#so if anyone is looking for a good read that might take them a while this is my rec

[rik0shii]

lads guys headcanons

(zayne,sylus,xavier,rafayel,caleb)

warnings :fluff

request: yes

thank you for requesting, I'm new to doing those things so pls tell me if it wasn't to your liking or if it wasn't what you imagined so that I can fix it and get better !

Zayne

• Super punctual—if you have a date set for 1 PM, he’s already outside at 12:50, waiting in his car just so he can call you at the exact time.

• Kids adore him. He has that calm, safe aura that makes even the shyest child want to hold his hand.

• ASMR king—his whispery, soft-spoken voice could put anyone to sleep. If he ever recorded voice memos for you, they’d be the most soothing thing ever.

• After a long mission, he welcomes you with quiet reassurances, hugging you from behind and murmuring, “You did great today. I missed you.”

• Loves holding your hand, whether it’s a quick squeeze of reassurance or intertwining fingers while walking.

• Soft, sleepy smiles—the rare moments when he’s tired but still awake enough to look at you and grin lazily.

• Would totally tuck a blanket around you if you fell asleep on the couch.

Xavier

• Definitely the “I know a spot” guy. And when he shows you? It’s breathtaking—some secret rooftop, a hidden garden, a quiet overlook.

• Hand-holding and forehead kisses in those quiet places where it’s just the two of you.

• If you’re on a mission and he’s not with you, he refuses to sleep. He’ll pace, check his phone, stare at the ceiling—anything but rest.

• CLINGS when you return. Arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and a muffled, “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

• Skilled with his fingers? Definitely means he can play the piano beautifully. Would learn your favorite song just to surprise you.

• Lowkey romantic in an effortless way. Always the guy to drape his jacket over you if you’re cold or tilt your chin up before a kiss.

Sylus

• Loves stargazing. If you ever go on a late-night drive, he’ll pull over just to sit on the hood of the car with you, pointing out constellations.

• Loves rainy days—the sound, the smell, the way it makes everything feel cozy. If it’s storming outside, he’s making hot drinks and pulling you onto the couch for a movie marathon.

• A big fan of sleepy cuddles. He’ll absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair while half-asleep.

• Writes little notes for you and leaves them in random places—inside books, on your mirror, tucked into your jacket pocket.

• Horrible at remembering dates but amazing at remembering tiny details—like the way you take your coffee or the song you hummed once three months ago.

• Unironically loves stuffed animals. If you ever give him one, he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but you’ll definitely find it on his bed later.

Caleb

• Super protective but in a quiet way—he’ll walk on the side closest to the street, double-check locks before bed, and always notice when you seem off.

• Really good cook—if you’re having a bad day, expect a homemade meal that somehow tastes exactly like comfort.

• Loves fixing things for you. Broken zipper? He’s on it. Squeaky door? Fixed. Car won’t start? He’s already rolling up his sleeves.

• Acts grumpy but is secretly the softest. If you rest your head on his shoulder, he’ll pretend to sigh but won’t move an inch.

• Always warm. If you’re cold, he’ll just pull you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• Reads a lot. Might not admit it, but he totally has a favorite book and will casually reference it in conversation.

• Loves slow dancing in the kitchen. No music, just the sound of your breathing and his steady heartbeat.

Rafayel

• Absolute charmer—he can flirt like it’s second nature, but when it comes to real feelings, he gets a little shy.

• Knows how to dress. If you ever need help picking an outfit, he’ll make sure you look stunning.

• Sends voice memos instead of texts. His voice is too smooth not to be used.

• Great dancer—whether it’s a fancy ballroom-style twirl or a goofy little move in the kitchen, he makes everything feel fun.

• Gives the best compliments—not just about looks, but little things like, “I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.”

• Cuddling expert. His hugs are always just the right amount of firm, warm, and lingering.

• Loves learning about you. Your favorite color? Noted. The way you like your tea? Memorized. A weird fact about something you love? He’ll bring it up just to see you smile.

[jd-loves-fiction]

Appears in your askbox again like a plague

Same platonic premise with Boothill, Blade and Gallagher but reader gets kidnapped by their previous captors (reader is a former slave) in the heat of conflict

🌑honeypop if your requests are a plague I wanna be sick 😭 CRIIINGE also this got so angsty good lord 💀

✦ 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭���𝐢𝐥𝐥 ✦

PanicpanicPANIC

He's never shot people so quick, get space Guiness we've got a record

Getting rid of anyone who gets in his way without a second thought nor a moment wasted - he's never felt more like a machine

He just wants-- no, he needs you to be safe or he might go crazy from the guilt

He was supposed to protect you, he promised

He'd never forgive himself if you got hurt on his watch

So he's shooting people like it's going out of style, quickly tracking your captors down and making his way to you

You'd best look away when he finds them... He's not exactly a merciful man when it comes to his enemies

When he finally gets to you - he doesn't experience adrenaline anymore but - his head is spinning

He's approaching you carefully, doing his best to speak softly and try to make you laugh, so you know you're safe now

He'll swear to you again that this will never happen again

Utterly heartbroken that due to his metal body, he can no longer even give you a hug as comfort :(

✦ 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞 ✦

Another one panicking, except it's slightly different

Because of the mara he can't let himself be consumed by his panic and anger because he might end up hurting - the LAST thing he wants

But my god is it difficult to stay calm

He's lost too many people already and we've seen what he's willing to do to bring them back

He's rampaging to your side while trying not to lose himself to the mara

Hope you dont mind him making sure they can never do this stuff again because he's not holding back on the fuckers once he finds them

His rage overtakes his concern to the point that he becomes so focused on paying them back that he only remembers why he's doing this after they're all dead

Immediatly rushes to your side after calming himself down - god forbid he sees even a sliver of fear in your eyes when looking at him or be might throw up

Terrible at expressing his concern, at least verbally, so with your consent he's holding you gently and carrying you to safety - silently comforting in the way he usually is, with an edge of anger and guilt this time

But if you dont want him near you for the time being, he'll be heartbroken but undertanding, though he'll still stay close to your when he can as a means of protection - he just cant let this happen ever again

✦ 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐫 ✦

Nonchalant no more

All the way chalant, he's freaking the fuck out

True guard dog, genuinely surprised someone got past him since he tries his best to keep an eye on you during fights - clearly he needs to try harder

Tries his best to stay calm in order to focus on getting to you but man it's hard to do

No matter what you are the priority, but he really wants to mess up the people who dared do this again

Tell him you want revenge please and he's hunting them down to the ends of the galaxy

But if you tell him to drop it, he will - you're absolutely his priority, even if he really wants to rip those people to shreds

With his skill set it wont be too difficult to find you and get to you, quickly and efficietly taking care of anyone in his way

When he finds you, he's quick to read the room to figure out what you need

Space? You got it, he'll just stand a little to the side so he can still protect you

Revenge? No need to ask him twice, he's on it

A hug? 🥺He might cry, of course you can have a hug

He's a pretty heartfelt guy but he's got a good head on his shoulders so he understands that this was not his fault but his heart still aches for you

Let's you sit by him at the bar as he works; cracking jokes and teachin you a few bartending tricks to get your mind off things. At least until he can be sure that it wont happen again

[deadhands69]

Will you be my Valentine?: Heroes (masc characters)

How does your favorite hero act on Valentine’s day when they have a crush on you? masc characters edition ▷ fem version ▷ villain version Featuring: Katsuki Bakugo, Shouto Todoroki, Hitoshi Shinso, Denki Kaminari, Eijiro Kirishima, Izuku Midoriya, Tamaki Amajiki, Hawks, Shouta Aizawa.

Bakugo is even more passive aggressive towards everyone most of the day: it's because he's nervous. The two of you often spend time at each other's places but tonight it's different. He's planning to make you a nice dinner and, if it goes well, tell you he likes you. When you arrive, there's a cute simple bouquet of your favorite flowers on the table and the smell of your favorite food. He did well. Everything goes to plan and you end up making out on his couch half the night.

How to handle this: Please don't tell anyone, he can't deal with them making fun of him for being soft.

Shouto read a lot of romance mangas to come up with a plan. He tried to chose ideas from the ones with main characters that remind him of you so it looks like your options will be: the mall, ice skating, and/or a nice dinner. If you're up for it, he's happy to do all three (but good luck dressing for that.) He stole Endeavor's credit card for whatever you want to do (at this point it's not really stealing, Endeavor just had cards made for each of his kids because he was sick of not being able to find his own.)

How to handle this: He has the basic structure of a date laid out, you'll probably have to fill in the rest with him. That'll be fun though!

Shinso listened to Aizawa's advice to do something low key for you. A few days in advance, he asks if you're free then makes some 11am plans to meet at a coffee shop then stop by the book and record stores nearby. It's laidback and easy, you get to talk to know him a lot better and each of the stops gives you an idea of each other's taste in media. Neither of you wants the date to end, so you pick up some takeout and head back to your place to listen to the albums you bought (and maybe other things.)

How to handle this: Keep him caffeinated, he wants to keep talking and get to know you better but he's soooo tired.

Kaminari knocks on your door just after 6pm on Valentine's day wearing a shirt that says “I’m with [giant picture of you face]”, he had one made for you too! Surprise!! After a few cheesy pickup lines, he asks you to go to the arcade with him. At first you think he's joking, because his tone is the same as the bad pickup lines, but you quickly realize he's completely serious about all of it. When you get there, you discover he's surprisingly good at the claw machine and wins you more plushies than you can carry. He also likes playing lightly competitive games against you, but it's mostly an excuse to playfully bump/nudge you when you pass him at Mario Kart. As you're leaving, he asks you on a second date to play mini golf, then celebrates you saying yes by kissing you excitedly and knocking all the plushies out of your arms.

How to handle this: Just go with it. Some of it's a little cringe but in a fun dorky way.

Kirishima volunteered to work Valentine's day a few months ago. He'd still like you to be his Valentine though, so he asks if you'll go out with him the day before. Fortunately, you're free that evening and get dinner reservations somewhere you both wanted to try. It's cute, he walks you to your doorstep, and kisses you goodnight. While at work, he spends all of Valentine's day texting you whenever he gets a chance. You have so much fun talking all day that you invite him over to hang out after his shift ends.

How to handle this: He's already happy you gave him a chance and were willing to work with his busy schedule. Also, tell him he's manly, he'll love it.

Midorya wrote 56 pages of plans over the past half a year, detailing exactly how he'd like to take you out, where you might be interested in going, how he'll ask, and rankings of the best and worst gift ideas. In the end, he ends up asking you out a week in advance, hands sweating so much he could barely text. When he arrives at your door, he's dressed cute and hands you some pretty flowers. The two of you walk to a nearby cafe. Overall, the whole thing is really sweet, even if he's super nervous.

How to handle this: Hold his hand on the walk back and his heart might jump out of his chest.

Amajiki wrote you a four page love letter complete with the most beautiful poem to ever grace the planet. Unfortunately, even with his friends hyping him up, he couldn't work up the nerve to deliver it to you so it lives in a box under his bed now.

How to handle this: You can try talking to him, but he'll probably get scared. Maybe just start with acknowledging his existence and if he doesn't run away immediately go from there.

Hawks takes you to five different parties over the course of the evening. At first, you figured he was asking you as a date. By the end of it, you're not so sure because nothing about this evening has been particularly romantic. That is, until he kisses you at the last stop - making his intentions very clear.

How to handle this: He's so excited you said yes and wants to publicly show off that you're willing to be his date, let him and he'll do all the sweet stuff later.

Aizawa isn't up for a huge fancy dinner or anything like that. But he does know it's Valentine's day and he does want to do something with you. He invites you over to his house to hang out, orders takeout, and rents a movie. You're ten minutes into the movie when you look over…and- fuck, he’s asleep.

How to handle this: Honestly, he’d probably prefer it if you just let him sleep.

masterlist

will aizawa fall asleep in every one of my hcs? yes.

