superluver

[superluver]

When the fic has all the tags i like

[superluver]

When I'm reading a smut and the character says misogynistic things to the reader.

[superluver]

Love Blossoms Under the Moonlight

snyopsis: As Kakashi and Guy’s sister grow closer through quiet moments, shared books, and unspoken affection, Kakashi struggles with his own fears of vulnerability and commitment. But with a little accidental matchmaking from Guy, and some unexpected encouragement from his students, Kakashi finally gathers the courage to confess his feelings

content/warnings: Kakashi Hatake x fem!reader, fluff, 6.280 words

Part 1

Every day, Kakashi faced the exhausting energy of Naruto Uzumaki without breaking a sweat.

So how was it possible that this was so much worse? So much harder than any mission, harder than handling his catastrophic team (bless them—he did love his brats).

This was starting to feel like his greatest mission yet.

A date.

With you.

An official one. No accidental running into each other. No awkward forest-side conversations or shared reading benches where neither of you said what you were really thinking.

A real date. The kind people wore clean clothes for. The kind where you might expect something from him. A gesture.

Should I get her something? The thought had been gnawing at him for hours now.

Flowers? Chocolate? A book?

A book felt too forward. Chocolate…well, he didn't really know your taste in sweets, and giving the wrong chocolate could be a catastrophic misstep. Flowers were…safe. Classic. Thoughtful. Romantic, but not too romantic.

Flowers it is.

But what kind?

That's where things began to spiral into chaos.

Because just as fate would have it, across the square stood Guy, basking in the glow of youthful enthusiasm, delivering a speech to his team with Lee practically vibrating next to him, Tenten looking exasperated, and Neji trying his best to pretend he didn't exist on the same planet.

It was a bad idea. A truly bad idea.

And yet…

Kakashi sighed. Took a few slow steps over. Better to get this over with quickly, quietly.

He stood a respectful distance away, lowered his voice, and said under his breath, "Guy."

Guy's head whipped around like a hawk spotting prey. "KAKASHI! MY RIVAL—"

"Lower your voice." Kakashi winced, glancing around. "I need…advice."

Guy's eyebrows shot up so fast they might've taken off into orbit. "Advice?" His voice was still creeping toward 'volume too loud for civilian areas.' At least he came a few steps closer to where Kakashi stood. 

"I need to know…" He glanced away, feeling a level of embarrassment he usually reserved for wardrobe malfunctions during stealth missions. "…what kind of flowers does your sister like?"

It should've ended there. Whispered, subtle, quick.

But this was Guy.

"FLOWERS?" Guy bellowed like a proud parent watching his child throw a shuriken for the first time. "YOU—YOU SEEK THE FAVOR OF MY DEAR, BELOVED SISTER? THIS IS THE MOST YOUTHFUL, GLORIOUS DAY I COULD HAVE EVER IMAGINED—"

"Guy," Kakashi hissed, eye twitching, "quiet."

"OH HO HO! FLOWERS! YES! A BOUQUET OF RADIANT JOY, AS VIBRANT AS THE FLAMES OF YOUTH—"

Lee suddenly materialized by Guy's side like a summoned clone. "Sensei, who is this bouquet for? Is it for your esteemed rival's intended beloved?!" He spun to face Kakashi, eyes sparkling. "I SHALL HELP YOU! WHAT ARE HER FAVORITE COLORS?! FAVORITE SCENTS?! I WILL SCOUT EVERY FLORIST IN THE VILLAGE IF NEED BE—"

Neji let out the longest, most resigned sigh Kakashi had ever heard. He guessed handling Guy and Lee on a daily bases did that to you.

Tenten covered her face with both hands.

This was spiraling into a catastrophe.

"I regret everything," Kakashi muttered.

"REGRET IS THE FUEL OF WEAKNESS!" Guy cheered. "You wish to know her favorites? Lilies! Always lilies! Orange or red—just take all the colours! Symbol of temperance and passion—a perfect choice, if I do say so myself!"

"Passion—" Lee gasped. "A passionate declaration of affection! Sensei, truly you have raised such a wise—"

"Please stop talking," Kakashi muttered.

"KAKASHI IS BRINGING MY SISTER LILIES—" Guy shouted across the square, as if the announcement needed to reach foreign borders.

"Wonderful," Kakashi deadpanned, dead inside, turning on his heel before someone from ANBU came to arrest him for public humiliation.

"Good luck on your romantic endeavors, Rival!!" Guy boomed after him. "Let the fires of love burn bright and pure!!"

Kakashi seriously contemplated fake injuries just to get out of tonight.

But then—

He pictured your smile. The quiet way you laughed at his terrible jokes. The warmth in your voice when you said his name like you actually liked saying it.

Fine. Flowers it was.

Lilies in all colours.

He was doomed.

But maybe… it would be worth it.

Kakashi paced in front of Guy's apartment like a shinobi preparing for assassination.

Only this wasn't assassination. This was worse.

In his hands, the bouquet of lilies was already suffering under his grip. The stems bent at odd angles, one of the outer petals dangerously close to giving up entirely.

Why lilies?

Were lilies romantic? Friendly? Funerary? He couldn't remember anymore.

Maybe he should've picked something cheerful. Like sunflowers. Or daisies. Something that said "casual fun" instead of "strange, emotionally stunted jōnin doesn't know how to human properly."

He glanced at the flowers.

Were gifts even a good idea? Gifts felt like expectations. Like weight. Maybe he should just… not.

But now he was standing in front of the apartment door, bouquet and all, and throwing the flowers into the nearest bush would probably be noticed. That was suspicious behavior. Definitely not a good look on a first date.

And then—his outfit.

He glanced down at himself.

Ninja uniform. Flak vest. Mask, weapons pouches, hitai-ate tilted the same way it always was.

Couldn't he have worn something else? A shirt? A sweater? Literally anything that didn't scream "I might disappear in the middle of dinner for a secret mission."

What about… formalwear? Normal people wear suits on dates, didn't they?

Except—he didn't own any. Ninja gear. Pajama pants. That was it. And—

Kakashi blanched.

There was one other thing in his wardrobe.

Guy's green jumpsuit.

A gift, years ago, given with such enthusiasm that it still haunted his dreams.

The fact that that was the only alternate clothing option in his apartment made this entire situation feel like karmic punishment. A direct consequence of prioritizing missions over a functioning adult wardrobe.

He could see it now: showing up in the lime-green monstrosity, bouquet of half-dead lilies in hand, and you opening the door only to close it again slowly, kindly, like you were returning a defective package to a store.

No. The uniform was fine. It had to be fine. It was fine.

Right?

Kakashi sighed through his mask, adjusted his grip on the flowers (breaking another poor petal in the process), and stared at the door like it might explode.

This is ridiculous. He'd fought S-rank criminals with better composure.

And yet here he was, contemplating floristry decisions like they were strategic war plans.

Just as he lifted his hand to knock, the door creaked open—

—and there you were, framed in warm light, wearing that gentle, curious smile that made all his overthinking feel… a little foolish.

"Hi," you said softly. "You're early."

"Am I?" he murmured, and offered the very slightly mangled bouquet. "These are for you. Sorry. They were alive earlier."

Your smile widened, warm and unbothered. "They're perfect."

And for once, Kakashi felt like maybe he wasn't completely screwing this up.

Even if he was still wearing mission gear like an idiot.

The restaurant was small, tucked away on a quieter street of Konoha, warmly lit with paper lanterns and the low hum of friendly conversation drifting between tables. It wasn't fancy, but it was comfortable. A place Kakashi had chosen because it was quiet, out of the way — perfect for people who didn't necessarily love crowds.

But now, as he sat across from you, it felt like the walls were too close, the light too warm, the room too bright.

And the problem wasn't the restaurant. It was you.

You were wearing this simple, soft sundress — nothing over the top, just light fabric that moved gently when you shifted, soft colors that suited you better than any extravagant thing ever could. Your hair was pinned back lazily, just enough to keep it out of your face, just enough that strands curled gently by your jaw and the nape of your neck.

And that smile.

That easy, open smile you wore when you were comfortable.

Kakashi was not prepared.

He'd fought in wars. Buried comrades. Led a team of hormonal disaster-children through enemy territory. But nothing — nothing — could have trained him for this particular level of sensory overload.

You tilted your head at him, amused, resting your elbow on the table and your chin in your palm. "You're staring."

Crap.

"Am I?" he asked far too quickly, then cursed internally. Smooth. Really smooth. Next, he'd spill his water, maybe set the tablecloth on fire for good measure.

Your smile turned teasing. "Should I be flattered or worried?"

"Flattered," he blurted before his brain could stop him. "Definitely flattered."

It earned him a soft laugh. The kind of laugh that could short-circuit brain cells if someone wasn't careful. He was not careful.

"Alright, then," you teased. "I'll be flattered."

Okay. Survived that one.

You glanced down at the slightly bruised bouquet, now resting between you on the edge of the table like a nervous guest. You reached over, adjusted one of the bent stems gently, tenderly, like the flowers were something precious, not something that had been semi-crushed in his anxious grip for the last thirty minutes.

"They are beautiful. And you picked them yourself?"

Kakashi watched your fingers trace the delicate curve of one of the petals, and something in his chest shifted.

He could lie. He could absolutely lie.

So why, why, did he blurt out:

"…I asked Guy."

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise, lips twitching into a smile. "Guy?"

"I regret it," Kakashi said flatly, eyes half-lidded with the expression of a man who'd stared into the abyss and found nothing but regret staring back. "Immediately. Fully. Completely."

You burst out laughing, one hand coming up to cover your mouth, eyes crinkling with delight.

Kakashi leaned back slightly in his seat, hands folded in front of his masked mouth, and murmured, "Neji, Tenten, and Lee know too. Possibly most of Konoha by now. Guy's subtlety is… not his greatest strength."

You tried to school your expression, failing spectacularly. "Well… I love lilies," you said, smiling brightly. "So, I'd say it was worth it."

Kakashi's eye softened, shoulders relaxing just a bit. "Yeah," he murmured, gaze locked on yours. "I wasn't sure what to get you at first," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "I almost got chocolate. Or… a book."

"Oh?" you perked up, amused again. "What kind of book?"

This was dangerous territory.

"…One that doesn't have embarrassing cover art," he said dryly. "For once."

You laughed. Bright, open, and entirely too fond for his nervous system to handle.

Kakashi wasn't used to this kind of attention. People respected him. Feared him. Followed his orders. But this—being looked at like he was actually good company—was something else entirely.

"So," you said softly, after a comfortable beat of silence, "is this your first date in a while, or do you regularly terrify flowers to death before meeting people?"

"First in a while," he admitted, eye crinkling with a small, honest smile. "Believe it or not, shinobi training didn't exactly cover romantic etiquette."

"Shocking," you teased. "I'm sure stealth flirting is very effective."

He chuckled quietly, leaning slightly forward. "I'm still working on it."

For the first time that evening, the tension between you wasn't awkward. It was… fun. Warm.

You were good at this. At making things easier.

Conversation drifted between soft teasing and real questions—what kinds of books you liked, what your favorite food was, funny little childhood memories of Guy being overprotective and dramatic (not that Kakashi didn't already know plenty of those firsthand).

And through it all, he kept catching himself staring again.

Not because you were beautiful, though you were.

But because you made him feel something he didn't often allow himself to feel.

Wanted.

Not because of his rank. Not because of his reputation. Just… him.

Dinner went too quickly, the meal almost forgotten between stolen glances and soft laughter, and before long, the sky outside had gone that deep, dark blue of summer nights, cicadas chirring softly somewhere in the background.

"I should walk you home," he said quietly, not quite ready to say goodnight.

You stood, brushing your hand along the fabric of your dress, and gave him that same smile again—the one that made him feel like he was standing too close to an open flame.

"Or," you said softly, tilting your head just a bit, "we could go for a little walk. Of course, only if you want to."

Want to? That was an understatement. Kakashi would've walked across entire countries right then if it meant delaying the moment when he had to say goodnight to you.

"Yeah," he murmured, a little hoarse. "I'd like that."

So you started walking, side by side, the streets quieter now, the late summer evening warm and soft around you like a blanket. The paper lanterns lining the street glowed gently, their reflections caught in puddles from an earlier rain, shimmering underfoot with every step.

You walked close enough that your sleeve brushed against his every few steps, and every single one of those little touches felt like fireworks in slow motion, burning somewhere just beneath his ribs.

You glanced over at him at one point, your smile softer now, almost knowing.

"You're awfully quiet for someone who used to correct my posture during training from across the field."

Kakashi's eye crinkled in amusement. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Kind of hard not to notice the most notorious shinobi in the village hovering like a worried mother hen."

A quiet laugh escaped him, low, rumbling. "Force of habit."

Your hand brushed his again—light, accidental, but not really accidental at all—and neither of you moved away this time. The warmth of your skin against his was the gentlest, most dangerous thing he'd felt in years.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world narrowed down to that single point of contact.

And then—slowly, hesitantly—you curled your fingers between his. Not quite holding his hand… not yet. Just letting them rest there.

It felt like a question and an answer at the same time.

Kakashi swallowed, tension coiling in his chest like a drawn bowstring, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Just new. Strange. Good.

You kept walking like that, fingertips brushing, breathing the warm night air like it belonged to the two of you alone, as you slowly began chatting again. Conversation came easily with you once Kakashi managed to calm himself down. You exchanged so many stories, talking about hopes and dreams, about the past and the future.

He didn't even realize how late it had gotten—or that you'd been wandering aimlessly around Konoha for almost two hours—until the familiar silhouette of Guy's home began to take shape at the end of the street.

And right as you reached the door, just as Kakashi was wondering if it was selfish to hope this night wouldn't end yet—

"AH! THERE YOU ARE!"

Guy's voice shattered the peaceful moment.

Kakashi froze, absolutely betrayed by the universe itself, as Guy bounded toward you with the energy of a thousand suns, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

"I've been wondering when you two would return! Youthful starlit walks—HOW ROMANTIC! Ah, my rival, you're positively glowing! And you—" he turned to you, beaming, "—are radiant as ever!"

If Kakashi could've melted through the ground, he would've done it on the spot.

You, on the other hand, bit your lip to keep from laughing, clearly enjoying this far too much.

"Thanks, Guy," you said sweetly, patting his shoulder like one might soothe a very excitable dog. "But maybe you could give us a moment?"

"A moment! Of course! I understand the importance of romantic tension! I shall retreat into the apartment—but fear not, I shall be making tea!"

