#🍒���blurb by kimmie・🍒

[kimmie2me]

Dynamite and His Player 2

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Twitch Gamer!Bakugou x AFAB!Reader

.....

Bakugou glances over at the camera, brows furrowed as he adjusts his headset. "Alright, you extras, get ready to shut the hell up," he growls, his voice laced with annoyance. "She’s real. I’ve got her right here, and she’s playing with me tonight."

You laugh off-screen, causing his chat to explode with reactions. Up until now, they didn't believe a word Bakugou said when he claimed he had a girlfriend. After all, this is the guy known for his explosive reactions when things go slightly wrong. He grumbles, trying to keep his cool, but the slight blush on his cheeks gives him away.

The game loads up, some horror-puzzle co-op that requires a ton of coordination. But while Bakugou’s all business—focused on solving puzzles and surviving—you have other ideas. You’re busy teasing him, wandering off to explore the map, or purposely messing up just to get a rise out of him.

"Can you just—dammit! Will you STOP wandering off?" Bakugou snaps as he watches your character take another detour. "We’re supposed to be working together!"

You grin at the screen, purposely moving your character in circles. "Aw, come on, Suki~ We’re just having fun, right?"

His jaw clenches, and he mutters something under his breath about "not having fun if you keep screwing around." But his viewers are eating it up, laughing at his frustration and flooding the chat with comments like "She's brave for messing with him, LMAO😭😭" and "Bros .4 seconds away from exploding his monitor for the 10 millionth time🪦"

Eventually, he just huffs, slouching in his chair and mumbling, "Fine. Do whatever the hell you want. I’ll just wait here." His expression says he's beyond annoyed, but the hint of a smile peeking through his scowl gives away that maybe, just maybe, he's actually having a little fun too.

Grumpy Twitch Gamer Bakugou Headcanons

...

— Every time he messes up, he narrows his eyes at the camera with that “are you stupid?” glare. Chat spams "IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!” and "WHY R U LOOKING AT US LIKE WE DID THAT??" but he just huffs, “If you idiots weren’t DISTRACTING me…”

— Bakugou’s streaming style is brutally honest—constantly throwing out curses like it’s second nature. If he dies in-game, his go-to is, “How the hell am I supposed to win with this garbage game?!” and he never blames himself, ever.

— He has zero chill. Every so often, he’ll pound the desk so hard that the camera shakes, and one time he punched his mic so fiercely that it cut out, leaving chat in hysterics as he tries to fix it, muttering about “this piece of crap gear.”

— After every gaming session, he gives a review of the game he’s playing—most of which devolve into full-on rants about terrible controls, stupid enemies, and “whoever the hell designed these levels.” At this point, it's an entire essay by the time he's done.

— There are moments when he hits the mute button just to scream or cuss off-mic. Chat sees him red-faced and mouthing words, knowing he’s losing it, which makes them spam laugh emotes to annoy him further.

— Sometimes, when things get really bad, he just simply says "Okay." and goes quiet, leaning in close to the screen with this intense focus. Chat knows that if he’s silent, it’s only because he’s plotting to obliterate whatever got him killed.

— It’s become a running joke with his followers—every time he streams, they place bets on which piece of his equipment he’ll break. He’s replaced his keyboard three times already and had to upgrade his camera stand because he broke the last one during a particularly heated rage quit.

— When he finally beats a level, he acts like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “See? Wasn’t even hard, you just have to not be a dumbass.” Cue the smug smirk.

— Occasionally, in his absolute rage, he’ll end the stream immediately after a loss. One second he’s there, screaming at the game, and then—stream offline.

— Despite all the rage, he’s actually insanely good at gaming. When he goes on a winning streak, chat blows up with admiration, but he barely acknowledges it. “’Course I won—who the hell do you think I am?”

— He has zero patience for backseat gamers. “Oh, you think you could do better? Why don’t you go start your own damn channel, then!” The mods know by now to instantly time out anyone who even hints at suggesting how he should play, and the ban count is astronomical by the end of each stream.

— Occasionally, Bakugou gets so into the game that he goes almost silent, and chat jokes it’s an ASMR session because all they can hear is his intense breathing and muttered curses. “Oi, STOP saying it’s ASMR, it’s not ASMR, you freaks!”

— Loading screens are his worst enemy. Every single time, he glares directly into the camera, arms crossed and seething, ranting about the “stupid long loading times” and how he could’ve “beat the damn game twice by now.” and how "a whole child could've been born by now." Chat watches in suspense because they know the rage is simmering, just waiting to explode.

— If he’s playing a console game, the controller does not have a safe future. He’s thrown it across the room, slammed it on his knee or desk, and even threatened it like, “You’re next, you little piece of shit, keep messing up on me.” He’s gone through so many controllers that his sponsor had to send him extras.

— When he loses in a PvP game, he has 1,001 excuses. “Lag. Dumb luck. Exploiter. The devs nerfed my character, obviously.” If chat calls him out, he just scoffs, “You think that was my fault? Keep dreaming.” And the mods instantly clear out any “L” spam from chat because he’s already dangerously close to slamming his keyboard.

— His channel has special emotes for when he loses his temper—explosion icons, angry Bakugou faces, and even one of his own “ARE YOU FUCKIN’ KIDDING ME?!” face. Chat spams these whenever he starts heating up, which only fuels his fire.

— His viewers love to try and provoke him. Someone will innocently say, “Hey Dynamight, I think you missed something back there,” and he’ll instantly pause, glare at the screen, and say, “I DIDN’T MISS ANYTHING, DUMBASS, WE'RE MOVING ON.” It’s like a game within the game for his followers. (He goes back to check right after.)

— “Easy mode?” he scoffs at the suggestion. “I’d rather throw myself into a fire than play on easy mode.” Even if he’s dying over and over, he’ll never, ever change the difficulty. Chat has tried for months to get him to switch, but he’s stubbornly loyal to “the only real mode” (aka Hard Mode, Nightmare mode or above).

— If he actually wins a match, he’s unbearable. He’ll sit there, grinning and basking in his victory, smirking at the camera with a smug, “And that, extras, is why I’m better than every single one of you.” Cue chat sarcastically clapping.

— He once had a bet with his mods that he’d try to do a stream without cursing or raging. He lasted five minutes before he exploded, screaming, “THIS GAME IS FUCKING RIGGED!” after an unexpected jump-scare. The mods were dying, and he banned half of them out of spite (they were unbanned five minutes later, but still).

— Every time he’s about to start a new game, he’s got this exaggerated, dramatic intro: “ALRIGHT, EXTRAS, prepare yourselves ‘cause we’re about to dominate the shit outta this game. And if I see anyone backseat gaming, you’re banned. Don’t even THINK about telling me what to do.”

— Every now and then, when he dies for the tenth time in a row, he just deadpans to the camera, “I swear to God, I’m deleting my channel after this.” Chat knows he’s bluffing, but they still spam crying emojis like “NOOO PLEASE DON’T” just to mess with him.

— Every so often, when he’s focused on a tough level, he’ll mutter something like, “Okay, maybe you’re not so bad, chat. Don’t tell anyone I said that,” and the comments absolutely blow up with hearts and “WE LOVE YOU, DYNAMIGHT.” He immediately goes red and yells, “Didn’t mean it, idiots!” but it’s too late.

— Once, he rage-quit a game so hard that his entire setup fell silent. He’d punched the desk, and the screen went black. Chat watched in shock as the stream just… cut off. The clip went viral, with an entire 30-minute compilation titled “Every time Dynamight destroyed his setup” He came back the next day, reacted to it, and you already know he gave the video a thumbs down and left a long hate comment.

— His mods convinced him to play a “relaxing, casual game” that was secretly full of jump scares. The first time it happened, he almost flipped his entire desk. He immediately banned half of his mods and told the rest they were “on thin ice.” Chat still laughs about it every time he plays a “cute” game.

[kimmie2me]

HEYYY I LUV UR POSTS LIKE HELLO?!?! also im sure u know abt the bakugo hc with him with him having hearing aids and is it ok of u make like a fic with him signing nasty stuff to reader cuz he can and nobody around them fully learned sign language yet? PLS AND THANK U!!! 💕💕💕

first of all, THANK YOU!! ILYSM!! second, i am BACK!!!! exams went well, i guess. i didnt PASS or FAIL, but whatever.. third, I LOVE THIS IDEA HAHAHHA!!! here is, what I think, a great welcoming back gift to give u all ᕙ(⇀‸↼‶)ᕗ (ignore that Kaminari's text is blue..there's no yellow. ALSO, mina is NAWT taking pink. thats OUR color now.)

Of Silence and Secrets

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

…..

Bakugou Katsuki hated his hearing aids.

Hated how they fit, hated how they felt, and most of all, hated what they represented. Weakness. A crack in the armor he’d spent his entire life forging. When the ringing in his ears started as a brat in middle school, he didn’t think much of it. Just the fallout from a quirk-boosted explosion, nothing he couldn’t handle.

Years passed. The ringing grew into dull hums, muffled voices, and missed sounds. A villain’s retreating taunt he couldn’t catch. The screech of a car he didn’t hear. Kirishima shouting his name three times before Bakugou finally turned around, snarling, “What the hell do you want!?” while Kirishima just looked… worried.

His hearing aids were a damn nuisance. At least, that’s what he told himself every single day.

They whined if someone got too close, buzzed when he adjusted them wrong, and gods forbid he so much as grazed them during a fight—one hard knock, and they’d go flying. He could hear again, sure, but better hearing came at a price: realizing just how insufferably loud the world actually was. Katsuki had spent months in denial, refusing to accept that his ears, like the rest of his high-octane life, couldn’t keep up with him.

The ringing had started in his late teens, growing louder until it followed him everywhere. He blamed it on the explosions, the debris, the constant yelling—but really, he knew. His mom did too, though she’d spared him the lecture until the day Kirishima cornered him in his agency office with a sheepish grin and her voice on speakerphone.

“Katsuki.” The way she said his name—sharp, biting, and so unlike her usual bark of “Oi, you brat!”—made his stomach drop. “What if somethin’ happens? What if you miss an evac order or—hell—a cry for help? Hah? What then?”

“… Tch.” He had scowled so hard it hurt. “Fine. I’ll get the damn things.”

The intervention was humiliating, but the worst part? She was right. He hated that more than anything.

That was the first night he slept with the hearing aids sitting on the nightstand. He’d finally picked them up after a year of constant badgering—from his mom, Kirishima, hell, even that damn Deku. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to hear better—it was the admission that killed him.

But now? Now the stupid things were glued to him. Mostly.

The tech was incredible, of course. Damn nerds at Hero Support had outdone themselves. The hearing aids didn’t just amplify sound; they filtered it, isolating voices during chaos and syncing with comm units. They were waterproof, explosion-proof—Bakugou-proof. Allegedly.

But they weren’t indestructible. He’d broken five pairs in six months. Kaminari had nicknamed him “Break-aid” after the third replacement. Bakugou threatened to shove them where the sun didn’t shine.

And yet… they worked. Too well.

He could hear the scratch of pens during hero conferences, the obnoxious tapping of Kaminari’s foot against the table, the quiet sigh of his own breath. The worst part? The incessant talking. It was everywhere. Fans, reporters, civilians—people who thought their every word needed an audience.

Thankfully, he’d discovered the mute button.

The first time he used it, Kaminari was midway through a rant about his latest gadget. Bakugou, in a rare moment of self-control, didn’t yell. He just flicked the switch, leaned back in his chair, and smirked as Kaminari kept babbling. No explosions, no shouting, just blissful silence.

But there were downsides.

