#im not sure it's coherent and im too tired to proofread

[teruel-a-witch]

Sorry for hijacking your meta-writing abilities but I'm at work and I have just had an epiphany. You know what's really, insanely wild about the whole Cath/Billie/Steve problem? That when in 4x02 Steve rants that Cath will need a job, and Danny answers that they'll find her one, despite harping about Catherine’s unmatched abilities in recon and intel, Steve doesn't suggest, NOT EVEN AS A JOKE, no, it doesn't even cross his mind, that they could offer her a job in Five-0. Steve could do it. Later he will. BUT. NOT. HERE. AND. NOW. See, it would've solved any issue: give Cath a job exactly tailored onto her, keep her close to Steve, reinforce their bond. But neither Steve, nor Danny, even suggest it. Or think about it. It's like....dunno, it's like they don't want to break the perfect bubble of intimacy and closeness they've built for themselves. Like Cath would play among them the same role Billie plays between Steve and her. Or maybe I'm seein things.

You are not hijacking anything like I'm ever gonna pass up an opportunity to ramble (especially about my current obsession aka McDanno). You are not seeing things, unless you mean seeing what's actually shown on screen ;).

First, I'm gonna speculate on the reasons the writers wrote it this way and then I'll put my shipping goggles on.

As soon as they made Cath a regular on the show, I thought it's just a matter of time before she would have to join 5-0 just because, well, it's what the show is about.

BUT there were two problems with that, one - they didn't want to make it look like she only got the job because she's Steve's sometimes maybe girlfriend (even tho lbr that is why, not that she's not qualified, of course she is, but she was only considered for the job because of her connection to the boss, that is the definition of nepotism, not to mention they wanted to avoid the implication that she...uh...slept her way to the top) so they had to make it look like she had her own thing and they tried everything before just sticking her on the team.

The second problem, I imagine, is they didn't want to make it look like they immediately replaced Kono with Cath (while Grace was on her maternity leave which was a valid reason for her to be absent the optics are just not great especially after they already sidelined Kono for Lori in S2, since the show was allergic to having more than one woman on the team (had to adhere to the Smurfette Principle I guess).

The Powers That Be and the marketing doesn't care about the show *being* progressive it cares about *appearing* progressive which is why they had to cover their bases, so to speak. They had to go 'See? We have tried everything. We gave her her own job, that didn't work out, and now they are one team member short so it makes sense for her to be there since she is more than qualified, not because she's dating the boss, she's her own woman, hashtag feminism'.

So that's my conjecture/speculation for why it was written like that OUT OF universe.

Now *puts her shipping goggles on* since we don't have to consider the external reasons and only work with what we get on screen, you are absolutely right, it's veeeery curious how neither Steve nor Danny actually want Cath there, because 5-0 is ohana and no matter how much TPTB tried to force it she was never truly part of it.

But more than that, their job is their partnership, it's a Steve-and-Danny thing, of course they didn't want a third wheel to invade their own private little world.

It's absolutely in the same vein with Steve inviting Danny to go fishing to his father's secret spot and refusing to disclose to Cath where he is going. (He needs his very special male bonding time away from wymyn ;))

Steve NEEDS a place where he can escape to from the tiring burden of heteronormativity, Danny doesn't have to see his 'girlfriends' at work every day, this is the time where he can spend as much time as he wants with Steve without anyone invading that, of course they don't want Steve's 'girlfriend' to be there every day taking a giant bite out of their quality time cake.

Cath being there means they both have to be on™ all the time, the performance never stops and they can't relax and be themselves and it's exhausting. Steve prefers to compartmentalize and he was perfectly happy to keep Cath and 5-0 separate.

Not to mention he was perfectly okay with the little amount of time he usually spent with her (tells us everything we need to know, doesn't it, especially compared how him and Danny live in each other's pockets) and if she worked with them it would be like being forced to eat tasteless bran every day instead of only occasionally just to tick a box.

Lastly, I would argue that unlike with Billie, there IS actually a triangle of sorts with Cath - Steve - Danny (Billie - Cath - Steve isn't a real triangle because Steve is clearly not interested in competing with Billie).