With that, Guy dashed inside, leaving the two of you blinking at the door.

Silence.

You broke it with a soft laugh, shaking your head. "That man will be the end of you."

"Possibly," Kakashi murmured, voice dry. "If embarrassment counts as a fatal injury."

Another moment of silence stretched out, but this one was different—soft, full of something warm and unspoken.

You gently squeezed his fingers, just barely.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly.

Kakashi's heart was somewhere up in his throat, but he managed a small, genuine smile behind his mask. "Anytime."

And with that, you stepped inside, glancing back just once, your expression still carrying that quiet amusement only you could manage.

The door closed with a soft click, and Kakashi just stood there for a moment, staring at the empty street, feeling like something inside of him had shifted without permission.

Yeah. He was in trouble.

Good trouble.

The best kind.

The next morning, sunlight poured through the kitchen window in warm stripes, catching on the delicate petals of the lilies sitting in the center of the table. Their soft, pale colors stood out against the otherwise modest kitchen, almost glowing where the light touched them.

You sat at the table with a cup of tea warming your hands, chin resting in one palm as you stared at the bouquet like it might suddenly whisper secrets to you.

You hadn't even realized you were smiling—soft, absent, one of those smiles that lived in your eyes more than on your lips.

Of course, he noticed.

"OOOOOH-HO-HO!" Guy's voice cut through the peaceful morning, sudden and dramatic, followed by the unmistakable thud of him throwing himself into the chair opposite you. "What do we have here?"

You blinked, torn from your thoughts as you looked at your brother. He was already leaning forward, elbows on the table, grinning widely.

"Would you look at that smile! Youthful, radiant, unmistakably—romantic! The blossoms of young love are blooming right here in my kitchen!"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling for real now. "They're just flowers."

"'Just flowers'?" Guy gasped, scandalized, clutching his chest like you'd wounded him. "Nonsense! These are lilies of intention, picked by none other than my Eternal Rival—for you! A token of affection! A bold, daring, yet sensitive gesture! And what's more importnt—he asked for help!"

You choked on your tea, spluttering. "I know. He told me."

"Good! I will go down in history as the matchmaker of the century!"

You dropped your head into your hands, laughing helplessly now, as Guy's dramatic proclamations echoed through the apartment.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

"NEVER!"

Despite the theatrics, though, your gaze drifted back to the flowers, and that soft smile crept back onto your face, gentle and full of something warm that settled behind your ribs.

No matter how much teasing Guy threw your way—and it was a lot—you couldn't help it.

Because when you looked at those lilies, all you could see was Kakashi's nervous fidgeting, the awkward way he'd held them out to you, and that rare, genuine curve of his eye when you'd smiled back at him.

Worth it.

Totally worth it.

Weeks passed like that.

It didn't start with declarations or labels or even any real plan. It just… happened. One date turned into two. Two into four. And before either of you realized it, you were orbiting each other's worlds like gravity had decided it for you.

Sometimes it was something deliberate—meeting up to cook together in Guy's too-small kitchen, laughing as you both bumped elbows and Kakashi tried very hard to pretend he didn't need help reading the tiny, worn print on an old recipe scroll. (He did need help. Desperately. You teased him endlessly, of course.)

Other times, it was simple. No planning, no words—just finding each other on a lazy afternoon beneath the trees, books in hand, backs pressed against the same trunk. He'd be reading Icha Icha, naturally, but after a while, he stopped hiding it so much. And you'd read whatever you wanted, something softer, something warmer. Two separate worlds, but never quite alone anymore.

Every spare minute Kakashi had, he spent with you.

He didn't say anything about it. Didn't announce what he was doing or why. He just… showed up. Again and again, like the way rivers find oceans, inevitable, certain, quiet.

When he was sent on missions, you worried. Of course you did. No matter how much faith you had in him—and you had a lot—the quiet, gnawing ache of not knowing always crept in while he was gone.

But the moment he returned, tired and carrying the faint scent of iron and smoke, he always found his way to you.

The first few times, you hadn't said much. You'd cook for him—something warm, something filling, something that didn't require thought—and he'd sit nearby, half-dozing, listening to the sound of your voice as you talked about everything and nothing.

You never asked about the missions unless he brought them up. Sometimes he did. Sometimes he didn't. You never pushed.

One night after a particularly rough assignment, you'd hugged him at the door. Just wrapped your arms around his waist, silent, steady, offering nothing but your presence.

Kakashi had stood there stiffly for a moment, unsure how to breathe, and then—slowly—his arms had come up around your shoulders, holding you close like something delicate and fragile that he didn't deserve but was too tired to resist.

That was it. No kiss. No dramatic moment. Just being.

Holding hands wasn't common either. But it happened now and then—absent touches, fingers brushing, lingering a little too long but never quite being enough for either of you to move forward. It was almost funny, in a way. You were both too stubborn in your own ways: you in your quiet confidence, Kakashi in his carefully constructed distance.

And yet… neither of you wanted to leave it, either.

It was slow. Soft. Unsure. But real.

You didn't need words to define it. Not yet.

But when Kakashi's gloved hand would ghost over yours while you both sat in silence under the trees, or when you'd glance up from your book to catch him already staring at you—half guilty, half content—you knew exactly what it was.

It was something.

Not nothing.

Something steady. Something warm.

And as the weeks slipped by, the distance between you only kept shrinking, wordless and patient, like two people writing the same story in different hands, on the same page.

It started with Naruto.

Of course it did.

"Something's wrong with Kakashi-sensei."

He said it one morning, arms crossed behind his head as they waited for their teacher, standing in the middle of the empty training ground. Sakura rolled her eyes, Sasuke scowled at nothing in particular, but Naruto wasn't letting it go.

"No, seriously! Have you seen him lately? He's been acting weird. Weirder than usual."

Sakura frowned, clearly not convinced. "He's always weird, Naruto."

"No, no, no, not like that! He's not even making up excuses anymore when he's late! Not even the 'I was saving a cat' or 'I got lost on the path of life' or whatever other stupid stuff he says. Now he just shows up, like—" Naruto contorted his face into a ridiculous, dazed expression, eyes half-lidded, mouth slightly open, a dreamy smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

It was disturbingly accurate.

Sakura blinked. "Oh my god. He has been doing that."

Even Sasuke, aloof as ever, narrowed his eyes slightly like he, too, had noticed something off and wasn't sure how to categorize it yet.

Naruto, encouraged by their attention, puffed his chest dramatically. "That's not all. The other day? I saw him in the market. Just standing there. Holding a bag of oranges. Not even moving. For, like, five whole minutes. Like his brain shut off."

Sakura pinched the bridge of her nose. "Or maybe you imagined it."

"I DID NOT."

Then, this morning—late again, as usual—Kakashi finally appeared at their meeting point… but he didn't even bother pretending to apologize. He just gave them that lopsided eye-crease of a smile, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing absentmindedly at something invisible on his flak jacket.

Dopey. That was the word for it. Dopey.

"What's wrong with him?" Naruto demanded.

Sakura suddenly gasped, eyes going wide. "Wait… wait… what if it's a genjutsu?!"

Naruto paled. "OH NO—he's been kidnapped by enemy ninja and replaced! That explains everything!"

Sasuke gave him a flat stare that could have burned through stone. "Don't be an idiot."

Naruto ignored him. "WE HAVE TO INVESTIGATE."

So they did.

For the next few days, whenever they weren't actively training, the three of them—very, very badly disguised—began trailing Kakashi around the village. Naruto wore a fake mustache. Sakura wore sunglasses at night. Sasuke… well, Sasuke just walked behind them like a black cloud of regret, clearly wondering why he was allowing this to happen to his life.

And then they saw it.

One afternoon, Kakashi walked toward the training grounds from the other direction. He wasn't alone.

You were beside him, carrying a small bundle of wildflowers, chatting softly. He wasn't even reading his book—just listening to you, gaze soft, posture loose in a way none of them had ever seen.

Then it happened: as you both passed beneath the edge of the trees, his hand brushed against yours. And instead of shoving his nose into Icha Icha or pretending not to notice, Kakashi actually—actually—hooked his pinky around yours, barely-there contact, like he didn't even know how to hold hands properly but was determined to try anyway.

Naruto made a strangled noise like a deflating balloon.

Sakura's jaw dropped.

Even Sasuke's eyebrow twitched upward, ever so slightly.

"HE'S GOT A GIRLFRIEND." Naruto shouted, loud enough to startle birds from the nearby trees.

"Shut up, you idiot!" Sakura hissed, dragging him backward by the collar. "They'll see us!"

But Kakashi didn't even glance in their direction. He just walked beside you, stealing secret glances at your face like he was memorizing it for later.

And just like that, everything made sense.

The lateness. The smiles. The distracted stares.

It wasn't genjutsu. It wasn't enemy ninja. It wasn't anything they'd expected.

Kakashi Hatake was in love.

Naruto sank to his knees, dramatically clutching his head. "HOW?!"

And for once, even Sakura couldn't argue.

"Yeah… how…?"

And Sasuke, after a long moment, muttered, "Tch. Loser."

But there was something suspiciously thoughtful in his expression.

It happened the next afternoon.

Training was over. Naruto was still sweaty from running laps, Sakura had her arms crossed in front of her chest, and Sasuke leaned lazily against a tree like he couldn't care less—but the look in his eyes betrayed just enough interest to confirm that he, too, was waiting for something.

And Kakashi knew.

From the way Naruto kept staring at him, eyes squinted, to the way Sakura tapped her foot with a rhythm far too deliberate, Kakashi knew something was coming.

And he didn't like it.

Finally, Naruto broke first—no surprises there.

"Sensei," he blurted, jabbing a finger in Kakashi's direction like he was accusing him of treason, "why didn't you introduce us to your girlfriend yet?!"

Kakashi blinked. "Girlfriend?"

"Don't play dumb!" Naruto practically vibrated with frustration. "We saw you! Holding hands. Laughing. Looking at her like you were about to pass out or something. Don't think you can hide it!"

Sakura chimed in, sharp-eyed and dead serious. "He's right. You've been acting so strange lately, and now it all makes sense. You're in love."

Kakashi finally let out a long, tired sigh. He should've seen this coming. Honestly, he had seen it coming. He just hadn't wanted to deal with it yet.

"I don't have a girlfriend," he said flatly, raising one gloved hand in surrender. "It's true. I didn't ask her to be."

They stared at him. Even Sasuke lifted his chin slightly, clearly baffled.

"WHAT?" Naruto exploded. "What do you mean you didn't ask her?! You're always with her! You're basically already married by Konoha standards!"

Sakura's face contorted with disbelief. "Why not?! You clearly like her. And she clearly likes you."

Kakashi shrugged, the very picture of indifference. "I don't see why this is any of your concern."

That's when Sakura said it.

Quietly. Sharply.

"What if she gets tired of waiting?"

The words sliced through the afternoon air sharper than any kunai.

"What if someone else comes around," she continued, not letting him dodge it, "someone brave enough to ask her properly? Someone who isn't embarrassed to admit how they feel? Someone who'll be proud to call her their girlfriend?"

Kakashi didn't flinch.

Didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

He was a master of controlling his expressions. Of hiding emotion behind masks both literal and figurative.

But for just a split second, one second, something flickered across his visible eye. A spark of panic. Of something vulnerable and entirely human.

And Sakura saw it. They all did.

But Kakashi was already smoothing his features out again by the time he spoke.

"Well," he said softly, "I'm sure she can decide that for herself."

It sounded calm. Measured. Unshaken.

But inside, his stomach twisted into knots.

What if you did get tired of waiting?

What if you wanted someone who wasn't a mess of awkward smiles, unfinished sentences, and constant absences?

Someone who didn't live his life behind shadows and excuses?

What if you realized you deserved someone better?

Kakashi hated how much that thought hurt.

Naruto, oblivious to the war now raging in his teacher's chest, just groaned. "UGH, you're hopeless."

But Sakura only studied him quietly, lips pressed in a line, eyes softer now—maybe understanding more than she let on.

Kakashi excused himself not long after.

He needed air. And time.

Because now, for the first time, the thought wasn't just hypothetical anymore.

It was real. And terrifying.

And he didn't know if he was brave enough to fix it.

————————-

The warm afternoon sun filtered through the branches overhead, dappled light scattering across the grass where you sat beneath the familiar old tree. A soft breeze carried the faint scent of summer, rustling the edges of the pages of your book as you leaned back against the trunk, lost in the quiet rhythm of reading.

Kakashi sat beside you, his own book open in his lap, unmoving.

Unread.

His eyes weren't on the words, not really. Every time he tried to focus, the same thoughts circled around and around in his mind like vultures, pecking at whatever scraps of composure he still had.

What if you get tired of waiting?

What if someone else comes along?

What if you—

You glanced up at him, brow furrowing slightly. You noticed. Of course you noticed. You always noticed, and that made everything worse and better all at once.

"You're not reading," you murmured gently, voice quiet but steady. "Are you alright?"

Kakashi's throat felt dry. He shifted, resisting the urge to fidget nervously.

"I'm fine," he lied, badly. You tilted your head slightly, unconvinced.

And that's when the words tumbled out. Awkward, uneven, tangled around themselves before he could stop them.

"I—like you," he blurted, staring at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "I really like you."

A beat of silence. Then another.

You blinked in surprise, mouth parting slightly as if you weren't quite sure you'd heard him right.

And then Kakashi kept going.

"I don't know how to do this," he admitted softly, finally daring to meet your gaze. "Romance. Dating. All of it. I'm probably doing everything wrong already. I don't own anything nice to wear. I don't take people on candlelit dinners or say the right words at the right times. I'm not even sure I know how to be a good boyfriend, but…"

He inhaled carefully.

"I want to try. With you. If you'll let me. I want to be—your boyfriend."

The last part came out embarrassingly quiet, like a shy confession scrawled in the back of a notebook.

He braced himself for whatever came next. Laughter, maybe. Awkward rejection. Or worse, pity.

But instead, your lips curled into that soft smile again—the one that always seemed to hit him harder than any kunai ever could.

"Kakashi," you said gently, reaching over to lay your hand over his clenched one. "You're the only one I've been waiting for."

His book slipped off his knee, forgotten in the grass. His entire body relaxed by degrees, tension unwinding in slow, hesitant pieces.

"I don't care about fancy dates or clothes or the right words," you continued, squeezing his hand gently. "I care about you."

Kakashi exhaled like he'd been underwater too long, a small, huffing laugh escaping from behind his mask. His eye curved in that soft, uneven smile that you were beginning to realize was his most honest expression.

