wanted at first, maybe, but I was never going to let that chance get away from me.”
You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, your chest tightening with a mix of disbelief and relief. Theo’s eyes were locked on yours, calm and steady, but filled with something so raw it made your heart thrum.
Your hands trembled slightly as you reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his face, fingers lingering at his jaw. “So… all of this—” you gestured between the two of you, “—the fake dating, the kissing, the… everything… it wasn’t just to get back at them?”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head, “No. That part was fun, I’ll admit. But it wasn’t the real reason I wanted to be close to you.” His hand slid over yours, palm warm against yours, grounding you, “I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for longer than you can imagine.”
Your heart lurched, a mixture of relief and longing flooding through you, “Theo…”
He leaned closer, forehead resting against yours, voice just above a whisper, “So, what do you say? No more pretending. No more games. Just… us.”
Something inside you broke—years of tension, uncertainty, and longing unraveling in a single heartbeat. You cupped his face in your hands, leaning into him fully, “Okay,” You breathed, “Just us.”
His grin widened, a triumphant glint in his stormy eyes, and he kissed you—slow, deep, and deliberate, every touch and press of his lips sealing the promise between you. No pretense, no lies. Just the two of you, finally, fully together.
The two of you stayed there for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the distant thrum of the party fading into nothing. The world had narrowed to just you, just him, and the long-awaited start of something neither of you wanted to hide ever again.
Bonus:
Breakfast in the Great Hall felt different that morning.
You’d think that after months of this routine with Theo, another morning spent at his side wouldn’t feel so significant. But it did. Everything felt sharper, warmer. You didn’t feel like you had to prove anything anymore. You didn’t feel like you had to put on a show. The hand holding yours was hidden beneath the table, but you didn’t care if anyone saw—or if they didn’t. It didn’t matter anymore.
And yet, despite everything shifting, you and Theo were still the same—falling into that easy rhythm, voices low as you traded quiet jokes. Only now, you noticed the way it felt different. How intimate it was when Theo’s gaze lingered not just on your eyes but flickered, unconsciously, down to your lips. How he looked at you like you were the only thing in the room, even in the middle of the bustling Hall.
How had you missed all the signs before?
Theo was brushing a crumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb when the bliss cracked.
“Everyone!”
The word boomed too loud, slicing through the clatter of cutlery and low chatter. Your entire body stiffened before you even turned around. Of course. Him.
Your ex stood in the aisle, puffed up with self-importance, chest thrown back like he’d just mounted a stage. He had that smug gleam in his eyes, the kind that screamed he’d practiced this speech in the mirror ten times over.
“I think it’s time you all knew the truth about Theodore Nott and (Y/N) (L/N).” He announced, every syllable dripping with fake triumph. He cut a sharp look at you, then Theo, then back to the sea of students now staring.
The Hall quieted, curiosity winning out. Even the Gryffindors craned their necks, waiting for drama.
“They’ve only been pretending to date,” He declared, letting the word hang in the air, “To make me jealous.”
His voice swelled with self-satisfaction, like he’d just solved some grand mystery.
Your hand tightened around Theo's.
“You don’t have to keep pretending just to get back at me. I get it. I was angry too when we ended, but—” He paused, putting on his most magnanimous smile, “I’ll forgive you. I’ll take you back.”
The silence that followed was… brutal. Half a beat too long.
Slowly, you let your gaze drift—not at him, but across the Hall, to where his so-called new love sat, her expression crumbling as her boyfriend publicly begged for you.
A smirk ghosted across your lips, satisfaction unfurling in your chest. I warned her, you thought. You told her he’d betray her the same way he’d betrayed you. You’d just assumed he’d run to someone new. But no—he’d come crawling right back. Pathetic. Maybe you really were just too good to forget.
A ripple of laughter broke out along the Gryffindor table. Somewhere down the line, a Ravenclaw girl snorted so hard pumpkin juice sprayed out of her nose. Even some of the Slytherins traded incredulous looks, smirks curling as if to say, is he serious?
"He has officially lost the plot." Someone muttered loud enough for half the Hall to hear. Someone else chortled in response.
Your ex’s confident smile faltered.
Blaise Zabini leaned lazily on his elbows, his voice carrying just enough to cut through the hush. “Pretending?” He gestured toward you and Theo with a casual flick of his hand. “Mate, the whole castle’s been gagging on their PDA for months.”
