I'm So Sorry But If A Hot Nerdy Villain Like Shigaraki Tomura Was In Love With Me, I Would Literally

Dragon King Bakugou speaks to your tummy the night he comes back from battle. He lies naked on the plush soft fur of your shared bed. His ear is pressed to the tight skin stretched over the swell of your belly.

He hums deep and growly in his chest, an ancient melody, one his father sung to him when he was young. The archaic psalm details a powerful king, one blessed by fire itself and the son he gave birth to.

Your husband places a red tinted hand over your belly and sings in high draconian the story of the Dragon King and the Morning Star.

His voice fills the intimate space of your bedroom, the fire seems to sway lazily with his voice. The shadows dance gracefully along the walls. As the tale ends, he kisses your belly and mutters something more familiar to your ears despite the ancient lost language.

My Son.

He lowers his voice as if telling him a secret.

“I poured all that is good in me into your mother’s womb to make you. You will burn bright like your parents before you. Fire, Sun, and Star.”

Me when the slow burn is slow burning

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ BIRTHDAY BOY, HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Bakugou used to love birthdays.

He’d be the center of attention. With every year being bigger than the last (because, honestly, did you expect his well-off parents to hold back on their only son?). Cameras clicked, kids shouted his name, and adults smiled in awe. He never cared if they liked him or feared him—he was admired.

And for a time, that was enough.

But somewhere along the line, the spark in those birthday candles started to feel dull.

His parents still celebrated, of course, usually with a home-cooked meal, a cake from his favorite bakery, and a gift he pretended not to like but secretly adored. His grandparents would always show up with noisy hugs and poorly wrapped presents, and his mother still made him wear a stupid little birthday crown at the table.

It was embarrassing, but it was also safe.

Familiar.

Then came UA.

By high school, the world cracked open in ways he hadn’t expected.

Everyone was strong.

Everyone had dreams.

He wasn’t the only one aiming for the top, and it was maddening—but also, for the first time, grounding. And he got friends—real ones. Not sycophants or kids scared of his quirk to say anything—so they just stay behind him, but people who challenged him through his shouting, his pride, and his anger.

Shitty Hair was the first to barge into his dorm room on his birthday with a lopsided grin and a poorly wrapped gift. “It’s a protein bar sampler! Thought you’d wanna see which one you could crush with one hand!”

After that, it became a tradition. Racoon Eyes brought handmade cards with glittery explosions. Soy Face made crown cut-outs from construction paper that Bakugou refused to wear but never threw away. Dunce Face bought the same grocery store cake every year with a new dumb nickname written in icing (he gets more creative each year—it’s starting to piss Bakugou off).

It was stupid. It was chaotic. It was good.

It became his day again.

And now—now he was 23.

The world around him had changed again.

He was a pro now. He had his own agency, his own patrols, and his own damn business cards that got passed around in hero circles and used to shut down villains on sight. Dynamight—no, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, they called him, like he was some unstoppable force (and an unstoppable force for a long-ass hero name). Which he was, most of the time.

But today?

Today, he just wanted to come home.

The celebration at the agency had been loud, grand, and grating. His staff meant well. Hell, even his sidekick (wow, surprising, he only had one because he was the only kid with the balls to directly say to Bakugou that he’ll surpass him during a personal interview) had pooled money to get him a custom gauntlet case with engraved initials.

There were banners (too flashy), snacks (pretty good), an off-key song, and a gaudy cake that someone ordered with indoor-safe sparklers instead of candles. He’d smiled (barely), given a thank-you speech that was short and gruff but genuine, and then dipped out the first moment he could without looking like a total ass. Bakugou knew exactly where he wanted to be.

Home.

You were waiting for him there.

Because you are his home.

He inhaled and instantly recognized the scent of soy, garlic, and ginger—it hit like a nostalgic punch straight to his gut. Home cooking. His home. You.

You peeked your head out from the kitchen and grinned. “Took you long enough, birthday boy.”