"I'm terrible at this," he murmured.

"You're doing fine," you whispered back.

For the first time in weeks, his heartbeat settled. The book stayed forgotten. The world shrank to just this: your hand in his, the soft rustle of the leaves, and the quiet, electric certainty that this—you—was the best mission he'd ever taken on.

The walk back to Guy's apartment was comfortable, familiar now. Your hand was still loosely tangled with Kakashi's, neither of you in a rush to let go, steps slow, matching each other's pace like it had always been that way.

There was something different about him, though. His usual slouch, the lazy rhythm of his gait—it was still there, but underneath it was something tense, coiled. Not in a bad way, but like something was building.

And then you reached the front step. The small porch creaked faintly under your weight as you turned to face him, still smiling softly, feeling like your chest was too small to hold everything you wanted to say.

"Thank you for today," you whispered.

He gave you that look again—the soft curve of his visible eye, warmth and hesitation all tangled together.

"Of course," he murmured.

You started to turn, hand slipping from his—

But he didn't let you go.

Fingers curled around yours firmly, and in the next second, Kakashi tugged you back—not roughly, but enough that you stumbled forward slightly, catching yourself against his chest. Warm, solid, steady.

Your breath hitched just as you looked up—

And his mask was gone.

Gone. Lowered, tucked under his chin, revealing a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and lips soft but determined, slightly parted as he looked down at you.

No hesitation this time.

He kissed you.

It wasn't practiced or polished, not the smooth kind of kiss you read about in books. It was real. A little clumsy at first, like he wasn't sure where to put his hands—one ending up resting awkwardly at your lower back, the other curling around your wrist as if afraid you might pull away.

But you didn't.

You melted into him, feeling the faint hitch in his breath when you pressed back, your fingers curling in the front of his uniform vest, anchoring yourself there like this was the only place you ever wanted to be.

By the time he pulled back, just barely, his lips brushing yours, you were breathless—and smiling.

"Worth the wait," you murmured, teasing but honest, eyes flickering over his face now completely unobscured for the first time.

He was—

"Pretty," you added softly, letting the word slip before you could stop yourself. "Too pretty. It's unfair."

Kakashi blinked, visibly stunned for a second—clearly not expecting that to be your first reaction—and then a laugh broke out of him, quiet and warm and surprised. His forehead dropped gently against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

"I've been called a lot of things," he murmured, amused, "but not pretty."

"Well," you said, smiling mischievously, "there's a first time for everything."

You barely had time to catch your breath, to soak in the feeling of Kakashi's arms still loosely resting around your waist, his forehead pressed gently to yours, when a faint creak drew both of your attention upward.

The window above the door.

There, barely hidden by the sheerest of curtains, was Guy.

His teeth were clenched, fists trembling with effort, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple—not from exertion, but from the sheer, monumental will it was clearly taking to stay silent.

For once in his life, Might Guy had achieved the impossible: restraint.

At least for a moment.

Because the second you and Kakashi pulled apart, softly whispering your goodbyes and turning as if the moment was truly ending, the dam burst.

"YOOOOOOOSH!" Guy's voice shattered the peace of the night like an exploding tag. "FINALLY! MY ETERNAL RIVAL AND MY BELOVED SISTER—LOVE BLOSSOMS UNDER THE MOONLIGHT! WELCOME TO THE FAMILY, KAKASHI! I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS DAY—"

Kakashi stood perfectly still for a moment, eye twitching slightly, hand lifting halfway as if weighing whether to cover his face or summon a lightning strike to end his suffering right then and there.

He sighed.

"…Is it too late to run away?"

You only laughed, taking his hand again firmly.

"Way too late."

Guy's cheers echoed into the night as Kakashi resigned himself to his fate.

And honestly?

He didn't really mind.

Not anymore.

Masterlist

[superluver]

OHHHHH MYYYYY GODDDDDDDDDDDDD

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤-𝐔𝐩! | h. kakashi

pairing: kakashi hatake x fem!reader (doctor!reader) genre: fluff, hurt/comfort, super tension-filled.. wc: ~6.8k setting: pre-war konoha; team 7 are still genins. medical wing. warnings: slight use of medical jargons a/n: sorry, it's pretty long! i figured i'd get lazy to write a part two, three, etc. after some time (especially since this has been rotting in my drafts as part one), so i decided to just write the whole thing in one go. i haven't written in years, so i apologize if some parts are kinda ass huhu

thanks for reading!

୨୧ — 𝐈

The first time you meet Kakashi, he's not exactly conscious.

Bloodied, broken ribs, chakra system’s a mess. He's wheeled into your medical wing after a botched infiltration mission and dropped onto your table like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

"He's stable now," a senior medic declares, handing off the chart to you. "Keep him monitored. He'll be under for a while. If he wakes up early... sedate him."

You nod professionally, but your fingers twitch slightly as you review the name on the clipboard.

Kakashi Hatake.

As in, the Copy Ninja Kakashi. The man who led Konoha's Anbu Ops at an age where you were still learning how to suture without shaking.

But all you see right now is a man with deep scarring, blood under his nails.

Is this really the reality of shinobi? Even the strongest ends up this rough.

“I’ll take care of him.”

And you do. I mean it is your job.

୨୧

He wakes up on day three.

Groggy. Grumpy. Mask already back on somehow.

His one visible eye blinks slowly, adjusting to the sterile white light of the recovery ward. "You're not the usual nurse," he rasps.

You glance over your chart, your pen pausing mid-note. "I'm not a nurse." you reply calmly. "I'm your attending. The name's Y/N."

He studies you with a single eye, unreadable. "You're young."

You raise a brow, unmoved. "Well, you're nosy."

He hums, almost like a lazy laugh, fluttering his eyes shut again.

"Touché."

Kakashi shifts slightly against his pillow. Winces. His breath catches. "You know, you shouldn't move too much," you say softly. "Your lung's still healing."

"Doesn't feel like it," he mutters, wincing again.

"It wouldn't. You were barely alive when they brought you in." You pause, then meet his gaze evenly.

"But you will be. Don't worry, you're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

That stops him—like something in your words hits deeper than you'd meant it to.

He doesn't deflect with a quip. Doesn't reach for one of his usual dry remarks to ease the weight of the moment.

Instead, his eye just stays on you.

You don't know it yet, but that's the moment it starts.

୨୧

Though, you still think Kakashi is the worst patient.

He's quiet, which would be fine, if he weren't also absurdly stubborn. The kind of stubborn that turns silent defiance into an art form.

On day five, you step into his room after rounds and check up on him.

There he is—lying in bed, one arm lazily draped over his chest. Breathing even. Quiet.

You narrow your eyes.

Too quiet.

"This is a shadow clone, isn't it?" you thought to yourself.

You step closer and reach for his wrist. And as expected, your hand goes through it. The illusion flickers like smoke dispersing, and vanishes.

You blink once. Then twice.

Your eyes track the thin IV tubing, dragging across the floor, still attached to the pole—and still attached to him, limping slowly toward the window like escaping a hospital room is a normal post-op activity.

You drop your clipboard with a loud clack, pushing the curtain aside.

"Kakashi."

He pauses, glancing back like a schoolboy caught sneaking chewing gum, except this one has cracked ribs and an oxygen monitor.

"Doc," he greets, voice too casual.

"Are you serious right now? You know you can't fool me with your shadow clone," you say, shooting a glare at him.

"I heal fast," he offers, like that explains anything.

You glance at the IV line still dangling from his arm. "Is that why you're still dragging your IV bag like a sad little suitcase?"

You sigh, stepping closer. "You have a punctured lung, you're not even fit to climb out of that window yet."

"I've had worse," he mumbles.

"You are literally dripping saline and blood thinner while trying to crawl out of a third-floor window," you add.

He looks at the IV pole. "I was hoping it would detach on its own."

You sigh. Hard.

Then you plant yourself between him and the window, arms crossed, voice steel-edged. "If you don't sit back down right now, I'll inject you with enough sedative to knock out a tailed beast."

He blinks. Once. Then again.

And—he smiles.

"Come on." you say, hand gently gripping his arm. "You'll tear your stitches. Again."

He looks down at your hand, then slowly steps back into the room, one foot at a time. Defeated.

"...You're not like the other doctors," he blurts.

"No," you deadpan, grabbing the IV pole and dragging it back toward the bed. "I'm meaner."

He laughs. An actual chuckle—quiet and short, but it slips out before he can stop it.

You freeze for a second.

Huh.

You didn't know he could laugh like that. And definitely didn't expect you to be the reason.

Kakashi notices the way your expression falters for just a split second.

"I meant that as a compliment," he says as you help him sit back on the bed, reattaching the IV and tugging the sheet over his legs.

"I know," you reply. keeping your voice even. "I'm just debating whether or not to sedate you anyway. You're a flight risk."

"I prefer 'high-risk investment'," he quips.

You smirk despite yourself. "Sounds like something an emotionally unavailable man says when he knows he's charming."

He huffs a quiet breath as he settles back into the pillows. "And you sound like someone who's been burned by one."

You pause, lifting a brow. "Occupational hazard. I meet a lot of shinobi."

There's a beat of silence. Then his eyes crinkle again. "Touché."

You check the IV line with practiced ease, masking the strange flutter under your ribs.

You don't know it yet, but this is the first time he starts looking forward to your visits.

And the first time you start wondering if this recovering shinobi is going to be more trouble than your toughest surgeries.

Maybe he isn't the worst patient after all.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈

He starts lingering after he's discharged.

First it's, "Just a follow-up."

Then it's, "I've been having some tightness in my shoulder."

Then, more shamelessly, "You're the only one who doesn't poke me around like I'm a science experiment."

You don't call him out. Yet.

But you notice.

You notice how he always shows up around the same time—just before your shift ends. You'll be wrapping up patient logs or locking cabinets when you hear that familiar shuffle of footsteps in the hall, never rushed. Always like he belongs there.

You notice how he brings a book, but never really reads it. Just holds it open, glancing up every few minutes—tracking where you are in the room, who you're talking to, whether or not you've looked over yet.

You notice how he always seems to time his visits perfectly with your exit.

"Kakashi? Why're you here again?" "Ah, well you see, I think I forgot my.. book around here the other day. Heading out?" "Yeah." "Mind if I walk with you? It's getting pretty dark." "...Sure."

The walks are quiet at first. He's not chatty. Just... present. And not in a suffocating way, either. He listens when you ramble. Responds when it matters. Fills the silence without ever making you feel like you have to.

You pretend not to notice the way your heart beats faster when his hand accidentally brushes against your fingers as you walk together.

...

One evening, as the light begins to dip below the trees and the hospital's rooftop turns gold with dusk, Kakashi speaks without turning to you.

“So…” A pause. Then, casually.. too casually,

“Why aren’t you a shinobi?”

The question slides into the quiet like a kunai. No edge. But it lands.

You blink, caught off guard. He’s seated beside you on the ledge, legs stretched out in front of him like this is just another idle visit. He’s staring straight ahead—like he’s asking about the weather.

But you know better.

You swallow and look down at your bag, at the little jar of salve you made from scratch earlier.

"I... wanted to be one," you admit, crushing a leaf between your fingers absentmindedly. "Didn't make the cut. Politics. Bloodline—You know how it goes."

He hums, low in his throat. Something between acknowledgment and understanding.

You think that’s it. Think maybe it’ll drift into silence again.

But then he adds, in that maddeningly offhand tone—

“But you still train.”

You stop, just for a moment. A flicker of surprise catches your breath.

Your head turns. “How did you—?”

He doesn’t even blink.

“Your grip. Your posture.” His eye ticks over to you, lightheartedly. “The way you sidestep interns trying to surprise-hug you.”

The last part makes you scoff, reluctantly amused.

“That obvious, huh?”

He shrugs. “To me.”

You scoff quietly and shake your head, trying to brush it off. But then his voice softens. Low, intimate in a way that feels almost too much under the setting sun.

“And the way you treated my chakra scars,” he adds, “like someone who’s felt it.”

Your breath stutters.

He's not pressing, just... observing. Studying you the same way you study old wounds, figuring out where they started and whether they still hurt.

You glance over again.

He’s just looking. That quiet, unreadable gaze of his focused not on your face, but on something deeper. Like he’s reading old damage. Worn threads, invisible bruises.

You pull your eyes away first. “Old habit,” you murmur, voice thinner than you mean it to be.

He nods once. Nothing more.

No follow-up. No prodding. Just lets the moment hang between you and him.

...

The next day, he shows up again. Like always. But this time, no fake excuses. Just him—leaning against your office doorway, hands in his pockets, posture deceptively casual.

You barely look up, already suspicious. “Let me guess, your back hurts and it may have something to do with your chakra points.”

He says nothing at first.

Then, without a word, he steps in and sets something gently on your desk.

Two skewers of dango. Still warm. Wrapped neatly in wax paper. It's like he made sure they wouldn't get cold on the way over.

You blink, mid-signature. “...What’s this?”

You look up at him.

"For your old habit," he says, not quite meeting your eyes. "Figured you could use the energy."

It’s so… simple. But it lands like something heavier.

You stare at the dango, then back at him. Your throat tightens unexpectedly.

“Thank you,” you say, quieter this time.

Kakashi shrugs like it's nothing. But the tiniest crinkle at the corner of his eye betrays him.

You know it. You feel it.

It’s not just the gesture. It’s the silence around it. The way he’s still standing there, not saying anything, not moving to leave. Like part of him is waiting for something. Or maybe… hoping.

You return to your paperwork, but your hand lingers near the food.

“You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says simply.

And there’s something about the way he says it. Like of course he didn’t have to. That’s not the point.

He pushes off the doorway and turns to go. Almost like he’s trying to leave before you can ask anything else. Before you can look too closely.

But just before he slips out of sight, you catch it—that familiar, steady rhythm of his steps in your hallway.

It’s the sound you’ve started noticing more and more lately.

Even when he’s not there.

Even when you wish he was.

You don’t know it yet, but you’re already the reason his feet take the long way home.

And he doesn’t know it yet, but your heart now leans slightly toward the door—every time it opens.

୨୧

By the nth time he shows up in your office, you finally say it,

"You do realize I have other patients, right?"

Kakashi blinks at you from where he's perched on the exam table—same corner, same lean, same unreadable expression behind the mask.

"I'm aware," he says. "But none of them have chakra scarring this symmetrical."

You lower your clipboard, unimpressed. "You said that two days ago."