[appystruda]

Small ramble about my art

[totallyxtaurus]

I just want you to know who I am 🏮

Summary: What if Sylus had kept going to all those lantern festivals in hopes you'd be there and what would he do if you actually were. Pairing: Sylus x gn reader A/N: Um hi! I haven't written a "fanfic" since middle school so this has me super uncomfortable and feeling especially vulnerable since I am VERY out of practice. I've only been writing academic papers for the past four+ years and while I've taken a couple creative writing courses I just felt subpar compared to my peers and I stopped writing fiction completely. However, I maladaptive daydream constantly and Sylus + music is a really good source of creativity for me. I have a part two in mind but we'll see! So, my awkward ramblings aside, I hope you enjoy! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

“Boss, we found them. Apparently, they’re residing in Linkon,” the twins reported as they placed the manila folder on his desk. Sylus, not sparing them a glance, grunts softly in recognition keeping focused on his task at hand. However, a fire fueled by hope kindles in his heart at the news, radiating warmth through his chest, as if gently urging him to surrender to its pull. He opened the folder and began to read the information in front of him. Still, nothing matched the description he had given. Heaving a sigh, the flame of hope dampened, Sylus notices a note on the document about the upcoming lantern festival. He pauses, wondering if, regardless of the accuracy of the information he has, you might be there.

The sky had already grown dark, and fireworks echoed in the distance. The smell of delicious food permeated the air and the bright lights of millions of lanterns strung up and decorated every inch of the ground burned into Sylus’s retinas. Yet, he continued to press on. He’s been walking around for hours, taking in every sight and smell, but also searching for anyone who might be you. Anyone with the same color hair or stature as you once had. His trained eye sought out anyone who laughed in a similar octave you had, scrutinizing each face, hoping he finally found you. But every time, it led to that same emptiness cradled deep in the core of his being—the part of you still trapped there, lying dormant.

That was… how many years ago now? Sylus had lost count of how long he’d returned to Linkon’s lantern festival. Each time a failure, each time dimming the flame of hope that once burned at the mention of Linkon City. Yet, it was that time of year again when the festival would commence, just as it always did. This would be the last time Sylus participated, finally deciding to give up the search for you—for good. The same sights, sounds, and smells that once sparked curiosity in Sylus, now suffocate him. What had once been a world of wonder distorts into a stifling prison, each sensation now nauseating, a reminder of the weight that has settled on him.

Up and down the same aisles, back and forth through familiar stalls, Sylus drifts through the festival on autopilot, visiting the vendors he’s known for years. Each one greets him with a warmth that feels strangely foreign, their smiles are tinged with an apprehension he can’t ignore. That same apprehension had followed him ever since he first started coming to the festival—whether it was the stolen glances of passersby or the blatant gawking of children. Sylus knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, but he ignores it, continuing his monotonous stroll.

He stops in his tracks, taking in the scene before him—a child wailing over what sounds like a lost hand puppet. Sylus glances down at the lion head puppet resting in his hand and kneels to offer it to the child. The crying halts instantly, and wary yet sparkling eyes look up at him. The parents, overwhelmed with gratitude, profusely thank him before ushering their child along. As he straightens up, a familiar floral fragrance hits him. His heart races. His head snaps left and right, his body swiveling desperately as he searches for the source. He knows that scent—it sparks the fire within him, a fire that ignites and pulses through his entire body. Without thinking, his legs begin moving, drawn by a golden trail of light that weaves through the reddish-black mist around him. It’s guiding him. It’s guiding him to you. You’re actually here.

Also, in case anyone is like me and is interested in knowing the inspiration behind pieces of writing. This is the song I was listening to while writing and titling this! 💗

[frillydolle]

hiiii !!! so i dont know if it was u who wrote an arthur x reader fic where reader wears their fathers glasses to read? im pretty sure it wasnt, but i thought of it as a good idea. so, what im asking is, would u be comfortable writing something with reader wearing glasses but instead of not seeing things near they don't see things far away. so they're going through life blurry and arthur notices because they keep bumping into things bc they have no sense of depth without their glasses. offers to make them an appointment for eye doctor and helps them choose the glasses and everything ? thought it would be cute (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

arthur morgan x blind female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ wearing my glasses right now as i write this :)

“sweetheart, 'm right here— no, 'm here—... y'alrigh'?”

“... i think so.”

that was probably the fourth time u have walked into something? no one else wasn't really sure why, but only because u didn't tell anyone. it was like a secret of urs that u have kept for a long while.

arthur was really the only man who knew u struggled with ur eyesight for as long as u can remember. shooting was a huge problem that u avoid as much as u could despite living in an outlaw gang, arthur would do best his best to help u, but it never went well. u couldn't even hit a bottle!

shooting was definitely not in ur skills. no matter the number of times that arthur willing helps u shoot a gun or help u aim better, nothing worked. u always still managed to shoot a tree or shoot at.. basically nothing, u always missed the three empty bottles he placed for u to gun at.

“mr morgan, i can't— i can't see that bottle, 's too far.”

“want me to bring it closer?”

of course he did. undeniably, he's always had a soft spot for you, but it's not like he'd admit anyone else in camp or you, especially. he treated u like a fragile girl, which u weren't too far from. having bad eyesight did make u feel more vulnerable and fragile, and arthur knew this. makes him just a little protective with you as he's often seen with his fingers intertwined with urs or his arm rests around ur waist. it gave yoy sense of safety and.. comfort.

sometimes the silly man might forget just how blind you really are:( he'd never mean to! he'd just be so so focused on something and he'd bring you with him and it just slips his mind simply!

“arthur, wait—!” you'd say as u try to catch up to his pace, ur hands slightly out just in case u fall. “oh, 'm sorry, sweetheart. 'm right 'ere.”

but now, he decided to help you, proper this time. the two of u are on his horse whike trotting away, your hands around his torso tightly incase you fall or anything like such. you had no idea where he was taking you though, his words being “'s a secret, but nothin' too big, y'know?” nonetheless, you were just glad that he out if camp, noticing how stressed he would be until his blue-green eyes would set on you:(

“... saint denis? what do you have planned, arthur?” you say with a small giggle, looking at him while he's looking straight onto the road in front of him. “jus' a nice day out. you 'n' me.” he replied. huh. a nice day out. just a day out. but days were him were never often that simple, usually ended with someone recognising from blackwater or another robbery, or you talking him out of beating a man for making you uncomfortable. you thanked him regardless, making sure you're safe and well.

then he hitches off his hourse, you follow suit...the doctor's office? what was he doing here? i mean, he's fine, right? you're fine too except your eyesight, of course. wait, was he—

“c'mon, darlin'. yer fine, i promise ya.” he says as he sticks his arm to you, waiting for you to hold his arm before walking into the building. he knew you were slightly anxious about it, but he was willing to help you in any way he could.

a man like him... blood on his hands, lives taken because of him, rough and callous from hard work, a man like him with all bite and bark like a violent dog. that man bring a sweet girl like you to the doctor's office to get you sorted out with a new pair of glasses. ♡

[spikeyjo]

also uh im kind of not thinking about it much because its insane. but if everything goes right (and i mean a considerable amount of things that probably wont go as planned) but if they DO... i will have a major surgery in like two weeks

[sadiecoocoo]

529 pages and all I got was them holding hands

[hottestvirgin]

𝐈 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆.. | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍

he might have just discovered another side of you and to be honest.. it turned him on

warnings(17+). smut, meandom!sunghoon, unprotected sex, name calling (bitch), creampie, backshots, dumbification

your best friend had just found your secret blog on tumblr where you wrote about all of the sexual desires you’ve had for him.

you had thought that you made the blog so discreetly, faking your own identity and who you were writing about. you had thought. nevertheless, sunghoon managed to find out that the blog belonged to you.

and it was unhinged; you wrote about how you would imagine him leaving wet kisses all over your aching body while he’s balls deep in you. or how you couldn’t even stare at him without thinking about fucking him.

how soaking wet your panties would be every time he would come over to chill. or how when you’d watch a movie with him, you would spend the whole time thinking of dirty scenarios: shower sex, angry sex, make up sex, floor sex, wall sex, pool sex, sex, sex, sex.

and you documented it all.. because why not? you wanted all your girlies who interacted with you to know how you felt about that man. you had no shame because of course he would never find the blog.

but damn, were you wrong.

it made your blood run cold when your “secret” username slipped past his lips. all the air in your lungs were stolen from that simple sentence.

“so that’s not you?” he cocked his head with that stupid know–it-all look on his face.

how.. when..?

“i read the stuff you wrote about me and it’s…” he paused, trying to find the right word, “wild.”

“it wasn’t even about you.” you argued, trying to act as nonchalant as fucking possible. it wasn’t working. sunghoon could see right through you.

“so the S guy you write about isn’t me?” he questioned.

well.. in your defense you were one-hundred percent sure that he or anyone else wouldn’t figure out it was about sunghoon just by the first letter of his name.

“you have a really big ego. what if i was talking about sunoo?” you interrogated, trying to flee from the scene but he took a step forward, firmly gripping your arm.

“d’you really think i’m dumb?” he furrowed his eyebrows and licked his lips as he spoke, “hm?”

“i-i said it wasn’t about you.” you said again. his grip on your arm had your stomach churning in arousal. your heart was racing, and you were certain that he could feel your pulse through your arm.

sunghoon tsked at your lie, “cool.”

maybe it was manifestation, or just pure luck. but that same arm was yanked behind you as sunghoon plunged his hips into you, splitting you open on his thick cock.

he cooed at your cute attempts at trying to squirm away from his staggering thrusts. “none of that— quit trying to run from it..” sunghoon grunted, voice trembling from how soft your walls were around his cock, “you was talking all that on your blog and can’t even take it? tsk.”

you hummed at his word, spit pooling in your mouth from being fucked so good that you couldn’t even remember to swallow anymore. “m’ s.. sorry, fffuck!” you squealed, but it didn’t stop his harsh thrusts.

he pushed your head into the mattress, treating your aching body like his personal fleshlight, “you’re such a dirty bitch. made to be fucked, huh?” sunghoon groaned at how wet you were and the sounds your cunt made. it was so filthy and only got him throbbing more and more inside of you.

he shoved two slender fingers into your mouth, sliding them down your throat as drool spilled down your chin, fingers digging into the mattress beneath you. you remembered writing about how much you’d love for this to happen. and it happened.

clenching hard around him, sunghoon pulled his fingers from your throat and wiped your own salvia across your face. “nasty girl.” he grunted, breathless.

you delivered a guttural scream when he smacked your ass, repeatedly. your thighs quivered as you tried to escape the pain, only to be forced still by his large hands. “c-can’t, i can’t! please..” you wined, screaming into the bedsheets.

“this is what you wanted, right?” sunghoon teased, referring back to your blog, “you greedy bitch, stay still and take this dick.”

you’re sooo full of dick that you can’t breathe properly. you were certain that you were taking all of him, but you can feel him sinking deeper and deeper into you as time passed. “i-i love your cock.. h-hoonie. s’ good, l-let me cum.” you whined.

“shiiit, go ahead.”

it took a long, hasty few seconds before you were convulsing around him and coming hard, harder than you’ve ever came in your life; everything cut to white noise and clear liquid spilled out of your cunt as his hips shuttered against you.

“that’s right.. keep squirting that filthy pussy for me.” sunghoon moaned. then he pulsed inside of you and shot his thick, sticky load into your cunt, painting your walls with his fluids.

it was like every muscle in your body had stopped working, body falling limp onto the bed. sunghoon stilled above you, pulling out to watch his cum flood and drip out of you.

“next time when you lend me your laptop, close your damn tabs Y/N.”

[cherry-hulu]

— Sex or chocolate?

Synopsis: Mingyu kissing your pain away.

Warnings: Stepbro!KMG x stepsis!reader, aphrodisiac chocolates (yk the ones that can be bought online), extremely sheltered and innocent reader, READER IS 20, age gap, oral (f receiving), dubious consent, reader is a virgin. don't like = don't read.

A/N: Fantasies are fantasies. Sexual activities must only occur between two consenting partners of legal age and of legal relation.

It all started with chocolates. You pulling all nighters to review during exam week wasn't anything new for your family, especially for Mingyu who would catch your butt sticking out of the fridge in the middle of the night as you look for something to snack on. The urge to slap your cheeks was strong especially because of how jiggly it was, but he couldn't risk your mom walking in on it by chance.

Having been raised by a mother who's been betrayed by many men, you grew up to be extremely sheltered not knowing a clue about anything sexual. The only sex education you knew were the ones taught in school. You knew nothing of sex positions, kinks, and even why the number 69 was so funny to teenage boys. Not that you weren't smart, you were top of your class, you knew everything about anything— except for sex.

Mingyu found out about this pretty quickly when he and his friends were cracking dirty jokes one after the other, boisterous laughs filling the room, and you just sat there with your head tilted sideways, eyebrows furrowed, confused on what was so funny for them to become like hyenas.