Someone else piped up, "Yeah. If that’s pretend, then they deserve Oscars. The way he looks at her—like she’s the only thing in the world—you’d have to be blind to miss it.”
You chuckled, dropping your gaze from the pathetic sight in front of you and turned back to your current boyfriend, who only smirked at you, though you could see the tenderness that lay underneath, "See? Everyone else could see I was gone for you before you did."
Bonus bonus: (Ten years later)
The day you first kissed Theodore Nott was arguably one of the worst days of your life, despite all the good that eventually came from it. The betrayal of seeing the person you loved cheat on you with your best friend was a wound so deep it had reshaped you.
Theo had always claimed he was glad he’d never experienced anything like it. Until the same thing happened to him.
“This is killing me,” He muttered, pacing the length of your shared bedroom like a man awaiting his execution. His hands dragged through his hair, his voice raw, “I hope you know that.”
Your throat tightened, but you forced an eyeroll, masking your sympathy with irritation, “Theo, it’s not that big of a deal. Will you stop getting your knickers twisted?”
He whirled on you, eyes blazing. “Not a big deal? Not a big—” He broke off, laughing bitterly, “You were so betrayed when this happened to you that you practically tore their lives apart. And now you expect me to just—what? Pretend I’m fine?”
You scoffed, folding your arms, “We are not comparing the biggest betrayal of my life with your daughter having a crush on Mattheo.”
The air went still.
Theo staggered back a step, like you’d struck him. His face twisted in horror as his hand clutched his chest. “Don’t say it out loud.” He croaked, his voice breaking.
He looked genuinely wounded, muttering under his breath as though mourning a death, “I raised her better than this…She used to want to marry me!”
Before you could roll your eyes again, the shrill ding-dong of the doorbell cut through the tension.
Theo froze mid-step, every muscle in his body going taut. Slowly, his head turned toward the door like a man staring down a firing squad.
And then—
“HE’S HERE!”
Your three-year-old's shriek echoed down the hall, followed by the thunder of little feet pounding against the floorboards. She practically skidded into the foyer, hair wild, socks sliding on the wood as she lunged for the door.
“Bianca, you know you're not allowed to open the door without us!” Theo barked, but it was too late.
The door swung wide.
Mattheo Riddle stood there, casual, self-assured, hands shoved in his pockets. A faint, rakish smirk tugged at his lips. With the leather jacket and helmet under his arm, it was easy to see why your daughter was utterly smitten. Had you not known the fool he was during school, you might have been just as captivated.
“Hi.” He drawled, eyes immediately landing on his god-daughter.
“UNCLE MATTHEO!” Bianca squealed, launching herself into his arms without hesitation. He caught her with practiced ease, lifting and spinning her once before settling her on his hip.
Mattheo shifted her higher onto his hip, grinning like he owned the place, “And who’s my favorite girl?”
“Me!” She squealed, giggling as she buried her face into his shoulder.
Theo’s jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard it crack. His knuckles whitened at his sides, and he took one menacing step forward like he was about to snatch his daughter back by force.
Mattheo, utterly unbothered, tilted his head, smirk widening. “I see someone’s cranky.” He teased lightly, holding Bianca closer with a teasing flourish.
"(Y/N) did not go through 14 hours of aggravating labour for this horrendous display."
“Now you know how I felt all those years back at Hogwarts, watching you two glued to each other’s lips like a bad romance novel.”
To be added to a taglist, please send me an ask! (I might respond to you in comments but I can’t guarantee that I won’t accidentally miss it)
Hiii! I love reading your works! I was wondering if you can do a request with Sanemi where him and a hashira! reader are in an arranged marriage (reason for it is up to you)! At first they’re a bit awkward/cold to each other, but gradually they fall in love, please and thank you!!!
— arranged marriage.
✧˖° pairing: gn!readerxsanemi
✧˖° genre: fluff
The arrangement had been made long before either of you truly agreed to it.
In truth, it wasn’t really a marriage born of choice—it was one of necessity. Two of the Corps’ strongest Hashira, united to strengthen the ranks and reassure the others after the string of brutal losses. That was how Kagaya had framed it when he’d summoned you both to the estate. “A bond,” he’d said gently, “to bring harmony and strength.”
Neither of you had been in much of a position to refuse.
