No One Knew You And Katsuki Bakugo Were In A Relationship

the thought of brainrotted percy jackson is my current obsession

you slip up in your sparring practice earlier and continue to bash yourself for slipping up. “gods that was so embarrassing” all of a sudden percys hand grabs your shoulder to turn you around and make eye contact. “mama, the past behind you. mama, a million experiences await you.”

“get the fuck off me seaweed brain.”

Bitches will find a fictional man attractive and then immediately imagine him in situations where he is losing alarming amounts of blood

Pregnancy: Iwaizumi

The second the double doors of the weight room open, it’s like you’ve stepped into a different universe—a world of metal clanks, low grunts, chalk-dusted air, and the constant thud of iron plates hitting the floor. And now, slicing clean through that rhythmic storm of testosterone and hyper-focus, is you: very pregnant, slightly annoyed, and holding the wallet your husband managed to leave behind on the kitchen counter this morning. You didn’t think twice about walking the ten minutes over from your place. It’s not like you hiked a mountain—you waddled across pavement in sneakers. But by the way the entire Olympic volleyball team turns toward you in unison, you might as well be carrying a live grenade instead of a baby.

“WOAHHH—LOOK OUT! Civilian on the floor!” Bokuto’s voice booms across the room, sweaty hair sticking up, arms mid-air like you’d broken the rules of gravity just by showing up.

Atsumu, flat on a bench press with Kageyama spotting him, twists his head far too dramatically toward you and lets out a long, low whistle. “Ain’t no civilian, Bo. That’s Iwaizumi’s wife. And she’s lookin’ like she’s about to drop that baby right here in front of the dumbbells.”

You don’t even get the chance to sigh before you spot him—Hajime, towel around his neck, clipboard tucked under one arm, halfway through barking cues at someone doing squats. His head snaps toward you the second he hears Bokuto’s yell, and his entire body goes rigid. The clipboard hits the bench with a clatter. The towel is forgotten. His mouth moves, but there’s no time for words—he’s already weaving through machines and teammates, practically charging toward you like the floor itself might crumble under your feet.

“You walked here? Alone?” he demands as soon as he’s within a few feet, eyes scanning you from head to toe like he’s checking for bruises.

“I’m not made of paper, Hajime. I walked from the apartment. Not across a battlefield.” You hold the wallet up between two fingers, giving him a pointed look. “You left this on the counter, by the way.”

He takes it, but barely spares it a glance. His attention is completely on you—his wife, his very-pregnant-wife, standing in the middle of the Olympic team’s weight room surrounded by free weights, kettlebells, unstable mats, and volleyball players who think balance training on BOSU balls is a personality trait.

“This place isn’t safe for you,” he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing at a barbell someone just let crash onto the floor nearby. “You shouldn’t be around this equipment. There’s too many ways you could trip, or get knocked, or—hell—slip on a chalk patch.”

You raise your eyebrows and gesture around you. “I am standing still, Hajime. On flat ground. Wearing shoes. Holding a wallet. This is not a life-threatening activity.”

His lips flatten into a tight line. “You’re thirty-eight weeks. You should be sitting, preferably somewhere padded, with a bottle of water and a snack within reach.”

You blink. “Are you reading off a checklist right now?”

He doesn’t answer.

At that moment, Komori jogs up with his usual bounce, sweat still gleaming on his forehead and a towel slung haphazardly over his shoulder. “Wait—this is your wife? The one we keep hearing about?”

“He doesn’t talk about her,” Kiryu calls from the dumbbell rack, not even bothering to look up. “He says stuff like ‘my wife made soup’ and ‘my wife needs pickles.’ That’s it. That’s all we get.”

You offer a small, amused smile and rest both hands on your stomach. “Hi. Yes. I’m Soup-and-Pickles. Thirty-eight weeks along. Full of baby. And apparently one bad step away from being put in a medically induced nap.”

There’s a chorus of laughter, though it’s mixed with soft whistles of awe as more of the team gravitates toward you. Aran strolls over with a light smile, while Hinata’s practically vibrating behind him.