Your mom and his dad had been dating for a little over a year before reaching marriage. You had not met each other prior to their engagement, with Mingyu occupied with his work and you with college. Nonetheless, you knew of their relationship and didn't mind it.

Your mother trusted you with Mingyu, always having him babysit you whenever they were away and busy with their own selves. And you trusted Mingyu, he was your brother after all. Albeit not by blood, but still your family.

Mingyu was always so kind and considerate to you, always giving into your request and providing you with what you wanted. At first you feared that he would be cold to you because of the age gap between the two of you and also due to his stern demeanor, but the truth is that he was just a giant cuddly teady bear.

He would always buy you snacks for your exams, specifically chocolates because it was your favourite. You've have a thing for tasting new things, so the ones he would buy for you would be different each time. You chose a bar on a whim, excited for what flavours it brings.

They tasted good most of the time, but the one you chose this time was special.. and weird. It only had three squares of chocolate inside each one cut in half diagonally, and upon lifting the chocolate, an illustration of an.. eggplant.. was etched behind the chocolate.

All three boxes were different, one had an eggplant, the other had water..? And the last one had peaches. You gasp as you saw the illustration of the fruit. One of your most favorite fruits were peaches, you haven't had one in a while because your mom claims that 'you eat them too quickly' and that 'too much of it will not be good.'

Curious to what the flavor might be, you quickly unwrap it from it's plastic and at the whole lot of it's diagonal cut only leaving the other half in case anyone might want a try.

As you chew the chocolate, you tilt your head in confusion, it tasted just like any other chocolate and there was no hint of peaches on it. You were tempted to take the other half to give it a second try, but your alarm was already ringing letting you know your break was done.

Quickly putting the chocolate back in the fridge, you rush back upstairs to continue your session. Not even a few minutes back in to your lesson, you were starting to feel squimish and hot. You could feel a wet patch forming on your panties as you hear it squelch every time you rub your thights together.

It seemed like it was the only way to relieve the ache. Starting to become bothered and concerned, you rush to Mingyu's home office and knock on the door. You were staying over at his house for the meantime while your parents were on vacation.

Mingyu opens the door, he was wearing his specs, a black shirt that hugged his body perfectly, and gray sweatpants. "Gyu.. I don't feel good.. I feel like I'm going to get sick.." You whimper with a pout on your lips.

Mingyu looks at you concerned and pulls you into a hug, resting your face on his chest. "Oh baby.. where does it hurt? How bad is it?" He asks.

"Down there.. it's really uncomfortable.." You whisper looking down on the floor giving into his hug. A sly dirty smirk etches on Mingyu's face as you spoke. He didn't bought those for you, it was supposed to be for him and his fubu to try. But he was not at all complaining.

Mingyu was a sick and fucked up man. He knew that, he was aware of that. He tries to be as lawful as possible, but it was ludicrous when it comes to you. You were the girl of his fantasies. Sweet, cute, innocent. Everything he'd ever dream of. And now he had you. He was a man of opportunities, when he sees it, he takes it and he always almost never regrets it.

Which brings you to now: you laying on your back on his bed, legs spread apart, with him in the middle as he rubs over your skimpy shorts. "Hurts here baby?" He asks ever so sweetly.

You moan in relief nodding yes as he messages your mound. "Mhm.. 'dunno why.." you whisper looking at him, a helpless look on your face.

"Don't worry, I can help, just trust me okay?" Mingyu says, a kind smile on his face. Only if you knew. "Okay. I trust you Gyu." You smile back at him.

"Gonna strip you baby m'kay? It'll help relieve the heat." He mutters as he roams his hands on your waist before taking your pretty tank top off. You never wear bras around the house, your top being the only thing to serve as a barrier for your boobs.

He rubs all over your nipples, pinching and picking on it making you cry out and clench around nothing. It hurts but it feels so good. It was all foreign to you. You had never known of anything like this.

And Mingyu relishes in that. Loves the fact that he gets to do this first, that nobody has ever seen you like this. "Shh.. it's okay, it'll feel so much more better as we go on I promise, just trust me. How about a kiss hm?" He says hushing you from your sounds.

You nod looking at him with glassy eyes. Kisses are normal in your family, your mom and stepdad always kissing you on the cheeks or head, same goes for Mingyu, but you also give him some on the lips, just as he tells you. Because that's his love language apparently.

He leans down on you engaging in a sweet kiss, your hands reaching to wrap around his neck as you make out with him. You love doing this. It was like a reward. Apparently it's called making out because it makes up for everything.

Which is why you would make out with each other all the time as a reward for your achievements in school. Or when you guys would fight, you'd crawl on him and kiss him, sometimes it was harsh and aggressive but most of the time it was just sweet and calm.

Mingyu leans his clothed heavy dick to rest on your mounds, resting it's length between your slit. Another thing that you always do whenever the other was angry or hungry because it was similar to a hotdog sandwich which was his favourite. It helps him calm down whenever he was frustrated for work or when he was hungry but too lazy to grab some food.

It felt good and the words came from your brother whom your mother trusted so much, so you didn't complain. His hands move from your hand down to your shorts as he pulls them down revealing your pretty pink panties who are almost sheer because of how wet it was.

He pulls away from the kiss, mouth going down on your neck slowly down to your boobs giving them love and kisses. Another thing he taught you because according to him: every part of our body should be showered with love.

The aches were getting worse but it was starting to feel good, not painful anymore. Mingyu keeps on kissing down on you until he reaches your panties. "So wet baby.. 'm so proud of you." He says praising you like an achievement.

"P.. proud of me?" You question as he leaves feathery kisses on your clothed cunt making it even wetter than before. "Yes baby, this is a good thing, it helps relieve stress. You deserve this after working so hard." Mingyu answers.

You nod in response to his reassurance. You should do this more often for him to be more proud of you. Using his teeth, he takes your panties down finally coming face to face with your bare pussy.

His mouth waters at the sight, pink and very clearly wet. Extremely wet. "Gonna make out with your pussy now baby, giving it the love it deserves." Mingyu whispers before immediately diving in leaving you no chance of question before you start to moan.

It felt so good. Something you'd never felt before. You love your brother so much, he was just always so kind and loving to you. Always knowing how to make you feel better.

Using his two fingers to spread your folds, his mouth goes harder on sucking and licking your clit, putting you at his mercy. By this point your back was arching off his bed, hands gripping the sheets, eyes closed, mouth constantly moaning.

"Yeah? Feels good doesn't it?" Mingyu whispers, pulling off from your cunt before circling his index finger on your cunt, toying with your clit. All you could let out was a gasp as he spits on your pussy before diving back in.

"So good Gyu," You whimper and whine while he devours you. Slowly, you feel a foreign feeling build up in your stomach. It felt like a knot was forming inside of you waiting for it's release. You heave deep breaths as you feel it coming. "Gyu.. stop.. i need to— pee. I need to pee!" You speak to him with a strained voice.

Mingyu does nothing but smirk as he looks at you, mouth still going like crazy. He pins your legs down to the bed, forcing you open, making you unable to move. "Go on." Mingyu says.

Unable to stop yourself, you let go at the tone, cream coming out of your hole and smily clear substance covers your pussy. Mingyu bathes in this, shoving his face deeper in you aggressively sucking and licking you clean until you're whole body is shaking without control.

He leaves a kiss on your cunt before finally pulling away to admire his work. You were completely dazed and fucked up in all ways. He hadn't even put his dick on you and he'd already turned you into this.

He trails feathery kisses all over your body as leans down on you, starting from your thighs up all the eay to your forehead, and finally your mouth. "You okay princess?" He asks, voice soft.

You only nod your head, voice strainrd from all the moaning you did. Mingyu chuckles deep above you before bending his head down to your neck. He starts off with small kisses before moving to tiny nibbles.

You open your eyes in shock, lifting your shoulders up and giggling slightly getting tickled by his mouth before gasping as he starts to suck. He continues to do all three in consecutive making you moan. It feels so good.

His hands wrap around the unoccupied side of your neck rubbing it with his thumb as he leaves hickeys on the other. The thought of another guy in his position suddenly comes to mind and he feared that if he didn't took action, he might lose his cool and do things to you that you still weren't ready for.

Mingyu leaves a few more kisses on your neck before moving back to run his thumb on it. His full hand finally wraps around your neck, lifting your face up to look at him. "If anybody else but me tries to do this to you, you say no and turn your back on them m'kay?" He says wigh a pout on his lips.

You nod, a smile forming on your face. "Okay!" You say before Mingyu leans down down to meet his lips with yours, pulling away with a smile on his face.

Oh the things he'd do to you, and for you.

[ !!Separate FICTION and FANTASY from REALITY!! ]

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy! So I'm obsessed with your writing! Your EMT series might be my favourite thing I've ever read.

I was wondering if I could request an EMT Marauders x reader story where she gets really sick but thinks it's nothing and downplays it to them, only for it to end up being Pneumonia or something. And maybe they feel guilty for not realising it sooner?

I know you've probably already written something similar to this so no worries if you don't feel like writing it but I'd love to see your take it if you decide. Hurt/comfort is my favourite trope in the world. I just can't get enough of it!

I hope you're doing well!

Thanks gorgeous, hope you're doing well too <3

cw: pneumonia

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You make sure there’s plenty of honey in your tea when the boys get home. 

“Hi,” you greet them, pleased when your voice comes out semi-normal. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sirius flops onto the sofa, nearly on top of your curled-up legs. “How was your day?” 

You try to keep your answer brief, your cough plied into submission with honey and warm tea but not for long. “Good. Got some things done.” 

You don’t mention that after every one of those things you’d had to have a thirty-minute lie down, or that many of them involved disinfecting surfaces you’d accidentally coughed near. 

“Being sick isn’t an opportunity to get things done.” Remus sinks into his chair, leveling you with a reprimanding look. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

You shrug. “The only reason I haven’t been at work is because—” A couple of coughs fight their way out of you. James’ expression pinches as he sits on the arm of Remus’ chair, but thankfully the fit passes quickly. You take another sip of your tea. “Because I don’t want to pass it to anyone. I think I have to go back tomorrow, though.” 

Sirius makes a soft tsking sound. The boys are all still in uniform, his tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves as he traces looping circles on the side of your knee. “But you’re not better yet.” 

“Yeah, but I’m running out of sick days.” 

James frowns. “How long has it been?” 

You bring your tea to your lips, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ve been out for a week.” 

“But you were sick for a while before that,” he says. “What is that, ten days? Eleven?”

You shrug. 

Sirius is looking up at you with a puckered brow. “Do you feel like you’re getting better?” 

“I think so,” you say optimistically. It’s quickly undermined, however, when you’re caught up in another coughing fit. You have to set your tea down to keep from spilling it, holding a tissue over your mouth. 

James’ eyes widen, and Sirius sits up to rub your back. 

“That doesn’t sound very good,” James says. 

“No,” Sirius agrees. He reaches to feel your face, but you brush him away. 

“Don’t-—ack—don’t get too close. I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I’m not gonna get sick, you baby.” He pushes past your hands. “Let me do my job.” 

“You just got off work.” 

“Yeah, well,” his voice softens, taking on a sympathetic hum as he lays his palm flat to your hairline, “maybe I maybe I was talking about my boyfriend job.” A pause. “I think your fever’s gotten worse, my love.” 

You whine. “Really?” 

“‘Fraid so. Have you noticed your symptoms getting worse at all?”

“I don’t” —you cough and reach for your tea again— “think so.” 

“Dove,” Remus says warningly. 

“It’s hard to tell,” you admit. “It’s moved around.” 

“Like where, honey?” James asks. 

“Like, in my…” You feel your throat contract, another fit brewing. You touch a hand to your sternum to avoid speaking. 

“In your chest?” Remus infers. 

You nod. 

He hums and moves to sit on the coffee table, his knees touching yours. You try to warn him away, but Remus shushes you gently. “Let me look at you.” 

He brings one hand to your face, feeling the way Sirius had, and touches the other to the pulse point on your neck. His touch is gentle and cool against your warm skin. You don’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but you find yourself fighting the urge to fall asleep in the basin of his palm when it slips down to hold your cheek. 

“You don’t need to talk,” says James, “but just nod yes or no, okay? Have you noticed yourself feeling more tired lately?” 

You nod tentatively. 