He let out a long breath, shoulders dropping, mouth tugging into a real smile as he kicked off his boots and unzipped his jacket, haphazardly draping it on the coat rack. “You been cooking this whole time?” he asked, padding toward the kitchen, hands already aching to hug you.

“I had to start late since someone had a fancy party,” you teased, arching a brow.

He caught your waist and pulled you in, burying his face into your shoulder. You were warm. Always warm. Always his to come home to. “Smelled it from the driveway. Thought I was gonna cry.”

You laughed, carding your fingers through his hair. It’s soft. It’s real. It’s what Bakugou, for the longest time of his life, thought he didn’t deserve.

“Well don’t cry. You’ll ruin your grumpy old man image.”

“You keep sayin’ old like I’m ancient,” he grumbled, voice muffled against you.

“You are! Twenty-three? That’s basically the beginning of the end.”

Bakugou snorted, lifting his head just enough to kiss your cheek. “Then I guess you better start takin’ care of me, huh?” he murmured, giving you another kiss on the cheek—and he’s tempted to bite into those round cheeks of yours, but he holds back; maybe later, he thinks. “Gonna live up to your promise?”

“I already do,” you said, smug.

Dinner was spread out in neat portions on your little dining table—fried karaage, miso soup, tamagoyaki, mapo tofu (yes, you finally lived up to surpassing Fuyumi’s recipe), Japanese curry, and a bowl of white rice shaped into a neat little mountain with a pickled plum on top. Comfort food. His favorites.

You even laid out a folded napkin at his seat and put a can of his favorite cold tea beside it.

But it was the bento cake in the center that made him pause. It was small—round and modest, clearly homemade. The white frosting was a little uneven, and there were three stubby candles jammed into the top in a crooked triangle. The frosting on top attempted an explosion shape but looked more like a flower in bloom. He loved it.

“You made that?” he asked, lowering into the seat and staring at it like it was some rare artifact.

“Baked and frosted. Don’t look too close, or you’ll see my fingerprints in it,” you said, sitting across from him. “And before you ask—no, I didn’t buy it from some store. I wanted to make it for you. Even if it’s ugly.”

“It’s not ugly.”

“Liars go to hell.”

He huffs. “Well, I think it’s fuckin’ adorable.”

You two ate slowly. Bakugou didn’t scarf it down like he did in the breakroom or during hero meetings. He savored each bite as you two shared a warm conversation over dinner. You told him how a kid at daycare tried to make you a birthday card to give to him but ended up scribbling dinosaurs fighting a volcano instead. You showed him a crayon drawing folded in your bag. It said, “Happpy Brithdai KATSOOKY.”

He laughed so hard he snorted.

After dinner, you two sat at the table for a while, talking about nothing, hands brushing occasionally, until you leaned forward and lit the candles. When you’re close like this, Bakugou could clearly remember every feature on your face—it’s something he wants to commit to memory every night.

“Make a wish.”

“Hm,” he hummed in thought.

“Make a wish quickly before the fire alarm sets off, dummy,” you smiled, joking.

He looked at you through the candlelight—lips slightly parted, eyes soft and loving. Yeah, he wants your face engraved in the deepest corners of his brain.

Bakugou made a wish. Then blew them out.

“What’d you wish for?” you asked.

He got up, walked around the table, and pulled you to your feet. “You.”

“You already have me,” you tilted your head to the side.

“Then I wished for more of you,” he replied, pressing your foreheads together.

“You’re sappy when you’re full,” you murmured, brushing your thumb across his jaw.

“I’m sappy when you bake me cake and feed me curry.”

You fed each other bites of the bento cake, poking fun at how sweet it was, until he dabbed a bit of icing on your nose. You retaliated by smearing it across his cheek. It turned into a mini war. Hands, faces, even his shirt took frosting damage. He scooped some off his collar and flicked it at you.

“I surrender! Oh my god, we’re a mess.”

“We can always take a shower later,” he says.

...

“Is that a suggestion or a promise?”

“You’re fuckin’ shameless,” he taunted, though showering together after isn’t that far off from what he was thinking.

“Uh huh. And who’s now old?”