Combat was a nightmare when they broke. Shouting “HUH!?” every five seconds wasn’t exactly strategic. That’s when he decided to learn sign language. Not because anyone suggested it—hell no. But because he’d be damned if he relied on a gadget to do his job.

The process was… frustrating. Hands clumsy, movements stiff. Kirishima tried to help, but his signs were barely legible. Kaminari? Useless. Sero was too busy laughing to be much better or resorted to typing in the Notes app on his phone when it was pretty serious. Deku? That nerd had picked it up in a week, naturally.

But you? You made it bearable.

“Like this,” you’d said, your fingers forming a perfect sign. “Thumb tucked in.”

Bakugou grumbled, but copied you.

“Good. See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, ’Suki?”

Your patience annoyed him almost as much as it calmed him. And somehow, over weeks of practice, his stiff movements turned fluid. He’d never admit it, but he liked having this… language, this connection, with you.

And then he realized something else.

You understood him. Not just the signs, but him. The sharpness he couldn’t quite soften, the quiet gratitude he couldn’t voice. And better yet? No one else around him could understand a damn thing he was saying.

It started innocently enough—well, innocent by his standards.

“Bored out of my goddamn mind,” he’d signed at you during a hero conference.

You’d smirked and replied, “Same.”

But then, Bakugou being Bakugou, had an epiphany: he could sign anything.

The first time he tried it, you were sitting across from him at a formal hero banquet. The room was filled with pro heroes, reporters, and politicians. Everyone was dressed to the nines, sipping champagne and pretending the world wasn’t on fire outside.

Bakugou caught your eye and, with the most deadpan expression, signed: Wanna fuck?

Your head snapped up so fast you nearly knocked your glass over. You choked, coughing into your hand, and when someone asked if you were okay, you waved them off, avoiding his gaze.

He smirked, sipping his water like he hadn’t just propositioned you in a room full of Japan’s elite.

…..

It got worse.

During a meeting with the Hero Public Safety Commission, while a bureaucrat droned on about policy changes, Bakugou’s hands moved under the table. He made sure you were looking before signing: I’d rather have you ride me than sit here with these extras.

You froze mid-note, the pen slipping from your fingers. Your face burned as you ducked your head, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. Across the room, Kirishima noticed your sudden movement.

“Hey, you good?” he whispered.

“Fine!” you squeaked, glaring at Bakugou.

He tilted his head, feigning confusion, then casually leaned back in his chair. He looked so smug you wanted to scream.

At a press conference, surrounded by the press corps, TV cameras, and the elite of the hero world, Bakugou stood stiffly at the podium, bored out of his skull. Beside him, you shuffled the note cards you’d prepared, doing your best to stay focused on Midoriya’s answer to a question about villain reform strategies.

Bakugou glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, smirking at how focused you looked. That only made the idea pop into his head faster. He adjusted his stance, one hand casually coming up to rub his neck as the other signed with precision:

I’d fuck you so hard over this podium, the microphones would short out.

Your brain stalled like a computer blue-screening. The cards slipped from your hands, scattering onto the stage floor. You froze in horror as a sea of reporters looked up from their notebooks.

Midoriya, ever the anxious public speaker, stopped mid-sentence. “Uh, are you okay?” he asked.

“Y-yeah! Just... clumsy!” you stammered, dropping to your knees to collect the cards. You didn’t dare look at Bakugou, whose hand came up to his mouth as though stifling a yawn—but you knew he was hiding a smirk.

To make things worse, while you scrambled on the floor, he signed again, deliberately slower so you couldn’t miss it:

Would’ve pulled your hair too, just to hear you scream.

Your face burned so hot you were sure you’d melt through the stage.

It didn’t stop there.

At the next agency-wide meeting, Bakugou sat across from you in the conference room, arms crossed as a pro-hero you couldn't bother to listen to went on and on about new combat protocols. The room was packed with pro heroes, all seated shoulder-to-shoulder.

Bakugou, who’d already tuned out after the first ten minutes, caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow. Before you could react, his hands moved subtly under the table:

I’d eat you out on this table, right in front of everyone, and make sure you couldn’t stay quiet.

The coffee cup in your hand slipped, splashing onto your notes. You cursed under your breath, grabbing napkins to clean the mess.

Kirishima, sitting beside you, leaned over. “Whoa, you okay? You’ve been jumpy lately.”

You forced a smile, not daring to look at Bakugou, whose expression remained infuriatingly neutral. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

It became a game to him.

While Kirishima nodded and went back to his notes, Bakugou adjusted in his chair and signed again:

Bet you’d cry if I used my mouth the way I’m thinking. Probably beg me to stop—but you wouldn’t really mean it.

You slammed your pen down so hard it startled Kaminari, who glanced over with a confused look.

“You good?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” you snapped, refusing to look up.

Across the table, Bakugou leaned back, feigning boredom, but his eyes glinted with amusement.

It escalated during a casual outing with the crew.

Everyone had gathered at a bustling ramen joint after a long patrol, crowding into a booth that was way too small for so many people. Bakugou sat to your right, thigh pressed against yours under the table. As the conversation flowed around him, he picked up a pair of chopsticks and casually started eating.

Then, as Mina told a story about her latest villain takedown, he turned his head slightly toward you and signed with one hand:

The things I’d do to you under this table would make you scream so loud they’d kick us out.

You froze, chopsticks hovering mid-air. He didn’t even blink, slurping his noodles like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal nuke into your lap.

“What’s wrong?” Mina asked, noticing your deer-in-headlights expression.

“Uh… spicy broth,” you choked out, grabbing your water and gulping it down.

Bakugou, still chewing, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and added another one for good measure:

Bet I could make you cum without anyone noticing. Wanna test that theory?

You almost choked on your drink, coughing so hard Kirishima patted your back in concern.

At a charity event, he raised the bar again.

The ballroom was filled with reporters, politicians, and wealthy donors, all eager to mingle with Japan’s most famous heroes. Bakugou hated these events with a burning passion, but at least you were there to make it tolerable.

You stood beside him, chatting politely with a group of businessmen, when you felt his gaze on you. Slowly, you turned your head, already dreading what was coming.

He didn’t disappoint. With the straightest face you’d ever seen, he signed:

You’d look so much better on your knees, with my cock down your throat, than in that dress.

Your hand shot out, nearly spilling your champagne as you fumbled to keep your composure. The Pro Hero you were speaking to paused mid-sentence, giving you a concerned look.

“Are you alright, ma’am?”

“I—I’m fine,” you stuttered, setting the glass down before you could break it.

Bakugou tilted his head innocently, signing again:

Bet you’d love it if I bent you over that balcony upstairs. Bet you’d be dripping by the time I was done.

Your jaw dropped, and you 'accidentally' kicked his shin under the table. He didn’t even flinch.

It wasn’t just formal settings, either. Bakugou would strike anywhere.

During a team training session, you were sparring with Kaminari while Bakugou watched from the sidelines. When you finally landed a clean hit, knocking Kaminari flat on his ass, Bakugou clapped slowly, catching your attention.

Wanna know what else you could knock flat? Me. On my back. With you riding me till I forget my own goddamn name.

Your sparring stance faltered, and Kaminari took the opportunity to trip you.

“Hey, you alright?” he asked, offering a hand to help you up.

“I’m fine!” you snapped, shooting a glare at Bakugou, who was grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

The worst of all came during a live broadcast.

The Hero Public Safety Commission had organized a televised Q&A with Japan’s top heroes. You sat between Bakugou and Midoriya, fielding questions from both the moderator and the live audience. Bakugou had been unusually quiet for most of the event, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

But then, while the moderator addressed Midoriya, Bakugou caught your attention.

His hands moved lazily, almost imperceptibly, as he signed:

After this, I’m gonna pin you to the wall in the dressing room and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of here straight.

Your eyes widened, and you immediately looked away, heart hammering in your chest.

“And what about you?” the moderator asked, pulling your attention back to the present.

“I—I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” you stammered, cheeks flaming.

Beside you, Bakugou leaned back in his chair, smirking as the moderator repeated the question. His hands shifted again, just enough for you to catch his next message:

If you blush any harder, they’re gonna think you’re into this.

You resisted the urge to scream.

Because, for Bakugou, nothing was funnier than watching you squirm. And knowing you were the only one who could decode his filthy little secrets? That was just the icing on the cake.

…..

Over time, the signing became a secret game. A language only the two of you shared, even if it was insanely one sided. In battle, it was strategic—efficient, silent communication when words couldn’t cut through the noise. Off the field? It was something else entirely.

After a particularly grueling patrol, Bakugou flopped onto the couch beside you, tugging his hearing aids out and tossing them onto the table.

“Another shitty day,” he muttered.

You hummed in agreement, leaning against him.

Without thinking, he signed: You’re the only thing that doesn’t piss me off.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Nothin’, Cupcake. Just watch the TV..”

And for once, you didn’t press.

Because sometimes, silence said enough.

[kimmie2me]

A Taste of Care

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

.....

The invitation to the annual Pro Hero Gala lands with a quiet thud on your desk, and you nearly ignore it, honestly – it’s one of those events everyone expects top heroes to attend, but no one actually enjoys. You wonder how the organizers can still think it’s a good idea. You glance over at Bakugou, who rolls his eyes the second he catches you even looking at it. “Not a chance,” he grumbles, turning back to whatever report he’s pretending to focus on. “Hell’ll freeze over before I show up there.”

“Yeah, but…they invited us both.” You can’t help it—the thought of skipping nags at you, guilt bubbling up. You turn the envelope in your hands, debating. “I mean, if we don’t go, they’ll probably think we don’t care or something…”

“Good,” he mutters, "Because I do not care."

You make the decision then, mostly because you can’t imagine telling someone who went through the trouble of inviting you that you just… didn’t feel like going. “Fine,” you say, sighing. “I’ll go, then. You don’t have to worry about it.”

A heavy pause lingers, and then Bakugou’s gaze snaps up. “You what?”

“I’ll go. On your behalf. It’s fine,” you insist, smiling a little to soften it. But there’s something in his eyes, and you think he feels that tug of guilt too, though he’d never say it. Finally, he just sighs and mutters, “Fine, fine. I’m going. Don’t start whining about this later.”

And that’s how you end up at the Gala, arm in arm with one very reluctant Bakugou.

.....

You’ve barely been here for an hour, and though Bakugou’s already made three attempts to pull you towards the exit, you’re still here, being polite and nodding along as people pass by, each one taking a little energy from you with their relentless questions.

At some point, a waiter passes by with a tray of drinks, and you reach out, half-relieved for a distraction. The waiter places a delicate, glass thimble of juice in your hand, barely bigger than your thumb. You eye it, perplexed.

“One sip,” you murmur, taking a cautious taste. It’s sweet and refreshing—too good, actually, like someone figured out the perfect formula for juice. The flavor surprises you, so you hold it in your hands like you’re savoring a precious heirloom, taking tiny sips to make it last.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, turning back from where he’s been roped into some pointless conversation with another hero. His eyes narrow when he sees the minuscule cup in your hands. “You tryna torture yourself or somethin’? Why’re you drinkin’ it if you don’t even like it?”

You blink, mildly surprised by his assumption. “No, I do like it! It’s just... y’know... small. And I didn’t want to—um, ask for more.” You hesitate, aware of the ridiculousness of it all. “They might think I’m being greedy, you know?”

Bakugou makes a face, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re kiddin’ me.” He sounds genuinely irritated now, and it’s impossible not to feel embarrassed, though you give a nervous smile.

“No, no! It’s fine, 'Suki, really.” You tug at his sleeve to keep him from storming over to whoever poured this pathetic excuse for a drink, though he stares at you, unamused, for a moment.