“Yeah? Less appetite?” 

You frown. “I don’t think—” You’re cut off by your own hacking. 

“One week off work, and she completely forgets how to follow instructions,” Sirius teases, rubbing your leg. 

“Terrible patient,” James agrees. 

“Alright,” Remus says once your fit ebbs. “I don’t have a stethoscope, but can you turn sideways for me?” 

You do, confused. Remus puts his ear to your back. You must make an odd face, because Sirius grins at you, reaching over to pinch your chin affectionately. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

You try, but it doesn’t get far. Your lungs expand maybe halfway before you’re coughing again, horrible, wracking coughs punctuated by stabbing pains in your chest. Remus sits up after a few moments, rubbing your back. 

“Sorry,” you manage. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius pulls you into him, cradling your head to his chest. “That sounded like it hurt, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Remus answers for you, brows bent with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. At least now we can get you some medicine, though.” 

You cough weakly. “You can?” 

“Sounds like pneumonia?” James asks Remus. Your boyfriend nods. 

Sirius coos, petting your head. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking it was just a cold.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I was, too.” 

“Feels like we ought to have known the difference, though,” James admits. When Sirius gets up, he’s quick to take his spot, tucking you underneath an arm. 

“Where are you going?” you ask Sirius. 

He’s putting his shoes back on. “To get someone to write you a prescription. The sooner we get you on antibiotics, the better. It’ll give you something to show your boss, too.” 

“I don’t need to come with you?” you ask hopefully. 

He winks, grabbing his keys. “Perks of knowing people at the hospital.” 

“Perks of flirting with the doctors, he means,” Remus mutters after he’s gone. 

“Hey,” James laughs, giving his boyfriend’s knee a playful squeeze, “it works out for us, doesn’t it?” 

“Sometimes,” Remus allows. He fixes his gaze on you. “Anything we can do to help you feel better, sweetheart? Do you want to try a hot bath? Steam would be good for you.” 

You look down into your now cool mug. “Could I have some more tea?” 

He takes it from you with a kiss to your head. “What a silly question.”

[luveline]

Ooo can we have a blurb where bombshell! R and Spence were either on a date or were about to have their first time but got called into work? They both look a little annoyed at being interrupted. The bombshell reader series has my heart 🥺

im picturing boyband reid here maybe <3 fem

cw suggestive content

“These are trick buttons,” you accuse. 

Spencer laughs for the tenth time in as many minutes, perhaps tickled under your hands, more likely that he’s just feeling the same rush of hormones (namely adrenaline) as you are. “They’re not trick buttons, it’s ‘cos your hands are shaking.” 

He takes your poor hands in his. “It’s okay,” he adds softly, “I can do it.” 

“I’m not nervous, I’m excited,” you say, less soft, more desperate than he is, or at least on the surface. 

“I know, I know–” He catches your lips in a sudden eager kiss, a hand jumping to your cheek to ferry you closer, the other sewing down between your two chests to work open his fiendish buttons. 

“See,” he says between kissing, “easy.” 

“I’d like to see this level of dexterity when you unclasp my bra,” you mumble, kissing with every bit of hunger and love you have for him, lips drifting to his cheek, and then down to his jaw. Your mouth opens of its own accord. Spencer lets a breath slip from him coloured with wanting, the most amorous sound he’s ever made under your hands as you kiss, and nip, and—

Your phone rings from the nightstand, a heavy, repetitive vibration. 

“Ignore it,” you say easily, climbing up over Spencer’s lap, hand to the side of his face and rubbing tenderly. 

“I was planning on it,” he says. He was shy at first, those first few kisses, but Spencer’s a person like any other and he squeezes your hips closer to his without further argument. 

Your phone stops ringing a half a minute later. You smile into his mouth, even more when his fingers climb the length of your spine to slip playfully under the clasp of your bra. “How many tries do I get?” he asks. 

You sit back just a touch to meet his charming gaze. “As many as you need, handsome… I’m very patient.” 

He pulls you in to kiss your neck just as his phone begins to ring. 

“It’s work,” he guesses, paused regretfully under your chin. 

“We don’t know that.” 

“That’s my ringtone for work.” 

You breathe heavily atop him. “Can’t we be late?” 

He smiles at you gently. “I’m sorry, angel. If we’re late again this week he might actually bite your head off.”

Things were so perfect. This was it, this was the moment you finally knew each other to the very core, and your stomach aches with how badly you want him. You're startled at the heat behind your eyes knowing it’s not gonna happen. 

“Not tonight,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. Maybe he’d been thinking a similar thing. “But soon, okay?”

You wrap your arms around his neck. 

His phone stops ringing before he can catch it. Both of your phones ping with simultaneous text messages quickly afterward, before your ringtone begins again in earnest. 

He leans graciously toward the nightstand, allowing you to continue hugging him while also answering the phone. “Hello?” you ask. 

“Agent Hotchner’s calling you in.” 

You press your nose to Spencer’s shoulder. “Okay. I have Dr. Reid with me too. Please stop calling, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” you say, flustered. You hang up quick. 

Spencer pats your back with his fingers, palm flat to your shoulder, apparently the less gutted of the both of you at your missed moment. “Let me get you dressed, okay?” he says. “You’re too sulky. It wouldn’t have even been that good.” 

“How rude.” 

His teasing continues. “I’m serious. I haven’t been with anyone since that girl in Vegas–”

“What girl in Vegas?” 

“–and anyways,” he says, tilting your head back, his smile both playful and adoring at once, “you shouldn’t have been on top.” 

“Spencer,” you laugh, pressing your hand to your eyes. 

“I have a head full of statistics on female pleasure and I don’t need them to know you should be laying down when we–”

You kiss him. “That’s enough,” you say, pressing the tips of your noses together. “I get the picture.” Your arm curled around his neck feels right, and you’re heartbroken to let it slink back to your side, but you do. “I love you. I wish we’d chosen different careers.” 

“I love you, too, but I don’t. Then we never would’ve met,” he says simply.

You let out a happy breath. “I guess not.” 

Spencer hoists you off of his lap in an impressive show of strength, but then he dumps you in the mess of sheets, which is less lovely. “What do you want to wear?” he asks, springing up, heading straight for his closet. “I pressed your pinstriped dress yesterday, that would look cute with your stockings. And you won’t need a jacket, it’s hotter out there than it is in here. Why are you looking at me like that? We literally don’t have time for this.” 

You love him. You’re gonna rock his world when you get home. “The dress is fine.” You put your arms up in the air. “I’m waiting. And look! We’re half undressed already. How convenient.” 

[sanguineterrain]

Kurt wagner and tail stuff!!! I love that boy! I love how you write! I love the tail! Smashing them together we got a a little piece of heaven! So Kurt wagner with s/o and some tail action pretty please!!

(Like if you need some more then that: for example, the times before they were together Kurt’s tail always seemed to gravitate towards reader (I’m an advocate that Kurt’s tail is like a fricking mood ring) wrapping around them, touching them. The times when they were together! And the time reader wraps their hand or something around his tail or something)

Love your writing! You’re awesome and amazing! And I want to say in advance, thank you so so much for doing this ask! I will treasure it dearly! And if you don’t do the ask then thank you so so much to taking the time to read it! Have a lovely day!

ouuu this is a sweet request <3 tail boy! thanks nonnie :) hopefully I did him justice 🫶 changed the request a bit but kept the same idea about the tail. may write a part 2... we'll see!

kurt wagner (nightcrawler) x gn!reader. fluff, cooking, gambit and rogue trying to talk some sense into the reader.

note: I tried to capture kurt and gambit's accents. however, as always, I'm open to feedback on them. It's definitely not my intention to offend or miswrite anyone!

****

The smell of bubbling cheese wafts from your pot as you stir. It's been a while since you were able to cook for yourself and have a nice meal, always running out to do something or another for the good of the planet.

"Smells good," comes a familiar voice. A moment later, a tail curls around your wrist as you shake some paprika into the pot.

You look away from your stirring into golden, irisless eyes. Kurt grins at you.

"Mac 'n cheese," you say by way of greeting. "Want some?"

"Please und thank you."

Anytime you cook, you offer Kurt to share. You frequently have the thought that you spoil the hell out of him, but you can't help it.

He helps you out by putting away the milk and cheese. But he's never far; his tail remains on you. It slackens from your wrist, then explores up your arm and around your elbow.

It's nothing new, of course. The first thing you learned about Kurt Wagner is how physically affectionate he is.

"That tail seems to have a mind of its own, elfie," you say, smiling down at the pot.

"What do you mean?"

"It's always holding onto me." You turn off the burner.

"Ah." Kurt drops his tail. "My apologies. I can ease up, as you say."

You shake your head. "Don't. I don't mind. Never have."

So Kurt gives you one final tail squeeze. The fur on his arm tickles you as he brushes past. You watch him in confusion.

"Where are you going?" you ask, halfway through scooping two servings of the pasta.

"Not far," he says brightly. "Jean wanted me to bring spoons from the kitchen." He holds up three metal spoons with his tail.

"Spoons?"

He shrugs. "An experiment. Who am I to question a scientist's whim? I promise I will be fast."

He teleports away, and you have a mind to cover Kurt's bowl with a plate. You bring both bowls to the table. At last, a proper meal.

You don't mind eating alone, but that hardly ever happens with Kurt around. Even if he's just eaten, he'll nibble on whatever you've made. You don't know where he puts all that food—perhaps in another dimension—but he makes it a point to eat with you, regardless of whether you've cooked or not. Even if you're in the middle of the forest eating a tin of beans, Kurt will plant himself right next to you and keep you company.

He's a good friend. The best friend you've ever had, actually.

"Woo, smells good!"

Gambit comes in first, followed by Rogue, since the two are never seen apart anymore. Gambit, nosy that he is, makes a beeline to Kurt's covered bowl.

"And what's in here?" he asks, lifting the plate.

"That's Kurt's," you say. "You can get some from the pot."

"Mais, it's Kurt's, huh?" He glances at Rogue, who grins. "Hear that, chère? Not sure if I should take from the pot. Might take my head, too."

You squint as they share laughter. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh, nothin'," Rogue says sweetly, taking the seat diagonal to you. Gambit sits next to her.

Your frown deepens. "I didn't say you couldn't have some, G, I just—"

Gambit shakes his head. "Don't go worryin' 'bout that. I'm just teasin'. I think it's cute how you feed the furball."

"Excuse me, I feed myself first," you say, and shovel a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

You hate not being in the know. It happens frequently, being that you're not a mutant. You're here on a personal invitation from Charles due to your "technology skills."

Really, you'd been brought here to fix Cerebro. And after that, you'd sort of just... stayed at the school. Charles had offered you a room, Kurt had won your friendship (or, perhaps, you'd won his), and you'd never left.

"Well, what do you mean, anyway? So what if I feed Kurt," you say, unable to stand not knowing.

"Just seems like where you are, Kurt's never far," Rogue says, watching you eat.

"Yeah, so? He's my friend."

"Oh, un ami. Is that what we're callin' it?" Gambit asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"What else would you call it?"

They look at each other in that Siamese cats way. Often, you've had the thought that they can read each other's minds—no powers needed.

"You really don't know?" Rogue asks, voice softening.

"Know what?" you ask impatiently.

Gambit makes a quiet noise in his throat. "Y'all don't know. He's gone on you."

Your brows rise. "Kurt? Don't be silly, Remy."

"Oh, great. You're both in denial," Rogue says, rolling her eyes. "Haven't you noticed how touchy he is around ya? Always huggin' and clingin'."

"Kurt's like that with everybody," you say. "He's like that with Logan!"

"Mais, the tail, it never lies," Gambit says with all the wisdom of someone centuries older. "He don't go wrappin' that tail 'round anybody."

Rogue nods sagely. "True. And he's always puttin' that tail around you."

"But he's..." You put your fork down in frustration. "That's ridiculous. Kurt would've said—I mean, there would've been a sign. He would've told me. Kurt doesn't hide anything from me."

"This is new for him, honey," Rogue says. "He's never been in love for real. He's not gonna act rationally."

"Alors, look at it this way. La Raison parle, mais l'Amour chante. Hm? His body betray his words. It sings to you. Jus' like I sing to ma cherie."

He reaches to take Rogue's hand, eyes practically heart-shaped. Rogue lets him, smiling in that secret, shy way of hers whenever Gambit is sweet on her.

L'Amour...