Danny definitely doesn't enjoy Cath encroaching on his quality time with Steve, and he *cannot* watch any form of PDA between the two, as evidenced by him literally turning away and/or making a joke every time he has to witness the forced display. Her working with them would mean he would have to suffer through even more of that so of course it wouldn't be his suggestion. Danny may feel like 'the other woman' sometimes but in reality Cath simply couldn't compete with him, if Steve knew he returned his feelings he would have dropped Cath like a hot potato. It's not a real love triangle when the sides are extremely uneven and the choice is obvious.

TL;Dr: you are not so much seeing as perceiving correctly.

[08melancholie]

Coated. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Denial of Feelings, Chapter 2: Horseshoe Overlook (Red Dead Redemption 2), Location: Valentine (Red Dead Redemption), Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Soft Micah Bell, Pining, Pining Reader, reader is lowkey a bit of a freak, Female Honorifics and Terms, a bit ooc but you can't blame me i just want him so bad, Obsession, Obsessive Behaviour, Unresolved Sexual Tension

summary: It felt unreal; the smell of musk, gunpowder and smoke, the leather fabric dragging over your undershirt, the way it hung over your body, threatening to slip off with every movement from the size difference. A storm always ruined your plans, usually. Though, you were finally glad for the change of weather, seeing how much it benefitted you tonight.

a/n: micah bell fluff im sorry guys cant help myself lawd....... i want him to give me a bear hug and tell me itll be ok

Not proofread !!!!

words: 3,288 | AO3 LINK

Valentine always smelled the same, and it would instantly attack your nostrils when you'd exit the almost run-down saloon after a night out. Today, a fraction of the gang had one of the more successful jobs, and decided to treat themselves to a drink out in the nearby town instead of in camp, like they would usually. You were part of the fraction; having accompanied them on quite a few jobs as of recently.

It was a high-risk robbery, and it went so much smoother than any of the men you did the job with expected it to. So, it was obvious drinks would be needed. Maybe getting yourself drunk is exactly what you needed; whether or whether not you did, you were going to do it. And get drunk you—somewhat—did. You were a bit cheap, so you stopped yourself at tipsy with four shots of whiskey and a few rounds of beers that Arthur generously paid for everyone. Most people actually tapped out before you; surprisingly. Your guess was that they were simply too tired. By the end of the night, the only members left in the saloon out of your little group were Arthur, Dutch, Micah and yourself. You tapped out at your limit—more-so your wallets limit—and decided you'd also head out, saying so to the men deciding to keep on drinking. They told you to have a good night, and you returned the words before walking out.

And so, here you were, on the porch stairs a few feet before the saloon door, a cigarette held in your hand while you waited for the storm to die down a bit. The air was undeniably hot; seeing as the storm was happening late-July, which was odd. Your undershirt wasn't providing much warmth, and you hoped that the cigarette would do the job for you instead—to no avail.

You took shaky drags of your cigarette and blew the smoke out before yourself, hugging your body with your free hand. Seriously; why the hell was there a storm right now? At this time of year? It puzzled you, that much was sure. You just hoped it'd settle, even if by a bit, before you mounted up and left for camp.

The saloon doors creak, the old wood far past being an easy oil-it-up fix by now, and the owners too stingy and lazy to replace them. Spurs clank against the boots of the owner, that stops next to you.

"Hell you doin' out here, still?" Micah Bell. He had a very distinct voice; thick accent that muffled some of his words, just barely coherent when he spoke to you. A small drawl to it, like he was dragging the words out with him when he spoke them.

You explain your unfortunate situation—the coldness and wetness providing no sustainable condition to go riding right now—before you toss your cigarette into the muddy surface at the bottom of the stairs. He seems confused by your words, though. "So you'll shoot up half a town but is scared of a lil' water an' cold?" He teases you—like he does, every day. Everyone, at that. He always seeks his victim-of-the-day out easily, and that has been you today. What an honor.

You replied with a small scoff, shooing him off with your hand. "Oh, don't be like that girl," He lowered himself to a crouching position, now almost on level with you. "gotta let me tease you sometimes." His breath told you that he's had much more to drink than yourself, reeking of liquor and matching the usual scent of the saloon. But, that smelled seemed to match him.

"Quite a storm, yeah..." He watched the rain splash down onto the dirt road ahead, his forearms on his bent knees. "You ain't dressed for 'ts hellish weather either, huh?"