Sanemi Shinazugawa had stood there with his arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes hard. You, the newly appointed Ice Hashira, had bowed your head—calm, but clearly uncertain. You had fought side by side before, exchanged words only when duty required it. And now, you were to be married.
That first week was… odd.
You lived in separate quarters within the same home—technically shared a roof, but that was where the intimacy ended. The house was small, quiet, nestled at the edge of the Corps compound, a place meant for two warriors who were suddenly supposed to act like a family.
You learned early on that Sanemi was an early riser. You’d wake to the sound of the front door sliding shut at dawn, his training beginning before the sun could rise. He rarely ate breakfast, often leaving a half-filled cup of tea untouched on the table. His presence lingered like a breeze—loud when near, and then gone in an instant.
He was all rough edges with blunt words, sudden gestures, quick temper. But he wasn’t cruel, and that difference mattered more than you realized.
You, in contrast, were quiet by nature. You kept your thoughts close, your movements careful, and though you were known for your composure as a Hashira, sharing a home with someone like him was a new battle altogether.
The silence between you was thick—awkward at first, then comfortable, then awkward again.
The first time you shared a meal, you’d made too much rice without realizing it. He’d come home earlier than usual, hair damp from rain, uniform torn at the shoulder. You were setting the table when his voice startled you.
“Smells good,” he’d grumbled, almost to himself.
You blinked. “Oh, it’s nothing special. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back.”
He’d hesitated before sitting down across from you. “Didn’t think you’d wait.”
“I didn’t,” you said honestly, and he almost smiled.
The meal was quiet, but not uncomfortable. He didn’t thank you, but he ate every bite. You noticed he left the last piece of grilled fish untouched—small, deliberate, like he was saving it for you. You didn’t say anything, but the gesture stayed with you.
After that, the rhythm of your days began to shift.
He started coming home earlier, sometimes pretending it was by accident. You caught him glancing at the table when he thought you weren’t looking. Occasionally, you’d find his sword propped by the door instead of taken to training at night—a small sign he intended to stay home.
There were still rough moments, of course.
Once, after a difficult mission, you returned to find him pacing outside the house, fury carved deep into every line of his body. You’d stepped forward quietly, offering a towel and a cup of tea.
“Don’t,” he’d snapped, voice low and shaking. “Don’t act like you’re not scared of me.”
You held his gaze. “If I were scared of you, I wouldn’t be standing here.”
That stopped him cold.
He turned away first, jaw clenching, knuckles white around his sword. But when you brushed past him to set the tea on the porch, he muttered, barely audible, “…Sorry.”
You smiled faintly. “You can just say thank you next time.”
It wasn’t much. But it was something.
Days bled into weeks, weeks into months. You learned each other’s rhythms without meaning to. You learned that he hated quiet meals but couldn’t stand too much noise either. That he liked his tea bitter but his rice sweet. That he had a bad habit of falling asleep on the porch after missions, and that he always slept facing the door—old reflexes he never shook.
He learned that you hummed while cleaning your blade. That you couldn’t sleep when it rained too hard. That you always left the shoji open just a sliver before bed, because you liked the sound of the wind in the trees.
And one night, everything changed in the smallest way possible.
You’d cut your hand during maintenance—just a small slip of the knife. But Sanemi had seen the blood and reacted like the world was ending.
“Damn it, hold still!” he barked, snatching your wrist before you could hide it.
“It’s fine,” you tried to say, but he was already rummaging through the cabinet for a bandage.
When he finally found one, his touch was rough but careful. His brows were furrowed, the scar along his face creased deeper than usual.
“You’re too careless,” he muttered. “You treat everyone else’s wounds like glass but don’t give a damn about your own.”
You smiled softly, watching him fumble with the knot. “You’re worried.”
“’Course I am,” he snapped, then froze. “I mean—shit—don’t twist my words.”
You tilted your head, amused. “So you’re not worried?”
He looked away, ears turning red. “…Shut up.”
That was the first time you laughed around him… really laughed. And he didn’t say anything, but the sound made his chest ache in a way he didn’t know how to name.
After that night, the distance between you wasn’t quite so wide.
Sometimes, when he came home from patrol, you’d be waiting on the porch with tea already poured. Sometimes, you’d spar together, the air thick with tension neither of you dared call affection. He started calling you by name instead of “hey.” You started calling him Sanemi instead of “Shinazugawa.”