“Fine,” he relents, still looking unconvinced. But when you try to wave him off a second time, and a third, his patience visibly thins. “Alright, that’s it.” He grabs your now empty cup with a sense of purpose, muttering under his breath as he maneuvers through the crowd. You reach out, embarrassed to death that he’d take the trouble to do this.

“Katsuki, you don’t have to—please, it’s okay! Really, it’s fine!”

He gives you a brief, sideways glance, his expression somewhere between exasperation and begrudging affection. “For god’s sake, Cupcake, I’m doin’ it ‘cause I want to.”

The bartender hardly has time to react before Bakugou is right in front of him, holding up the empty cup like it’s some sort of evidence. “Listen up. This microscopic cup you handed out, where the hell d’ya even find one that small?” he demands, raising an eyebrow at the bartender, who looks both puzzled and terrified by Bakugou’s intensity.

The bartender stammers something about portion sizes, but Bakugou cuts him off, pointing to the counter like he’s about to place an order in a war zone. “Whatever you put in here, put it in a real glass this time, yeah? And don’t skimp. What is it, anyway?”

“Uh—it’s, um, a mix of, uh, passion fruit, lemon, and a hint of, uh… elderflower…”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” He watches as they pour the drink, nodding in satisfaction once they fill a glass you can actually hold with more than two fingers. When he finally returns, he looks triumphant, almost like he just completed some crucial, life-or-death mission.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass with that rare softness in his eyes that he only gets around you.

And as you take the first sip, savoring the full taste this time, you glance up at him, fighting a smile.

“Y’know,” he mutters, clearly aware of his over-the-top reaction, “I ain’t lettin’ you get ripped off on my watch. ‘Specially if it’s somethin’ you like.”

You savor every last drop of the drink, finally taking fuller sips now that it’s in an actual glass. The elderflower and passion fruit mix is refreshing, and it brings a soft smile to your lips every time you taste it. And when you finish the last drop, you look up at Bakugou, feeling a bit embarrassed but grateful.

He’s watching you intently, arms crossed with a proud little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All done?” he asks, clearly pleased with himself.

You nod, setting the glass down. “Yeah. Thanks, 'Suki,” you murmur, hoping the slight blush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “We can go now.”

Bakugou’s face lights up in an almost imperceptible way. He clears his throat, looking around as if anyone might overhear, but the relief is clear in his expression. “’Bout damn time.”

A couple of weeks pass, and life returns to the usual pro hero routine—patrols, training, the occasional event, and repeat. After a long, grueling day of patrol, you return home exhausted and immediately head to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day’s aches and strains. The warmth is a balm for your sore muscles, and by the time you get out, you feel somewhat revived, if not a little sleepy.

You toss on a cozy set of clothes, ready to finally relax and start prepping dinner. You make your way to the kitchen, but as you open the fridge, you notice something unusual: a piece of paper stuck to one of the shelves. Curious, you pull it out and immediately recognize Bakugou’s handwriting, all sharp lines and bold strokes.

In the middle of the note is a hastily-drawn little doodle of himself, smirking with a thumbs-up, along with the words: “Surprise. You better not ration this either.”

You stare at the note, momentarily confused. What’s he talking about?

Then you glance down, and your eyes widen.

Sitting on the shelf, right next to the vegetables and leftovers, is a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with the juice from the gala—your favorite mix of passion fruit, lemon, and elderflower.

A laugh bubbles up from your throat, and you can’t help but shake your head in wonder. Of course he’d go through the trouble of making an entire pitcher for you. And not only that, but he left a note, reminding you not to hold back or ration it like some precious artifact.

You pour yourself a full glass, taking a long sip, and the familiar taste brings a warm, giddy feeling to your chest. For a moment, you just stand there in your quiet kitchen, holding your glass and staring at Bakugou’s note with a grin that won’t leave your face.

It’s just so… him. Thoughtful in the most roundabout way possible.

You take another sip, glancing at the time. He’ll still be on patrol for a bit, but you already can’t wait to tell him just how much his little surprise means to you.

[kimmie2me]

Level up

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bakugou Katsuki x AFAB!Reader

.....

You’ve been practically living in TerraSim these past few months, pouring countless late nights and weekends into building up your little virtual world. The game has its claws deep in you, thanks to its blend of addictive life-sim elements—a mix of Sims customization, Animal Crossing terraforming, and Club Penguin socializing that could easily keep anyone hooked. And while your elaborate cityscapes and sprawling islands are a thing of beauty, there's one mission you've latched onto with laser focus: getting your character into "dating status" with Bakugou's avatar.

It was a goal that bordered on ridiculous. Sero had introduced you to the game months back during a casual hangout in the guys' dorm. He’d been casually recreating UA’s Heights Alliance in the game, building out the dormitory floor-by-floor, with every detail painstakingly placed. From the second you saw his screen, your interest piqued—and when you started playing, your obsession was instant. It became routine for you and the BakuSquad to grind away at the game during downtime, each of you building up your worlds, designing houses, and taking over one another’s islands.

The only one who’d abstained was Bakugou. At first, you assumed he had no interest, which made sense—gaming didn’t exactly seem to be his thing, aside from the occasional fighting/shooter games he dominated when dared. But in passing, during one of those late-night hangouts, he’d mentioned he already had TerraSim, that he’d been “roaming around some goddamn desert wasteland for practice.” You immediately begged him to join your world, but he just gave a rough grunt that could’ve meant anything, then dismissed you with a “Maybe, if I feel like it.”

Your goal took shape then and there: to coax him into joining and eventually leveling up your in-game relationship to unlock TerraSim’s latest update—the elusive “dating” feature. It was no small feat. For starters, if you were lucky, Bakugou logged in once every two weeks. On top of that, he seemed impervious to your digital generosity. You’d flood his character with cute, carefully chosen in-game gifts each time he showed up, and each time, he’d react with the same annoyed bark.

“Quit sendin’ me stuff. I’m not broke, dammit,” he’d scoff, his avatar recoiling as if the bonsai trees, vintage armchairs, and rare wallpapers you’d gifted him were beneath him.

Of course, you only saw it as encouragement to keep trying.

You were determined. And as with all the best grind arcs, yours became an elaborate, all-consuming routine. Every chance you had, you logged into TerraSim, meticulously building up your land, ensuring your avatar was stocked with rare, hard-to-find items to impress Bakugou with. You were going through caffeine-fueled all-nighters at this point, with mornings spent half-asleep in class, barely keeping your eyes open. The BakuSquad teased you relentlessly—Mina claiming you were “seriously down bad for a video game character.”

If only they knew.

But as each week passed, Bakugou’s elusive online presence continued to be a thorn in your side. By the time he logged on, your gift vault had practically doubled. You tried it all—stylish furniture, hard-to-find armor, imported rugs for his in-game lair. You even went as far as to max out your crafting skills, just to create exclusive, handmade items with painstaking detail. Each time he logged on and received your gifts, though, his response was the same, and each time he accepted with a sigh, you secretly thrilled. Your relationship points were crawling forward… but slowly. Too slowly.

“Stop givin’ me this crap,” he’d grumble through your headset. “I don’t even want this stuff, ya’know?”

“Oh, sure, sure,” you’d laugh, clicking to send another rare item. “One of these days, you’re going to need these.”

“The hell I will,” he’d mutter, but he never outright rejected your offers.

.....

Weeks bled into months, and you swore you could’ve become an in-game billionaire with the amount of rare loot you farmed for him. But it was all worth it the day you saw your relationship meter finally, finally, hit the dating threshold. You blinked at the notification in stunned disbelief. Was this a fever dream? You hovered over the confirmation message, breath catching. It had taken everything you had—sleepless nights, countless gold coins, and so much shameless digital groveling—but you’d done it.

With hands trembling in a mix of excitement and pure vindication, you clicked “accept,” and the game’s screen flashed with a pop-up: Dating Status Reached With Dynamight! It was all you could do not to scream out loud and wake half the dorm.

But you knew you had to take it a step further. There was one action in particular you’d waited for, that single, pixelated interaction that would bring your late-night conquest full circle. And, so, the next time you found him online, you spammed his messages telling him to join your world. After being left on read for a few minutes, you finally got his invite to join your world.

You accepted the invite and seconds later, Bakugou’s in-game avatar appeared in front of you, materializing with a small puff of digital dust. For a few seconds, Bakugou just wandered around, taking in the over-the-top, pretty pink world you’d painstakingly crafted. Everything in sight was cute and whimsical—flowers that seemed to bloom just for him, pastel-colored furniture, and adorable, quirky decorations scattered around, all meticulously placed to make him squirm just a little.

He moved around in silence, his avatar occasionally glancing at an oversized plushie or some tiny, glittering accessory, as though trying to figure out what to do next. His character in front of a giant heart-shaped fountain you’d made in the middle of the town square, looking completely unimpressed.

You couldn’t resist anymore. You sent a game call invitation, knowing full well it was the only way to get his attention.

“Yo,” he grumbled as the call picked up, his voice already thick with annoyance. “What the hell is all this? ”

You smirked, hearing the edge of frustration in his tone as he tried to process the overwhelming cuteness of your world. There was way more stuff than he remembered from the last time he joined, which had been about a week ago.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Check out the new features!” you teased, ready to see how he’d react. His avatar was still stiffly standing by the fountain, looking like he wanted to leave immediately.

"Quit sendin' me invites. I don’t need to see all this stupid stuff," he muttered, but his voice was already a little softer, like he was at least partially curious about whatever you’d done. His avatar shifted toward a pink gazebo with twinkling fairy lights, the atmosphere oddly peaceful in contrast to his usual fiery demeanor.

You grinned. "Just wait. I have something special to show you. C'mere." He loudly sighs, walks his character toward you, and stops in front of you. You clicked the little “kiss on cheek” option, holding your breath as your avatar leaned toward Bakugou’s. His avatar’s cheeks flushed bright red, a little heart animation popping over his head.

A beat later, Bakugou’s voice came through the headset, loud and utterly bewildered. “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”

Your laugh echoed through the room, so loud it practically rattled your headphones. “Oh my god, calm down. It’s just the new ‘kiss’ action!”

“The what action?” His tone teetered between horror and rage, as if you’d committed a criminal offense against his character’s dignity.

“It’s cute! Look—” You sent another cheek-kiss, chuckling as his avatar’s blush only deepened and two hearts popped this time.

“STOP THAT,” he bellowed. “I didn’t sign up for… for this! What the hell kinda game update even does that?!”

“Maybe if you’d read the patch notes, you’d know,” you teased, sending one last kiss for good measure. Bakugou’s furious grumbling was music to your ears, and his embarrassed fluster was as satisfying as the months of grind it had taken to get here.

“I KNEW this game was weird!” Bakugou snapped, his avatar stomping away dramatically, a small puff of virtual dust swirling around him. “Why the hell do you keep doin’ this?! This isn’t a dating sim, it’s a goddamn build-your-own-world game! What the hell does kissing have to do with anything?!”

You snickered, watching his character angrily pace in circles like a toddler who’d been deprived of their favorite toy. “It’s an update, crybaby,” you said, barely containing your laughter. “They added a bunch of new features. Just because you’re too stubborn to try them doesn’t mean I’m not gonna take advantage of it.”

“I’m not tryin’ that crap! No one even reads the patch notes!” His tone was half defensive, half... well, half like someone who was genuinely confused but also slightly flustered despite himself. “Next thing you know, you’ll have my character doing some stupid dance routine or makin’ it cook me dinner or somethin’!”