He's damn right; you're still shivering and hugging yourself for warmth, the cigarette previously in your hand providing barely any warming to your body.

But here's something you need to know; drunk Micah and sober Micah are two separate people.

He hummed in thought for a moment before clicking his tongue and standing back up, looking down at you. "Get up." You gazed up at him, creasing your eyebrows in confusion. You waited for some sort of explanation, unmoving—until he repeated himself, and you knew he wouldn't say it a third time. You stand up reluctantly, turning to face him and waiting for whatever he had in mind. The next action is one only of drunk Micah Bell; starting to unbutton his coat in front of you, every button revealing more of his red undershirt. He shrugged it off his body and took a step forward, draping it around you. At first, you really just assumed he was messing with you, trying to provoke a reaction before snatching the article of clothing right back. But no, he slipped it around you and took a step back, taking a moment to look at you. "It's a bit big.. but it'll help 'ya get home without'a sickness of some sorts."

You were dumbfounded. You knew Micah was much different when he's had some to drink—but this? This felt like the line was being blurred.

"Get home safe, and give it back when I'm in camp again, darlin'." He looked out at the road before turning back for the saloon, disappearing into the building with another obnoxious creak of the doors, leaving you silent and still in your spot outside.

Micah Bell gave you his coat.

Micah Bell told you to get home safe.

Micah Bell used a pet name on you.

Darling. Darling; he's never done this before, none of this, matter of a fact. Hell, he barely spoke to you, only ever interacting for job and mission-related purposes, or simple and brief small-talk. So, yes—this was goddamn shocking.

Your little trance was broken up by a brief thunderclap, lighting up the sky for barely half a second. You blinked a few times—clearly still processing whatever just happened—before you looked down. The leather coat hung very big on you, the sleeves hid your hands fully and it almost dragged on the floor. He wore it often, so it wasn't a surprise that the scent he usually carried plastered itself onto the jacket; gunpower, proof of many shootouts where he walked out victorious; smoke, the consequence of his bad smoking habits; musk, his usual scent that, honestly, you always connected to him. You liked the smell. Your body definitely appreciated the gesture, as it's stopped the goosebumps climbing up your arms and subsided the shaking of your body. You seemed to just accept the situation, wrapping the coat around yourself with one hand and keeping your other over the hat on your head, making a quick sprint to your horse. You mount up and urge it to start trotting towards camp, holding onto the reins with the hand previously on your hat.

Your steed definitely didn't appreciate the weather, much like yourself. She whinnied a lot, her own form of complaint. You promised her many treats as apology for putting her through the storm—despite you not being a weather forecaster, so really, how could you have known? Well, she won't care. If she could speak, you know you'd never hear the end of it. You just want to get home, as much as she does at that, and encourage her to keep riding. You've subconsciously brought your chin down to your chest inside of the coat, instantly getting yourself a whiff of that scent you felt earlier while still at the saloon. It's a fairly nice smell, you'll have to admit so. Your nose is right on the rim of the collar, and you can smell everything that you previously described.

Despite the acceptance of the current circumstances you've gotten yourself into, your mind is foggy—filled with unkempt, messy blonde hair; greyish-blue eyes and uniquely white eyelashes that make him stand out more than any camp member; a messy attractiveness linked to him. Boldness, secrecy, cockiness, vulgarity, degeneracy—very Micah Bell. Now, why is it that you're thinking so hard? Is it the coat—are you still stuck on the fact he would do such a thing? It shouldn't matter this hard; but it does. Nothings ever mattered more to you than figuring Micah Bell out.

He's truly a character, and you've caught yourself voluntarily wanting to talk to him, do jobs with him—all things that had the other girls in camp telling you to back off and not start with him. But it was never that simple, no. You felt obligated to seek him out, take a deeper look inside. You needed to know what his deal was, why he was the way he was.

Despite many protests, your horse gets you back to camp in a matter of minutes—ones that felt like hours to you, when thinking of the outlaw; whose scent is wrapped around yourself, his imprint all over your undershirt and on your body. That goddamn scent, it's doing things to you.