"I did," he nods. "Consistency is important in the healing process."

You stare at him.

He stares back.

In defeat, you sigh and gesture for him to take off his shirt.

He does so without hesitation—and you hate how very little hesitation you have about it either. His movements are smooth despite the lingering bruising, and your fingers betray you by brushing just a second too long over the edge of a scar.

"You know," you mutter, checking his pulse, "you don't have to pretend you're here for medical reasons."

A beat.

He arches a brow. "You think I'm pretending?"

You glance up at him. "You showed up yesterday because your ear itched."

"It did itch," he says mildly. "Could've been a very rare parasite that actually messes with my chakra system. Dangerous stuff. I was being proactive.

You roll your eyes, but you're biting your lip to keep from smiling. You hate that it's working. That he's gotten comfortable. That you have.

He's watching you again—and not the casual observation he's always done. This is softer. Curious.

"You don't mind, do you?" he asks, after a pause. His voice is quieter now. Almost hesitant.

You look at him, carefully, heart beating somewhere a little too loud in your chest. The way his hands fidget slightly with the hem of his shirt. The way his eye doesn't meet yours at first.

"...No," you admit. "But I'd mind if you keep pretending you're just here for check-ups."

That gets him.

His eye crinkles a bit. The closest thing to a grin you'll get through that damn mask.

"Alright," he says, voice lower now. "Then let's not pretend."

You gulp.

He leans forward just slightly—not enough to break the boundary, but enough that you feel the heat of him, close and steady and very, very real.

"Y'know," he murmurs, in a slight teasing manner "If I keep showing up, I might end up your most frequent visitor."

"Well congratulations, you already are," you mutter, unamused.

"Ah," he muses, "then I guess I should start bringing snacks. Or flowers. What do people usually bring their favorite doctor?”

You blink.

He says it so casually—but there’s something underneath.. Like he’s waiting to see how far he’s allowed to go.

You try to play it cool, but your ears are warm. “That depends. Are they still pretending they’re here for medical advice?”

His gaze holds yours. No grin. Just something soft. Steady.

"You're not just a doctor," he says, almost like a secret.

You tilt your head. "No?"

"You're something else."

The way he says it, quiet, reverent—it makes your chest clench. Like you've been waiting for someone to say it. To see it.

You don't respond. But you don't move away either.

And that's enough for now.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐈𝐈

You don't expect to see him on the roof.

It's well past midnight. The hospital is quiet, lights dim. Even the overworked med-nin staff have gone home. You'd stayed behind, again, to clear your head the only way you know how.

Shadowboxing under the moonlight. Sweat on your brow. Wrists wrapped. Your stethoscope long forgotten somewhere inside your locker.

You don't even notice the quiet flicker of chakra until a familiar voice breaks the silence.

"Your stance is a little stiff."

You freeze mid-strike, spinning.

Kakashi is leaning lazily against the rooftop doorframe, arms crossed. Civilian clothes. No mask. Just that sleep-mussed version of him that only seems to appear when the rest of the world is asleep—when it’s just the two of you, suspended in some strange in-between.

You exhale, heart jumping in a way that has nothing to do with cardio.

“How long have you been watching?”

He tilts his head, feigning thought. "Long enough to diagnose a repetitive elbow drop. Possibly chronic."

You squint at him. “You’re insufferable.”

“Technically, I’m being supportive.” He shrugs, wandering closer. “Some people bring protein bars. I bring unsolicited critiques.”

“Some people also knock.”

“I’m more of a ‘mysteriously materialize on rooftops’ kind of guy.”

"Stalker."

He shrugs again as you shoot a glare at him.

He steps into the moonlight—and gods, it should be illegal how good he looks in it. Silver hair tousled, sleeves rolled up, that look in his eye like he's trying not to say something too loud.

"You didn't tell me you were this good," he says, quieter now, watching the way as you reset your stance.

"I'm not," you mutter, adjusting your footwork. "I'm just... persistent."

He makes a quiet sound in his throat, somewhere between approval and amusement.

You throw another combo, more focused now—until a warm hand suddenly catches your wrist mid-strike.

You freeze.

He’s close.

"Loosen your grip," he murmurs, thumb brushing along the inside of your palm. His voice is low, his touch light. "You’re strong. You don’t need to punch like the world’s ending."

You usually say something to bite back, but... you didn't.

You can't.

Because he's looking at you like you're already something precious.

His fingers are still curled lightly over yours. His touch is warm.

You're not sure how long you stand like that—close, breath caught, words balancing between unspoken and the undeniable.

And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s reckless—but right now, under moonlight and bruised silences, you let yourself wonder,

If he came up here for more than just a critique.

And if you’re the only one who doesn’t want to pretend anymore.

But then—

a while ago…

"Okay but WHY is Kakashi-sensei always at the hospital?" Naruto mutters for the third time this week, slurping his ramen suspiciously.

Sakura looks up from her bowl. "You think he's sick again?"

Sasuke scoffs from across the table. "He's not sick. I passed him yesterday—he was carrying dango. Looked perfectly fine."

Naruto leans forward. "So what, he just likes hospitals now? That's suspicious."

Sakura frowns. "Actually... I overheard some nurses saying he only ever waits for one doctor."

Sasuke raises a brow.

Naruto gasps. "YOU DON'T THINK HE'S—"

"—Don't be ridiculous," Sakura cuts in, but even she sounds unsure.

Still, the next time they see him slipping out of the hospital late at night—hair messy, sleeves rolled, looking far too smug for someone supposedly recovering from shoulder pain. All three of them stare.

Kakashi just lifts a hand lazily. "Evening."

Naruto squints. "You're not even limping anymore!"

Kakashi smiles behind the mask. "I heal fast."

...

"You didn't have to come all the way up here just to watch me," you murmur after a long moment. Your voice is softer now. Raw.

He doesn't look away.

“I didn’t come to critique your footwork either,” he says eventually. “Even if it could use work.”

You scowl. “Charming.”

He lifts a shoulder, eyes half-lidded, lazy—except you know him now. You know when his voice goes softer, when he avoids your eyes, when his hands are in his pockets not out of boredom but restraint.

“I came because I wanted to see you,” he admits, voice low.

Your heart trips over itself.

"...You could've just said that."

His gaze dips to your lips, then back to your eyes. "Would you have believed me?"

You hesitate. "Maybe."

The silence between you hums.

"If you keep looking at me like that," you whisper teasingly, "I might think you're about to kiss me."

He's so close now.

"If I did," he murmurs, "would you stop me?"

You don't answer, taken aback with his reply.

But your fingers curl gently around his.

And your lips part, just slightly.

And the world narrows to the space between you and him.

Just heartbeats away.

୨୧

You feel it before it happens.

Kakashi's hand, still cradling yours, shifts just slightly—fingers ghosting along your wrist, your palm until it feels less like a correcting and more like a touch that's meant to linger.

His breath brushes your cheek. He doesn't move away. And the silence thickens with the weight of something that's been building for a long time.

You look up at him, eyes searching.

"...You're close," you whisper.

His eye curves just faintly. “I tend to wander.”

His voice is low, dry — but something in it falters at the edge, almost self-conscious. Almost shy.

You swallow, pulse humming. “…Do you want to?”

A beat.

“I think the more important question is… do you?”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy noticing the little things: the way he’s not blinking. How his thumb grazes your pulse like he doesn’t know he’s doing it. How he’s always careful, but somehow always stays just long enough to make your heart forget how to protect itself.

“…Yes,” you whisper, finally. “Don’t go.”

That’s all it takes.

His forehead tips gently to yours—cautious, careful, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You breathe in. His scent taking over you. Faint smoke, cool earth, something grounding.

"'Kashi," you whisper.

It slips out before you even think about it.

He stiffens just slightly, surprised. Then blinks down at you.

“You’ve never called me that before,” he murmurs. His voice is soft, but it catches. Like it struck something he wasn’t ready for.

You feel your face warm. “Should I not have?”

“…Didn’t say that.” He exhales, almost a laugh—the barest curl at the edge of his mouth. “Just… wasn’t expecting it.”

There’s something vulnerable in the way he says it. Like you’d pulled something loose without meaning to. A thread he was doing a very good job of pretending didn’t exist.

And still—he doesn’t pull away.

But something shifts.

His hand slips from yours, trailing down your arm as if second-guessing the right to hold you.

“I’m not…” He pauses. And there it is again—that small crack in the usual calm. “I’m not really good at this.”

The words are quiet. Measured. Not self-pitying, but honest. And it's the first time you hear it: uncertainty. The guarded edge in his voice.

You look at him closely now—at the way his jaw tenses just slightly, how his gaze drops to somewhere near your shoulder instead of your eyes.

How he’s retreating in inches, like he’s used to being shut out before he can be let in.

"I've lost everyone I've ever cared about," he says, quiet. Measured. "Team, friends, family, people I should've protected. People I never got to say anything to. And every time something good shows up, I wonder how long before I ruin it. Or before it's taken from me."

It hits you—not just the weight of his words, but the quiet ache beneath them. The belief that love is something he wasn't meant to keep. A belief stitched into his ribs like a scar.

"That's what I think when I look at you." he finishes, voice rough.

"'Kashi..." You step forward again, gently taking his hand back.

He doesn't resist. Doesn't speak.

You hold his palm between both of yours, grounding him.

"You haven't ruined anything," you say. "And if you're scared of losing me, that just means there’s something real enough to try for."

He's quiet for a long moment.

And then—

"HEY, KAKASHI-SENSEI!"

You both jolt apart like lightning just struck between you.

Kakashi sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why do they always show up when I'm about to make a breakthrough?"

You peek past his shoulder and groan.

Sakura shoots a glare at Naruto. "Idiot! You were supposed to be quiet."

Naruto. Sakura. And surprisingly Sasuke?

Peeking from behind a low rooftop wall, not even pretending to be subtle.

Kakashi turns to you, expression sheepish. "We should probably relocate."

You bury your face in your hands. "I hate everything."

He laughs—a quiet one that reaches his eyes—and gently guides you behind the rooftop door, hiding you both from the peanut gallery of nosy genin.

As you both lean against the wall, catching your breath, you sneak a glance at him.

"Do you... still want to try?" you ask. "Even with all of that fear?"

You're not even touching anymore, but it still feels like you are.

Kakashi's hand is braced against the wall beside your head, just slightly caging you in. Not on purpose, maybe, but he doesn't move away, either.

"You really didn't move," you whisper, staring at the space between your shoes and his.

He hums, voice low. "You didn't ask me to."

When you dare to look up, the air shifts—slow, quiet, electric.

Your gazes lock.

"I think about it all the time," he murmurs.

You blink. "Think about what?"

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he reaches up—slowly, like he's afraid you'll flinch—and brushes a stray of hair away from your cheek. His fingers linger.

"You. Me. What this could be if I weren't—"

"Weren't what?" you breathe.

His hand drops.

"Haunted," he says simply. "Tired. Not built for this."

Your chest tightens. "You're not broken, 'Kashi."

He exhales shakily. "You say it like it's obvious."

"It is obvious," you say, stepping closer—close enough for your hand to find his again. "To me."

A beat of silence.

He looks at you like you're something rare. He doesn't understand how you exist in the same world he does—soft but fierce, steady but unpredictable, someone who sees him and doesn't flinch.

"I don't want to lose this... to lose you." he says vulnerably, and it slips out like a confession he didn't mean to speak aloud.

You squeeze his hand. "Then don't."

He stares at you, really stares. As if he's memorizing this exact version of you, like what he did the first time you told him that you don't lose patients—his first impression of you. The way your eyes shine when you speak. The way you always smell faintly like herbs and clean linen.

The way you say his name like it means something.

"...Say it again," he murmurs.

You blink. "Say what?"

"My name. Like that."

A soft smile tugs at your lips.

"'Kashi."

And oh—he's undone.

You don't notice you've leaned in until your noses almost touch. Your breath catches. His does, too. His hand comes up to your cheek again, a trembling thumb brushing the edge of your jaw.

You're going to kiss him.

You know you're going to.

It's happening.

It's—

"KAKASHI-SENSEI, YOU DROPPED YOUR HEADBAND!"

I swear to all the gods.

You jolt apart again, absolutely burning with embarrassment as Naruto's voice rings out like a kunai in a dream.

Kakashi groans and drops his forehead to your shoulder.

"Unbelievable," he mumbles.

"I'm going to inject him with a sedative," you mutter.

"Well, he'll have to get in line." Kakashi sternly adds.

"I swear, that Naruto."

Still hiding behind the wall, he glances up at you with a rare softness. Something so fond, it steals you breath even more than the almost kiss did.

"...Rain check?" he asks.

You meet his gaze.

And maybe it's reckless, fast, but you smile and say, "Only if you promise you'll actually cash it in."

He steps back, brushing his fingers over yours one last time straightening his hitai-ate like nothing happened.

"Deal," he says, giving you one last look over his shoulder. "You're worth waiting for."

And just like that, he disappears over the rooftop ledge—mask up, cool façade back in place, but his steps just a little too light for someone who's totally not in love.

You lean back against the wall, breathless, heart sprinting.

You're in trouble.

Big, stupid, wonderful, trouble.

୨୧ — 𝐈𝐕

The next day, you're barely holding it together.

Running late for your rounds, you’re juggling a clipboard, two folders, and a thermos of questionably reheated tea that’s one pothole away from disaster. You round the corner near the nurses’ station, muttering under your breath—

And slam straight into something solid.

Well. Someone solid.

The folders go flying. Your tea wobbles midair, chaos pending—

But nothing hits the ground.

A gloved hand steadies your elbow. Another has already caught the folders. And Kakashi Hatake, full gear and unbothered, blinks down at you like he didn’t just materialize out of nowhere to intercept a minor tragedy.

“...Morning,” he says. “You seem busy.”

You blink. Stare. Blink again. “You—what–”

He glances at the folder in his hand. “Radiology results. Hmm. Interesting reading.”

You snatch the folder back with a noise that’s half-gasp, half-groan. “You were discharged.”

“I was,” he agrees, perfectly calm. “Then I left. And now I’m here again. Life’s full of circles, isn’t it?”

"I'm just here for a check-up," he adds innocently.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you actually here?”

He shrugs. “Might’ve pulled something.”

You frown. “Doing what?”

“Reading,” he says, with zero irony. “Very taxing. Spine’s not what it used to be. You should consider offering shinobi posture seminars. Or maybe back braces.”

You fold your arms, trying not to grin. "Uh huh."