“You know what? That sounds like a good idea,” you said, clicking away before he could protest. “Maybe I’ll make him start doing all the work around here in a cute outfit, or better yet, I’ll get him to cook me a five-star meal, or, oh—how about a slow dance with my character? Yeah, I’m definitely making him do that!”

“No, you—stop it right now,” Bakugou growled, as if you’d just threatened to burn down his precious in-game house. “I swear, if you make my character embarrass me like that... I'm gonna make your character regret it.”

You burst out laughing, already picturing Bakugou’s avatar furiously stomping around your island. “Oh please, you’re too late. You already lost the battle when I got that kiss, remember?”

“Shut up,” Bakugou snarled, clearly having no idea how to process what just happened. “This game’s messed up. You’re messed up.”

“I know,” you said smugly, loving every second of his flustered misery. “But hey, you’re the one who’s dating me now, so guess you’ll just have to get used to it.”

You could hear him grumble in frustration, his character awkwardly swiveling around on the screen, refusing to acknowledge your victory. “I’m not dating you. This is stupid. None of this is real,” he muttered, but his voice wavered in a way that said something had shifted. You knew you had him, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

You smirked, leaning back in your chair, letting the silence hang for a beat before responding. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. I'll took a screenshot of the kiss and I'm sending it to the group chat. Have fun defending yourself in there. And I'm gonna say you told me to do it!”

Bakugou’s avatar froze, his pixelated expression twitching in annoyance as though it couldn’t process the level of frustration he was feeling. “Don’t you dare.” His voice was low and gruff, but there was a crack of vulnerability there—just enough to make your grin widen.

“Ah, but you’re my boyfriend now, Katsuki,” you teased, not letting the moment pass without pushing just a little more. “And boyfriends get gifts, don’t they? I'll spoil you and you're cute avatar, don't worry.”

There was a long, tense pause before Bakugou’s character spun around on its heel, stomping off to the far corner of the island as though to flee from the situation. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“I’m gonna kill you when I see you,” he spat, though it lacked its usual venom, and you could practically hear the flush in his voice.

You leaned forward, your heart racing with victory. "Yeah, well, that’s what you get for being so stubborn. Consider yourself stuck with me now."

Bakugou’s final response was an explosion of curses—loud, heated, and full of frustration. He abruptly left your world with a furious slam of his controller, then cut off the game call, leaving only his angry muttering on the other end. But even in his rage, there was a hint of something softer—something that told you, despite his protests, he was starting to come to terms with the whole situation.

And in that moment, it was all you needed to hear. You were dating him. Even if it was just in the world of TerraSim, it didn’t matter. You’d made it. You'd won.

[kimmie2me]

Forehead Check (And Heart Check, Too)

A late afternoon sun filters through the high classroom windows, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes open, that heavy feeling pressing on the back of your eyelids. The world spins slightly as you look up at your notes, and Izuku’s face shifts into a worried frown when he catches your expression.

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, voice soft yet unmistakably concerned. His eyes study yours carefully as you try to wave him off, mumbling something about the heat, but it’s half-hearted. You’ve been warm all day, and Izuku knows this look on you too well.

“Stay right there,” he says gently, scooting his chair closer to yours until his hand’s resting on your shoulder. Slowly, he leans in, his forehead pressing carefully against yours. His face, only inches away, radiates a comforting calm, his steady presence quietly reassuring.

A smile tugs at his lips. “You are warm,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper, as his gaze holds yours with unshakeable focus. “I think you might be coming down with something…”

His expression softens even more as he gently pulls back, leaving a lingering warmth from his closeness. “You should let Recovery Girl check,” he suggests, “just in case.” He’s practically hovering, his hands awkwardly fidgeting with his notebook as he waits for you to nod.

Maybe you’ll be stubborn and tell him it’s nothing. But Izuku’s already decided—he’s not leaving your side until he’s sure you’re okay.

[kimmie2me]

Lasagna Drama

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Brat!Reader

.....

You’ve been beat up enough times to know when you’ve hit your limit, but today? You feel like you’ve crossed some invisible threshold. Every single bruise, every single cut feels like it's been painted with the loudest, most obnoxious color of exhaustion. Villains really do have the worst timing—especially when you're just one bad decision away from completely losing your shit.

There’s something about fighting solo, about handling every explosive attack and every screaming villain on your own that drains you. But being the hero that you are, you keep pushing through, doing the job. The second you finish cleaning up the mess, though, the press—fucking press—are there, asking their stupid fucking questions like always.

They’re practically vultures, swarming around like they’re starving for something to tear into, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every question is like they’re poking at an open wound.

Questions..questions..blah, blah blahh.

"So, are we invited to you and Dynamight's wedding?" the reporter asks, voice overly enthusiastic.

What.

You tilt your head slowly towards them at the speed of a snail, your exhausted eyes narrowing with so much venom it could melt through steel. A bleeding cut on your forehead sends a reminder of how badly you want to snap, but you hold back, fighting for just one last ounce of control. "Can you come to the wedding? CAN YOU. COME. TO THE WEDDING?" Your voice is slow and deliberate, every word dragging with the weight of your exhaustion and irritation. "NO THE FUCK YOU CAN’T! AND WHO SAID I’M GETTING MARRIED, HUH??"

You’re practically spitting, the anger bubbling up as you point a shaky finger at the reporter—though it's less for dramatic flair and more because you're trying not to pass out from your head throbbing. The crowd watches, stunned by your bluntness. The blood dripping down your face is probably the cherry on top of this glorious shitshow.

"MATTER OF FACT, GET THE HELL OUTTA MY FACE!"

Another reporter, some idiot you didn't try to locate in this sea of absolute buffoons trying to ask about your condition, gets a response that’s just as brutal. "AND WHOEVER ASKED IF I'M OKAY—" You gesture to the bruises, the cuts, the swelling on your face. The swelling in your brain too, probably. "ARE YOU FUCKING BLIND? ‘CAUSE YOU MUST BE TO ASK ME THAT SHIT QUESTION."

The PR team, their faces pale, looks like they’ve seen hell itself. They try to rush in and intervene, but it's too late. They’ve all seen this before—this version of you, who doesn’t take shit from anyone, even when she’s on the brink of collapse.

But this moment? It’s a whole new level.

A disaster.

A train wreck.

And it’s all caught on camera.

.....

Hours later, you walk into the apartment, expecting to finally see Bakugou at work on the lasagna, or at least close to being done. Because, god, you're hungry. You've been requesting (read: begging) him all week and it took a while, but you finally got him to say yes. Even if it was very reluctant.

Instead, you’re met with the sight of him lounging on the couch, his arms behind his head like he’s been living the life while you were off doing actual work. And today was his day off! He had all day to make it!

You freeze in the doorway, your eyes narrowing. “What the hell is this?” you snap, voice dripping with annoyance.

He doesn’t even look at you, just casually glancing at the TV where your earlier press meltdown is playing on loop. You’re there, in full glory, flipping the camera off and shouting at the reporters like you’re about to spontaneously combust from frustration. The volume’s up, and you can hear yourself getting progressively louder, each sentence punctuated by Bakugou’s quiet laughter.

"Did you seriously not even start yet?” you seethe, already feeling the heat of frustration building. "Where's the lasagna?"

“Yeaahh about that," he drawls "Yer not gettin’ that lasagna,” he says, his tone flat but with the faintest hint of amusement.

The weight of his words hits you like a ton of bricks, and you nearly stumble, caught off guard. “Wait—what? No,no, no. You said—..! But why!?”

His smirk deepens, and though he doesn’t laugh, there’s a glint in his eyes. “You go shoutin’ yer mouth off on national TV, actin’ like a brat, and you think I’m gonna reward that with lasagna? No way, Cupcake. Gotta teach you some self-control.”

Your heart plummets. The devastation is real, and you’re .3 seconds from a meltdown. "But—'Suki! They kept asking me stupid questions! Plus, I'm bleeding and hurt and in pain!” You point at your bruises, your puppy-dog eyes in full force, desperate to sway him. “You’re just gonna hold my lasagna hostage?”

He raises an eyebrow, his mouth flattening into a look that’s somehow both deadpan and amused. “Yup. Sucks, don’t it?” His tone is full of mock sympathy, but he can barely keep himself from chuckling when he catches the absolute betrayal written across your face.

Every ounce of bratty energy in you rallies to make your case, to somehow earn back the lasagna you’ve waited for. And you swear, from the way his shoulders shake, that he’s one second from cracking up, even if he’ll never admit it.

You start with the tried-and-true techniques, laying it on thick with a pout that would break any heart softer than Bakugou’s. He’s still ignoring you, now scrolling through comments about your press conference antics on his phone, his lip twitching as he takes in the spectacle you’d made of yourself.

“Kaaaaatttsukiiiii,” you draw out his name in a long, syrupy whine, leaning against the couch in a way that has you looking small and weary. “Look at me—don’t you feel even a little sorry for me?”

One look at you, with your bruised cheek and dark circles, and he does soften for a second, but only a second. His mouth tilts into something of a smirk, his eyes glinting with deadpan amusement. “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “You dug this hole yourself, Cupcake. Gotta learn somehow, right?”

“Learn?” you gasp, clutching your heart dramatically. “I saved a whole block of people! And all I wanted was some lasagna.”

He only raises an eyebrow, nodding at the TV where a rerun of the press conference plays. “Maybe if ya kept that pretty mouth shut, you’d be eating it by now.”

You press your lips together and shoot him a glare.

Fine. Time to step up your game.

You drag yourself into the living room and flop onto the couch, sighing loudly enough for him to hear. Then, even louder, you moan, “Can’t believe I’m starving in my own home.”

Still nothing. He doesn’t even look up from his phone. What a meanie. So, you ramp up the theatrics, muttering all kinds of melodramatic things under your breath, but every attempt only earns you a muttered, “Yer not starvin’, drama queen. Eat some leftovers or somethin'.”

With a scoff, you sink back onto the couch, dramatically placing your hand over your face as if you might pass out any second. “Fine, then! I guess this is how it ends... Left to waste away, bruised and abandoned. And hungry.”

Bakugou snorts, completely unmoved. “You’re such a pain,” he mutters, shaking his head. But he’s only encouraged by the little grin he’s barely hiding, scrolling through the comments online with a wicked kind of enjoyment.

You’re about to give up—but not just yet. So, you put on your best big, teary eyes and head over to his side of the couch, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. “'Suki, please,” you say in a soft, pitiful voice. “Do you really want me to suffer after the day I’ve had?”

Without even looking down at you, he flicks your hand off, murmuring, “Don’t pull that pitiful act on me. Told ya, I’m not makin’ you shit.”

A few agonizing minutes pass, with him still ignoring your efforts as he scrolls on his phone like what he's watching is just the best thing in the world. Finally, with all your usual tactics exhausted, you pull out your last resort—the one card guaranteed to make him surrender his holdout. You hated (not really) to pull out the trump card when things didn't go in your favor, but hey. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Behold: The Mitsuki card.

A smirk plays on your lips as you grab your phone and sneak into the bedroom. Bakugou doesn’t even notice you’re gone, too busy scrolling through comments, probably snickering at people analyzing every part of your outburst.

You dial the number, and Mitsuki picks up on the second ring, her voice bright and full of concern. “Hey, sweetheart! You alright? I saw that press video today—those reporters looked like they’d been scolded by the damn principal!”

You sigh dramatically, just enough to paint the picture. “Oh, I’m fine… just a little sore, really. Sorry you had to see that. I took some hits, had a rough day. And now…” You add a slight quiver to your voice, “… now I’m barely getting by, Mitsuki ma'am. Katsuki refuses to feed me after everything I went through today. Said I don’t deserve it. He promised me too. It's okay though..I'll just have some leftovers. I wanted to just talk to someone who's on my side.”