"Kurt is not in love with me," you say. "End of story."

They both heave sighs.

"Just watch his tail," Rogue says. "Kurt can hide a lot, but he can't control how he—"

BAMF!

You flinch as Kurt teleports into the kitchen. He grins and waves, then bounces around the table to greet the others.

"I'm back!" he says. "I hope my mac did not get cold. Will you be eating with us?"

"No, that's okay," Rogue says, looking at you meaningfully behind Kurt's back. "Rain check. We've gotta go train."

Gambit winks at you. "See y'all."

They disappear quickly. Kurt turns to you, blissfully unaware of your newly formed nerves.

"I am sorry I was gone for so long," Kurt says, sitting down to his bowl. "Jean had some questions about my abilities. Apparently, she's trying to replicate them in a machine."

"That's okay," you say. "Rogue and G kept me company."

Kurt beams. "They are so good for that, yes?"

He shovels a mouthful of mac 'n cheese into his mouth and groans in appreciation. His tail instantly curls around your wrist.

"Amazing!" Kurt says. "Perhaps your special ability is your cooking, hm? I would believe it."

You laugh. "Danke, elfie."

"Bitte schön," he says, eyes lighting up at your German. He frequently informs everyone about how good your German is becoming, even though you hardly know ten phrases.

His tail begins to stroke your arm. You wonder if he's aware of it. If he knows how his tail betrays him.

But no, that's outrageous. And even if it was true, it's not like the feeling's mutual, right?

"Oh, and," Kurt says. "I got us tickets to that show you wanted to see. They're playing it at the theater downtown. We can go on Saturday, ja?"

"You... oh. Wow. I told you about that ages ago, Kurt. You remembered?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, tilting his head. Like it hadn't occurred to him to be anything less than thoughtful.

"No, I'm just—thank you. That's really nice of you."

Kurt beams. "I am excited to watch the green witch und her pink friend sing!"

He keeps eating, unaware of the way he's made your world tip on its axis. Because now you know.

You're in love with Kurt Wagner. And the feeling just might be mutual.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: implied and/or present elements of dubcon/noncon, yandere, kidnapping, captive reader, quirkless reader, mentioned death of important character, discrimination, drawn comparisons between quirklessness and disabilities, implied bakudeku, drugging, needles, mentions of hypochondriasis, also angst

♡ manga spoilers in a way, but also not really. anyway, read at your own discretion.

♡ gn reader

Sharp crimson eyes assess the fresh scrapes and swelling ruining your soft skin. A deep scowl on his face.

“Tch—look at all this…” he grumbles disapprovingly to no one but himself—too upset with you to acknowledge you, yet treating you no different than if you were glass. “These are gonna last weeks.”

You’d tried running away again—tripped and slipped up all on your own, stumbling through hallways and tumbling down stairs in your panic, only to stop short at the locked door—bolted and padlocked beyond all sane reason.

He was disappointed with you, sure. But that’s not the reason for his current anger.

“Sit there while I get bandages,” he orders, getting up from his crouch, pointing a strict finger at you in threat. “Dare move, and it’ll be bed rest for a whole ‘nother week.”

Bakugou’s obsession with your quirkless nature started a couple of months ago…

It was okay at first—he was hardly the first person you’d met who addressed you with patronizing resolve—but he got weird about it quickly.

You worked at another hero agency he was going to be collaborating with for a big upcoming mission. You weren’t a sidekick or anything grand like that, but a simple pencil-pusher—because they need those too, you know? And you liked your job. You got to work along with some of the greatest heroes in the world, see them up close, and help them out with those things they didn’t have time for—paperwork like budget justifications and incidence reports. Yeah, you might have been somewhat of a pushover, but hey, the salary was good, the environment was lively, and even though you don’t have one yourself, you got to see some really amazing quirks in action. It was, out of what you could hope for, your dream job.

The place was in a real buzz when they heard the number one hero would be joining them for a couple of months. You were excited, too—it wasn’t often your smaller agency would undertake big missions—especially not ones that required such big hero names.

DynaMight wasn’t one to share much of anyone’s enthusiasm. He was strict and down to business and otherwise had a major pet peeve for unnecessary rabble loitering around. He’d stopped mid-meeting at the sight of you, seeing as you were obviously no fieldworker, and had gone as far as to demand you tell him your value as if your presence had been some big distracting nuisance.

Luckily, your Pro-Hero coworkers had stepped in on your behalf and told him you were a transcriber keeping track for later reference. It was probably only a slip-up that they’d added the fact that you were quirkless.

You don’t hold it against them, or well… you did a little, but you couldn’t really blame them either. Evoking the explosion hero’s rage must have made them flustered and desperate to play any sympathy card available to them in the spur of the moment.

Of course, it wasn’t their card to play, nor would you ever have played it yourself, but if the humility was worth anything, it successfully managed to calm the top hero down. Actually, he didn’t say anything for the rest of the meeting. And if you hadn’t been so busy taking notes, you would have noticed his lingering stare.

A couple more incidents had occurred in the office after that. Among others, he’d caught an incoming paper airplane your coworker had thrown your way—stepped right in out of nowhere and cremated it with a controlled explosion before it could hit you.

You’d been speechless for a moment—the entire desk area along with you—confused by his strangeness and, at least in your case, even somewhat appalled by his utter lack of consideration—in your office space, no less. Seriously, top hero or not, you can’t just barge in and incinerate stuff?

“That was an important document,” you'd informed—brow quirked—no regard to how offending him could probably make grounds to have you fired. You'd only slightly regretted it after having said it. But geez, you thought—shouldn’t the top hero have some semblance worth of self-control?

“You shouldn’t be playing around,” he'd stated—tone just as sour as the stink of burned paper tainting the air. “Someone might get hurt.”

You’d almost scoffed at him but had held your tongue until he walked away.

Back then, you’d thought it was an offhand insult directed at you and your respected coworker—that the explosion hero had just called you both unprofessional to your faces, like the biggest scumbag to ever walk in through your humble doors. But looking back at it now, you realize he probably might have meant it in its most sincere regard.

His over-protectiveness knows no limit, you’ve learned—calling it patronizing would be a joke in comparison. He treats you as if anything in proximity might make you shatter by association—like a bubble made from the most thinned-out solution of water and soap.

You’d woken up in your well-prepared pillow room shortly after your agency’s collaboration with DynaMight had ended. It didn’t take long for you to piece together his sickness after that.

At first, you’d thought it was a more severe case of benevolent discrimination. After all, most people treat you with some amount of pity after being privy to your being quirkless—treating it no less than a disability of sorts.

But Bakugou’s view of you was increasingly more unsettling than that—suffering from some type of delusion that has him fully convinced you’re utterly inept without him.

In some odd ways, it would have been better if he was just faking—if he was doing it all, treating you as an inferior for some sick sense of deriving his own sadistic pleasure. But no, you think he actually fully and whole-heartedly believes you’re a danger to yourself and that anything, if not monitored in the perfect conditions of the controlled environment he’s established for you, will result in your fatal illness or harm.

He’s a full-sworn hypochondriac concerning you—even as he himself dregs home some of the worst injuries you’ve ever seen as if it were nothing but a splinter in the rough of his worn soles. Meanwhile, he’s scared that if you leave the bed without socks on, it will give you pneumonia.

You were sure you had a couple of control freaks at the agency, but nothing measures up to Bakugou’s mania. How he dresses you is one thing—how he feeds you is another. An assortment of pills first, all vitamins and supplements, a spoon of cod liver oil, then a balanced meal reminding you of those tragic trays you’re served at the hospital—four times a day without fail—breakfast, lunch, dinner, then supper—he also keeps track of all the water he’s decided you need to drink—all things perfectly regulated according to your size and age.

Then there’s the sleep schedule with a set number of eight hours—no more and no less. Exercise is also necessary—workout plans designed and dictated by him. Nothing too severe, though—he’s afraid your quirkless constitution won’t be able to handle anything beyond thirty minutes max.

And then, of course, there’s hygiene.

You sobbed and fought hysterically the first time he’d washed you—in the tub with him after he’d stripped you naked. In fact, you’d made such a fuss he’d had to fetch a sedative.

Even in your drowsed state of complete numb delirium, you’d still heard how he’d fretted over it—the tiny needle hole he’d torn in your arm—as if that was the real violation, even as he’d thoroughly molested the entirety of your body with different cloths and sponges for no shorter than a full hour.

You’d been terrified, of course—horrified by his meticulous routines and odd nature. Yet strangely, despite his rigid rules, he won't ever get violent to enforce them.

You had expected it of him—being known for his brutality—the hero without mercy—the symbol of retribution. You know he's no stranger to leaving the battlefield bloody. But with you, he won't so much as harm a single strand of hair from your head.

He will instead bargain with you, sometimes for hours. Eat what he tells you, and you’ll watch a movie afterward. Go to sleep, and he'll escort you out to see the sun for a few hours in the morning. Let him ensure you wash correctly, and he’ll allow you to dry and dress yourself.  

And in those moments when you leave him no other option, he subdues you through the help of a needle again and never ever by manhandling you—it was as if that weren’t even a viable option. It was obvious he regarded the sedative as the uttermost last resort, always muttering on about chemicals and whatnot under his breath. It seemed he would rather avoid it at all costs—but also, that if it stood between allowing the disturbance of the schedule he felt was needed to keep you healthy and forcibly putting you to sleep, he knew without a doubt which option he considered the lesser evil.

He was certain of it all. And at some point or another… you had even begun sharing his fear of attracting some sort of illness yourself—even something so small as a common cold. But no, it wasn’t the same. Yours was not a fear of the actual disease itself but of what he might do if he caught you sneezing and coughing. You could only imagine the upgraded pill table he’d have in store for you then and what other measures he’d instill due to his excessive ideas of necessity.

And that’s why you’d tried running again even after what must have been a couple of months since the last time. The thought of his inane insanity having affected you so badly you’d started playing along was all too much a painful realization—you’d felt compelled to reject it—run away even when you knew you’d never be able to make the door open if you could even reach it.

You knew it would be in vain, and even though running headfirst into something you know isn’t going to work might be the first signs of madness—you’re still relieved to have found some remaining worth of fight still in you, even if it couldn’t amount to anything.

He comes back as quickly as he’d left, still muttering to himself, cross about the damage you’ve sustained—like you’re one of the collector’s items he keeps up on the mantle in his office—green costume and a big bright smile. You remember the exposés—they’d been rather gruesome, about the hero who’d died in battle not so long ago—a couple of years back now, give or take. He had the number-one spot before DynaMight.

The current top hero retakes his spot at your feet, sighing deeply once he starts dabbing your minor bruises with disinfectant, followed by unnecessary bandages. You’re silent as you watch him work—all so diligently as he does everything, cutting no corners and running zero lights.

His efforts, done with the very epitome of care, all disgust you.

Your lip curls. “I’m not what you think I am…”

His keen glare stops obsessing over your wounds to look up at your face—he’d already tended to the ones he could see, but he’s sure more would blossom and swell in a couple of hours. It’s beyond worrisome—but it’s his fault in any case. He should move you to a place without stairs—it’s way too dangerous for someone as accident-prone as you.

You make eye contact, and his anger fades at the sight of tears welling in your corners—softening as if he’s convinced even a harsh look will have you shatter in his hands.

“I’m quirkless. But ’m not weak.” You’re sure you preached much of the same back at the beginning of your stay, though then you’d hurdled it at him—screamed it from the top of your lungs until you’d lost your voice, unknowing that it’s a statement he’s heard a hundred times over spoken by different lips from yours.

It’s a funny thing almost… how your eyes remind him of his—so soft and yet brimming with determination—a determination that will only get you killed.

He’d put faith in those words before, believed them beyond himself, and it had cost him everything.

But even so, he can’t fault you for believing in them yourself… they’re what makes him love you, after all.

He smiles gently—a most gut-churning sight from the all-scowling man.

“I’m sure you think so.”

He doesn’t relay it with any type of harshness but pity—gross concern and better judgment—overwhelming oodles of it in his garnet eyes, weighing them down with something so awful as compassion and… you don’t exactly know… but it looks like grief.

♡ part two ♡ more thoughts on this ♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[lay-z]

❄️ Day 7 – Make do

Synopsis: Stuck in a safe house on a mission in the middle of nowhere on Christmas Eve, you and your alpha teammates are in dire need of some comfort.