“Still not me,” he said, wiping his face clean with a napkin. “And even if I was—if I hit fifty and go bald and need reading glasses and fall asleep at 9PM—if you’re still here with me, I’ll be fine.”

You paused.

“Yeah?”

He nodded.

“Even if I go gray first?” you asked.

“I’ll dye it with you.”

“What if I need a cane?”

“I’ll get one with spikes, and we’ll match.”

You laughed so hard you almost fell onto him. And when you looked up again, your eyes were glassy with affection.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing your skin with care he rarely showed anyone else.

“Best one yet.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

When I find a 10k+ words count, friends to lovers, where he fell first and harder, extra yearning, no smut, fluff + angst fic

what if adrien was a hater

I can fix him-No I can’t I don’t want to

any man can be a father but it takes a special someone to be a daddy #DILFofthemonth #Sheeshdadreallywasnthome #happyFathersday

gryffindor class of ‘98!

Draco Malfoy Fic Recs I 🐍

New Beginnings by @sapphicwhxre

Not Really Mine by @gobletofweasleys

Draco Malfoy Masterlist by @iliveiloveiwrite

Do You Know? By @omg-imatotalmess

Worthy by @thegryffindorprincess

Possessive by @potterlyimagines

Shake On It  by @avnkin

Wardrobe Malfunction by  @avnkin

It’s Only Quidditch by @adorerdraco

New Me by @fanfics4all

I don’t have a name for this by @delilahsroses

Whole Lot of Red by @adorerdraco

Not My Type (Like You) by @adorerdraco

You by @socontagiousimagines

Im here by @adorerdraco

Two In A Bed by @thegryffindorprincess

Being Draco’s Best Friend and Crush Would Include by @mellowsobri

Not What It Seems by @avnkin

SHE by @ginnyweasely

Skin  by @mirclealignr

Ravishing by @afeb

saccharine sunshine. By @thepuffyeyedpuff

looking at the moon, but seeing you by @rekrappeter

you don’t love me the way you love her by @theshiningg

Bored  by @malfoysstilinski

Draco Malfoy Oneshots Masterlist by  @Sapphicwhxre 

Draco Malfoy Masterlist by  @iliveiloveiwrite

Ravenwood by @will-on-the-internet

I Am Home by @afeb

dating draco malfoy would include… by @reidsmalfoy

Demanding Little Thing by @nebulablakemurphy

Potent by @baby-blossoms

sweatshirt by @badfvith

Distractions and O.W.L.S by @adorerdraco

Not Funny by @pufflyhallows

Not Funny by @somenewsarah

My Moon by @afeb

Dating Draco Malfoy would include.. By @essenceoflumos

engraved  by @dracowars

Kiss It Better by @fandomsfeelsandfanfics

sweet mornings  by @scvrllet

Stargazing by @scvrllet

in her debt by @mirclealignr

Bad Faith  by @nebulablakemurphy

Betrothed by @somenewsarah

Close by @dracoscene

Connections by @randomoutsiders

YOU AND ME  by @dracoscene

back off  by @scvrllet

Spoiled  by @wondernimbus

four a.m by @malfoysstilinski

two sworn enemies by @wondernimbus

Yours and Mine; by @occlumencyneville

Healing Heart by @adorerdraco

the greatest seducer by @youralwaysandforever

Beautiful Ghosts by @missdawnandherdusk

Scars by @fuckingjimin

The Basilisk by @coffee-imagines

My Son by @miamlfy

Masterlist  by @socontagiousimagines

Happy Memories; by @occlumencyneville

Something There by @wizardwritings

Protective by @daydreaming-away-reality

Amortentia by @elena-reina

everything you didn’t say by @wondernimbus

Breaking point  by @wondernimbus

The bet by @shysneeze

Umbridge; by @occlumencyneville

Battleground by @wondernimbus

another summer morning by @wondernimbus

Rita Skeeter by @drac-ho

Fake kisses by @harrysweasleys

Dating Draco Malfoy Would Include.... By @siriusly-lovely

Drowning  by @wreckofawriter

Maybe  by @wondernimbus

Words hurt  by @elena-reina

THIS WAS SOOO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN WOWW

The Weight of a Shadow | G.W.