The first time you fell asleep against his shoulder, it was an accident. You’d both been sitting outside, watching the fireflies rise from the grass. He didn’t move for a long time, just stared at you, his hand twitching once like he wanted to brush your hair aside but didn’t.
Eventually, he whispered, barely audible, “You’re trouble.”
You murmured back without opening your eyes. “You married me.”
He smirked faintly. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Maybe not,” you said, smiling softly. “But you stayed.”
That silenced him. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly—just sat there, listening to your steady heartbeat against his arm.
Later, when you both went inside, he quietly unfolded an extra blanket over you before lying down beside you for the first time.
He didn’t sleep much that night. He just watched the moonlight spill over your face and thought—for the first time in years—that maybe the arrangement had never been a duty at all.
By the time Kagaya visited months later to check on the “union,” he found not two reluctant soldiers, but something closer to peace.
When he stepped into the courtyard, Sanemi was chopping wood, scowling at a crooked log. You were nearby, hanging laundry in the sun, humming softly. The domesticity of it all made the Master smile.
He greeted you both warmly, and you bowed in perfect sync.
And as he left, Kagaya glanced back once more, at the faint curve of Sanemi’s lips when you brushed sawdust from his hair, at the way his shoulders finally looked unburdened.
He said nothing, but the smile lingered long after he was gone.
Because what began as duty had turned into something far rarer, and infinitely more precious.
A love neither of you had expected, but both of you had built—quietly, stubbornly, piece by piece.
I have notifs on for you because I love your stuff! So I just saw requests open 🌝 Could I make a request for Sanemi x reader, where they’re in a secret relationship and Mitsuri tries hooking reader up with someone else, or maybe mentions a villager being interested in her and Sanemi becomes jealous and their relationship is revealed?? You’re like THE Sanemi writer to me ♥️
— love’s not a secret anymore.
⋆˙⟡ pairing: fem!readerxsanemi
⋆˙⟡ genre: fluff
⋆˙⟡ a/n: STOP, bestie you have me blushing with your last sentence. you’re so sweet 😭 btw this was so fun to write, thank you for requesting this!
The Corps doesn’t know you and Sanemi are together. He’s too proud to admit it, and you both agreed it’d just cause teasing or gossip, especially from the other Hashira. So you two keep it quiet: stolen moments, late-night visits, subtle glances across missions.
Mitsuri, being her usual bubbly self, notices that someone in the nearby village has been talking about you nonstop. She’s over the moon about it and starts telling you that this kind villager boy wants to meet you.
You laugh it off at first, but she’s so enthusiastic that she practically plans an introduction. Unfortunately, she does this while Sanemi’s right there sharpening his blade in the training yard.
At first, Sanemi pretends not to care. He’s scowling as usual, muttering something about “busybody idiots.” But then Mitsuri gushes.
“He said you’re beautiful and brave! Isn’t that sweet? You should meet him!”
You feel your stomach drop because you can feel Sanemi’s stare burning into you.
He huffs, sets his sword down harder than necessary, and says through gritted teeth. “Hah? What kinda idiot falls for someone just by lookin’ at ‘em? Probably some spineless kid who’s never seen a demon.”
Mitsuri claps her hands together, smiling wide. “Oh come on, Shinazugawa-san! You just don’t understand what real affection looks like. Not everyone shows they care by yelling or scowling!”
You nearly choke on air. Sanemi’s head jerks toward her, scarred brow twitching.
“Excuse me?”
Mitsuri only laughs, tilting her head in that sing-song way. “You’re brave and strong, but you wouldn’t recognize romance if it hit you in the face!”
You can see the vein pulsing on his temple. He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, jaw flexing.
Mitsuri turns back to you, completely unfazed.
“Anyway! I already told the villager you’d meet him tomorrow afternoon! I thought it’d be so cute. He said he’d bring flowers!”
Your eyes widen. “M-Mitsuri, wait—”
But Sanemi’s sword drops from his hands, the sound slicing through the courtyard. His expression is thunderous.
“You what?”
Everyone freezes. Even the birds stop chirping.
“Shinazugawa!” Mitsuri gasps, half-startled, half-scolding. “There’s no need to shout—”
He glares at her, muscles tense, voice low enough to vibrate through the air. “You think it’s funny to just set her up with some random guy?”
Mitsuri blinks, surprised by his sudden protectiveness. “I… I just thought she deserved something sweet after all her hard work!”
He scoffs, grabbing his sword and sliding it back into its hilt.