There’s a deadly silence on the other end of the line, and you can practically feel Mitsuki’s rage building. “Wait, wait. He refuses to feed you?!” Her voice spikes with indignation. “That little brat. You tell him if he doesn’t get his act together, I’m coming over there right now! And of course, I'm on your side! Hell, I would've done exactly the same!”

“Thank you and, believe me, I’ve tried.” You sigh, putting every ounce of your frustration into it. “All I wanted was some lasagna, but he’s acting like I committed some crime.”

“Well, he won’t be actin’ smug when I’m done with him.” Mitsuki’s tone is so sharp, you almost feel bad for him. Almost. “You just hang tight, sweetheart. I’ll take care of it.”

You thank her sweetly, ending the call and walking back to the living room with a triumphant smile, watching as Bakugou continues to chuckle at his phone. He raises an eyebrow as you sit down, looking suspicious. “What’re you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, a little too casually.

He gives you a long, side-eyed glance before turning back to his phone, mumbling something under his breath. He’s still grinning like a smug cat as he reads through more comments, clearly reveling in the mayhem you’ve caused. The seconds tick by, and you’re waiting, barely containing the anticipation.

Then—buzz buzz buzz. His phone starts ringing. His dumb grin drops at it, sees “Ma🤦🏼‍♂️” flashing on the screen, and he mutters something unintelligible. He lets it ring a few times, thinking she’ll give up, but Bakugou Mitsuki is nothing if not persistent.

Ring… ring… ring.

Finally, with a huff of exasperation, he answers. “What, old hag?”

“What?! That’s how you answer your mother? Especially after starvin’ that poor girl who’s had a rough day?” Mitsuki’s voice is so loud, you’re sure even the neighbors can hear it. Bakugou pulls the phone back from his ear, wincing, and you’re fighting every instinct not to burst out laughing.

“Ma, she’s fine—”

“Fine?! Fine, is she?!” Mitsuki snaps. “I saw that press video on the news! The girl’s out there practically bleedin’ her guts out, and you won’t even give her a plate of lasagna? You selfish little punk!”

Bakugou groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “Ma, she doesn’t need—”

“Listen here, Katsuki. You’re gonna give that girl a big ol’ plate of lasagna, and you’re gonna get her some damn ice cream to go with it, too, or so help me, I’ll come over there and make it for her myself!”

He tries to stammer a response, but she’s already launched into another tirade, laying it on thick about the importance of compassion, especially to those who put their lives on the line for others. By the end, his face is a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

Finally, she hangs up, and Bakugou stands there, completely defeated. “You just had to go and pull in the old hag, huh?”

You give him the sweetest, most innocent smile you can muster. “All I wanted was dinner, 'Suki.”

With a begrudging sigh and glare, he stomps over to the fridge, grabs the ice cream, and scoops a heaping bowl.

Bakugou thuds the bowl of ice cream down in front of you. “Here,” he says, and his tone drips with irritation. “Happy now?”

You flash him a saccharine smile, knowing he’s gritting his teeth behind that scowl. “Getting there,” you say, taking a huge spoonful of ice cream. You savor it slowly, letting him watch as you relish every bite. "This will help me stay alive while I wait on that lasagna you’re finally making.”

Rolling his eyes, he mutters something about “goddamn brats” and stomps back to the counter to get started on the lasagna from scratch. He’s measuring ingredients with an irritated efficiency, muttering curses as he moves between the stove and the counter, clearly making a point to be loud with every spoon clang and pan scrape. You can’t help but smirk, lounging at the table with your ice cream while he seethes his way through the prep.

“Y’know, you could just admit you’re glad to make me dinner,” you tease, trailing a finger around the rim of your ice cream bowl.

“Shut up,” he growls, not even looking at you. “Only doin’ this ‘cause you’re about two seconds from callin’ my mom back.”

You laugh, knowing you’ve won. He knows it, too, and you can tell by the way his jaw tightens. But he’s still at it, chopping, stirring, and layering with perfect precision. He even throws in extra herbs like he’s really trying to impress you—or maybe it’s just his stubborn pride refusing to serve you anything less than perfect, even if he’s fuming the whole time.

When the lasagna finally slides into the oven, he gives you a long, exasperated look, as if you’re personally responsible for the next forty minutes he’ll spend waiting for it to cook. Because you were. Meanwhile, you’re content, scraping the last of the ice cream and smiling as sweetly as possible.

“Looks like you’re the real MVP tonight, 'Suki,” you say with a grin, earning a deadpan glare as he slouches in the couch besides you, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, but he’s got a reluctant smirk, that little glint in his eyes betraying him.

As you savor the victory lasagna, taking big, dramatic bites and humming with exaggerated satisfaction, Bakugou watches you with a mixture of grumpy defeat and faint amusement. You’re absolutely eating it up—literally and figuratively—relishing how the whole thing turned out exactly the way you wanted. You even add a contented sigh, just to drive the point home.

“Happy now?” he mumbles, feigning irritation as he leans back in the couch.

“Completely,” you reply, all too pleased. “Though... later I might need a few cuddles to really recover from today.”

He gives you a look that could curdle milk. “Okay, now you’re pushin’ it.”

But you just grin, because you know damn well you’ll probably get your way. After all, you got ice cream, lasagna, and a little victory over Bakugou and his mom tonight. Cuddles? That’s just a matter of time.

All in a day’s work.

[kimmie2me]

Hi there! May you pretty please do deku x reader with a deer/fawn quirk! Headcannons or a story is fine you can choose🍒

Marks of a Hero

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!Reader with a fawn Quirk

.....

Izuku’s dorm room was filled with the soft amber glow of his desk lamp, casting a cozy warmth over the walls covered in hero posters and personal memorabilia. You sat cross-legged on his bed, smiling softly as he animatedly flipped through his notes, pointing out drawings and theories with a passion that seemed to set his eyes alight.

“…so, I guess that’s what fascinates me so much about quirks that alter someone’s physical form. Like Tsuyu-chan! She’s developed abilities that make her adaptable to so many situations—on land, underwater, high places,” he gushed, eyes sparkling with admiration. He moved on to mention quirks like Mirko’s remarkable rabbit agility and speed, Hawks’ feathered wings with all their hidden abilities, and finally… he paused, looking over at you, hesitant but with a trace of wonder in his expression.

“…And yours. I just think it’s incredible how graceful you are. There’s something different about the way you move, how attuned you seem to your surroundings. It’s like…” He trailed off, almost bashful, rubbing the back of his neck as he fumbled for words. “It’s like you’re connected to something beyond what we can see. I don’t know, maybe it sounds strange, but I’d love to understand it better. If that’s okay?”

You blinked, heart swelling at his openness and curiosity. His enthusiasm for quirks always inspired you, but hearing him speak so intently about yours had a different effect. You leaned forward, smiling gently.

“Why don’t you explore it yourself?” you offered, the suggestion so natural that it slipped out before you could second-guess it. “It might help your research if you could… well, take a closer look.”

Izuku’s eyes widened, cheeks flooding with color. “W-Wait, really? You’d… let me? I mean, here? Now?”

You nodded, a calm reassurance in your expression. “Yes. I trust you, Izuku. Besides, if it’ll help with your analysis, I’m happy to assist.”

“Right. Right, of course! Purely for research,” he stammered, trying to steady his nerves. With a deep breath, he inched closer, his fingers hovering just above your shoulders, hesitating. “This is… okay?”

You offered him a soft nod, and, at last, he began to reach out, his touch light as a feather at first, as if afraid to disturb something precious. His fingertips traced along the faint contours of your collarbone, where your skin bore subtle markings unique to your quirk. He’d always found these hints of animalistic strength mesmerizing, even in his sketches and notes. Up close, he seemed even more awestruck.

“This is… incredible,” he murmured, voice hushed with reverence. His fingertips followed the delicate tracings of darker pigmentation on your shoulders and arms—markings reminiscent of the patterns found on young fawns, subtle but unmistakably present. “It’s like these patterns… they almost mirror actual fawn spots. I wonder if they have any evolutionary purpose, like camouflage? Have you ever noticed if they shift in different seasons or adapt to your surroundings?”

You chuckled, unable to hide your amusement. “Not that I’ve noticed. But I do have enhanced senses, so maybe it’s just as useful that way.” His fingers brushed over a slight ridge along your shoulder, evidence of a minor quirk-related adjustment beneath the skin, and you saw his gaze sharpen with fascination.

“Your shoulders,” he observed, his voice soft and analytical, “they’re slightly more developed, like there’s an extra layer of muscle. It’s so subtle, but… is that how you can leap as high as you do?”

You nodded, impressed by his insight. “Exactly. I don’t even realize it sometimes, but it’s there. Helps with balance and power.” You could feel his hands relax as he grew more absorbed, each touch more confident, his focus trained on understanding rather than hesitation.

For a moment, he was lost in his analysis, fingertips exploring the faint curve of your spine and the sinewy strength you carried. There was a purity to his admiration—his complete and genuine awe of your abilities—and it warmed you to see him immersed in discovering this side of you.

And then, he stilled, drawing his hands back with a shy laugh. “I, uh… sorry. I got a little carried away.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “I don’t mind. Actually, Izuku, would it be okay if I… looked at you, too?”

His face reddened immediately, and he seemed to shrink back, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous reflex. “Uh… m-me? I mean… I… I don’t think there’s much to see.” He glanced down, his voice faltering. “It’s mostly just scars. Nothing like… like yours. I mean, there’s not much that’s…”

He trailed off, unable to bring himself to finish, and your heart softened. “Izuku,” you said gently, reaching out to take his hand, “these scars are part of you, too. They’re part of everything that makes you who you are. I’d like to see them, if you’d let me. I promise, I won’t judge. I just… want to understand more about you.”

He looked at you, and in his eyes, there was something so vulnerable, so open that it took your breath away. Slowly, he nodded, taking a shaky breath as he lifted his shirt, revealing the map of scars that crisscrossed his chest and torso—signs of battles and struggles, reminders of his journey.

Your hand hovered just above his skin, taking in the raw evidence of everything he’d been through. Carefully, you let your fingers rest over a thin, jagged scar running along his collarbone.

Izuku’s voice softened, almost as if he were telling you a secret. Maybe because, well, he was. “That one… it’s from the Hero Killer, Stain. When he attacked Iida in Hosu City, I… I knew I couldn’t just stand by. We were just supposed to be training, but I couldn’t let him hurt anyone else.”

You nodded, fingers tracing over the scar with gentle reverence. “You were so brave,” you whispered. He blushed, his eyes downcast but a small, almost bashful smile tugging at his lips.

“I didn’t feel brave,” he admitted, glancing up at you. “But in that moment, I just… I knew I had to act. I'm so glad Todoroki-kun came to help us.”

Your hand drifted to another mark, a deeper one just above his ribs, and he inhaled, recognizing the spot immediately. “That was from Overhaul,” he said, voice low. “When I… when I saved Eri. She was so scared. I remember feeling like I had to give everything I had, and then some.”

The memory hung between you both, heavy and sacred. You remembered that battle, the way he’d come back bruised and battered but with that quiet strength that had always set him apart. “Eri’s safe because of you, Izuku,” you murmured, a soft pride in your tone. “You’re a hero to her.”

He looked up, his green eyes softening as he watched you trace each mark with such care. “It wasn’t easy,” he admitted, “but seeing her smile afterward at the school festival… it was worth it.”