He takes a small step closer, lowering his voice. "Besides... I thought I owed someone a rain check."

Your brain stutters.

Right. The rooftop.

You glance around quickly, suddenly hyperaware of the hallway—the nurses moving in and out of stations, the open patient room doors, the sound of someone wheeling a supply cart past. And him, still standing entirely too close, like his presence isn't already short-circuiting your entire system.

“You remembered that?” you ask, voice a little hoarse.

His visible eye crinkles just slightly, the barest hint of a smile pulling at the edges of his mask. “Of course.”

Your heart stumbles. You forget to breathe for a second.

He still hasn’t let go of your elbow.

“Right,” you mumble. “That.”

“That,” he repeats softly, gaze steady on yours.

Your heart stumbles again.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been looking at him until someone very pointedly clears their throat from down the corridor.

Twice.

You both flinch.

A nurse is walking past with a tray of bandages and a poorly concealed smirk on her face. She doesn’t even try to pretend she didn’t see anything.

Kakashi exhales, glancing after her. “Should I go before we become the subject of your staff’s next coffee break conversation?”

You lift your tea thermos, which somehow survived the chaos. “I think we already are.”

He makes a noise of faint amusement. “How tragic. I was hoping for at least a three-episode buildup before we got caught.”

You shoot him a look. “You’re not helping.”

He shrugs, clearly unrepentant, and gently passes you back the remaining folder like this has all been very civilized. “You didn’t stab me. That feels encouraging.”

“I could stab you,” you mutter, grabbing the folder.

He falls into step beside you as you turn to walk toward the stairwell.

“Please do,” he says lightly. “It’ll give me an excuse to come back.”

You nearly trip on your own feet.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking straight ahead, hands in his pockets now, posture just a touch too casual to be natural. His mask hides most of his expression, but there’s a quiet ease in him. Something softer than usual. Lighter.

You swallow. “...You don’t have to force yourself to show up just because you feel like you owe me something.”

Kakashi’s voice is quiet, but sure.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I want to be.”

Your grip tightens on the folder.

He doesn’t press nor look at you again. But his presence hums quietly at your side like something steady. Familiar. Something trying.

You keep walking, heart in your throat, brain shorting out.

“...Fine.”

His head turns. You don’t have to look to know he’s smiling behind the mask.

His fingers brush yours—just the barest graze, enough to make your hand twitch in surprise.

He doesn’t hold on.

But he doesn’t pull away either.

And somehow, that says everything.

୨୧

It starts innocently.

At least, that's what you tell yourself.

It’s a few days after the folder-flying hallway incident, and most of the clinic has quieted. Dusk has softened the world into gold and shadow. The lights in the hallway are dimmed to a low hum, casting long silhouettes along the clean floors. Most of the staff have clocked out.

You, however, are still perched at your desk, signing off the last few charts with a half-empty mug of cold tea by your elbow and a stubborn crick in your neck.

And then you feel it.

That familiar presence—unspoken but impossible to miss. A quiet awareness that slides in through the seams of your focus.

You glance up—and there he is.

Kakashi stands leaning casually against your office doorframe, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed in that practiced way only shinobi ever manage.

His hitai-ate is pushed up. His mask is on, of course. And his gaze, when it finds yours, carries that ever-present flicker of amusement and something quieter beneath it—something warm.

“You’re making a habit of this,” you say without missing a beat, quirking a brow at him.

He tilts his head. “Is that a complaint?”

“That depends. Are you here with another fake injury? Or should I start charging you rent?”

He shrugs. “Neither, actually.”

He steps forward. And that’s when you see it—a small, slim box in his hands. Plain packaging. Tied with red twine. Your heart immediately performs a minor somersault.

“I brought you something,” he says simply.

You sit up straighter, wariness mixing with curiosity. “...What is it?”

He holds it out, almost sheepishly. “Open it.”

You undo the twine with careful fingers. The box opens with a faint creak.

Your heart makes a strange little thud.

Reinforced knuckles. Lightweight weave. Tailored exactly to your size. And not just functional—they’re in your favorite color. Muted, but elegant. The kind of gear you’ve wanted but never had the time to get.

You blink, throat suddenly tight. “How did you—?”

“You favor your left hand for close defense,” he says. “But the padding was starting to fray. And last week you rubbed your thumb raw without realizing.”

You stare at the gloves, then back at him. “You noticed all that?”

Kakashi scratches the back of his head, almost like he regrets being caught caring. “You’re my attending. It’s... hard not to notice things.”

Your heart twists. The words are simple. But the way he says them—soft, honest, like it cost him something to admit.

It makes you forget how to breathe.

He shifts on his feet. “I know it’s not much. But you’re always patching people up. I figured someone should return the favor.”

You can’t look away from him.

There’s a silence, but it’s not awkward. It’s full—of gratitude, of something you can’t quite name. He meets your eyes, and the world narrows to the space between you, heavy with the ache of things unsaid.

You step closer.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “No one’s ever... I mean, that was thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a quiet smile in his eye.

“You’re easy to think about, well at least to me."

That lands harder than you expect.

You feel something shift—like gravity tilting slightly between you.

Your voice is a little too soft when you ask, “Is that why you keep showing up?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer right away. He takes another step closer, closing the space until there’s barely room for air between you.

“Do you remember what you said to me?” he asks, voice low. “First week I was here. Third day in.”

You blink. “…I said a lot of things.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. But one stuck.”

You search his gaze.

“You told me I wasn’t going anywhere,” he says. “That you don’t lose patients.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t believe you,” he adds. “Not then. Not with the track record I had. But you said it like it was a fact. Like even if I gave up, you wouldn’t.”

He looks at you then, really looks. Not like you’re a mystery, but like you’re the answer he didn’t think he was allowed to have.

“You made me want to stay,” he says quietly. “Even after I didn’t need to.”

The silence deepens.

You don’t know what to say. Only that something in your chest is unraveling at the seams.

He lifts a hand. Hesitates. Then gently brushes your knuckles with his fingers—like he’s memorizing the feel of you.

“You made me want things again,” he says.

“Kakashi...” you whisper.

“I don’t know what this is,” he continues, voice rough around the edges. “I don’t know how to do it right. But I know what it feels like when I leave the clinic and I wish I hadn’t. Or when I think about you in the middle of a mission, and it makes everything quieter for a second.”

You stare at him, eyes glassy.

“Being around you doesn’t make me forget,” he says. “But it makes remembering hurt less.”

Then, softly,

“I want this. I want you.”

He never meant to stay this long.

The hospital was supposed to be a pit stop. A consequence of a botched infiltration. Just a bed.

Just another awfully long healing process in a boring hospital, again.

Just another scar.

But then there was you.

Sharp-tongued. Steady-handed. Unafraid. You didn't look at him like a broken thing. You didn't see his mask and flinch. You saw someone worth keeping alive—someone worth caring for.

He remembers one of the first things you've said: "You're not going anywhere. I don't lose patients."

He remembers thinking, Good luck with that.

He hadn't believed you. Not then. Not with the weight he carried. But you stayed, even beyond the hospital. Every day, every sarcastic remark, every heartbeat.

And somewhere in the silence between your scoldings and salves, something changed.

He started making excuses.

A sore shoulder. A "follow-up." A muscle twitch that needed checking. When really, all he wanted was five minutes more with you. Ten, if he was lucky. Long enough to hear your laugh, banters, to see your smile.

Long enough to feel like maybe... he wasn't just another name on a chart to you.

You made him feel like he could be whole.

You made him want more.

And now, just inches from your warmth, he realizes—

You're the first person who didn't give up on him before he even began.

And this... this soft, staggering thing he feels in his chest—it's terrifying.

But it's real.

You met him where he was ruined—and stayed long enough to see him whole.

He doesn't want to leave.

You step in without thinking. Press your palm to his chest—right where his heartbeat drums steady against your hand.

“Take it off,” you say, so quiet it’s barely audible.

He freezes. “...What?”

“The mask,” you murmur. “Let me see you.”

Kakashi stills for a heartbeat. Two.

Then, slowly—very slowly—he raises a hand to his face. The fabric folds down with practiced ease.

And there he is.

His face. His scars. The ghost of old wounds etched along his jaw. He doesn't flinch. Not when you see him.

He's... beautiful.

Quiet vulnerability hangs between you, completely unguarded—all laid bare, just for you.

No facade. No barrier. Just him.

Kakashi.

You lift your hand to his cheek, thumb brushing the edge of a healed wound by his jaw. His eyes flutter shut—just briefly—like the touch startles him in a good way.

And then you lean in.

It's soft. Warm.

It's... real.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss—not with hunger, but with so much longing. Like he didn't think he deserved this, but now that it's happening, he's terrified to lose it.

When you finally part, your foreheads rest together, breaths slow and warm between you. The world feels like it’s holding its breath.

"I think,” you begin, barely above a whisper,

“I’m falling in love with you.”

Kakashi stills.

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.

"...You are?" he asks, voice ragged.

You nod.

"I didn't plan to. But you keep showing up, and suddenly you were just... everywhere."

“Kept telling myself it was just clinic visits,” he murmurs, almost like he’s confessing to a crime. “A few check-ups. A few muscle twinges. Some bruises I let hang around longer than they needed to.”

His thumb rubs over the back of your hand once, slow. “And... okay, a few dango runs. Maybe a few too many excuses to pass by your hallway. Maybe I started faking injuries just a little.”

You bite back a smile, but your chest aches.

He looks away for a second, as if the weight of saying it is harder than he'd like to admit.

“I told myself it was safer this way,” he continues, voice dropping to something more fragile. “To just… orbit. Not land. Not want.”

His jaw works. There’s something old in his eyes. Worn.

“You made it impossible for me. Somewhere between the salves and the stubborn lectures and you yelling at me for almost ripping my stitches—I stopped being scared. I just didn't know how to say it."

His hand finds yours and wraps around it gently, firmly, like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

“I didn’t know how to say any of this,” he admits. “I’ve never been good with... saying things.”

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

You just look at him—his brow slightly furrowed, like he's bracing for the moment to crack and vanish beneath his feet. Like he’s waiting for you to pull away. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But it doesn’t.

It won’t. You won't.

Instead, your fingers curl tighter into his. You let the silence answer for you—full, grounding, real.

Then, gently—soft as breath—you say,

“I love you, too.”

The way Kakashi stills is so subtle you might miss it. A sharp inhale, a flicker in his eye like something ancient inside him just shifted.

And then he laughs—barely. A sound like wonder, like disbelief cracked in half. It’s not loud. It’s not showy. It’s just... Kakashi. Quiet. Guarded. But a little undone.

His voice comes slow. Measured. Like every word matters.

“I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear that.”

He says it like it costs him something. Like it matters more than he expected.

Your eyes sting.

His hand stays in yours, but his other reaches up and brushes the line of your jaw with the backs of his fingers. He’s still not sure you’re real. As if he’s trying to memorize you before you vanish.

You cup his cheek, and he leans into it like someone who’s forgotten how to ask for comfort but finally found it anyway.

And in that moment, something shifts.

He lets himself believe.

That he might be allowed to have this. That he might actually deserve it. That maybe, for once, he won’t lose the thing he’s grown to need.

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow, tender. Like he’s drawing a promise into your skin.

And when he leans in again—slowly, deliberately—the kiss he gives you is softer than the first. More certain. Less like a moment stolen, and more like one that belongs to you both.

Full of warmth.

Full of something that feels like future.

And this time, he doesn’t run.

You don't know it yet, but this is the moment he lets himself stay... in a love never thought he'd be allowed to feel or have.

One that began not with a plan, but with broken ribs, a wrong turn, and the quiet, stubborn hands of a doctor who didn't believe in losing.

A meeting that should've been nothing,

But somehow, became everything.

likes and reblogs are very much appreciated! thanks for stopping by ~ ^3^ <3

(p.s. i hope you guys saw the mirroring of events!! (kakashi to 'kashi), “to me”, and also the use of "you don't know it yet, but..")

requests are open! 🌸

[superluver]

Me when I realize I'll never have a romance with my favorite character 😢

[superluver]

seeing my man with his canonical love interest 💔💔💔💔

[superluver]

it is very important to me when Yazoo does the

[superluver]

i dont care about men with long hair

[superluver]

Happy International Women’s Day!

[superluver]

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐒— bakugo katsuki

pairing: pro hero bakugo katsuki x gn reader summary: when aizawa calls and asks for a personal favor, bakugo is ready to expect the worst. genre: strangers to lovers, fluff word count: ~7k warnings: mentions of stalking, nothing happens, you take care of it notes: sorry if he's ooc, take this more as a character study. just a little test to see how i feel when writing for bakugo. description of quirk left super vague, literally just a mention of it being helpful. not proofread sorry ummm rushed too

When Bakugo Katsuki gets a call from Aizawa, he doesn't know what to expect.

There's a brief moment of silence when the call connects, and Bakugo feels himself tense slightly when Aizawa does not speak immediately. He's the first to give in, gruffly greeting his former teacher and being met with nothing but a sigh in return.

"Bakugo," Aizawa starts, his tone dull and tired. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, but i need you to do me a personal favor."

Another moment of silence ensues as Bakugo processes his request. He knows he can say no, but there's something about the fact that Aizawa— the man who has been through everything with him and his former classmates, fought with them and for them, and stood up for him when he was kidnapped by the League of Villains—personally calling and asking him that makes him hesitate before answering.

"Fine," he finally says, already thinking about how he's gonna tell Shitty Hair— Kirishima! he hears Mina correcting him in his head— that he might be out of commission for a few days. "What do you need me to do."

"Just show up when I tell you to," Aizawa says in response. "Maintain a high level of secrecy. Don't tell anyone where you're going. I'll send you the address. See you soon."

Aizawa hangs up before Bakugo can respond, and he mutters a series of curse words under his breath before tossing his phone into his duffel bag and leaving for his agency.

Three days later, Aizawa sends him an encrypted text.

Aizawa's text leads Bakugo to a fancy looking apartment complex close to Izuku's agency. When he knocks on the door of the apartment number provided, he's met with none other than Izuku himself.

"What are you doing here, you fucking nerd?" Bakugo asks, his words harsh and biting as he pushes past him and into the apartment.

"I invited him," Aizawa replies tiredly, trying to stop the fighting before it can begin. "This apartment and the other safe house are in the area that falls under his patrol route, so I thought it'd be a good idea to keep him in the loop."

"You're already pulling one of Japan's finest heroes off the streets for this stupid case, is it really necessary to get another involved?"