You hitch your horse just outside of camp, being extremely quiet while also quick to get out of the rain pelting down, just as hard as before. The last thing you both needed was someone seeing you wearing his coat—God knows what these people'll assume about it. You make a b-line for your tent, closing the rest of the camp and world out as you tie your flaps shut, the tent lit up by only a small oil lantern above your bedroll. Your hair is soaked, dripping to the ground and coat as the small water droplets race down the leather material. You find yourself subconsciously walking to a mirror, backing up and looking at yourself, in his coat. Your eyes trace your own form, intently. After a moment, you break yourself out of your space-out, shrugging the coat off and gently draping it onto a chair in your tent, to dry off. In the meantime, you change out of your own outfit, really not looking forward to getting any sicker than you probably are.

The water took it's time fully evaporating out of the coat, leaving a few small cracks in it and brittle slightly; more than before already. You felt mildly guilty—but he gave it to you, clearly already aware of what water will do to the fine material, so he shouldn't be upset. You hope. You're sat on your bedroll, watching the last few drops of rain fall off of the rim of the jacket. All you've been thinking about has been goddamn Micah—almost to the point of getting tired of it. And, just where was this coming from? You were lost. Maybe it was the tipsiness catching up to you—to be truthful, you hadn't had a true drink in weeks, so it might just be a... odd, new side effect. That's the excuse you'll go with, it seems.

Well, you assumed only alcohol consumption would make you want—no, need the coat on you again. It felt like it was beckoning you closer; luring you to itself like a siren does with her hypnotic voice, or as the fantasy books you see Jack read say. And, damn it, was it working on you.

You slowly got up, leaving your bedroll and strolling over to the chair, looking down at the piece of clothing. Your hands carefully pick the jacket up, running your fingers up and down the material, feeling every story-telling crease and cut, sometimes even finding little bullet wounds he never got sewn back up. Maybe he liked it that way. Then, one arm slips into the first sleeve—then the other, and you're wrapped around the coat again; around the scent; around Micah.

You look down at yourself, inspecting how the coat fits you, as if you haven't already done that enough times. And then, the goddamn scent again—you feel it creep around you, going straight for your nose. And damn you and your alcohol consumption, because you find yourself grasping the collar on both sides, and lifting them to your face. A delicious whiff of the smell, so memorable; so sweet; so unique; so Micah.

Jesus, what the hell are you doing?

You drop the collar from your hands and scrunch your nose up—at your own choice of action. Oh, but it only gets worse for you, as it always seems to. You go to take the coat off, ready to simply walk to his tent and toss it onto his bedroll, finally be done with all this. Yet, you hesitate. Your body protests, instantly showing it's against the idea when your hands freeze up, unable to slip the damned leather off of your bare shoulders. You hear yourself huff, getting frustrated. What was going on—why were you acting so goddamn weird?

Yet, you find yourself so easily accepting this, just how you accepted the coat to be wrapped around you by Micah, how you accepted the impulse of smelling it, and now the action of not taking away the article of clothing that's all over your body. You seem way too fine with all of this.

More-so with your body walking itself back to your bedroll and laying itself down—wrapping the coat around it tightly and simply basking in the aroma that's surrounding the leather over itself.

Your nose is pressed to the collar, acting almost as a weighted blanket on your frame. God, you feel like you're being lulled into your slumber. The smell, the feel, the weight of the coat—everything is like a goddamn drug to you. You're high off of it all; off of him.

Your eyes flutter closed, your breathing slows down, your arms tighten the coat around you.

Alcohol always made you a bit more sleepy than you'd have liked it to—so now, combine that with the heavenly feeling the simple item of clothing is giving you; you've never felt yourself fall asleep faster. You feel contentment, security, infatuation. And you decide that it's a welcomed feeling.

You never understood just how he functioned so well, so early into the day; especially knowing he was a heavy insomniac most nights. He never slept and always was and about by early morning, somehow. All you remember is waking up in his coat.

You decided to give it back early, be done with it for good. After your little display yesterday, you wanted nothing more to do with the coat. You knew he was awake, mostly by the one open canvas flap of his tent, a welcoming gesture, almost. Would be if we were talking about anyone but Micah.

You walked yourself over with the coat draped over your arm—not yourself, for once. You approached the small abode of the outlaw, kicking your boot against the canvas to announce your arrival. He grumbled something, only part you understood being a small "yeah, come in", and so you did. You hadn't yet been in his tent, for some reason. Guess it never interested you until yesterday; when you realized many things about yourself whilst wrapped around the leather material and distinctive aroma of Micah. Get it over with, you hummed, stepping inside.