You moved lower, touching a scar on his side—a small one, but etched with a memory just as fierce. “This one?”

“That was… from Nine.” Izuku’s voice grew quiet, his gaze distant as he relived the memory. “On Nabu Island. Kacchan and I fought him together. He was so strong, but… I couldn’t let him hurt anyone. I couldn’t let anyone on the island suffer because of us.” He managed a small, shaky laugh. “Kacchan wouldn’t forgive me if I gave up anyway.”

The way he said it made you smile, knowing that even amid chaos and danger, his heart had been focused on protecting others. You took his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Izuku’s cheeks flushed as he scratched his neck, embarrassed. “I just… I did what I had to. What any hero would.”

But you shook your head. “No, Izuku. Not everyone would. That’s what makes you so special.”

You continued to explore each mark, reaching one on his upper arm next. He looked at it, a fond smile in his eyes. “This one… it’s from Kota. When we fought Muscular. I thought… I thought I might not make it, but he gave me a reason to fight, you know? He trusted me.” There was a warmth in his gaze, a memory he held dearly.

“He trusted you because he saw how strong you were,” you said, feeling the strength in his arm. “You’re someone people can rely on, Izuku. Kota, Eri… and me.”

He let out a small laugh, nervous but happy, eyes shining as he looked at you. “Thank you.”

You paused on a scar just below his ribs, softer than some of the others, almost hidden against his skin. He placed his hand over yours, looking down at it with a sad smile. “Flect Turn,” he said quietly. “It’s still… hard to think about that one. The way his quirk worked… it felt like I was being forced to face myself. To question everything I was trying to achieve.”

You met his gaze, voice steady. “But you didn’t back down.”

“No,” he said, his voice more certain this time. “I didn’t.”

For a moment, you just sat there, taking in the weight of his story, each scar a part of the journey that had shaped him. You ran your fingers over a few smaller ones, ones he didn’t mention, but you knew from the look in his eyes that each one had a tale to tell.

Finally, he looked up, the tension in his shoulders softened, the vulnerability you’d seen in his eyes replaced with a quiet confidence. “Thank you for… for wanting to know all of this,” he said, voice thick with emotion.

You took his hands, squeezing them gently. “Thank you for letting me in, Izuku. These scars—they’re not weaknesses. They’re your strength. Proof of every battle, every person you’ve helped, and every reason you’ve kept going.”

He looked at you, really looked at you, and in that moment, he felt seen, understood, in a way he never had before. His cheeks flushed again, but there was a warmth in his expression, one you knew he’d carry with him beyond this room, beyond these memories.

“Thank you,” he whispered again, and this time, you knew he meant it in a way only the two of you could understand.

Midoriya Headcanons

...

— Izuku is utterly fascinated by how graceful you are, often catching himself watching you move without realizing it. He’s taken by the way you seem to instinctively navigate through crowds and small spaces with ease, almost like you’re attuned to every small detail around you.

— His notebook is filled with little sketches of your quirk’s features, like the subtle fawn-like markings or unique muscle structure that helps with agility. He’s spent hours researching how animal traits like yours might benefit in hero work, adding little notes like, “Could be useful for enhanced evasion.”

— He’s always mindful about touching you, especially if he’s trying to understand your quirk’s physical differences. His fingers are soft and light, often tracing the markings on your skin with almost scientific reverence, as if he’s afraid to break something delicate.

—Izuku’s attentive enough to notice if your senses seem more heightened in certain seasons or environments. He’ll offer his jacket or scarf in the winter, thinking your quirk might make you more sensitive to cold, and will keep extra snacks on hand in case you need extra energy.

—On days when training has been intense, he’ll suggest taking you to quieter places, like an empty park or a spot on campus where you can unwind. He knows that your heightened senses might make crowded spaces overwhelming, so he loves giving you a peaceful place to recharge.

— IIzuku finds your presence calming in a way he can’t quite explain. When he’s stressed or overthinking, he’s drawn to you because your calm demeanor and gentle movements help him feel grounded, and he’s always grateful for that unspoken support.

— He’s curious about how your quirk can be applied in different scenarios, so you two spend time coming up with unique tactics for you in mock battles. You’ve even managed to startle Bakugou once by sneaking up quietly—Izuku was genuinely impressed because not everyone can just do that!

— Knowing how self-conscious he sometimes feels about his scars, you’ve started a quiet ritual of tracing them gently, assuring him that they’re a testament to his courage and resilience. It’s become one of his favorite gestures, even if he blushes each time you do it.

— Izuku takes notes on exercises that might help you develop your natural abilities even further. He’ll shyly suggest new routines designed specifically with your quirk in mind, encouraging you to experiment and improve in ways that feel uniquely suited to you.

— Some nights, after studying or training, you’ll sit together, sharing stories about your quirks and experiences. Izuku finds himself opening up about his insecurities and struggles, especially around those he’s saved, while you reassure him that he’s helped you feel seen and understood, too.

[kimmie2me]

Lingering Hold

Imagine you’re navigating the bustling streets of Tokyo with Izuku, trying to keep up with him as he gently tugs you along. His hand is warm and steady in yours, making the packed, fast-moving crowd around you feel a little less overwhelming. You can feel his callouses against your palm, and every once in a while, he gives your hand a small squeeze, almost like he’s checking in to make sure you’re still there.

Finally, you both step out of the crowd and reach a quieter corner of the street. But Izuku doesn’t let go. His gaze flicks down to your hands, a faint blush on his cheeks. You glance up at him, waiting for him to move or say something. Instead, he just looks at you with a soft, almost shy smile that makes your heart race.

“We’re, uh… we’re out of the crowd now,” you point out, teasingly, but you don’t make a move to let go either. Izuku clears his throat and laughs softly, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Ah, yeah, I know,” he murmurs, looking away for a moment. But his fingers curl a little tighter around yours. “It’s just… I don’t mind holding on.”

[kimmie2me]

Greeny Ghost

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Ghost!Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!Reader

.....

The alley stretched out longer than you’d thought, shadows swallowing the corners, broken only by dim streetlights. You’d walked down plenty of places like this before, but this one was unnervingly quiet. Your friends were supposed to be with you, daring you into the so-called “haunted” alley, but when you turned back, you saw—no one. Just empty space.

“Those jerks,” you muttered, kicking a stray pebble with an irritated huff. Just your luck to get abandoned in the middle of a ghost story.

That’s when you saw him: a faintly glowing figure at the far end of the alley, barely visible in the low light, his form flickering like static on an old TV. He wore a junior high uniform, like he was frozen in time, but it was his eyes, wide and curious, that had you rooted to the spot.

"What the hell." You blurted out, which caused the ghost to jump a bit.

“You… you can see me?” he asked, sounding more surprised than you felt.

“Guess so,” you replied warily, feeling your fists clench. You took a step back, but he stayed still, watching you with something close to wonder. “A-are you the… ghost? Y'know.. that one ghost?”

“No. I mean, yes, but… not like… like an evil ghost!” he said, frowning as he waved his hands in the air, trying to seem harmless. “I don’t hurt anyone or anything. I just… hang around.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? So why are there all those rumors about people going missing in this alley?”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “I have no idea! I’ve been here for years, and no one ever went missing because of me.” His arms crossed, and he gave you an indignant look, clearly offended. “I keep watch over the place. There’s a run-down building nearby, and sketchy people use it for… whatever sketchy people do. I’m just here observing them, making notes sometimes.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, unconvinced. “Sounds like something an evil ghost would say. Plus, why would anyone believe some… green-haired ghost taking notes?”

His frown deepened and he sighed. "Really? 'Green-haired ghost? I have a name and identity, you know? My name is Midoriya Izuku."

You shrugged, giving him a skeptical look. “Sure, whatever. and I'm giving you a new identity: ‘Greeny Ghost.’ Also, how am supposed to trust you? You're a ghost and the movies basically explain what you're supposed to do. Just don't haunt me or I'll pour holy water down your throat.”

He threw his hands up. “Why are you making this harder than it has to be? I’m just here because I, well, exist here.” His voice softened a bit, frustration giving way to a hint of sadness. “It’s not like I can go anywhere else.”

“Yeah, and every creepy spirit says that before they drag you into some other world and keep you locked up for eternity,” you replied with a smirk, folding your arms in a show of exaggerated defiance. “Sorry, but I’m not falling for the ‘poor trapped ghost’ act.”

Izuku groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if your words were physically painful. “You remind me so much of Kacchan! In a bad way!”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Uh-huh. And what, or who, the hell is ‘Kacchan’?”

Izuku looked at you, his face twisting into an expression halfway between exasperation and resignation. “Kacchan! My… a friend from junior high. Sort of. He’s… well, actually, no, he’s nothing like you.” Izuku seemed to rethink this, blinking in realization. “He’s a lot worse.”

“Wow. So you’re saying I’m less tolerable than some guy named Kacchan, who, by the sound of it, doesn’t sound like someone with a good rep?” you said with mock offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Way to compliment a girl, Greeny-Ghost.”

He looked like he was about three seconds away from floating back through the alley wall, giving up on this ridiculous exchange.

You look at him a bit more closer, and you note he looked about your age, but… different. Ghostly, of course, but there was something else, something in his eyes that almost seemed… lonely. You didn’t know if you believed him, but something about him made you stay.

“What’re you even doing here?” you finally asked, taking a careful step forward. "Are you trapped here or something?"

“Besides not being evil?” he shot back, still salty. But when he saw you weren’t about to leave, he sighed, softening. “A villain got me… in this alley. I was just a kid, and I never really… left, I guess. People pass by now and then, but nobody usually sees me.” He shifted, looking suddenly uncertain. “Actually, you’re the first one to ever talk to me.”

You studied him, noticing the worn edges of his uniform, the tired, resigned look in his eyes. He seemed less scary and more… well, kind of tragic. Still, you weren’t about to let your guard down. “Yeah, well, maybe people hear the creepy noises you make,” you challenged. “Y'know it freaks them out.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Oh! You mean the notes? I’m trying to keep track of the activity around here,” he said defensively. “Besides, no one told me my note-taking was creepy.”

“Right,” you said, biting back a smirk. “So you’re a scholarly ghost, huh?”

A light blush appeared on his cheeks. “Look, I don’t get many hobbies! Ghosts don’t have a lot to do except observe.” He crossed his arms, giving you a quick glare before his expression softened again. “Anyway, I’m not the villain here. The creepy noises? That’s just me muttering to myself or something.”

Your arms relaxed a bit, the eerie feeling of the alley giving way to something else entirely. His earnestness was unexpected, and honestly, a little endearing.

“Alright, Greeny,” you relented, softening just a little. “Maybe you’re not as evil as they say.”

He sighed, looking relieved but still a little skeptical himself. “That’s… comforting, I guess.”

You shrugged, shoving your hands in your pockets. “Guess I’ll see you around.” You turned, giving him a small wave as you walked away, his faint figure watching you until you disappeared around the corner.

.....

Three days later, you found yourself back at the alley. You weren’t sure why—maybe it was the way he’d looked at you, or that stupid hopefulness in his voice. This time, you came with something: a small letter in your hand, the ink smudged slightly where you’d clutched it nervously.

You called out, half-expecting him not to show, but he appeared, looking pleasantly surprised.

“Back already?” he teased, a lopsided smile on his face. "

“Don’t get too excited,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone casual. You extended the letter. “It’s… from your mom. I found her, told her I met you… and I convinced her to write something for you. Don't ask why I did it. You looked so miserable here, it made me miserable.”

His mouth dropped open, his expression turning from surprise to something you couldn’t quite name. He took the letter in shaking hands, his gaze fixed on it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

“She… she actually remembered me?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He looked up, tears pooling in his eyes. “Thank you… I can’t believe you’d go out of your way for… for me.”