Pairing: alpha!TF-141 x fem!omega!Reader Warnings/Info: No smut. | Omegaverse; military!Reader; a/b/o dynamics; emotional support (dog) omega; fluff; suggestive content; flirting; teammates to lovers/mates; eventual poly!relationship; eventual romance; typical omega/alpha behaviour

Word count: 2.5k

↳ back to 🎅🏼 Masterlist ☃️

Location: [Redacted]

EST. remng. time until exfil: 8 hrs. 4 min. 37 sec.

The wind is howling outside the shabby safe house, whistling through the creaks and cracks of withered floorboards while the rain keeps pouring down in ice buckets, fat drops pounding against the leaky windows.

You fear the seemingly ancient hut might cave in like an unstable card house with each violent gust of wind.

It’s definitely not cosy and anything but how you’d imagine to spend your holidays this year, but alas – you’re in the military, freshly recruited by a secret special ops task force just a handful of weeks ago, and neither war nor terrorism take a break, so you won’t, either. And you’re still trying to proof yourself to them, to those rugged, dominant and battle-hardened alpha soldiers.

Still, you’ve been away from a proper nest for nearly a month now and it’s starting to make you terribly anxious. You cannot possibly be of any use for your assigned alphas like this, not if you can’t even take care of yourself properly, and it’s showing.

Sometimes, the novelty of this arrangement catches up to you, makes you question your whole being and purpose. Especially, when you struggle to approach certain members of the squad to even offer your help and do your job. However, Captain Price had informed you in the beginning that you’re their first assigned emotional support omega, that some of his soldiers have never even been in close proximity to one before. He never told you who, but you already have a good hunch.

You don’t want them to know about your inner turmoil, though; don’t want them to think of you as some spoiled, prissy omega when you’re definitely still a soldier, as capable of the same war atrocities as they are – even if your nature gets in the way sometimes.

So, you do what you do best, grit your teeth, keep your demeanour neutral and make your usual rounds, seeing if anyone is in need of your support, though you’re ready for their usual declination – which is something that stings even worse than your own unmet need for comfort.

Nuzzling the cold tip of your nose into the thick collar of your winter combat jacket, you peel yourself away from the raggedy cot in the guest bedroom, boot-clad feet dragging along the creaking floorboards as you square your shoulders despite your own discomfort and walk down the short hallway into the dimly lit, sparsely furnished open living room.

And your nose immediately wrinkles at the concoction of sour, agitated alpha scents, cigar smoke, gun oil and musty wood. It’s bad enough to make your eyes water, but you swiftly blink away the gloss in your eyes, determined not to let them know how bad this is.

“Gentlemen,” you speak your greeting into the room, clearing your dry throat awkwardly as you assess the situation while the men barely seem to acknowledge you.

Captain Price is standing by a cracked window, puffing on a stubby cigar while staring outside into the semi-darkness, watching the storm, his broad shoulders tense and spine rigid.

Gaz is reading a worn softback book, sitting in the corner of the shabby couch where the old standard lamp flickers every couple of seconds, his dark brows drawn together in concentration, though his eyes barely move.

Soap is slumped in the only upholstered armchair, the battered cushions looking like they’ve seen better days; long legs stretched out in front of him, his bulky arms resting on each armrest while his head is tilted back, eyes flickering behind closed eyelids.

And the Lieutenant, Ghost, is sitting at the wobbly table on an equally wobbly chair in the darkest corner of the room, sharpening and cleaning his ballistic knives, the heavy scent of restlessness accumulated in his spot, though, as usual, his expression is hidden behind his skull mask, an air of indifference carefully crafted around his self while his own nature betrays him.

Their behaviour is making your stomach twist into knots and you swallow down a soft whine as your inner omega starts trembling with anxiety.

Then, Soap speaks up, his gruff, roguish voice breaking the tense silence, “Ye busy, sweetheart?”

You blink dumbly, eyes flickering around the room, unsure if he’s truly talking to you or–

But Soap lifts his head then, a boyish grin on his lips as his bright cerulean eyes lock with your, nearly making you squeak in surprise.

“C’mere, Corporal.” He says, lifting his bare right hand and curling his index finger, beckoning you over playfully before patting his thick thighs. It’s not an order, but the sudden interaction between you and the Sergeant has the other alphas perk up one way or another.

Price glances over his shoulder, blowing out a thick plume of smoke around the cigar between his lips. Gaz looks up from the pages of his book, one eyebrow raised curiously, his warm brown eyes flickering between Price, Soap and you while Ghost stops polishing one of his knives briefly before proceeding again.

It’s the first time one of them has made the conscious decision to ask for your presence, disregarding the brief and rare sniffs all of them have taken of your comforting omega scent in between action and battles.

Almost unconsciously, you give a stiff nod before approaching him while he sits up straighter in the armchair, moving his legs and angling his knees to give you more space.

“How–uhm–How do you… want me, Sergeant?” You ask tentatively, oblivious to the double-meaning of your innocent question, struggling to keep up your professionalism as you rock back and forth on your heels, heart pounding in your throat.

Soap’s formerly tired, half-lidded eyes light up with mirth as he drinks in your uncertainty, and deep down, he feels so bad for himself for denying himself and you this comfort  that you and the rest of the squad so desperately need – all on orders from Price; the admonition from several weeks ago still ringing in the young Sergeant’s ears.

“Don’t overwhelm her, lads. She’s precious tha’ one, a bloody fine soldier, and we wanna keep her around with us.”

But the Captain forgot that this is literally your job, that this is why you’re here with them in the first place, and gods damn, Soap needs a whiff of your scent, of something else but his or his pack mates acrid stench – something more like candied apples, cinnamon and fresh wildflowers – something more like you, sweet, sweet omega.

Soap holds his right hand out to you and waits for you to reach out as well, before he grasps your smaller, cold hand swiftly, pulling you onto his lap while he keeps you steady with his left, manhandling you until you’re sitting perched up oh so prettily on his broad lap.

Your lashes flitter briskly, bright doe-eyes flickering nervously as you drink in his features this up close and Soap is preening internally at the reaction you’re showing him, so surprised and almost innocent despite your occupation.

“Ye like sitting here with me, aye, sweetheart? Not too much for ye, innit?” He queries nicely, loud enough for the others, especially Price, to hear, while the corners of his eyes crinkle with giddiness.

You scan the room discreetly, vigilant eyes moving left and right, like prey looking out for predators, unsure if this might be some kind of test perhaps, to see if you’re a good omega, able to do what you’re supposed to. Looking back into Soap’s pretty eyes, you give a slow nod, “Yes and no, sir.”

“Aye… thought so.” Soap chuckles gruffly, pulling you closer against his buff chest, eager to have your warmth and scent seep through his clothes, mark his skin and calm his restless soul.

Gaz can’t take it anymore, can’t even continue pretending to be preoccupied with this stupid book in his hands. Not when you’re sitting on Soap’s lap like that, whispering and giggling with him like you’ve never done anything else before. It had already been hard enough, acting as if you weren’t there since you joined the team, when all Gaz wants to do is bury his face in your neck, nuzzle your soft skin, cuddle you close and have your soothing purrs reverberate against his chest.

He didn’t have a chance to hear them yet, but he’s sure you would make the cutest sounds and noises.

His jaw ticks when a whiff of your saccharine scent wafts over to him while he’s still seated on the shabby couch, just a few metres away from you. Perhaps, he could just snatch you right out of Soap’s hold–

The low rumble of Price’s chiding alpha growl makes Gaz bristle, eyes widening imperceptibly as he ducks his head slightly, because how did the old geezer even sense that he was becoming jealous… and possessive.

Suddenly, Soap calls out, “Oi, Garrick? Ye want a turn?”

Gaz perks up; closing the book at once, though he looks over at the Captain for guidance and permission, because he sure as hell won’t disobey a direct order like Soap did when the latter had asked for your comfort.

Meanwhile, Price’s annoyance is still simmering below the surface, vein throbbing rhythmically in his neck as he listens and watches how the Scottish Sergeant is acting with you, all gentle and playful, practically putty in your presence.

The room reeks less of agitation and discomfort now, their aggressive alpha pheromones now dulled and whitewashed by your strong, syrupy omega scent, melodic giggles and dainty demeanour, and Price has to admit, Soap does seem to be in higher spirits now.

So, he meets Gaz’ pleading eyes with a firm nod, and watches the younger alpha scramble to his feet, opening his arms invitingly, while Price keeps his distance, chewing on the glimmering cigar stump to ease his own restlessness.

“Hand her over, MacTavish,” Gaz huffs, long fingers wiggling in anticipation, “You wanna stay with me a bit, hm, sunshine? Aye, ‘course you do–” He coos at you, leaning in a little and getting a first real nose full of your intoxicating scent at this proximity. His pupils dilate at once, making Soap chuckle as he loosens his arms around you reluctantly.

You answer with equal eagerness, eyes twinkling happily as you slip into Gaz’ strong arms, chirping, “Yes, sure!”

You end up sandwiched between Soap and Gaz on the small couch, cooped up in two different pairs of strong, bulky arms while both young alphas gush over you, courting for your attention as they nuzzle, kiss and lick your neck, your hair, any patch of exposed skin they can reach. You don’t mind them scent marking you for the first time, don’t mind the way they’re getting excited as you feel their big bulges strain against the rough fabric of their combat trousers whenever you’re switched back and forth in their embraces.

Just once do you need to correct Soap’s behaviour by pinching the nape of his neck, when he bucks his hips up against your clothed core, rubbing his growing arousal against you briefly. But Gaz chides him, too, and that’s that before you continue coddling them as much as they do you.

Ghost is usually great at blending out his surroundings while simultaneously being hyper-aware of them, but you’re slowly and surely starting to get under his scarred, pale skin, carefully chipping away at his resolve with each tentative offer of your assistance to him and his packmates, always looking mighty eager to please and serve.

Fucking hell.

It's sickening, really, how your enticing omega scent seeps even through the barrier of black cloth covering his nose.

He’s never allowed himself to smell something so sweet, let alone be in close proximity with someone like you.

When Price had submitted the application for an emotional support omega for the 141 to the brass, Ghost had nearly lost it and, in a semblance of panic, threatened with both resignation and applying to transfer to another task force, anything that would put space between himself and any omega, not trusting himself to be around something precious and fragile like that.

And then you showed up one day, pretty as a peach, ripe as one, too, and Ghost reluctantly accepted your presence with a grumble, enforcing Price’s order not to get too close to you, though, that’s easier said than done, he’d learned fairly quickly.

Now, Ghost can barely keep himself from staring at the couch, where both Soap and Gaz are seemingly having the time of their lives – basking in the attention of their own little omega. He’s never seen the two alpha Sergeant’s act so bloody… corny.

And yet, the Lieutenant can’t help and wonder how it must feel like to hold you, to feel your weight on his lap and feel your hair tickle his nose when he leans in to–

“I know what I said about her,” Price clasps his heavy hand on Ghost’s shoulder, bringing him back to reality, “– but perhaps you shouldn’t keep restraining yourself like that, Simon,” The Captain mutters, “It ain’t healthy.”

“An’ what about you, sir?” Ghost counters, not looking up as he finishes up polishing his last knife for the third time.

Price huffs in amusement, fishing another cigar from one of his breast pockets.

“Don’t ya worry about me, lad.”

When Soap pulls back from your kiss-swollen lips at once, you whine softly, chasing after his pretty mouth, already utterly spoiled bit the little bit of attention you’d gotten from the young Sergeants, until the expression on his handsome face makes you pause and snap out of your contented daze.

“Ye ready for a turn, Lt.? Think ye can handle it?” Soap snickers while Gaz scoots to the other end of the couch, clearing his throat loudly, looking at anything but the behemoth of an alpha in his black combat uniform, now standing in front of the couch.

Your eyes go comically big as you tilt your head back against Soap’s broad shoulder to gaze up at the stoic Lieutenant; the cloth of his skull mask now tucked up to the bridge of his crooked nose, revealing dirty blonde stubble and several thick silvery scars along his exposed neck and the lower half of his face while his onyx eyes stare down at you with unmatched intensity.

“I dunno, Johnny,” Ghost gruffs out, tongue darting out to lick his chapped bottom lip, “Think yer pretty bird can handle me?”

[twoplayergaymers]

A Sign of Affection—

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ 5.9k words

❋ A note before reading: Bakugo is being portrayed as little ‘d’ deaf, this is very important. You can learn more about the difference between deaf and Deaf here! This is also ASL cause that’s what I know.