“Yeah, well, next time, ask her first. Not everyone wants your idea of ‘sweet.’”
And with that, he storms off toward the training field. You can hear him muttering under his breath, words swallowed by the wind but laced with pure frustration.
Mitsuri looks after him, bewildered. “What’s his problem?”
You manage a weak smile, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts. “He… uh… just doesn’t like surprises.”
But deep down, you know it’s not about surprises at all. It’s jealousy, and it’s the closest you’ve ever seen Sanemi come to admitting he cares.
Mitsuri brightened again. “You know what? You and I are going to get ramen tonight! No missions, no training, just girls’ time!”
“Ramen?” you repeated.
“Mmhm! You deserve a nice evening out after everything you’ve been through lately.”
You smiled softly, the warmth in her tone genuine enough to ease the tension. “Alright. Ramen sounds nice.”
The air in the small village was calm, the earlier storm replaced by a peaceful hum of crickets. You followed Mitsuri down the lantern-lit street, your stomach already grumbling at the smell of broth and grilled skewers. She disappeared for a second on you, causing you to grow suspicious, but when she re-appeared, your body relaxed as you began to walk to a nearby restaurant.
“This place is adorable,” you said.
Mitsuri smiled a little too wide. “Right? It’s my favorite spot!”
The hostess greeted you both cheerfully and led you to a small table near the window. You were halfway through looking at the menu when Mitsuri glanced toward the door, eyes lighting up like fireworks.
“Oh! There he is!”
You blinked. “Who—”
Before you could finish, a tall young villager approached, looking far too eager, and in his hands, a lovely bouquet of flowers.
He smiled nervously. “Uh, h-hello. I… I was told you’d be here.”
Your stomach dropped. Slowly, you turned toward Mitsuri.
“Mitsuri,” you said through a tight smile, “why is there a man standing here?”
She laughed sheepishly. “Ahaha, surprise! Remember the nice villager I told you about? I may have… told him this was a little dinner.”
Your jaw dropped. “You said ramen! With you!”
“Well, I am here!” she protested, hands up in mock defense. “I just thought it’d be a cute start!”
The villager looked between you both, clearly confused. “Wait… this isn’t a—”
You groaned, standing up. “Mitsuri, I can’t. I—”
The poor man looked heartbroken. “You’re… not interested?”
You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. “No, it’s not that you’re not nice. It’s just… I have a boyfriend.”
Mitsuri gasped, eyes going wide and sparkly all at once.
“You do?! Since when?! Who is he?! Tell me everything!!”
You froze. The last thing you needed was Sanemi’s name spreading around the Corps. You forced a calm smile.
“It’s… private. We’re keeping it quiet for now.”
Mitsuri leaned forward across the table, whispering dramatically. “Is it someone from the Corps?!”
You quickly changed the subject before she could ask more. “Mitsuri, please just tell him I’m sorry for the mix-up.”
She pouted, but relented, waving awkwardly to the villager. “Sorry! She’s taken!”
The man nodded, disappointed but understanding, and quietly left. You turned to Mitsuri, crossing your arms.
“Next time, just tell me if you’re planning one of your matchmaking schemes.”
Mitsuri giggled nervously. “I swear I just wanted you to be happy!”
You sighed, shaking your head, but the corners of your mouth curved up despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”
She linked her arm with yours as you walked back toward the estate. The walk back to headquarters was easy, the path lit by fireflies flickering over puddles from the day’s rain. Mitsuri still chattered beside you, oblivious to how pink your cheeks were every time she said boyfriend.
“I still can’t believe it!” she sang. “I mean, that poor villager, he was so cute though! I feel so bad for making him think it was a date, but I understand you have your relationship!”
You laughed softly, trying to shush her. “Mitsuri, please, let’s just keep it between us, alright? I don't want anyone knowing about this.”
She pressed a finger to her lips in mock secrecy. “Of course! I’m a vault!”
You both stepped into the training courtyard, laughter still lingering—until a voice cut through the night.
“A vault, huh? Doesn’t sound like it.”
Sanemi.
He was standing near the practice post, towel slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable in the dim light. But the tension in his jaw and the tightness of his fists told you enough.
Mitsuri froze, eyes darting between the two of you. “Ah! Shinazugawa! We were just—”
“I heard,” he said flatly, walking closer. His gaze flicked to you, steady and sharp. “Didn’t know you were out on a date.”