You shrugged, feeling a little awkward under the weight of his gratitude. “Figured you could use a reminder that you’re not just… some alley ghost.”

He laughed a little through his tears, wiping his eyes. “I’m really not an evil ghost,” he said, voice soft and grateful.

“Yeah, well,” you replied, rolling your eyes with a small grin. “You’re still Greeny Ghost to me.”

Izuku blinked, visibly surprised by your small grin, and for a second he just stood there, processing it. Then, with an awkward but excited energy, he smiled back.

“D-do you want to, uh… stick around for a bit? I could, um, show you what I’ve written down,” he stammered, gesturing to a tattered notebook that materialized in his hands.

You chuckled. “Sure. Show me what a scholarly ghost looks like.”

He lit up, practically vibrating with excitement as he began flipping through his notes, talking fast as he pointed out every bit of information he’d gathered. You listened, half amused and half impressed by his careful, detailed observations. Each page was crammed with tiny, meticulous handwriting that covered everything from people he’d seen pass by to strange objects left in the alley over the years.

“I try to keep track of everything,” he explained earnestly. “It’s not like anyone really notices me, so I figured… maybe someday, if someone needed to know anything about this area, I’d have it all written down.”

“Sounds like you take your ghostly duties pretty seriously, huh?” you teased, glancing through his observations. "Well, I try to be a hero in my own way" He replied with a small smile. As you skimmed a particularly eerie note about some “sludge villain” incident that had occurred nearby, a thought hit you.

“Wait, was it… the sludge villain? Was that what got you here?” you asked, looking up to find his expression turn somber, yet resigned.

“Yeah,” he murmured, a shadow passing over his face. “It all happened so fast. I didn’t even see him coming. They said… All Might couldn’t get there in time.” He paused, then shrugged, as if he’d long made peace with it. “Guess it’s just the way it happened.”

You looked at him thoughtfully, and something in you softened. “You know… I think All Might was really sad about what happened to you.”

Izuku’s eyes went wide, almost panicked, like you’d just told him he’d accidentally disappointed a beloved friend. “S-sad? I didn’t want him to feel sad! I mean, All Might is my hero! He’s… he’s… I never wanted to make him feel like that. I was always cheering him on!”

You attempt to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, which failed as it phases right through. After a second try, you deem the gesture to be futile. “Hey, it’s okay. All Might probably knew that. And who knows? I bet he even came to your funeral.”

Izuku looked up, the panic giving way to a kind of hopeful wonder. “You… you think so?”

“Of course,” you said, grinning a bit. “And hey, maybe that ‘Kacchan’ guy you mentioned showed up too. You’re not as alone as you’d imagine, Greeny.”

He looked at you, eyes brimming with a strange mixture of gratitude and disbelief, as if no one had ever told him something like that before. “Thank you,” he whispered, voice soft and full of warmth. “For saying that. It… it actually means a lot.”

You shrugged it off, feeling a little flustered under his earnest gaze. “Yeah, well, can’t leave a ghost like you feeling down, right?”

Izuku chuckled, the sound light and unexpectedly comforting. “I guess not,” he agreed, eyes still shining with gratitude as he turned back to his notes, flipping to a fresh page. “You mind if I write down that you came back? I think… I think I’d like to remember it.” You nod.

"Yeah, sure you can."

From that moment on, he followed you like a quiet shadow, slipping into conversations, teasing you as much as you teased him, and reminding you of the friend you’d found in the most unexpected of places.

[kimmie2me]

Hi hellooo<3 would it be alright to ask for something related to bunny izuku?💞

Soft Steps, Warm Gazes

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Bunny!Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!Reader

…..

In the magical realm of Pristine Plains, where the sky gleamed with colors as vibrant as the world below, you lived in a cozy little cabin nestled between sun-dappled trees and winding cobblestone paths. Your home sat tucked under the watchful branches of an old willow, blooming wildflowers surrounding it in a burst of colors and soft scents. The ground was lush, warm underfoot even as you wandered between the garden beds, checking for ripe fruits and vegetables, their vibrant skins gleaming in the afternoon light.

Pristine Plains was a realm of endless wonders, home to all manner of creatures, each unique and astonishing. From dragons with scales that glistened like jewels to fae with wings iridescent as sunlight through stained glass—everyone here thrived in a harmony as delicate as it was beautiful. Your life was simple yet deeply fulfilling. Each morning, you picked the finest fruits and vegetables, arranging them in woven baskets outside your cabin, free for any traveler who might need a bite to eat.

Today, as you set a plump bunch of berries and bright tomatoes into a basket by your door, you noticed someone lurking at the edge of the trees. He wasn’t the usual traveler passing through, nor was he a neighbor coming to exchange stories and fresh goods. He was… well, adorable, really. A small bunnyfolk, standing half-hidden behind a tree trunk, with wide, emerald-green eyes that sparkled with curiosity and caution. His fur was a soft, dark green that glistened under the sunlight, almost like ivy in morning dew. He wore a simple tunic that matched the color of his fur, and his little nose twitched with what you could only assume was nerves.

You hadn’t seen him before, and you wondered what had brought him here. He seemed hesitant, shifting his weight from one foot to another, glancing repeatedly at the baskets of fresh produce beside your door. But despite his clear interest, he made no move to step forward.

So, you did what you always did for someone in need: you offered kindness.

With a soft smile, you carefully filled a small basket with some of the freshest goods—the fruits and vegetables you could tell he’d been eyeing the longest, the ones his gaze had lingered on. Strawberries, plump and red; a handful of shiny green apples; and a small bundle of leafy greens that you guessed might be a favorite for someone like him. You approached him slowly, your footsteps soft on the grass, not wanting to startle him.

He noticed you approaching, his long ears perking up in surprise, and his eyes grew even wider, if that was possible. His small, fuzzy hands went to his chest as if to steady himself, his nose twitching rapidly. But he held his ground, a hint of resolve in his gaze as he watched you with a mixture of curiosity and something else, something softer, that you couldn’t quite place.

“Hello there,” you greeted, your voice gentle. You held out the basket to him, keeping your movements slow and kind. “I noticed you watching. I thought you might be hungry.”

His gaze flickered from the basket up to your face, his cheeks turning a shade pinker, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. “Ah… I… I didn’t mean to… um…”

You waited patiently as he stumbled over his words, clearly flustered, his little hands fidgeting with the edge of his tunic. Eventually, he reached out, tentative, like he was afraid of somehow offending you by accepting the gift. When his fingers brushed the basket, you saw them tremble ever so slightly, as if this was something he rarely allowed himself to do.

“These are for… for me?” he asked in a soft voice, his emerald eyes glistening with genuine surprise.

“Yes, of course,” you reassured him, your smile warm and open. “Please, take them. I always have plenty, and it’s nice to share with someone who appreciates them.”

He took the basket into his arms, holding it close like it was something precious, his face softening with a look of wonder. His gaze met yours again, this time with something shy but deeply appreciative. “Thank you… I—really, thank you so much. I was just… passing by, but…” He paused, glancing down at the fruits in his hands, then back up at you, ears twitching slightly as he struggled to find his words. “I didn’t know if it would be… rude to ask.”

“Not at all,” you replied, heart warming at his thoughtfulness. “I’m always happy to help. Besides, you look like someone who deserves a nice meal.”

At this, he turned a shade darker, his cheeks nearly matching the strawberries you’d given him. He mumbled a shy “Thank you” again, his fingers toying with the stem of an apple, his eyes flitting from the basket to you and back again.

As he lingered there, you noticed his gaze repeatedly drifting to the cabin and the garden behind you, his curiosity clearly sparked. It was adorable, how he tried to be so polite even when his interest was obvious.

“Would you like to come inside?” you offered, stepping back a little to give him space, watching his expression brighten in surprise. “I just brewed some tea if you’d like to join me.”

“Oh! Oh, I—um, yes, that… that sounds… nice,” he stammered, nodding a bit too quickly, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask.

You guided him up the small cobblestone path, his little bunny steps soft behind you as he followed, clutching the basket close to his chest. Inside, your cozy cabin was filled with warm, earthy scents of dried herbs and flowers, shelves lined with small jars and woven baskets holding all sorts of fruits, vegetables, and dried petals. A small, crackling fire added a comforting glow, casting gentle shadows across the room.

He looked around with wide eyes, taking in every detail, his gaze darting from one corner of the cabin to another, as though he couldn’t believe he was really here.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you said, gesturing to a cushioned chair by the fire. He settled into it with a little wiggle, his face lighting up at the warmth of the hearth as he held the basket in his lap like a treasure.

As you poured tea into two delicate cups, he glanced shyly your way, the tip of one ear twitching. “I’ve… never met anyone like you before,” he admitted softly, his gaze fixed on his tea as though he was afraid to say it out loud. “You’re so… kind. I mean, it’s rare. I… I usually have to…”

His voice trailed off, and he shrugged, a bit sheepish.

You watched him, a gentle understanding in your smile. “It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re here now. If you ever need anything, please feel free to visit. I have plenty to share.”

The bunny took a careful sip of his tea, glancing down shyly before finally gathering the courage to speak again. “Thank you again… for the food, and the tea… and, well, for all of this. I, um… I’m not used to people being so kind, you know?”

You tilted your head, a gentle understanding in your eyes. “That’s alright. It’s nice to share a meal with someone who appreciates it.” You extended your hand across the small wooden table. “I’m glad to meet you, really. My name is [Your Name].”

“Oh!” He set his tea down, quickly reaching out to shake your hand, his fingers soft and warm, and his touch delicate. “I-I’m Midoriya Izuku. You can just use my given name..if you want,” he said, his ears twitching in what seemed like both excitement and embarrassment. “I’m, well, a traveler… I like to explore and learn new things.” His green eyes brightened as he spoke, his nerves easing slightly. “Pristine Plains is so beautiful. I didn’t expect to meet someone as kind as you here, though.”

“I’m glad we met too, Izuku. It’s nice having a visitor who appreciates this place as much as I do. I’ve lived here my whole life, but it’s still so full of surprises.”

A small, surprised smile tugged at Izuku’s lips. “You must know every tree and flower in this place by heart, then?”

You laughed, a warm, gentle sound that made his cheeks turn even pinker. “Not every tree, but I’d like to think I know it well. I spend my days out here, tending to my plants and sharing what I grow with travelers. It’s a peaceful life.”

Izuku’s gaze softened, and he looked at you with a quiet reverence. “That’s… amazing, actually. So you’ve met a lot of people? I mean, all kinds, I bet.” He glanced down, ears twitching again as if suddenly self-conscious. “I hope… I mean, I hope you’ll let me come by again sometime?”

You smiled, nodding encouragingly. “Of course, Izuku. You’re welcome here anytime! I’d be happy to have a friend around.”

Izuku’s face brightened, and his expression softened with genuine gratitude. He took another sip of tea before glancing out the window, where the sun was beginning to sink, painting the skies in hues of lavender and gold. He sighed, a reluctant note in his voice. “I should probably head back before it gets dark. But… thank you. Truly. For the food, the tea, everything. I don’t know how to repay you.”

You waved a hand dismissively, shaking your head. “There’s no need. Just come by again, whenever you like.”

As he left, he turned back one last time, his face lit up by a grateful, almost reverent smile. “Thank you… for everything.”

.....

From then on, Izuku visited every day. Sometimes he’d bring you small gifts he’d collected on his journeys—crystals from nearby hills, feathers he found while wandering, and little tokens he thought you’d enjoy. Other times, he would spend hours helping you in the garden, his hands careful and his gaze admiring as he watched you work. He was good company, and soon, his visits felt like a natural part of your days, a friendship blossoming between the two of you.