“You really came all the way here?” Aran asks.

“It’s ten minutes from home,” you reply, shooting a glance up at your husband who still looks like he’s trying to map the safest escape route out of the gym for you. “I’m pregnant, not cursed.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You’re standing next to iron weights in Converse. That’s a hostile environment.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting the strap on your bag. “They’re high-tops. Extra support.”

Before he can scold you further, Hinata suddenly leans forward with stars in his eyes. “Is the baby kicking?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, hand moving instinctively to the right side of your belly. “She’s training for nationals, I think. My ribs are her new personal practice net.”

“Can I feel?” Komori blurts out, his expression open and hopeful.

You’re about to say yes, but Hajime moves before you can answer, shifting his stance ever so slightly to put his body between you and Komori with the quiet intensity of a dad who’s already protective before the baby’s even born.

“She’s not a mascot,” he says flatly.

You place your palm on his chest. “Hajime. It’s fine.”

His eyes flicker to yours. He relents with a small sigh, stepping aside like it physically pains him to do so.

Komori gently places his hand on your stomach, and when the baby kicks, his face lights up like someone handed him a puppy. “Oh my god. That’s incredible.”

Kageyama peers over curiously. “Does it feel weird?”

“Like an alien living under your skin,” you say cheerfully. “And sometimes the alien cries when you don’t feed it grilled cheese at exactly 3 a.m.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Sakusa mumbles nearby, adjusting a band on his wrist.

“Iwaizumi,” Yaku calls from where he’s doing banded lunges, “you better give that kid rock-solid calves. I don’t care how. It’s your duty.”

“Oh, we’re starting this already?” you laugh. “Pressure before she’s even out of the womb?”

“Oh, we’ve been taking bets,” Suna says, finally looking up from his phone with the laziest smile. “Due date, hair color, position they’ll play.”

“Definitely not libero,” Bokuto adds, puffing his chest. “That baby’s got outside hitter energy.”

“I swear to god,” Iwaizumi mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

You press a soft kiss to his jaw and whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “You love it.”

He doesn’t answer. Just wraps one arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side, hand resting low and protective on the curve of your stomach. He kisses the top of your head. Quiet. Steady.

You nudge him lightly and lift a brow. “Still mad I walked into the weight room?”

He looks down at you, expression flat. “I am always mad when you walk into a room with flying metal plates and men with the coordination of blindfolded rhinos.”

“I brought you your wallet.”

“And almost gave me a stroke in the process.”

You grin, dig into his pocket, and pull out one of his protein bars. “And I’m stealing your snack.”

“…Unbelievable.”

i know in my heart that boyfriend!bakugou is actually a menace when it comes to physical touch. like he cannot stop touching you to save his life. you're sat next to him in class? he's pulled his chair closer to yours so your thighs can touch. you're watching a movie in the common room? he's pulled you onto his lap sometime during it and won't let you go.

it definitely gets annoying when you're in the middle of something, like trying to do your homework and he won't let go of your hand, and then he gets all grumpy and sulks when you have to yank your hand out of his grip.

he's such a baby sometimes.

Katsuki can be a total dick and weirdly cuddly at the same time

He’s matured—kind of—now that he’s an adult, but the second he gets sleepy, it’s like all bets are off. He turns into the clingiest, brattiest man alive, and unfortunately for you, bedtime is his time.

You’re lying on the couch when you hear the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps heading your way, and before you can even look up—

Plop.

“Babe—babe, I can’t breathe,” you gasp as Katsuki drops his full weight on top of you and wraps his arms around you like a damn anaconda.

“Shut up,” he mutters, voice low and sleep-heavy. His crimson eyes blink up at you lazily. “You’re warm. Quit squirming. You’re bein’ a shitty pillow.”

You wiggle under him, trying to shove at his shoulders. “Maybe because you’re crushing my lungs, jackass.”

He grunts, clearly offended, and in retaliation—because of course there has to be retaliation—he shuffles up even higher, dragging himself until his chest is basically smothering your face.