Your stomach sank. “It wasn’t a date.”
“Funny,” he muttered. “Cause that’s not what I heard.”
His eyes were sharp—hurt hiding behind the irritation. The air around him felt heavier by the second.
Mitsuri blinked between you both. “Oh, Shinazugawa, don’t be mad! I just thought—”
He snapped his head toward her, voice cutting like thunder.
“You thought what? That setting her up with some random guy was a good idea?”
Mitsuri’s eyes widened. “I—I didn’t mean anything bad! He seemed nice—”
“Nice?” Sanemi barked a bitter laugh. “Yeah, that’s real nice. You didn’t think maybe she already had someone?”
You tried to speak, to tell him to shut up since Mitsuri doesn't know he's the one, but he wasn’t listening—his jealousy had taken full control.
“What, you get bored of me already?” he growled, the words out before he could stop them. “Could’ve just said so instead of sneakin’ behind my back.”
The courtyard went still.
Mitsuri’s jaw dropped. “Wait… you?”
Sanemi froze mid-breath, eyes flicking to her, then to you. “...What?”
You rubbed your forehead, half mortified, half exasperated. “Sanemi... she didn’t know it was you. You just outed yourself.”
He blinked, realization dawning slowly as the color drained from his face. “...She didn’t—?”
You shook your head, voice softer but firm. “No. Mitsuri tricked me into going. I thought it was just dinner with her. When that guy showed up, I told them both that I had a boyfriend. I just didn’t say who, because—”
“—because we were keeping it quiet,” he finished for you, voice suddenly small, stripped of all its bite.
Mitsuri clasped her hands to her mouth, still processing, hearts flying around her. “Oh my goodness… you two are together?!”
Sanemi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
You crossed your arms, a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Next time, maybe don’t let jealousy do the talking.”
He gave you a flat look, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, yeah… guess I deserve that.”
Mitsuri, meanwhile, had already started squealing. “I knew there was something between you two! You were so protective! Oh, this is so romantic—”
Sanemi turned away, muttering, “Kill me now.”
But as his hand brushed against yours before he stalked off, you caught the faintest hint of warmth in his voice.
“You should’ve told me you weren’t interested in that guy. I punched a tree and cracked its trunk.”
You laughed softly. “You jealous idiot.”
He huffed but didn’t deny it—his silence saying everything Mitsuri hadn’t needed to hear.
bonus scene:
By sunrise, the entire Butterfly Mansion was buzzing. Kiyu was whispering to Aoi, Aoi was whispering to the Kakushi, and the Kakushi were whispering to literally anyone who would listen.
And at the heart of it all? Mitsuri Kanroji.
She’d woken up early—practically glowing—and couldn’t resist sharing her “wonderful news.” Within hours, everyone knew:
Sanemi Shinazugawa has a girlfriend.
When Sanemi stepped into the courtyard that morning, still half-asleep, he noticed immediately that something was off. People were staring. Smiling. Whispering.
He scowled. “What?”
No one answered, just nervous giggles from the Kakushi scurrying past.
Then Rengoku appeared, booming voice carrying across the yard.
“GOOD MORNING, SHINAZUGAWA! I HEAR CONGRATULATIONS ARE IN ORDER!”
Sanemi stopped dead. “…What?”
Rengoku’s grin somehow got even wider. “Kanroji informed me that your heart has finally been captured!”
From behind him, Tengen sauntered in, grinning ear to ear. “About time, honestly. Thought you’d die before admitting you liked someone.”
Sanemi blinked slowly. “I’m gonna kill her.”
You were standing nearby, trying—and failing—not to laugh. When he caught your eye, you quickly looked away, biting your lip to hide your smile.
Tengen noticed. “Oh, and there’s the lucky woman herself.” He winked. “Didn’t think anyone could tame him.”
Sanemi groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “She didn’t tame me.”
Rengoku clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to nearly knock him forward. “Nonsense! Love brings out the best in us all, my friend!”
Mitsuri’s cheerful voice chimed in as she skipped over, practically glowing. “Isn’t it wonderful?! I just knew you two would be perfect!”
Sanemi rounded on her, eyes twitching. “Kanroji.”
She blinked innocently. “Yes?”
“…You couldn’t keep your mouth shut for one fucking night?”
She gasped. “But Shinazugawa! Love is meant to be celebrated!”