George Weasley has spent his life as one half of a whole, his individuality often lost in the glow of his twin’s boundless charm. Beneath the laughter and mischief lies a quiet struggle, a longing to be seen as more than a shadow. But when you enter his world, something shifts, and for the first time, George finds himself seen, not as a twin, but as a whole. In this universe, you chose him.

Click here to read an alternate universe where you chose Fred instead of George.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Fred always seemed to burn just a little brighter. His laugh, bold and wildfire-strong, lingered long after the echo of their pranks had faded. Applause always found him first, the crowd magnetized by his magnetic confidence. Even in quieter moments, it was Fred they gravitated toward—his charm effortless, his presence undeniable.

George would smile through it all, as though the comparisons didn’t sting, but deep within, an ache brewed. A quiet storm he kept to himself.

Maybe it was the way Fred's grin tilted, sharper and more self-assured, or the ease with which his voice commanded attention. Perhaps it was something intangible, something George couldn’t touch even if he tried. Whatever it was, it gnawed at the edges of his heart, a silent weight he carried alone.

And then, there was you.

You arrived one sunlit afternoon, a quiet force with a magic that had nothing to do with spells or wands. Unlike so many others, you didn’t lose yourself in Fred’s blaze. You didn’t mistake George’s laughter for an echo, or his presence for half of a whole. The way your gaze lingered on him felt like sunlight on frozen ground, a warmth he hadn’t realized he’d been yearning for. You saw him. Truly saw him.

At first, George doubted it. Surely, you’d mistaken him for Fred, like so many others had. But you disproved him at every turn. You caught the subtleties. The way George’s humor leaned toward sharp wit, while Fred’s was louder and bolder. The precision in George’s hands as he worked on their inventions, where Fred’s energy was a chaotic whirlwind. You noticed the faint scar above George’s brow, a remnant of a long-ago experiment gone wrong. And when you touched it one day, your fingers brushing the mark with such tenderness that it left him breathless.

For the first time, the ache began to fade. Slowly, it dissolved into something lighter, something warmer. When you laughed at his jokes, it felt like the world cracked open to let the light in. When you spoke his name—just his name—it was a melody that played only for him. And when you reached for his hand, your fingers tangling effortlessly with his, it felt as though the universe had quietly clicked into place.

Fred noticed, of course. He always did. He had been George’s mirror for as long as they had existed, and the change in his twin was impossible to miss. George’s laughter came easier now, his smiles unguarded and brighter. And Fred saw the way you looked at George, with a kind of quiet adoration that pierced straight through his own bravado.

But Fred never spoke of it. Not when George’s smiles grew wider, not when the light in his eyes burned brighter than it had in years. For the first time, George seemed to stand taller, as if the weight of comparisons had finally lifted. And Fred, who had always been the center of attention, found that he didn’t mind stepping back.

One evening, as the sun painted the sky in fiery hues, Fred watched from the doorway as George sat beside you, your head resting gently on his shoulder. There was something in his twin’s expression. A peace Fred hadn’t seen before, as if George had finally found his place in the world.

“You make him happy,” Fred said later, when it was just the two of you in the kitchen. His voice was quieter than usual, lacking its usual bravado. “And that’s all that matters.”

You turned to him with your brow furrowed, searching his face for some trace of resentment or longing. But all you found was warmth, tinged with something unspoken.

“Fred,” you began, but he waved his hand with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It’s alright,” he said quickly. “Really. George deserves this. He deserves you.”

And he meant it. Even if there was a small, quiet part of him that ached for something he couldn’t name, Fred would never let it show. For all his charm and bravado, his heart had always been his most closely guarded secret. And in that heart, George’s happiness mattered more than anything else.Still, as he watched you and George from the shadows, a quiet thought took root in his mind — a thought he would never voice aloud. If your opinion mattered so much to George, it mattered just as much to Fred. Perhaps even more.