Part 2

Katsuki Bakugo would never admit it, but he was losing his hearing. He had been for a while now, his explosive quirk might save lives but it was doing nothing good for his ears. He doesn’t admit this, not necessarily because he’s ashamed, but because he refuses to let anyone think he’s anything less than the strongest. Only a select few know, and even fewer are allowed close enough to notice his hearing aids.

You’re one of them.

Working as his interpreter wasn’t something you’d planned for when you first joined his agency. At the time, you thought you’d just be handling the occasional public statement, but it became clear quickly that your role was going to become far more personal when his hearing aids were damaged in his most recent mission. They’re malfunctioning, sounds become high pitched whirs in his ear, so he takes them out.

The silence was oppressive, his ears ringing as he stomped back into his agency headquarters after the mission. His team was talking but to him it sounded like they were underwater. His eyes rapidly dart between faces, trying to lip read, though he hasn’t relied solely on that in years. Fuck, everyone’s talking so fast. He clenched his fists, irritation bubbling under his skin, until finally he barked out, “Shut up!” His voice sounded off even to himself, somehow louder and harsher without his aids.

The room immediately falls silent, his team looking back at him with the same wide eyes and panicked expressions as always. He thinks they’d get used to his brashness by now, guess not. There’s a pregnant pause as Bakugo takes a breath, closing his eyes momentarily before uttering “Someone call an interpreter, I can’t understand you assholes-“ he stops for a second, his face falls in thought before he speaks again “get.. get the one from the press conferences”

“Which one?” Someone from the team utters, slowly this time. “You know which one. The one who actually knows what the hell she’s doing. The… uh…” He faltered for a moment, his scowl deepening. “The one with the— the pretty one. Dammit just call her!”

He doesn’t elaborate further because the truth is, he knows exactly who you are. He’s seen you at every press conference and public statement for the agency, standing slightly to the side of where everyone gathered, interpreting for the news. He wouldn’t admit it— not even to himself but he’d find himself distracted by you often. He was captivated by your hands and facial expression. He could tell you were passionate about your work, hell he might even respect you a little.

His team doesn’t question his words. They just nod in understanding and someone leaves to do just that. He huffs, hoping you get there quickly so he might actually know what’s going on.

“He… what?!” Your voice raises as the voice over the phone relays the message. Dynamight requested you? You couldn’t wrap your head around why he’d even need an interpreter, but you’re not turning down the opportunity. The cup of tea you were drinking abandoned on the counter as you rush into your bedroom to change into your interpreting ‘uniform.’

Fuck. You needed to do laundry. Your clothes are piled in the corner of the room. In your defense, you weren’t supposed to work again until next week. You dig through your closet and dresser drawers hoping to find something suitable for interpreting. Your eyes fall on a black long sleeve, it’s a few years old and you’ve definitely gained a little weight since the last time you’d worn it. It’ll have to do. You throw it on along with some slacks. it shows more shoulder than anything. it’s a little tighter than you’d like it to be, clinging to your body in a way you’d rather it not. At least not for your place of work.

You smooth your hands over your clothes a few times looking in the mirror, sucking your teeth before grabbing your bag and keys and heading out the door. Like you said, it’d have to do. The agency is only 15 minutes from your apartment, which is why you’d so enthusiastically taken the job. That and the fact that it’s his agency. You’d admired dynamight for a long time but honestly the thought of working so closely with him was terrifying.

You arrive and the nice receptionist tells you exactly which room to go to. you give her a warm smile. She returns it, her manicured nails moving rapidly over the keyboard as you shuffle away to the conference room.

You lightly rap on the door twice before pushing it open. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but I’m the—” The words catch in your throat as the room falls silent, all eyes turning to you. You’re used to this. You’re used to people watching you—it comes with the job of being an interpreter. But you’re not used to him. Your gaze collides with his, and your breath stumbles. “…interpreter,” you finish, the word slipping out softer than you intended.

His eyes are striking, sharp and burning, there’s nothing warm about the way he looks at you. It’s intense, unflinching, and terrifying.

You can’t tell if your heart is racing because his gaze is so intimidating or because you realize, that it’s beautiful, too. Damn it. Focus. You break the staring contest you were apparently having to briefly look at the floor. His gaze felt critical and now you’re second guessing every choice you made before you walked into the office. You shake your head and look up again. “I’m the interpreter” you say, more confident this time.

“About time” he barks out, his tone as critical as his gaze. Your eyes lock with his for the second time. “You just gonna stand there or are you gonna come here and do your damn job?” You let in a sharp breath as you instinctively straighten your spine. “Right.. right sorry” you murmur. Only, what is your job? You still have no idea why you’re even here. Whatever it doesn’t matter.

You step more into the room, positioning yourself where you can see everyone and nod, beginning to interpret. His eyes are still on you, you don’t think they ever left but instead you focus on the various voices around you. Brows furrowed, you shake your head. “Excuse me.” You mutter. The voices continue, loud, scattered, interrupting each other. “Excuse me!” You say louder this time, stopping the conversation as their heads turn to acknowledge you. “Please speak one at a time! A meeting this big should really have more than one interpreter..” you mumble the last part but the others in the room nod in understanding and do as you ask. The conversation resumes, slower and more uniform.

Bakugo doesn’t look away, even as the others start speaking again. You catch snippets of conversation, words like recovery, damaged hearing aids, and villain tactics, but your focus keeps dragging back to him. It’s not just the intensity of his presence—it’s the way he watches you like he’s dissecting every move you make.

Bakugo watches you intensely, his gaze devouring you whole. The way the loose strands of hair are framing your face, how your brows lift with expression, the gloss on your lips, your bare shoulders. Your skin looks so soft and— damnit. He’s not even paying attention.

He barely even knows sign anyway. He’d taught himself to finger spell and after watching you for so long picked up on some of the more common signs. Having you here was more productive. It was less time consuming then writing back and forth and maybe he’d learn something and maybe he’d get to know you. He blinks a few times, snapping himself from the thought. The incoherent voices around him halt and there’s several gazes on him. Someone probably asked a question.

Someone asked a question and he was too busy looking at your stupid fucking shoulders. Who even wears something like that to work anyway? He’s never seen you wear anything like that before and-

“Sir?” A member of his team utters. They’re awaiting his response. He locks eyes with you again, raising his hands to his body.

SLOW. MY SIGN BAD.

He signs to you. S-P-E-L-L.

You feel your eyes instantly widen, you force your face to fall neutral again. You’re interpreting for him? His aids got damaged?

You bend your index finger into a hook shape and tap it twice on your ear. The sign for hearing aid. You spell it out for him, before spelling out fix.

YES, NO, WHICH?

He scoffs, looking back at his team. “I’ve got too much shit to do to sit around and wait for ‘em to get fixed. Why do you think she’s even here?” He says, clearly annoyed at the question. He’s got that scowl on is face and it gives you chills.

The meeting continues, much to your dismay. You’re struggling, trying to take out the key points of what you’re overhearing and interpret to someone who barely knows sign. He’s not helping at all, staring at you with the same critical eyes and blank expression. Is he even understanding you? You try not to let the frustration show on your face.

The meeting is finally over to your relief. Your hands feel tired from so much fingerspelling. People start filtering out of the room. you roam over to where you left your bag, pulling out your water bottle and taking a few large sips trying to shake off the tension.

“Didn’t think signing was that exhausting,” a gruff voice says behind you.

You pause mid-sip, the familiar tone making you freeze. Slowly, you lower the bottle and turn, finding Bakugo standing a few steps away, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable. “You look like you’re about to explode.”

You huff, honestly not having the patience for this right now. “It’s hard to interpret when you barely know sign language, sir. I can’t tell if you understand anything I’m saying.” You say, your tone stern but still trying to remain respectful.

He stares at you for a beat, his expression unreadable, before he crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his voice low. “I understand more than you think. Just… just not all of it.”

You narrow your eyes, annoyed yet relieved that at least he can give you a little clarity. “Were you going to say anything? Or just let me waste my time and look stupid?” Your hand move rapidly, in frustration, in anger

“You don’t look stupid.” He states in a flat tone. “You’re good at it.” This shocks you a bit, dynamight isn’t known for giving compliments and somehow you feel like his gaze is even more intense than before.

“..was that a compliment?” You blink, caught off guard. “What’re you the deaf one now?” he smirks slightly before letting his rough demeanor take over once more “don’t get used to it” he fires back quickly.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly. “Thanks, I guess. But it doesn’t matter how good I am if you don’t understand” your eyes meet his once more. You sense something in them, if you didn’t know better you’d think it was almost something…apologetic?

His fist clench at his sides, not unnoticed by you and your demeanor softens despite your words. You’re not trying to make him feel bad, it’s probably more frustrating for him.

“I need you to communicate, sir. At least let me know when you understand or not, or I’m gonna keep making myself look like an idiot up there.” You smile slightly, trying to cut the tension you’d accidentally created.

He sucks his teeth “whatever, fine. I’ll tell you.” You give him a small smile in return, starting to gather your things. “Before you leave..” he breaks the silence, you look up at him curiously. He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You can’t tell anyone about my hearing. Got it?”

You feel your brows furrow. There’s a lot you could say back, but you value your job. “Excuse me sir.. but there’s nothing wrong with-“ “I said, you can’t tell anyone. No one else needs to know.” He cuts you off, his words are cold.

The finality in his voice makes it clear the subject isn’t up for debate. You purse your lips, biting back the response you want to give. Instead, you settle for a curt nod. “Understood.” Grabbing your bag and walking towards the door. “Have a good night sir.” Without waiting for a response, you close the door behind you, leaving him alone in the conference room.

Bakugo watches you leave, his hands tightening in his pockets. He’s not sure what it is about you, but something tells him this arrangement is going to be more complicated than he expected.

The hallway outside the conference room is quiet, but your mind isn’t. You replay the conversation in your head, trying to make sense of it. There was something about the way he spoke—about the way he looked at you—that stuck with you. Dynamight was hard to read, but his insistence on secrecy had been laced with something you couldn’t quite place. You shake your head. Not your problem, you tell yourself firmly. You’re just here to do your job, not to figure out Dynamight.

As the elevator doors slide open, you step inside, your thoughts still lingering on him. This isn’t going to be easy, is it? You reach the lobby, saying goodnight to the same kind receptionist from earlier and heading back home.

You’re lying in bed when your phone pings, it’s an email of your new interpreting schedule. With a heavy sigh, you turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling. Meeting your heroes wasn’t supposed to feel like this. You’d admired Dynamight from a distance, inspired by his drive, his unshakable determination, and his ability to save lives no matter the cost. But up close? He was…

You hesitate, feeling guilty for even thinking it. He wasn’t cruel, exactly. Just difficult. Closed off. And it wasn’t like he had asked for this to happen to him.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to sleep. It’s just work, you tell yourself. Do your job, keep your head down, and move on.

But as you drift off, a small thought lingers in the back of your mind. That brief flicker of something in his eyes during the meeting—something you hadn’t expected from a man so famously brash and unyielding.

Vulnerability?

You shove the thought away, but it lingers, a tiny thread pulling at the edges of your frustration. Maybe there was more to him than you realized.

For now, though, you had to focus on making it through tomorrow. One day at a time.

A week passes. The days become easier. You’ve become very friendly with the receptionist in the lobby. Her name was Talia. Your brief interaction turned into smaller friendly conversation. You looked forward to seeing her everyday.

Working with Dynamight is no walk in the park. He’s intense, stubborn, and unapologetically brash. But beneath the rough exterior, you’ve come to know a man who takes his job as a hero seriously, even if he pushes himself too hard to compensate for what you assume he perceives as a weakness.

He’s a little kinder now, at least in the way that Dynamight can be kind. He’s working with you, communicating the way you asked. The dynamic is fine. It works. You do your job, you talk to Talia for a little while and you leave.

Lunch with Talia quickly becomes your favorite part of the day. What started as quick chats at the receptionist desk has turned into full-blown lunch breaks in the small cafe near the agency. She’s easy to talk to—funny, warm, and refreshingly honest.

Today, as you sit across from her, picking at your sandwich, the conversation drifts to Dynamight.

“Is he still a pain?” Talia asks, smirking as she sips her iced coffee. You laugh softly. “I mean, yeah. But he’s… better. Not great, but better.” “‘Better’ for Dynamight is probably miraculous,” she quips, earning another laugh from you.