“Suffocate, then,” he says flatly. “If you’re gonna be mean, just die.”

You burst out laughing beneath him. “Katsuki, get your man tiddies outta my face!”

That earns you a fake, scandalized gasp as he props himself up on one elbow, red eyes wide with mock offense. “Don’t body shame me. I’m jacked.”

“You’re dense,” you snort.

After a beat of silence, he sighs and slides back down until his head rests comfortably on your chest. He shifts, settling in like he’s perfectly content to stay there until morning.

Then, in the most entitled voice imaginable: “Tickle my back.”

You blink. “What do you say?”

“…Now,” he mutters, like the word “please” is a personal enemy.

You roll your eyes but lift his shirt anyway, your fingers finding the familiar ridges of his scarred back. You start to gently trace along the muscle, and he lets out a quiet, satisfied sound, melting further into you like a big, muscular cat.

“Brat,” you whisper.

“Love you. You little shit goblin,” he mumbles into your chest, already half-asleep.

“Yeah yeah it’s mutual,” you mumble sweetly.

jihoon my beloved <33

pairing: kdrama!sieun x gn!reader (implied masc reader; no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 635

includes: established relationship, affectionate reader, awkward sieun, maybe ooc siuen ?? he deserves a hug

a/n: been obsessed with him lately so i wrote this lol maybe i'll continue this/start taking reqs if ppl want it ?? I'VE NEVER WATCHED THE DRAMA BEFORE PLS DONT HATE ME IF THIS IS REALLY BAD LDSNDSKL

“sieun,” you smile, gently knocking your shoulder into his as a form of greeting. 

“y/n,” he greets curtly in response as you continue to follow him through the somewhat crowded hallway. sieun glances down momentarily when your hand brushes against his. an unfamiliar feeling of love and warmth crawls through him at the simple gesture despite affection only becoming more commonplace the longer your relationship continues on.

the heavy doors of byeoksan high school slam shut behind you as you continue to follow behind sieun. despite his seeming apathy, you know he appreciates the company. 

your footsteps remain in sync as sieun silently passes an earbud to you before a familiar melody reaches your ears. “your place?”

his only response comes in the form of a short hum in agreement. trees shade the path ahead as you make your way to the bus stop; waiting in silence together for a few minutes. you softly smile when sieun reaches over, intertwining your fingers together.

the duration of the bus ride and subsequent walk up to his apartment is spent in a comforting silence; besides the quiet music playing from sieun’s earbud still securely resting in your ear. his hand doesn’t leave yours until he reaches up to unlock the door. 

you slip off your shoes as soon as you walk inside, following the same routine you’ve had since sieun first agreed to begin studying with you: slip on your designated pair of slides, study with sieun for a few hours, eventually grow tired enough to force him to eat something, and end the day by falling asleep together curled up on the couch; savoring each moment of peace before you’re forced to get up again and repeat the process the next day.

you join sieun at his dining room table as he takes a textbook out of his bag. you slide into the chair across from him, pulling out your own work before handing the earbud back to him. 

the next hour is spent in a comfortable silence; the only sounds audible in sieun’s small apartment are the occasional frustrated sigh that escapes your lips and the rhythmic noise of his pencil scribbling against his notebook paper. 

you find yourself occasionally losing interest in your homework, instead passing the time by admiring your adoring boyfriend. it isn’t long before your staring catches sieun’s attention. his eyes widen and a small blush spreads up his neck to the tips of his ears, making you chuckle.

“sieun,” you smile. 

“y/n.” he refuses to glance up at you in fear of more teasing, though his efforts do little to prevent you from abandoning your assignment in favor of your boyfriend. you set your pencil aside as you reach over, brushing a stray strand of his fringe back into place. sieun’s blush deepens, now spreading across his cheeks to dust his face a light pink. wide eyes meet yours for a few more seconds before he looks back down at the open textbook in front of him. “you should get back to work.”

you stand up, walking around to sieun’s side of the table. he watches with wide eyes as you gently push his chair back before settling yourself in his lap. your knees rest on either side of his hips as your arms reach around his neck. “i could,” you murmur, leaning in closer to him. “but this is way more fun.”

you can nearly feel the heat radiating from sieun’s cheeks as you pull him into a sweet kiss. he hesitantly moves a hand up to brush a strand of hair out of your face before it finally settles on your cheek. you smile against his lips as sieun lets himself momentarily forget about his work; instead pulling you in for another, and another, and another.