For a man like Micah—and what you knew about him—his tent was pretty clean, surprisingly. He was sat on his bedroll, slowly rising as he noticed it was you coming to his tent. "Mm, mornin'." He drawled, walking up to you. "Finally here to return this, huh.." He quipped, looking down at you with one hand on his hip, the other extended for the coat. "thought you'd just keep it." He added quietly.

You were confused by the statement, asking him why you would just keep it. His answer had goosebumps reappearing all over your body, this time not from the cold, though. "After your little display; sleeping with my coat on, I thought you'd have just kept it alllll for yourself." Your blood would have run cold; if it didn't all flow right into your cheeks. Oh, God. Oh. God.

You knew you were turning red, looking like a beet, fresh out of the ground, plausibly. You couldn't look at him, not after that. You swore that your tent was tied oh-so-tightly, but it seems you were still sloppy with how you tied those damn flaps together. "Oh, don't be embarrassed," He leaned down closer, his hands on his knees as he got down to your level, not too fond of speaking down at you. "just ask me next time you want a little.. whiff." He hummed, taking the coat out of your hands and slipping it onto himself—with you watching like the little goddamn pervert you seem to be making yourself out to be.

You felt something stir in your stomach—why in the holy hell was he looking at you like that? That goddamn smirk; no anger about your weird display; nothing. And damn him for staying leaned down so close; probably able to see the sweat forming on your forehead. You were wishing for the earth to swallow you whole now.

His hand found your shoulder, squeezing it to get you out of your little trance again. "Go on about your day, girl;" His breath ticked the side of your neck, hitting a part of your ear as well. His voice was low, and the tone he was using with you as of right now? Your knees felt horribly weak. "but I might just have to keep my eye on 'ya, hm?" Oh, sweet Jesus.

Maybe it really was time to accept this—and fire back.

You blinked a few times, your eyes finding his beautiful blues. A small, murmured "thank you" left your lips; lips that then pecked his jawline and scruffy little beard. And, unable to control yourself, you did take in the smell of him again; the raw, unfiltered smell. Oh, it was the best thing you'll have ever gotten a whiff of. He was basking in cheap cologne—surprisingly—and gunpowder, his breath lingering about as he exhaled a noise of surprise breathlessly, his breath still soaked in the alcohol and liquor he had downed at the saloon. You had to brace yourself before you pulled away, unsure how he'd react—this was Micah Bell, after all.

You saw yourself in him, at that moment; shocked and red as a beet, trying to physically comprehend your move on him. Oh, if only boldness wasn't his biggest weakness. His hand squeezed your shoulder, gripping at it. Your body froze when he began to pull; drag you closer to him.

You couldn't stay in there for that—not until you sorted yourself out. And so, you detested and moved away, walking back and out of the tent, red and embarrassed—and feeling like a dog in heat, not to forget.

Micah was.. dumbfounded. Like yourself, when he offered his coat up. He managed to shut his mouth, but still, his eyes couldn't help lingering on the spot you once stood at, in his grip and kissing his jaw. When he finally broke himself out of the moment, he buttoned the long coat up to hide the obvious tightening in his pants, slipping his hands into his pockets. Though, the left pocket had an unusual item inside itself. Micah fished out a little box; ammo. You had left him a box of ammunition, 'for his troubles'; as the small note you scribbled onto said.

Damn you—and him for getting involved, because he knows he's not making it out of this unscathed.

Kudos on AO3 always appreciated! Thank you for reading and indulging in my insanity with me :)

[deathbxnny]

hello!! im the anon that wrote the jingliu’s child idea, so i will request it now (paragraph below is a copy paste i aint writing allat again)

reader being jingliu’s child (like,biologically) and was born some months before jingliu became mara-struck, when jingliu became mara-struck she literally tried to kill her months old baby, so i like to think that jingliu would tell jingyuan to take care of her baby if anything happened to her, so after jingyuan “kills” jingliu, he takes the baby and tries to raise it as his own child, and as they grow up they take after their mother and almost look like their mothers carbon copy, which makes jingyuan remember his mentor

platonic and the character is jing yuan, feel free to mention other characters tho!!