Bakugo turns when he hears someone new speak, his eyes narrowing when they land on you and an angry looking woman tapping away on her phone.

He knows who you are, used to seeing your pretty face plastered on advertisements and magazines throughout the country. You're a well known singer who dabbles in acting, someone he's tired of hearing about from the group of idiots he calls his friends. An irritated huff escapes his lips and he finds himself thinking about all the times he protected celebrities when he was still a new hero on the scene, and how they turned out to be nothing more than spoiled brats.

"You and Anya both know this case isn't stupid," Aizawa says patiently, shooting you an unreadable look. Bakugo waits to see how you react, studying you as you exchange a look with the other woman— Anya— and pull the blanket on your lap closer to you. Aizawa ignores the two of you, instead choosing to take the time to remind you, and reveal to the other heroes, what exactly he has called them there for. "There is a stalker out there following your each and every move. Do you understand that? And they've already proven that they will stop at nothing to get to you."

"I know," you say softly, your eyes never leaving Aizawa's. "But I can take care of myself. C'mon, you trained me yourself."

There's a moment of silence, and Bakugo thinks that Aizawa might give in. He's wrong.

"No. Hizashi and I have already decided that Bakugo will be keeping an eye on you for the forseeable future and he has agreed to do it. And Midoriya has agreed to keep an eye out during his patrols as well."

Bakugo waits for it. He braces himself and waits for the pettiness and childishness that he's seen displayed by other big names when they don't get what they want. He waits for the yelling, the waterworks, maybe even the sight of you throwing something at Aizawa. But it never comes.

Instead, you nod and stand before turning to face him, letting him catch a glimpse of the frown on your lips and defeat in your eyes before you bow deeply.

"I apologize for the inconvenience."

"O-oh! No, please don't bow," Izuku immediately says, waving his hands in an attempt to grab your attention. "That's not nec—"

"Don't gimme that shit," Bakugo interrupts, crossing his arms. His comment earns him a strangled noise from Izuku, but his gaze doesn't leave you. "Stand the fuck up and tell me whatever else I need to know."

He thinks he sees you biting back an amused smile at his words, but you quickly school your features before you let yourself fall back onto the couch. Aizawa lets himself settle into the seat next to you, a smile ghosting his lips when you reach for a mug of coffee on the table and hand it to him.

"It started a year ago," Aizawa begins. Anya walks around the couch, picking up a thick folder from the table and handing it to Bakugo. He starts looking through it, eyes scanning every individual item before passing it to Izuku. There's letters of varying lengths and pictures of you from all angles, accompanied by the occasional police evidence photo of what he assumes to be gifts you've received.

"I would receive sporadic letters, at first," you add, your voice tired and quiet. "We thought it was regular fanmail, y'know? But then things started getting weird. They would mention specific things that I'd do on my days off, or ask what I was making with the groceries I had delivered to my door on a certain day. They never signed them but the police confirmed that the handwriting matched, so we know it's one person."

"We assume it's one person," Anya corrects, earning a tired sigh from Aizawa. "We don't really know anything about them."

Her words cause you to furrow your brow, and you sigh softly before looking back up at the Pros. Bakugo's eyebrow raises when he comes across a hospital record for a Yamamoto Anya, and he angles it slightly to show Izuku.

"You were in the hospital?" Izuku asks softly, green eyes scanning the report before turning to face the two of you. Anya nods firmly but remains silent, crossing her arms before perching on the arm rest of the couch next to you.

"Anya's my manager, and my best friend," you explain, clasping your hands together. "As I said earlier, at first the incidents were sporadic. Then we went to the police to ask them to investigate. We don't know how, but the stalker found out and things started getting weirder. There were anonymous gifts being received to the apartment I have under a different name and I was receiving texts from an untraceable number. We still don't know who the target was, but the night of the Tokyo Music Awards, there was an attack."

"Wasn't that last week?" Izuku asks, looking through the file to find the corresponding police report. "It was all over the news. They said that some small time villain had attacked but that there had been enough Pros working security for the event and that it had been taken care of without issue."

"That's what we told them to say," Aizawa reveals. "In reality, it was targeted. We don't know if they intended to kidnap or to injure but things got out of hand and Anya was caught in the crossfire."

"The goal was probably to injure so I'd be easier to kidnap," you say, snorting in amusement when Aizawa sighs at your words.

"Who apprehended the villain?" Bakugo asks, unable to find the name on the police report.

"No one did, but I went after them," you admit. "I almost had them but they slipped into the crowd and got away. I returned to check on Anya and then Aizawa arrived and whisked me away. I've been here since."

"You were stupid enough to go after your stalker?" Bakugo growls, eyes shooting up to glare at you. You open your mouth to respond, only to get cut off by him "You trying to get fucking killed or something?"

A huff escapes his lips when he feels Izuku elbow him harshly, and the two of them turn to face you when you breathe out a laugh.

"Or something," you mutter, earning a swat to the back of the head from Anya. You grab her hand and toss it into her lap, only to turn and be met with a disappointed look from Aizawa. You wilt under his gaze, sighing in defeat and motioning for him to continue.

"The plan is to send you two to a safehouse, still within the city, while Midoriya and I investigate," Aizawa explains, pulling out a scrap of paper and handing it to Bakugo. "That's the address. Unfortunately, you can't just disappear off the face of the earth until we catch the stalker. There's still public appearances and interviews that need to be done, but you need to be hidden during these outings, Bakugo. We fear that if the stalker catches wind of the fact that we involved Pros, that might drive them to do something even more drastic."

Bakugo grunts in acknowledgement, unfurling the scrap of paper and studying the address written on it before glancing at Aizawa. "Can I show this to the nerd?"

He nods in response, and Izuku takes a moment to also memorize the address before nodding. The paper is gone within a second, a tiny, controlled explosion reducing it to ashes. Your eyebrows raise with interest at the display, and Bakugo meets your gaze with a scowl. It deepens when you don't immediately cower from his stare.

"The two of you should get going," Aizawa notes, glancing at his watch before standing and tossing a set of keys to Bakugo. You stand as well, taking a moment to stretch before plucking your cell phone from the couch cushion. You turn to Anya, giving her a smug look that makes her groan.

"You should just go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the week. It would be unwise for me to go out in public before coming up with a surefire way to stay safe when out and about," your words are said a little too happily, and you nearly glow with joy when Aizawa contemplates your words before ultimately nodding in agreement. Anya gives you a scathing look, her hand tightening around her phone as you grin. "Let me know who agrees to reschedule! I hope no one's too upset."

The snicker that leaves your lips draws an unwilling smile from almost everyone in the room, and you swoop in to steal a hug from Aizawa before coming to a stop in front of the Pros. There's a bright smile on your lips that makes Izuku blush, and Bakugo scoffs audibly when you give him another bow.

"It's an honor to meet you, Deku. Thank you for doing this."

"Please! Call me Midoriya," he sputters out, cheeks still tinged pink as you turn and face Bakugo. There's a twinkle in your eye when you meet his gaze, and he feels a spark of irritation when he realizes that you don't seem to be intimidated by him.

"Well Mr. Dynamight, shall we get going?"

Bakugo's annoyance only grows when you manage to keep up with his quick strides.

No words are exchanged as you traverse the street, and Bakugo makes sure to keep an eye out as he opens the door and ushers you into the passenger seat, his hand pushing your head down roughly to keep you from smacking it on the roof of the vehicle. You slide into the car smoothly, buckling your seat belt and glancing around as you wait for Bakugo to get in. Silence engulfs the two of you once he does, and Bakugo finds himself reaching for his phone to play some music and fill the stillness. He feels a blush crawling up his neck when one of your songs plays, the new one that Kaminari insisted on listening to the other night when he drove him home after drinks.

A smirk tugs at your lips but you don't say anything about it, thankfully, and he finds a song he likes and plays it before taking off down the road. You're quietly humming along to the song he's chosen as you look out the window, and it isn't until you're halfway to your newly assigned safe house that you speak.

"I'm not, you know?"

That's the only thing you say and Bakugo makes a confused noise before he can stop himself, his hands tightening around the steering wheel in annoyance when you let out an amused laugh.

"I'm not trying to get killed," you clarify, earning a derisive snort from Bakugo in return. "I have a hero license, I was just doing what I've always been taught to do. Apprehend the villain."

Your admission catches Bakugo off guard, and he can't help but throw you a surprised look when he finally comes to a red light.

"You're a hero?" he asks, his curiosity winning him over.

"Mhm," you reply absentmindedly, still looking out the window. "Technically. I attended U.A., believe it or not, but I wasn't in the hero course. Aizawa and some other teachers trained me and he managed to pull some strings in order to have me take the licensing exam in my third year. He said it was better to have it just in case. Between us, I think he got even more overprotective after Nemuri, Midnight, passed."

Bakugo remembers attending the funeral after All for One had been defeated. It had been a deceptively happy day, sun bright and shining as the students, staff, and other heroes gathered to pay their respects to the fallen. He remembers a student standing next to Aizawa, their hand in his as he held onto what was left in the battle: her mask.

"She was my legal guardian, but she made sure to leave me under the care of someone she trusted just in case something ever happened."

And it did, goes unsaid.

Bakugo's left with more questions than before, but he refuses to give into his curiosity and actually ask. It isn't long until the two of you arrive at yet another upscale building, and hum quietly to grab his attention once more.

"Can I have your hoodie?"

"What the fuck? No!" is his immediate reply. There's an unpleasant look on his face, lips twisted up in what seems to be a cross between disgust and offense. "Why the fuck would you even ask?"

You give him an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow before holding your hand out. "Listen, call me paranoid if you want, but I think it'd be a good idea for me to hide my face as we enter the top secret safehouse."

Bakugo grumbles and curses as he slips off his sweater, pissed off at the fact that you were right. His anger only intensifies when he realizes that he didn't think about that first. You waste no time in slipping the sweater over your head, pulling the hood as far forward as it can go and slipping on a pair of sunglasses. It's only then that you slip out of the car, waiting for Bakugo to get out before heading towards the entrance.

The two of you head into the elevator, and when you reach out to press the correct button, you manage to catch a whiff of a sweet, smoky smell. You turn your head to the side as the doors close, lifting the collar to your nose to see if it came from the sweater or somewhere else.

"Are you sniffin' my fucking sweater?" Bakugo asks roughly, pulling your arm back down to your side. You let out an offended noise before wrenching out of his grasp, leaning against the wall and shooting him a withering look.

"I smelled something sweet and I was curious!" you defend yourself, tilting your head back slightly to look down at him. Bakugo feels his blood boil. "I can't believe someone like you smells so good."

"What's that supposed to mean!" he nearly yells, taking a step towards you. You don't deign to give him a response, instead slinking out from beside him when the elevator finally comes to a stop. There's no hesitation in your steps as you walk past various doors, finally coming to a stop at the end of the hallway and wiggling a key into the lock.

Bakugo trails in after you, locking the door and growling when he's met with a sweater to the face. There's an innocent smile on your face as you slip off your sunglasses, placing them down onto the coffee table before traipsing down the hallway. Bakugo starts his usual sweep around the space, making sure to send a text to Aizawa to let him know the two of you have arrived safely.

"Your bedroom is at the end of the hall," your voice calls out, earning a grunt in response. "Mine is to your left and the bathoom is across from my room. They already came and dropped our stuff off!"

Bakugo's eyes narrow when you walk back into the living room, a mass of fluff held in your arms. "What the hell is that?"

"This is Pickles!" you proclaim proudly, holding your arms out. There's a fluffy cat in your hands, and she lazily eyes Bakugo as she hangs in the air. Your smile falls when Pickles twists, jumping out from your hold and beelining towards Bakugo. "Pickles, no! I'm sorry, she's wary around strangers so I'd recommend backing away if you don't want your pants scratched."

Your words fade out towards the end of your statement, your jaw falling slack as you observe the way Pickles approaches Bakugo and proceeds to rub against him. She snakes in between his legs, meowing softly and pawing at his shoe as she waits for him to pay attention to her.

"You little attention whore," you whisper, your face twisting up in disbelief when Bakugo kneels down to pet her. He shoots you a smug smirk when she starts purring, and you feel your eye twitch when she lays down, exposing her belly. "She took forever to warm up to me. How did you do that?"

"I'm just the best," Bakugo replies cockily. "Even she knows that."

"Whatever, I'm going to take a nap. I can cook dinner later if you'd like," you say softly, reaching up to rub at your eyes.

"I can cook my own damn food," Bakugo snaps, his attention shifting to you. You breathe out a laugh.

"In that case, I think I'll turn in for the night. I'll leave my door slightly open for Pickles."

"Don't be a dumbass, you have to eat."

"I'll just get up early and cook breakfast," you shout, already disappearing from sight as you make your way to your room. "Good night Mr. Dynamight!"

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles under his breath as you duck into your room. A laugh is all he gets in response, and your room goes dark as you finally settle into bed. His attention is caught by small meow, and he sighs before picking Pickles up and petting her. She curls up against his chest, swatting at his hand and making a pleased noise when she manages to grasp it between two of her paws. He looks down at the cat, raising a brow when she decides to start gnawing on his finger.

"Just you and me hairball."

The two of you fall into an admittedly easy routine throughout the rest of the week.

Bakugo's surprised by how easy this assignment has been. He's used to stubborn celebrities demanding to be let out, complaining and whining and overall just annoying him until he snaps and curses them out. However, you're a quiet housemate, waking up early to cook breakfast for the two of you before retreating to your room for the rest of the day or lounging on the couch with Pickles. Bakugo takes it upon himself to cook dinner for the two of you, and whoever is in charge of lunch is always decided with a coin toss. He loses more often than you do.

Pickles becomes a frequent presence as well, and sometimes he wakes up to see the cat curled up peacefully on the pillow next to him. How she gets into his room, he doesn't know. When he emerges from his room in the morning with her gathered in his arms, you apologize profusely, your stare lingering on the way his lips curl up into a tiny smile when you take her from him.

You inform Bakugo early on in the week that Anya has listened to you, canceling all of your prior engagements and sending you an updated schedule for the next week. He squints when you hold your hand out, cell phone in hand as you prompt him to take it.

"Mr. Dynamight, give me your number."

"It's Bakugo," he grumbles, pushing your hand away from him. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"So I can send you the schedule," you huff, extending your arm once again. He obliges reluctantly, purposefully taking his time in an attempt to annoy you. You don't react to his provocation, instead smiling sweetly at him when he hands your phone back and sending him the file.