My bakugou with a hat on pic from two years ago was making its rounds again and it gave me the urge to draw another one

men who want to be your dog but in a distinctly guard dog-ish, ”you can rest easy as long as i’m here, bring me with you on walks when it gets dark out and i’ll scare away anyone who comes close” way . i <3 u

“okay, first is— percy.”

“I’m listening. watching. actively participating in this fashion show, go on.”

you huff. “so rate this first dress. and give me your honest opinion, don’t just say it looks good because I’m wearing it.”

percy scans his green eyes over the first article of clothing from your shopping spree. it’s a simple dress, strapless and white littered with tiny pink flowers, ruffling to flow around your ankles.

“I’d like it a hell of a lot more on the floor.”

your expression is unamused. you rest your hands on your hips. “the dress, perseus. not me in the dress.”

he slides to the edge of the bed, pulling you into him by your waist. “I think it’s nice, sweet girl. very ruffl-y, it’s fun to play with.” his hand begins to toy with the said ruffles.

“rate it out of ten.” you peck his forehead quickly.

“a ten. for the ruffles.”

“great! thank you for your feedback. next dress now.”

you walk back to your dresser and strip of the one you currently wear and slip on the next. this one is multicolored, thin straps and similar ruffles on the skirt like before.

you turn back to a smiling percy. “opinions?”

“very colorful. like a crayon box.”

you furrow your brows. “what…?”

“in a good way!” percy stands and walks over to you, backing you against the dresser. “this one’s my favorite.”

“rate it.”

“five out of ten.”

“five? that’s it?”

he shakes his head, fingers looping around the straps. “I like when there’s none of these. easier access.”

“percy.”

he smirks and kisses you quickly. “next one.”

you push him off of you and discard of the second dress, putting on the next outfit— which is a separate shirt and fairly long skirt.

the shirt had been a maybe to buy because at first glance you thought it to be too low cut. then again, it was cute so it had to have been worth it. the skirt was white and nothing else, but nonetheless stylish and worth the money for its comfort.

“rate.” you turn back around again.

“I lied.” percy’s eyes fall obviously to your cleavage. “this one is my favorite.”

“pervert. tell the truth.”

you hold your hands over the exposed skin in hopes he’ll fess up.

“I’m not lying! this one looks great.” he puts his hands on your waist where your shirt rides upwards. “they all look great. very stylish. you should go into the fashion industry, sweet girl.”

“and your favorite?”

“uhmmm…” he taps his fingers against your skin. “the first one. the white one.”

“really? why?”

percy throws his hands up dramatically. “can I not just like things because I like them?”

“no. tell me what you liked about it.”

“it has ruffles? and it was white?”

“what the hell does the color have to do with anything?”

“it’s just your color.”

you roll your eyes. “you say every color is ‘my color’.”

“because you look good in ever color.”

you run your fingers lightly over your face. you should’ve known better than asking your boyfriend of all people for opinions. he’d say anything looked good.

“this is the last time I’m putting on clothes for you to judge. I hope you enjoyed the show.”

first dress -> second dress -> third dress

i feel like we don’t talk about this scene from the titan’s curse enough, because i think about this a lot. like… a lot. the way he was just like ‘oh i can move faster than bullets, that’s cool’, and then immediately moved on and never thought about it again?? i mean, i knew he could SWIM at mach 5, which is…. hypersonic speed, and equivalent to 3836 miles per hour. and i know all demigods are naturally a bit faster than humans. but like… he can move faster than bullets?

i guess i just wasn’t expecting perseus to go all spider-man on me, that’s all