-----♡

A/N: Hey there Anon! Thank you for resending the request! I really like the idea!<33

Content: Angst, spoilers to Jing Yuan's/Jingliu's backstory?, platonic relationships, hurt/comfort, Reader is described to look like Jingliu, fluff, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

Killing his teacher was one of the hardest things Jing Yuan ever had to do. It was like a part of him was ripped apart in the process too. Like apart of him died with her that day. But the only thing that consoled him and that was left behind from his old mentor, was you, Jingliu's months old child. He was exhausted and absolutely shattered by what happened and yet, he held on just for you. He promised that he would.

It took him a while to learn how to take care of you. Thankfully he wasn't entirely alone in this and some of the female generals, surprisingly including Fu Xuan, helped him out immensely during his first year with you. He was so tired with life during the first few months, but you helped him get through it. Your existence felt like a last gift to him by his mentor and perhaps that's exactly what you were.

Years went by faster than Jing Yuan wanted them to. He never cared for them before, as he never really aged himself. But after you came into his life, he began appreciating every single year you were in it.

He documented everything about you and was proud of every little achievement you made. It didn't matter how mundane it was either. When you first babbled out a call of his name, he practically melted on the spot with pride and love.

As the years went by, he began noticing how similar you looked to your mother. It filled his heart with warmth and nostalgia to see you grow into a near carbon copy of his mentor. He made sure to give you a good and happy life, one that she deserved to have had with you too, if things had gone differently.

Once you were old enough, he began telling you simple stories about your mother, about her bravery and her days of mentoring him. You listened to his words, eagerly leaning to hear every word, as you looked so unbearably similar to her, that he couldn't help but hug you for longer every time he could. He saw you as a gift and he'd make sure to protect you with his life.

-----♡

A/N: Alright, I haven't been doing well today, so I hope this was coherent and okay! Thank you again for the request!<33

[lunaviee]

cold..

oikawa word vomit i have too many thoughts…

not proofread at all ermmmm

no warnings i don’t think it’s like 1am okay just let me cook idk

you’re fresh out of the shower.

it’s late, maybe 11pm? you’re not sure anymore

but that doesn’t matter, what does matter though is getting into the arms of your boyfriend before you freeze to death. and so you quickly do your nightly routine, dry your hair, and get ready for bed

you look at the clock; 12:49 am

your limbs and eyes feel heavy, each movement feels as if it had been weighed down.

and worst of all, you’re cold.

now, this was a problem that could easily be fixed by just getting into bed

so you do just that

you climb into bed, tugging blankets and covers over your body and tucking them under your chin. but it isn’t enough..

your eyes dart to the brown fluffy mess that’s settled next to you, so you scoot and inch closer to oikawa, hoping he’d be awake enough to let you into his warm embrace (he always does)

his cheek is smooshed into the pillow and his mouth is slightly open, soft snores silently escaping

you stare at him for a little bit, fully taking in just how much of a pretty boy he is. but it’s too cold and you’re impatient, so you try and squeeze into his arms without waking him up, shuffling your cold feet under his

well, you fail. oikawa is up and peeking one eye open sleepily, “hey you” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep and hardly coherent. “you cold?” he questions, a small smirk creeping up his face

you nod, eyes closing as you reach for his arms

“well c’mere then, you dork” you’re pulled into oikawa’s chest and you suddenly can’t stay awake anymore. his embrace is so warm and loving, you don’t think you could ever leave. his heartbeat is steady and he’s rubbing random shapes into your back.

oikawa’s pressing kisses into the crown of your head and now you’re melting. you feel like absolute mush in his grasp but he’s so gentle with you. with each second that passes, the two of you are pressed up against each other, impossibly closer

“i love you”‘s are whispered between the two of you until you’re both fast asleep in a matter of minutes

his arms are wrapped around your torso, one hand unconsciously doodling under your (his) shirt with his knuckles and the other is protectively holding you. every inch of you that was once cold is now flushed with love and tangled with your boyfriend

if it was up to oikawa, he’d stay like this forever.

p.s. this is ass i don’t care i love oikawa im tired and incredibly stressed, pls bear with me here guys😭

i do want to apologize for the lack of content lately though. this past week has actually been hell for me so uhh the event and other requests may be pushed back a bit sorry </3

[lvlysnakes]

[ Assistance ] pro hero!Bakugou x Reader

Warnings!: none unless you consider this workplace harassment-

The rays of sunlight broke through in shapes determined by the curtains surrounding your office window, as you sat at the very top floor in the one and only Ground Zero’s agency.