When you begin to send him memes, he refuses to acknowledge you for the day.

The two of you spend days successfully planning how to keep you safe during your public appearances, your combined experience making the task easier than you thought it'd be. Your first week back out in public goes well, and even though you know better than to let your guard down, the knowledge that Pro Hero Dynamight is watching you from a distance helps to soothe your nerves. Your routine remains the same for the following week, during which there is an incident, but it turns out to be an overexcited fan. You then beg and beg Anya to book less appearances until she gets fed up with your fake crying.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you hate your job," Bakugo mutters one evening while making dinner. "You keep brushing off all your stupid engagements and you won't have a fucking career to go back to."

"Good thing you know better," you say playfully, your eyes glinting with mischief as you approach him. Your arm brushes against his back as you peek around him, your hand darting out to grab a slice of the strawberries he's cutting up to eat with lunch. He's too slow to stop you, not that he really tries to.

He finds that his original irritation towards the assignment has faded, and even though he misses being out on patrol and taking down bad guys, he thinks that this mission isn't the worst. Or maybe it's because of you. It takes Bakugo weeks to admit to himself that you're not as bad as he thought you'd be. In fact, you're not anything like what he expected you to be, all sly smiles and snarky words and casual touches that he's too embarrassed to reciprocate. But he doesn't like you, no, he doesn't.

You like to think he's getting used to your presence, but his occasional aloofness makes you think otherwise. There's a part of you, the side that's trying to ignore the reason that resulted in being assigned to a safe house in the first place, that enjoys your time spent with Bakugo. You like the way he's so easy to rile up, the way he carefully plates food for both of you, and the way he smiles when Pickles demands his attention. You think that maybe, just maybe, you might like him, even if everything else about his attitude makes you think he doesn't even tolerate you.

But you're too preoccupied with your ongoing case to really sit with your thoughts and try to sort out your feelings.

Updates from Aizawa and Midoriya are few and far between, and although you and Bakugo have fallen into a comfortable routine, you can tell that he's getting fed up with the situation. His restlessness is obvious, especially with the news talking nonstop about his sudden disappearance and speculating on the reasons why Dynamight might've stopped doing his duty as a hero.

"How long do you think this will continue?" you ask one night, sneaking a peek at him and waiting for his snarky reply.

"I dunno," he responds, sounding defeated. He sighs heavily and turns the television off.

He watches as you purse your lips and reach for his hand, pausing when he instinctively pulls away. There's a brief pause before you take a deep breath and let your hand fall on the sofa. He glances at you, eyes scanning your face as you keep staring at the blank screen, and lets his head fall back and eyes fall shut as he mentally berates himself for his actions. You head off to bed soon after, and Bakugo remains there for the rest of the night.

The next morning is quieter than usual, and the two of you are eating breakfast when there's a knock on the door. You waste no time in prancing to the entrance, reaching for the doorknob before a large hand grabs your wrist.

"Don't open the fucking door," he hisses, pulling your hand down. You raise an eyebrow, tilting your head in an innocent manner.

"Why not? It's only Midoriya."

"What?"

You reach over and open the door with your other hand, only to be met with a sunny smile from none other than Pro Hero Deku.

"Kacchan!" he exclaims, brightening up even more at the sight of his childhood friend. "I'm here to swap."

"What?" Bakugo bites out again. Midoriya's smile falters.

"Uh, swap. Places, I mean," he explains, smiling when he looks back at you. "I thought you said he asked?"

"Asked what?" Bakugo growls, his hand tighetning slightly around your arm.

"Yeah! He did," you respond just as cheerily. Bakugo goes ignored.

"Hey! Listen to me when I fucking talk to ya!"

"Come on in, we were just eating breakfast. Would you like any?" you ask. Midoriya shakes his head and you promptly wiggle your arm out of Bakugo's grasp and usher them into the living room.

"What is the shitty nerd doing here?" Bakugo yells, fed up with the situation.

"He's here to take your spot! Remember, Mr. Dynamight ?"

"I already told you, it's Bakugo," he snarls, eyes narrowing as they fall onto you. Your smile is unfaltering and equally as sunny as Izuku's was when he first arrived. He spares a glace at the other Pro Hero in the room, taking note of the way he nervously wrings his hands as he studies the two of you. He doesn't excuse himself before taking ahold of your arm once again, dragging you down the hallway and into his room before slamming the door.

You take a moment to glance around his room, your eyes narrowing when you spot Pickles curled up on his bed, before finally meeting his eyes. There's a fire in his eyes that you've only seen before when he's mid-battle, reserved for situations where his anger is at an all time high. You meet his gaze evenly, and he seems to calm down slightly when make a questioning noise.

"What the fuck was all that about?" he asks harshly, his voice low in order to not be overheard. The walls are thin, he knows this.

"I thought you'd like to return to your hero duties," you say coolly. "Y'know, patrolling and beating up baddies."

"Listen, when I agree to a job I don't plan on doing it half-assed," he retorts. He wonders if your sudden encouragement for him to leave has to do with his actions night before… and the rest of the week. He knows it does. "You're stuck with me, sweetheart, whether you like it or not. So get out there and tell Deku that you changed your mind and that I'll be seeing this task until the very end."

You don't move for a few seconds, and Bakugo's eyebrows furrow in confusion until he realizes the way you bashfully averted your gaze at the nickname. The corner of his lip tugs up into a smirk, but he doesn't get the chance to comment on it before you start speaking.

"Your reputation and ranking are tanking because of this and it's not very fair to you. Besides, nothing has happened in weeks. No letters, no gifts, no suspicious activity. I'm sure it'd be fine to switch spots with Midoriya for a couple of days. And I thought you were getting a little tired of staying in here all day. Maybe getting out and seeing your friends would do you some good."

Bakugo takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. "I already told you, I'm not leaving you until this assignment is done. Go out there, and tell Deku you changed your fucking mind."

"Yeah, about that," you say, your tone of voice causing Bakugo's eyes to fly open. There's impish smile on your face, and Bakugo feels a sense of foreboding as you speak your next words. "I might've told him that you requested the swap. So really, it's you that has to go out there and tell him you changed your mind."

You laugh and head back to the living room before Bakugo can yell at you, smiling softly at Midoriya before heading to the kitchen to clean up the abandoned plates.

Bakugo groans and begrudgingly heads to the living room, dragging Izuku by his collar and leading him to the front door.

He shuts the door in his face and provides no explanation.

Things are different after that.

Bakugo makes a bigger effort to interact with you, spending move evenings by your side instead of keeping his distance. Slowly but surely you begin to notice, and you can't help but wonder if this has anything to do with your discussion in his room the previous week.

You try not to show that you're flustered when the two of you begin to cook together instead of taking turns, and you have to admit that sharing the kitchen with Bakugo is intimate in a way you never knew cooking with somebody else could be. His movements are always fluid, never hesitant, and you find that you fall into a groove when you work alongside him.

The space is full of teasing and grumbling as well, and you find that fleeting touches between the two of you start to become more common. There's the occassional hip check when he tries to steal a piece of whatever you're chopping, and the occasional hand skimming your lower back when he tries to get past you in order to reach something. You tend to go rigid under his touch, and Bakugo finds that he starts doing it a little more often in order to hear the way your breath hitches when his fingertips skim over your shirt. He's thinks he likes you.

You’ve had the time to sit with your feelings, all the swirling uncertainty and aching that you feel weighing down on your heart when you see Bakugo present you with a new dish or scoop Pickles up when she won't stop pawing at his leg. Bakugo Katsuki is so perfectly imperfect, and you think that there's no one in the world who is privileged enough to get to see every single side of him that he has unintentionally and intentionally bared for you to see in your short time living together. You find that it is much easier to come to the conclusion that yes, you do like him. You think you might even love him.

You don't get the chance to wonder if he likes you as well before it all goes to hell.

It's a few days later, on a sunny Wednesday, that you finally come face to face with your stalker.

"Alright, you have one more meeting after this and then we can get you back home," Anya says, hurrying you you of the building you were in and towards the car. You mumble something under your breath, holding your sweater tightly to your body to protect yourself against the afternoon chill. Anya stops by your side when you stumble to a halt, and you quickly grab onto her when you hear something approaching quickly. "What's going on?"

You waste no time in pulling her back, something— someone, you vaguely think— crashing into the spot where you had just been standing.

"What the fuck?" Anya whispers, taking in the sight before you. There's a man standing in front of you, close to your age and surrounding by dark tendrils. His sharp, green eyes slide from Anya to you, and he breaks out into a smile before taking a step forward. Anya places herself in front of you, blocking you from his view and earning a harsh glare from the man. "Get the hell away from us."

You quickly scan your surroundings for any sign of Bakugo, and even though you know he's close by, you can't help but feel a little anxious when he doesn't immediately show up. A movement in your peripheral catches your attention, and you tighten your hold on Anya and dive out of the way before one of the dark tendrils shoots out and incapacitates her. The two of you crash into the side of the car, and you waste no time in opening the door and shoving her inside.

"Stay there!" you tell her, motioning for her to stop trying to open the door.

"No!" she argues, her shouts muffled by the window. "What about you?"

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Just trust me," you say reassuringly. Anya hesitates before nodding, her hands falling to her side.

"Stay safe. You better not get fucking hurt!"

You nod once, taking a glance to see your stalker getting closer before you take off in a sprint in the direction you know Bakugo is. You whip your phone out, sending quick 'SOS' to Aizawa before turning a corner. You don't bother sending your location, knowing he's probably been tracking you for years.

The sound of footsteps following you only spurs you on, and you try to think of a game plan to deal with the situation in a safe manner before you feel something wrap around your wrist. You come to a sudden stop when the tendril pulls you back, and you let out a cry when you stumble and fall to the ground, your knees knocking harshly against the concrete.

"I've been looking for you for so long," the man breathes, kneeling down to take your hand in his. You resist the urge to tear it away from him, conscious of the way the tendril seems to loosen when you relax. "I finally found you, we can finally be together."

You take a moment to study him, trying to gather your thoughts before responding. Your voice is light as you speak, and you lean forwards slightly in an attempt to make it seem like you're giving in. "We can. But you're hurting me, you know? You're quite strong, I can't believe I didn't realize it soon."

He takes the bait, retracting the tendril and almost glowing at the words that leave your lips. His lips part to respond and you waste no time in head butting him hard enough to send him sprawling. You hop to your feet, stumbling briefly when your bruised knees almost give out, but you manage to keep your balance and dodge the tendril your stalker attacks with.

"You bitch!" he screams, earning an eye roll from you as he tries to grab ahold of you once more. "I don't know why you're doing this when it's clear we're meant to be together!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," you say under your breath, lunging forwards to land a hit. He defends poorly, and you think that his strange obsession with you has come in handy when he refuses to strike back in fear of hurting you.

When Bakugo lands on the sidewalk in front of you mere seconds later, he's met with the sight of your stalker face down on the ground, unconscious and with hands creatively tied behind his back with your sweater as you stare at him smugly. A tired laugh leaves Bakugo's lips and he wastes no time in removing the sweater, slapping on a pair of quirk canceling handcuff onto your stalker and moving to lean him up against the building behind you.

"Took you long enough," you chirp, earning a glare from Bakugo.

"I can't believe you were stupid enough to go after your stalker," he states, his words reminiscent of the ones he said when he first met you. "Actually, scratch that. Yeah, I fucking can."

"Well it's not like you were doing anything," you retort, crossing your arms. "Where were you?"

"I had it under control," he barks, motioning to the area around you. You take note of Midoriya standing on a rooftop, a couple of detectives scattered down the street as they wait for Bakugo's all clear.

"Oh!"

"What happened here?"

You turn when you see Aizawa approaching, eyes tired but alert as they scan you for injuries. You beam at him, pointing towards the unsconscious criminal before gesturing to yourself to show that you're fine, other than your bruised knees. "See! I told you I could handle myself."

"Yes, I suppose you did," is all he says before turning to Bakugo. He's caught off guard when Aizawa bows deeply. "I'm eternally thankful, Bakugo. You did a great job, even if it turned out we didn't need your help after all."

The last statement is said mockingly, and you pout when Aizawa shoots you a pointed look. You ignore it in favor of turning to Bakugo, bowing as well.

"I already told you, don't gimme that shit," he spits out, crossing his arms when you straighten up and give him a shit-eating grin.

"I just wanted to give you my thanks," you say, a teasing lilt to your voice as you take a step forward. Aizawa grunts before walking away, shaking his head as he goes. "Although I suppose that there are other—"

"You're safe!"

Anya's screams interrupt you, and you give Bakugo an apologetic look as she pulls you away, fussing over you and bending down to clean off your knees. You smile fondly as she shoves a water bottle into your hand, stealing one last glance at Bakugo before he's whisked away by the detectives to make a statement.

A week passes and Bakugo hasn't stopped thinking about you.

He wonders how often he'd get to see you now that he's not watching over you, grimacing when he realizes that he'd probably only see you at hero galas and community fundraisers that might overlap with both of your schedules. The two of you have exchanged a few messages since the mission ended, lot of memes being sent from your end that make Bakugo laugh, not that he'd ever admit it.

He's wondering if he should build up the courage to be more direct with you, to possibly follow up on how you could thank him and then ask you out on a date when he hears a knock on his door.

"Hey!" you greet him when he opens the door, bright smile on your face as you shove a bag into his hands. "I hope you don't mind but I got your address form Aizawa. I was thinking I could cook you dinner, you know, as a thank you."

His jaw is hanging as he takes you in, and you snicker when he doesn't respond.

"Hey, what's wrong? Pickles got your tongue?" you laugh at your own joke, and Bekugo snaps his jaw shut at the words, ushering you in and shutting the door behind you.

"That was a shitty joke."

"Eh, can't expect everyone to get my sense of humor."

He shakes his head fondly as he follows you into his kitchen, and you take the bag you previously pushed into his arms and place it on the counter. You look at him expectantly raising an eyebrow teasingly as he takes a step closer.

"So this dinner,” he starts, tone casual as he drinks you in. “Is it a date?"

"Do you want it to be?" you respond. Your voice is quiet and light, and he finds himself crowding you against the counter, arms on either side of you as he cages you in. You're vaguely reminded of the time the two of you argued in his room at the safe house, the only difference being the look in his eyes. Where there was anger that day, this time you see nothing but an unfamiliar tenderness, eyes warm as he mulls his answer over.

"Yeah," he says roughly, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you look at him in mild surprise. "I do want it to be."