One morning, you noticed Izuku was especially excited as he arrived, a glimmer of anticipation in his green eyes. “I was thinking… um, there’s a place I’d love to show you,” he said, his words rushing together with excitement. “It’s just beyond Pristine Plains, in a forest called Elkwood. I visit it sometimes when I need to clear my mind. But I think… you’d really like it there.”

Curiosity sparked within you, and you nodded eagerly. “I’d love to see it. Lead the way.”

Together, you made your way through Pristine Plains, the familiar paths soon giving way to denser trees as the two of you ventured into Elkwood Forest. The moment you crossed the threshold, you felt a subtle, gentle shift in the air, a kind of magic woven into the trees and the ground itself. It was as if the forest welcomed only those who carried kindness in their hearts, a feeling that wrapped around you like a warm embrace.

The trees in Elkwood were taller and grander than any you’d seen, their trunks wrapped in glowing moss and their leaves shimmering with a faint, silvery light. Flowers in colors you couldn’t name bloomed around you, their petals glowing softly under the dappled sunlight.

“Oh! Look over here!” Izuku called softly, pointing to a small group of fairies that flitted about in the air, their tiny, glowing wings leaving trails of golden light as they moved. They seemed curious, hovering close to the two of you before darting away with musical laughter.

As you wandered deeper into the forest, you came across a pond, its water so clear it looked like crystal, reflecting the magical surroundings like a mirror. Baby dragons splashed in the shallow end, their scales glimmering in shades of blue and green, their playful cries echoing across the water. You felt as if you’d stepped into a dream.

Izuku watched your expression with a fond smile. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Only those with true kindness in their hearts can pass through the border surrounding this part of the forest. That’s why… well, that’s why I thought you’d love it here.”

You turned to him, touched by the warmth in his words. “It’s beautiful, Izuku. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He beamed, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “I’m just glad I could share it with someone who sees it the way I do. Most people don’t notice the little things, you know? Like how the flowers glow… or how you can hear the fairies singing if you listen carefully.”

The two of you sat by the pond, watching as the sun set behind the trees, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The soft chirping of the forest creatures filled the air, and for a long time, you both just sat in peaceful silence, absorbing the magic of the forest.

As dusk settled, Izuku turned to you, his eyes reflecting the gentle glow of the forest. “Thank you for coming here with me. I… don’t have many friends, you know? And I… I’m grateful for you.”

Your heart warmed at his words, and you reached out, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m grateful for you too, Izuku.”

And as the stars began to twinkle above, you knew that this friendship—this bond—was something truly special, one that had grown from simple kindness and blossomed into something magical, as rare and beautiful as the forest around you.

[kimmie2me]

Footnotes in Fascination

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Midoriya Izuku x AFAB!Reader

.....

It starts innocently enough in the middle of a class exercise at UA, when Midoriya, looking like he’s only half-listening to the instructor, leans over to you, his expression bright and eager.

“I… I hope this isn’t weird, but… your Quirk is really impressive!” he says, eyes wide as he holds out his 'Hero Analysis for the Future' notebook. “If you’re okay with it, could I… take a few notes? I don’t think I’ve seen anything like it before, and I’d love to understand more about how it works!”

You're taken aback for a second—he’s the famous Midoriya Izuku, the boy who saved Kota, Eri, and countless others. You’d heard about him from the rumors, how he was genuine, awkward in a sweet way, and a bit of a hero fanatic. Still, there’s something undeniably earnest in his request. You agree with a nod and a quiet “Sure,” wondering what he could possibly want to know.

Over the next few weeks, he comes by every so often, asking about details of your Quirk's mechanics, and you can’t help but find it a little cute how his eyes light up as he scribbles in his notebook. He’s all nerves and polite apologies, but his enthusiasm never seems to waver.

And then, one day, as you’re both talking, you try to glance over at his notes—he quickly closes the notebook, cheeks turning a bright shade of red.

“Ah! Um—n-not that there’s anything weird in here! Just, uh… you know! Hero studies!” he stammers, clearly flustered.

From then on, every time you try to sneak a peek, he quickly diverts the topic, almost as if his heart’s going to leap out of his chest if he lets you see what he wrote. You can’t help but wonder just what he’s hiding in those notes.

Midoriya’s Notebook – Entry on [Your Name]'s Quirk

...

Day One: "Initial observations—her control is incredible. Such fine-tuned adjustments; it’s like she has total mastery over every part of her ability. Would love to ask her more about how long it took to develop that precision."

In the margin: “So cool!!”

Day Four:"Noticed how she combines her Quirk with defensive moves, especially in close combat—seems naturally skilled at adapting to her opponent's style! Her reflexes are amazing."

In the margin: “Amazing reflexes, would love to see more! She doesn’t even look like she’s trying that hard... wow!”

Day Seven: "Today she used her Quirk to protect a teammate during team training. Definitely a strategic thinker. Her reactions are intuitive, not pre-planned. She’s quick to adapt to changing situations—hero material."

In the margin: “Hero instincts! So impressive!!!”

Day Eleven: "I asked her about her training routine—she didn’t give too many details, but I’m positive she puts in extra time to build this kind of control. Will she let me ask again?"

In the margin: “Her fighting style is so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it! Hope she shares more with me.”

Random doodle on the side of the page: (A tiny, slightly lopsided drawing of you mid-action, looking pretty cool but also way too adorable. There are little stars around you.)

Day Fifteen: "Every time we work together, she surprises me with how capable she is. She makes it look effortless. Really wonder how she sees her own strengths… I mean, she’s got to know she’s… incredible, right?"

In the margin: “She’s seriously one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”

[kimmie2me]

The Kiss Cure

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Reader

.....

It didn’t matter if it was big or small, every scrape, cut, or bruise on Bakugou Katsuki was always met with the same tender ritual. The first few times, he’d rolled his eyes, brushed it off with a “Tch,” like he thought it was childish. But then he got used to it, almost expecting it after a while, though he’d never say that out loud.

Every time he returned to you with a new injury, no matter how minor or how serious, you were there, ready to ease it with that gentle smile of yours and that ridiculous, adorable little habit he secretly adored.

“Just sit down, ‘Suki,” you said softly, guiding him to the kitchen chair after his latest mishap—this time, it was a shallow slice along his palm, thanks to a villain’s discarded glass shard. The injury wasn’t serious by any means, but you’d pulled out the first-aid kit like you were about to conduct a full surgery.

“Geez, ‘m fine. S’just a cut,” he muttered, but his hands were already in yours, palm turned upwards as you examined the shallow cut with careful eyes. He liked the way your fingertips brushed over his hand, firm but soft, confident as you worked.

“Did it bleed a lot?” you asked, voice laced with genuine concern, already reaching for a disinfectant wipe.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he huffed, but there was a hint of embarrassment in his tone as he avoided your eyes.

You grinned, knowing him too well. “I know, tough guy,” you teased, dabbing the cut with the wipe as he held back a slight wince. “But it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a little extra care.”

He didn’t say anything to that—just watched, cheeks dusted a faint pink, as you reached into the box and pulled out the collection of bandages you kept on hand. You always chose a new one every time, some cute or silly print that felt somehow right against all of his sharp edges. Today, it was a Hello Kitty plaster, complete with pink bows and sparkles, and you placed it over his cut with utmost seriousness.

Once the bandage was in place, you did what you always did—holding his hand gently, you leaned down and placed a small, lingering kiss on top, right over the bandage. “All better, now,” you whispered, finally looking up at him with that warm gaze he was slowly finding harder and harder to ignore.

Katsuki’s ears turned red, but he managed a grumble. “Doesn’t hurt or anything,” he said, but the way his hand stayed in yours a moment longer told you he appreciated it.

.....

A few days later, you found him sprawled on the couch, exhausted from a grueling fight with some hotshot villain from another district. There was a faint bruise along his temple, one you only noticed when you brushed back his bangs as you handed him a cold bottle of water.

“Ow,” he muttered as your fingertips grazed the bruise, but he didn’t pull away. In fact, he leaned into it ever so slightly, eyelids fluttering shut as you kept your fingers there, comforting.

“Wait here. I’ll grab an ice pack,” you murmured, already getting up to retrieve one from the freezer. When you returned, he was still lying there, eyes half-closed as he let you gently press the pack against his temple. He grumbled, but you could tell he was settling in, eyes drifting closed as he finally let himself unwind.

Sometime later, when the ice had long melted and the cool had turned lukewarm, he turned his head to find you watching him. Before he could say anything, you brushed a feather-light kiss just above his brow, where the bruise had faded to a dull ache.

“You feel better now?” you asked, voice soft and almost shy.

He rolled his eyes but didn’t protest. Instead, he mumbled, “Yeah…thanks, Cupcake.” He caught himself too late, and the way his eyes darted away almost made you laugh. He could mutter endearments when it was just the two of you, here in this safe space you’d carved out together.

You let the little slip of his usual guarded walls slide, curling up beside him on the couch as he rested his head against your shoulder. For a man who’d fought tooth and nail for the hero rank he held, he had a way of melting in your presence like he belonged nowhere else.

And it went like this for months, your quiet ritual of care. Sometimes it was a scrape from training too hard, other times it was a stiff shoulder from long patrol shifts, or a nick on his jaw where a stray piece of shrapnel had grazed him during a particularly rough skirmish. Every time, you’d pull out your first-aid kit, give him a once-over with those soft, gentle hands of yours, and finish it with a kiss, like a charm to heal whatever he’d faced that day.

.....

One day, after a particularly nasty encounter with a villain wielding fire, he came home with a small burn along his forearm. He’d downplayed it over the phone, but seeing the redness and faint blistering made your heart clench.

“It’s not bad,” he assured you quickly, seeing the look on your face. “They checked me over already, said it’s just a surface burn.”

He watched as you carefully smoothed burn cream over the wound, your brow knitted with focus. The silence hung heavy as you finished, and he thought you might say something about being more careful. But you never did. Instead, you smoothed a bit more cream over the edges, your eyes soft with that same unspoken affection.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss just above the burn, eyes fluttering closed for a second. When you pulled back, you whispered, “I’m just glad you’re okay, ‘Suki.”

Something in him softened, and for a split second, he felt the words rise to the tip of his tongue—to tell you that maybe he liked the nickname, that maybe he’d grown to want this, want you by his side, through every cut and scrape and bruise.

But instead, he just murmured, “Thanks, Cupcake,” and pulled you in closer, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months, your gentle routine settling into his life like a lullaby he never wanted to end. Sometimes he wondered if he was almost getting hurt on purpose, just to feel that reassuring press of your hands, that chaste kiss you’d place over whatever hurt he’d dragged himself home with.

.....

But one night, after a particularly brutal fight that left him battered and bruised beyond the small injuries you’d grown used to, he stumbled home, practically collapsing into your arms as you pulled him to the couch, hands working quickly to patch him up. He could see the worry etched across your face, your eyes watery as you tended to each cut and bruise with quiet determination.

When you finished, he lay there, head resting against your lap as your fingers brushed through his hair, soothing the ache with each touch. Finally, you leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his bruised cheek, and whispered, “All better now.”

For once, he didn’t hold back. “Feels better when you’re here,” he mumbled, voice raw and almost inaudible.

You didn’t say anything, just pressed another kiss to his cheek, holding him close. And as he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if maybe, just maybe, he could get used to the feeling of being loved like this.

[kimmie2me]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ꒰ ꒱ྀི tags ٩ ۶　

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