It had become a routine already, being two weeks since your first interview. Being an assistant to someone as important as Bakugou meant a lot, and even if some of your work went completely unnoticed the paycheck certainly made up for that void.

However, as the days progressed, you began to notice Bakugou acting different. It didn't come to your attention until your new coworkers started gossiping amongst themselves about him. You only happened to hear during your trip to the trash can in order to dump a small cup of coffee in that Bakugou had been interacting with the office more. 

According to them, not only had he been leaving his office more, he had been doing some sort of monitoring throughout the hallways to make sure every cubicle was working without fault.

With some thinking it wasn't hard to accept the fact that this was new behavior, despite it only being so early in your acceptance in the office space, you could've never imagined the one and only Ground Zero caring about his employees.

Hell, many of his ex workers and coworkers complained that he was cold, and the type to simply shrug if someone asked to resign. You gave into those ideas, and while shameful, you began to observe those actions of his around the building you and others worked in.

At first, he would simply walk around with a scowl on his face, occasionally leaning into a cubicle slightly to check on them. Then it progressed into more common checks, and getting food during break times with you and others in the office, of course he wouldn't eat it in the same room, but it was equally unusual all the same.

You flushed as you realized you had been lost in thought, your manicured fingers resting atop your keyboard for far too long. 

Thank god nobody called, or else I'm positive I wouldn't have been able to pay attention them through the phone-

Immediately, your eyes widened at seeing a tuft of spiky blonde hair peak out from a cubicle, no work was typed on your laptop, and all you had been doing was daydreaming whilst staring out the window!

Suddenly the phone rung, and just as quickly as you spaced out, you snapped out of the trance and answered the call.

“Hello. Ground Zero Hero Agency, how can I help you?” You attempted at a cheery voice, but it was obvious you felt out of it from the event a few minutes ago.

The conversation proceeded normally, everyone calling either wanted an interview with the one and only or attempted to get a job position despite there being no offers. At times there were few prank calls, but those were fun to fool around with. 

You sighed and glanced towards the window again, the bright beams flexing around you as the curtains swayed with small breezes. Inhaling the smell of your small plants crowding the shelf against your laptop, you relaxed into your seat and tried to resume your thoughts from a second ag-

“Slacking off are we?”

Shit. You heard a gruff voice that could only belong to one person in the whole office. Shouldn't he be busy? Isn’t he a hero? Doesn't he have some maiden to be saving, any damsels in distress?

“N-No! I was doing my job, sir, nothing more nothing less.” You quickly snapped your head up to look at your handsome boss- no need to beat around the bush, he did have such a nice jawline.. and those red eyes-

“So why’d you sound depressed on the phone? Wasn't being cheery part of the job description, dumbass?” He smirked at you as he leaned closer to your face, which was slowly rivaling a rose petal in color.

There was no response you could form.

Was he watching me? You thought, but shook it out of your head quickly. No he doesn't care about us individually.. he must've been warned somehow by someone to be more charitable.. that's why he's been so adamant on social works in the office.

Just as you were about to stutter out a half assed excuse for your call he had witnessed the minute before, he leaned in close to your ear and gave a huff before speaking,

“Don’t let me catch you again.”

You froze and blushed even deeper, if possible, at the small tantalizing statement. As he pulled away you saw him staring at you, slowly but obviously eyeing you up and down.

“Got it?”

He smirked once again before putting on a poker face, not hearing your response, if it was considered one for you were stuttering so much you were sure not a coherent word was uttered.

Did he do this to everyone? You thought, he couldn't, right? It was illegal to act such a way in the workplace.. especially one such as big as Ground Zero’s agency!

You turned back to your laptop, confused as to how you were supposed to continue your day normally after that incident.

Maybe later I can ask if anyone has experienced the same flirtatious behavior from Katsuki. 

---<3---

hfjdngnskg planning on making a part two for dis bc im vv tired rn but hoped u like it i gues :’^) schools been so hard lawd,, but anywayz lemme not proofread this because i might get too insecure and scrap it--