He opened his mouth to argue, then stopped when you walked up beside him, hand brushing his. The contact was small but grounding.
You gave him a teasing smile. “At least they’re happy for us.”
He sighed, glaring at everyone but softening when his eyes met yours. “Yeah, well, next time we’re keeping it between us. No pink-haired matchmakers allowed.”
Mitsuri only giggled, utterly unbothered.
“Too late! Everyone already knows you two are adorable!”
Sanemi groaned again, but his hand found yours and didn’t let go—even as the teasing continued all morning.
Later, when the noise finally faded and the two of you were alone again, you nudged his shoulder. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”
He gave a small snort, pretending to scowl.
“Yeah, sure. I just get to spend the next week hearing everyone call me ‘lover boy.’”
You smiled, leaning your head against him as you pressed a kiss on his shoulder. “Could be worse.”
His thumb brushed your knuckles again, quiet and gentle. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice low, “could be worse.”
That was the easiest way to put it. He was the kind of boy your mom would warn you about—cocky, arrogant, always with a smirk playing at his lips like he knew something you didn't. And maybe he did. Anytime you found yourself in his presence he was sure to make some smart comment.
So when he dropped into the seat across from you in the library, you didn't bother hiding your sigh.
"Riddle" you muttered not looking away from the compact mirror in your hand.
He slouched in his chair, like he belonged there. Elbows sprawling across the table. "Your lips must be quite dry." he says plainly. You don't respond and keep your focus on your lips in the compact mirror. "You've reapplied that lipgloss three times since dinner."
That made you look up. He was staring, gaze fixed on your mouth like he was hypnotized. You raised a brow twisting the little cherry tube closed and setting it down. "Maybe I like shiny lips" you said, keeping your tone cool.
Mattheo didn't say anything, only leaned back in his chair more like he had all the time in the world.
He stayed for a while, throwing in barbed comments here and there, circling back to your lipgloss a few times. And when you left he was still slouched at the table watching you walk away.
The problem was, once he noticed he couldn't un-notice.
In class he'd see you take out the little tube, and his thoughts would skid to places they shouldn't. Glossy lips shining under the candlelight, parted around a laugh or a sigh. He wondered if the flavor would coat his tongue if he kissed you, if it would smear across your jaw if he pushed too far, if he'd taste sugar when he bit down.
It was maddening— half curiosity, half something deeper that he didn't care to name.
The second time he teased you about it you just ignored him The third time, you snapped back irritated by whatever his newfound obsession with your lipgloss was. That shut him up for a full minute. But later he saw you twisting that cap shut again, pressing your lips together, and he thought fuck, I need to taste that.
By the time a few days had passed, he was restless with it.
He spotted you in the library again, leaned over your parchment the faint scent of cherry in the air when you pressed the lipgloss over your lips once more.
"You're going to drive me insane with that" he blurted before he could stop himself.
You looked up, startled. Expecting a smirk to be playing at his lips, only to be met with a more serious look. His voice low, and eyes darker that usual. It made your pulse jump a little.
"It's lipgloss" you said carefully leaning back "You're being insufferably dramatic."
"Dramatic?" He leaned forward, no humor in his grin. "Every time you put that on, all I can think of is how it would taste on my tongue. How it would smear when I kiss you. How it'd feel when you—" He cut himself off, jaw tight.
You blinked, more than a little confused "Mattheo"
He ran a hand through his curls in frustration, like he hadn't meant to say any of that. Then he stood, rounded the table, and before you could decided whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer, his hand braced either side of your chair, face just inches from yours.
"This is your fault y'know" he muttered shaking his head. "I swear you know what you're doing."
For a moment you thought he'd back away, leave you confused. But then he closed the distance.
The kiss was rough, messy, a crash of pent-up want. He groaned against your mouth when the flavor of your lipgloss hit him. Hands curling into your chair, you tugged at the front of his shirt without thinking. The gloss smeared instantly, sticky and sweet, but he didn't care—it made him rougher, hungrier.
When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, gloss smeared across his mouth. His grin was wicked, ear to ear like the Cheshire Cat.
"Cherry" he spoke, dropping back into his chair like nothing had happened. Tugging his tie loose, while you were sat trying yo catch your breath.
And then—with infuriating arrogance, he smirked. "Go ahead and reapply sweetheart. I'm not finished yet."
areudirty
origamiaround
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