“I didn’t think you’d admit it,” you retort. The smile he receives in return is almost blinding, but he feels that familiar sense of foreboding when you suddenly give him a coy look and wrap your arms around his neck.

"So... does this mean I'm... Mrs. Dynamight?" you ask innocently.

"Shut the fuck up," he groans before finally leaning down to silence your giggles with a kiss.

ty for reading <3

[superluver]

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Posted: 22:53 UTC February 6, 2025

[superluver]

coming home

synopsis : you sleep over at katsuki’s place after a night out with your friends. it’s more convenient that way.

an. wrote something rq after seeing the epilogue chapter and pheeewieeeee,,my boyfriend..sigh my boyfriend oh my boyfriend ouggh

cw. nothin really, just a lil casual domesticity w katsu :3, katsuki is fine ASL, reader n katsuki shower together so nakedness they nakey, lmk if there's anything else !!

you’ve noticed katsuki looks very good when he’s the designated driver.

he looks so natural behind the wheel, arms slightly flexed and gripping the steering wheel. his face serene but slightly tensed in concentration, occasionally scoffing to himself whenever someone in front of him drives too slow or cuts him off.

the lamp posts outside reflect nicely on his jaw, his nose and sharp eyes. his whole face really, you can’t stop sneaking glances at him.

he takes the opportunity to place his hand on your thigh once you get to a stop light, giving it a light squeeze. it feels heavy, relaxed, like your thigh just conveniently happens to be there for him to use as an armrest.

another squeeze and katsuki speaks, eyes never leaving the road, the stop light shines the same color as them.

“what’re ya peekin’ at me for, huh ?”

you’ve clearly not been sneaky enough, but you hum anyway. “whaddya mean ?” you ask innocently, your boyfriend scoffs.

a pinch to your thigh and he laughs when you whine. “know you’re not dumb, so quiet actin’ like you are. you got somethin’ on your mind, say it.”

you pout at him, he catches it when he glances at you briefly and smirks, katsuki pats your thigh.

“i was jus’ lookin at you, you look nice.”

he hums at that, smirk growing wider, he nods lightly “nice, huh ?”

“mhm,” you nod “really nice..” you clarify, making a point to look him up and down. he snorts, but his grip on your thigh does a bad job at making him look unbothered.

“know you’re obsessed with me, but you could at least try to act like you’re not.” he teases, hands going back to the steering wheel when the lights on his face shine green. the slight furrow in his brows immediately returns when the car in front of him doesn’t immediately pick up the pace. his fingers drum against the wheel impatiently.

“you got somewhere you need to be or something ?” you giggle.

“yeah, home. in bed.” he quips, always as easily irritable when he was sleepy and not to mention just a bit tipsy. kaminari had managed to get him to drink a little bit more than he usually would but the electric blond got too drunk to notice you’re boyfriend babysitting his drink the entire night. he always insisted on being the driver when it came to his precious baby.

you know he’s never liked to drink much, but you also think katsuki doesn’t so as to not demolish his so called 'reputation'. you and a handful of friends know how needy and emotional he gets when he gets drunk. he acts like everyone is after him when he’s reminded of the fact.

when things had started to die down and everyone slowly but surely started heading home, katsuki leant in near you to ask if you were ready to head out. he was the one that insisted on picking you up from your place since you were on the way to the restaurant, it was more convenient that way he'd said.

but suddenly, he’d suggested you just sleep over at his house for the night. his was closer if he took a shortcut, and it was already getting late. besides, you had left plenty of your stuff at his house. it was just “less of a pain” that way, he’d claimed, and you

agreed.

katsuki places his arms behinds your chair to carefully back up into a parking spot. a lucky find, since it was so late at night. but that was hardly something you could focus on when he leant in so close, jaw tight in concentration. he smells just a bit like alcohol mixed with his usual scent.

you’d been together for years now, and yet this still makes your heart hammer, you’d blame it on the slight buzz of alcohol in your system if it wasn’t for the fact that this has always been how you’d reacted before—from the day he’d gotten his license and took you for a test drive to show off.

as the car slows to stop and the engine dies down with a low growl, katsuki turns on the lights and sighs, plopping down onto his seat with a groan, you have to laugh at how he acts like he’d just driven through a desert. he runs a hand through his hair and you notice katsuki looks extremely good when he’s the designated driver.

conveniently, you still have some sleepwear laying around at his house, neatly folded would be a better way to say it, katsuki was always a clean freak, not that it mattered much though since you knew you could just grab one of his shirts and call it a day and he wouldn’t mind at all. you think it shouldn't feel so natural to fish out a pair of your clothes from the drawer, like you'd been living here your entire life.

conveniently, katsuki has a spare toothbrush. he denies that he’d gotten it for you and tries to convince you that his specific toothbrush was sold in a pack of two and he was planning on keeping it for himself.

right, of course.

katsuki’s apartment has always had a cozy feel to you. probably because it was his and not just any old apartment. he just had this warmth to him that made it a home, one you could see yourself sharing with him. it’d be simple, natural. like breathing just to be with him.

you don’t particularly enjoy smelling like alcohol and outside, so you’re happy to sneak off to get to the bathroom first while your boyfriend gets himself a glass of water. until he catches you, of course. he almost chokes with how fast he zooms towards you, quickly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“the fuck you think yer doin’ ?”

“katsuki, m’stinky and gross.”

��m’not gonna let you hog the bathroom in my house, get your own.” he stalks closer to you. he’s grown a lot since high school—in height, muscle, confidence and the list could go on, you stand your ground.

“you’re the one who brought me here, mister.” you shove an accusatory finger into his firm chest. he doesn’t budge, but he scowls down at your finger like you’d shot him and digs his finger into your side before you can stop him. you’re ready to cuss him out and fight if you have to, but to your surprise he sighs. looking off to the side.

“fine, we’ll just both go then.” he huffs, ears slightly tinted pink in the light of his living room.

oh.

“w—oh.” you breathe, immediately his eyes zip to you. his eyebrows furrow harder and his lip pulls up to hide the embarrassment growing on his face. “what ? s’that a problem or something ?”

“no, no !” you try to tone down the surprise in your voice, leaning against the wall to try and act casual. “i mean, no it’s not but—like, are you sure ?” and you feel like you’re sixteen again asking him if it was okay to kiss him.

“it’s more convenient that way. uses up less hot water so, it works out for me.”

“ah, right. bills.” you try to jest, managing to only huff awkwardly. your eyes flit to him and the floor and he scoffs after a minute. slowly, gently, he grabs your wrist. slowly, gently going towards your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“stop being dumb and weird.” he scolds, before pulling you inside the bathroom with him.

you realise, really realise, with your back against his chest, how warm your boyfriend is.

he's always run hot and it came in especially handy during the harsher winter months. but now it's not cold, it can't possible when it feels like he's damn near running a fever behind you.

hot water be damned, he'd be able to heat up an ice cold bath all by himself you think. perhaps he'd always been this scorching, but it's the extra proximity that's making you realise it.

despite scolding you earlier for making it weird, katsuki is incredibly stiff. he'd been stiff when he swiftly turned around the moment he decide the water was an alright temperature, mumbling something about telling him when you got in. he'd kept his eyes aimed diligently at the ceiling of his bathroom and almost slipped when he tried to reach for the corner of his bathtub. you tried to spare him the embarrassment of giggling at his mumbled, butt naked cursing.

he'd scooched in behind you and it took him about a minute to let himself relax enough to let your skin touch. despite it being more convenient for him like he'd claimed, his hands stayed glued to the edge of the bathtub. the grip he has seems a little much, you can see his knuckles almost turning white, but his arms strain and bulge that way and you won't say that's not nice to look at.

you decide to make the move. you sigh, feigning relaxation despite your heart pounding, only intensifying when katsuki holds his breath for a second behind you. you make yourself more comfortable, leaning against him more and woah, he's scalding. you almost want to pull back, but you feel yourself leaning a bit further as you realise he's moved back too. his back now touching the edge of the tub. he hisses when the undoubtebly cold edge hits his skin.

slowly, slowly, the grip on the tub relaxes, and he lets himself dip around. fingertips slowly floating around in the water until they came to run up your arms. your shoulders, and he sighs then, really sighs like he's comfortable. and then all is good in the world again.

he's somewhat used to it now, and it's normal, almost second nature how he leans his head forward to land in the crook of your shoulder. he nuzzles into it more when you lean to the side to give him more space. he shoves his head in deeper, nudging his head to yours harder because he knows the tips of his hair tickle. and of course, ever the nuiscance, does it again and again until it has you giggling softly in the quiet of his bathroom.

and you think you could honestly get used to it.

"'ve been thinkin'.." you hear him mumble against your skin. you let out a hum when he doesn't continue. "'bout what ?" you ask sleepily.

"..bout you moving in, with me." he pauses, you pause. and it's quite. again.

"o-oh yeah ? where did that come from ?" you try to keep your voice as steady as possible. your heart races and you feel it so hard you think it ripples in the water. you feel katsuki lift his head up lightly in confusion, but his eyes still won't move towards you.

"ya had something else planned 'r somethin' ?"

"no, no ! i'd wanna, i'm super down !" you're a bit louder than you mean to be, voice a bit breathier and higher in pitch and it echoes against the walls of the bathroom. katsuki's fingers twitch where they rest on the edge of the bathtub again and he sighs.

"i just didn't expect you to um-pop the question.." you trail off, you immediately mentally smack yourself for the wordage you used, because now you can't stop thinking about marrying him. you wished you could sink further into the water but now you're a little too aware of the hot skin pressed behind you.

katsuki doesn't look at you, he leans back until he's staring at the ceiling. you can tell he's trying to make himself more comfortable with the way he stiffens in an effort not to move like he usually would when he'd pretend to be unbothered. it tells you that maybe, just maybe, he was thinking about the same thing as you.

he sighs, and he finally looks at you then. voice poised and calm, but his eyebrows furrow and there's a slight pink on his cheeks.

"just..more convenient that way. you're already here all the time anyway." his rough voice cracks just slightly, the hints of doubt peeking through him. after letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, you hum again.

"y-yeah--yeah.." you manage. katsuki clicks his tongue behind you.

"look, if you don't wanna-" your boyfriend gulps back his next words when you lean back against him once more. stiffening, before finally calming down again.

"i do, i wanna move in with you. truly." you lean your head back enough to comfortably look at him and so he can see how serious you are. it seems to stun him a bit, eyes widened his lips tremble like he wants to speak but can't. and since he can't, he composes himself (tries to at least) and nods mostly to himself rather than you.

"good..good.." he mutters. you nod as well, turning back and closing your eyes to try and calm your beating heart, to fully relax.

"mhm, good."

it's quiet again. only the sound of soft breaths and beating hearts remain. you can almost feel his heart pressed against your back.

"how long have you been thinking about it--me moving in and all ?"

he hums from behind you, now that he's calmed down, his shoulders relax and he gets just a bit bolder, rubbing a thumb against the skin of your upper arm.

"does it matter ?"

"yes."

he grumbles, obviously embarrassed. " a while." is what he settles with "figured it was about time."

about time, huh ? you nod, the room overtaken by silence yet again. a comfortable, warm one you could get used to.

"'sides, i know how much you miss me when you leave."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. he's ruined the moment like his big mouth usually does.

"oh please, you're the one that keeps calling me back the moment i leave." you shoot back, it's katsuki's turn to scoff now.

" yeah, sure. just admit you're obsessed with me, babe." he sasses.

"oh, babe you forgot your sweater at my place so come back and get it. what? no, i can't bring it back you forgot it so you come get iiit !" you put on a nasally deep voice, waving your arms around in the water dramatically.

"s-shut up, moron !" katsuki stutters, his abrupt movements of disbelief causing the water to ripple and spill over from the tub. "i don't sound like that--"

"oh babe, now that you're here i actually just remembered you forgot to gimme my 5th goodbye kiss on the way out--"

"yn.." he warns lowly.

oh yn, if i could, i'd spent my entire life makin' out with you cus i wuv you sooo much, bleh bleh muah muah-- !" your crude little kissy noises are interrupted by your boyfriend furiously flicking water into your face. you squeal loudly, shrieking trying to block the jet stream with your arms. you laugh loudly as he continues attacking you from all sides and you're sure by now half of the water he's used was most definitely on the floor, but you really couldn't care less.

and frankly, you could get used to this.

taglist.

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[superluver]

[superluver]

When i wake up if ts isnt back i will be having a bf

[superluver]

I KNEW I WASNT CRAZY 😭

A couple of our servers have gotten a bit overwhelmed, so we're taking some down time to give them a chance to catch up. We'll be back as soon as possible!

2024-09-02 11:30 UTC

[superluver]

wildflower—

shoto x reader Yaoyorozu x shoto

angst I think!!!!

thinking of you and Yaoyorozu, who are best friends. you’re married to pro hero Shoto, have kids with the man you swore you’d grow old with, and you’re not sure what happened, but you fell out of love.

he’d tell you time and time again that you were his girl, and he took you to places you’d only dreamed of going. for a long time it had been just he and you, but you’d met momo.

the beautiful, talented, strong momo.

she’d earn her place in your life as your best friend. and it was a bond you had that you swore would never fade with time. when shoto confessed that he’d fallen out of love with you, you broke.

you left your shared home, making your way to hers. you were crying on her shoulder, and she shared no words of reassurance, instead, she made sure you let it all out. making sure not to leave any bottled up emotions trapped within you.

dare you say she became family, invited to the shared christmas you and shoto had, months after being divorced. you wonder how you hadn’t noticed the way he was looking at her, and for how long it was.

how long did they had this mental affair, when they had come out publicly in July, you broke alone with only your son to console you.

yaoyorozu was on the train, staring at a familiar seat. it was the one the two of you would share every time you had gotten on this very train. the same marks engraved into the seats.

she sees you, laughing beside her with a nudge. her scarf feels like it’s choking her, her eyes burning. god, she feels so guilty.

you glance back at her, looking with shock before waving, and when she blinks, you’re gone.

she sees you in the back of her mind, all the time.

shoto grabs ahold of her shoulder, and she looks up staring at his face. and, Yaoyorozu can’t help but wonder, does he see you in the back of his mind.. in her eyes?

“momo, this is our stop.”

she swallows hard, nodding.

“alright,”

a younger you is once again at the seat, staring back at her, watching her get off the train.

[superluver]

GUYSSSS WHAT THE FLIPPP GUYS GOJO GUYS GOJO😩😩😩😩😩