The smile quickly falls from your face as you stare down at your food, a more serious expression taking over. “God” you groan, your face falling into your hands. “I just don’t understand him. Like at all” “you’re not getting paid to understand Dynamight. If any of us were we’d all be broke.” She chuckles and takes another sip of her coffee.

“I know but it’s just like.. if you’re so ashamed to be..deaf…” you whisper the last part so no one may overhear “..that you don’t want anyone to know why the fuck would you ask for an interpreter? Do you know how hard it is to discreetly interpret in public? We have to make someone else stand next to him so it looks like I’m interpreting for them instead!”

“He’s not ashamed.” She says curtly, ignoring your other frustrations. “What?” Your head lifts from your hands to look at her, both shock and curiosity etched into your face. “I don’t understand” you shake your head.

“It’s not because he’s ashamed or anything. It’s… well, think about it. If the wrong people found out, villains would use it against him. They’d find ways to exploit it. That’s the last thing he wants.”

Oh. You hadn’t thought about it like that. You almost feel a little guilty for making him out to be such an ass in your mind. Almost, cause at the same time, he’s still cold and abrasive.

Your face must show how you’re feeling. Somehow it always does, It’s a curse in moments like this, but it’s also what makes you such a great interpreter. Talia’s hand fall on top of yours reassuringly.

“Hey..” she says gently. “..You’re great at what you do, y/n. Maybe you were wrong about that but it doesn’t change the fact that he is 100% making your job harder” You can’t help the small, weary laugh that escapes you. “You’re not wrong. He’s exhausting. Sometimes, I still don’t even know if he’s listening.”

Talia smirks, squeezing your hand. “Oh, he’s listening. He’s just a stubborn ass who doesn’t know how to show it. I mean, come on. Think about who we’re talking about.” Her words draw a reluctant smile from you. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” You mutter back

“You’ll get through to him,” she says confidently, letting go of your hand. “Trust me. If anyone can, it’s you. You’re here for a reason.” There’s a beat of silence before Talia leans in slightly, her tone dropping to something a little quieter, more serious. “You know, he doesn’t let anyone help him. Not really. He’s always been like that, even when I started here.”

You nod slowly, processing her words. It makes sense in a way. Although her words are reassuring,it still feels frustrating. You look at her, a flicker of doubt still lingering in your eyes. But her faith in you feels steady, unwavering. It’s comforting, even if you’re not sure you fully believe it yet.

“Thanks, Talia,” you say softly, and for the first time in what feels like days, you hold yourself a little higher.

The sharp sizzle of oil fills the air as Bakugo tosses another handful of vegetables into the pan. it’s a rhythm he knows well. But tonight, his focus is off. He scowls at the counter, eyeing the ridiculous amount of food piling up. Again. Every time lately, it’s the same thing. He swears he’s not doing it on purpose.

His mind drifts to you. To the way your hands move when you sign, fluidly.. beautifully. Your frustration barely hidden behind a polite smile. You’ve been busting your ass trying to keep up with him, and he’s done nothing but make your job harder.

Bakugo grips the edge of the counter, jaw tight. He knows you didn’t ask for this, didn’t ask to deal with his stubborn ass.

Before can even realize what he’s doing, he’s grabbing a spare container and loading it with the extra food, snapping the lid on tight. He tells himself he’s being practical. He’s not one to waste food.

When he hands it to you the next day, he barely looks you in the eye. “Made too much,” he says gruffly, shoving the container into your hands before walking away without waiting for a response.

He walks away so fast he almost, just almost misses the small smile that plays onto your lips. The smile that fills his mind for the rest of the day.

And that’s how it starts. The next day he’s shoving another container in your hands, claiming the same thing. Rushing away in the same way. You blink after him, utterly bewildered but secretly delighted. Because honestly? That food was incredible. Like, best you’ve ever had incredible.

By the third day, you’re half-expecting it, your hands reaching automatically as he shoves yet another container into them. It’s becoming a strange routine, one you don’t entirely understand but definitely don’t mind.

At lunch, you decide you can’t just keep taking these meals without saying anything. You owe him a thank you. So, with the container in hand, you find yourself heading up to his office.

You stand outside the office door, taking a shaky breath and light knocking. “Come in” his voice with its usual roughness grumbles from the opposite side of the door. You open it and shuffle in, giving an awkward smile.

“What?” He asked brashly, sounding more annoyed than usual. You feel his eyes scanning you from head to toe. You hold up the container. “I uhm.. I just” you clear your throat. “I just wanted to say thank you for the food lately, it’s so delicious, honestly I really appreciate it.” Your hands move as you speak.

FOOD, THANK YOU, DELICIOUS

You let your eyes wander while he speaks, you’ve never really been in his office. It’s a standard room, barely decorated and of course, tidy. His desk was positioned on the same wall as the door. So that’s how he knew you were knocking..“Uhm. I was wondering.. do you.. wanna eat together?”

LUNCH, EAT, TOGETHER?

You ask, trying to keep your voice steady

He stares at you blankly and just when you think he’s about to tell you to get lost, he shrugs. “Whatever, don’t make it weird” he nods his head in the direction of an extra chair on the other side of the room. You smile and drag the chair over to his desk.

That’s how it starts.

The next day, you’d ask to eat together again. Over the next few days, it becomes routine. Around lunch, you’d head up to his office with your container, and the two of you would sit and eat together. The conversation, at first seems sparse but becomes easier and easier, soon flowing naturally.

He asks about interpreting, your day, your annoying habit of over-explaining things when you’re nervous. And you learn things about him too. Like how he experiments with different recipes because cooking is one of the few things that lets him focus. Or how he prefers silence over small talk, but somehow doesn’t seem to mind when it’s you filling the quiet.

One day, mid-bite, he suddenly says, “Stop calling me Dynamight.” You blink, caught off guard. “I’m sorry?” Your hand forms a fist, rubbing it against your chest with raised brows, signing as you speak.

He glares at you, though it lacks its usual edge. “You’re not on the damn clock when we’re eating. Just call me Bakugo.” You hesitate, then nod, a small smile creeping onto your face. “Alright, Bakugo.”

Talia, however, notices this change almost immediately. Somehow when lunch time rolls around you’re nowhere to be found. She misses your time together.

“Girl, where the hell have you been?” She asks one evening as you pass her desk to go home. “What happened to our lunches? You cheating on me?” She smirks

You flush, “I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I haven’t been communicating” you facepalm. “I’ve been having lunch with Bakugo these past few days, to thank him for the meals and everything”

“Ohhh so it’s Bakugo now?” She tease, leaning forward on her desk. “Sooo when’s the wedding?” You groan, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Talia!” “What? I need to know when I’m supposed to object, can’t have dynamight taking my girl” she giggles.

You roll your eyes but can’t help a small smile.

“It’s nothing, really. We’re coworkers having lunch.” You’re not lying, that’s exactly what it was. Even if deep down you maybe wanted it to be more. Talia smirks knowingly. “Uh-huh. Sure.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I’m serious! And I’m really sorry for ditching you. I promise—lunch together at the end of the week. Deal?”

She crosses her arms, pretending to consider it. “Hmm, I guess I can forgive you. But only if you bring the juicy details.” “Talia!” you groan again, but she just laughs as you wave goodbye, her teasing words echoing behind you.

You sit across from Talia in the same cafe as usual. Catching up for the first time in what seems like forever. You really do feel bad about ditching her, she’s the one great thing that’s come from taking this job.

“So,” she begins, resting her chin on her hand. “How’s lunch with Dynamight been? Does he chew with his mouth open or something?”

You roll your eyes, laughing softly. “He’s not bad, actually. Quiet. Focuses more on the food than talking, which honestly, I appreciate. Less pressure to fill the silence. But I do it anyway.. it’s like the words keep coming out… I can’t stop talking”

She gasps, throwing her hand on her chest mockingly “THE Dynamight? Quiet? I fear a may faint!”

You chuckle and playfully push hit her arm that’s still resting on the table. “Well, to be fair,” you say, grinning, “he mostly spends it making sure I’m eating, sooo.”

“Ohhh,” she drawls, raising her eyebrows. “So he’s looking out for you now, huh? Bet he’s making sure you’re eating all your vegetables too.” “I think he wants to make sure I’m enjoying it. He likes cooking and I know if I could cook well I’d probably do the same thing” you respond matter of factly.

“Sure,” Talia says, drawing the word out with an exaggerated smirk. “And you don’t think it’s because he has a little crush?” You roll your eyes again, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck. “He’s just being a decent coworker. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” she hums, clearly not convinced. “Let me know when the wedding invites go out. I’m definitely objecting. Even if I’m the maid of honor”

You snort, tossing a napkin at her. “Can we eat now, or are you just going to keep embarrassing me?”

Talia raises her hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll let you eat in peace…for now.”

Just as you’re about to dig into your food, your phone buzzes on the table. Without thinking, you pick it up, glancing at the unsaved number. The message reads:

“Where are you? It���s lunch. You’re not here.”

You blink, confused. “What the—” Talia hums in curiosity. “I just got a text but I don’t have this number saved” you turn your phone screen so she can see too. She narrows her eyes as she leans closer to read the message, then they widen. “Oh my god. That’s him. That’s Dynamight. Bakugo.”

Your stomach drop. “What? How would he even get my number?” Talia gives you a look. “Girl, I know you’re not that slow. He’s one of the top heroes in the country. If he wanted your number, he could definitely find it.”

“Well?” She nudges you. “Are you gonna text back or not?” “I.. what.. what do I even say??” You respond, growing more flustered. “How about, ‘Sorry, I ditched you for my real soulmate, Talia’?” she says with a smirk.

You try to just roll your eyes, but can’t help but let out a chuckle and type out a quick response.

“Sorry, I’m at lunch with a friend today. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The reply comes almost instantly.

“You could’ve told me.”

Your stomach drops again, and Talia laughs, leaning back in her chair. “Oooooo he’s mad. You’re in troubleeee” her grin only growing wider. “He probably misses his lunch buddy,” she adds with a mock pout. “So tragic.” you give her a glare.

Your groan, plopping down your phone and caging your head in your arms on the table. “Why is he even texting me? And why do I feel bad about this?”

Talia smirks, sipping her drink. “Because you’re catching feelings, babe. Don’t fight it.” You glare at her again over the rim of your hands, but she just laughs harder. You flip your phone over, trying to refocus on your lunch. However, you don’t really feel hungry anymore.

The next day feels…off. You can’t put your finger on it at first, but the energy in the room is different. When you arrive, Bakugo barely glances at you. There’s no gruff greeting, no container of food shoved into your hands with a muttered excuse about “making too much.”

By lunch, the tension feels suffocating. You glance at him a few times, hoping for some kind of acknowledgment, but he doesn’t even look in your direction. He eats alone in his office while you sit in the break room, absently picking at a salad you don’t even want.

You replay yesterday in your mind, Was it because I skipped lunch? Is he that mad about it?

But that doesn’t make sense. He’s Dynamight, not some clingy guy who cares about a missed meal. Still, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve messed something up.

He doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t greet you. Doesn’t offer you food.

It’s petty, and he knows it. But he’s pissed—mostly at himself. Yesterday, he let his guard down, let you get under his skin. He shouldn’t have cared where you were or who you were with, but he did. And that pissed him off even more.

So today, he shuts it down. Keeps things professional. Cold.

He tells himself it’s better this way. Keeps you at arm’s length, avoids the growing distraction you’ve become. You’re his interpreter, not his friend. Not someone he should care about. By the time the day ends, he’s still mad. Mad at you for skipping lunch yesterday, mad at himself for caring, and mad that he can’t stop thinking about the way your face fell when he brushed you off.

The next day feels longer , the tension in the air weighing heavier with each passing hour. Bakugo barely acknowledges you, responding only when necessary and only about work. No snide remarks, no shared looks during meetings, and definitely no container of food shoved into your hands.

You try to brush it off, but the absence of his usual gruffness is almost worse than when he was barking at you. By the time lunch approaches you’ve convinced yourself you should just let it go. But as you gather your things, you glance toward his office door, slightly ajar. Before you can stop yourself, you’re knocking.

“Come in,” his voice calls, low and gruff as always.

You push the door open. He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over a stack of papers, his eyes darting around them rapidly, his attention fixed anywhere but on you.

“Sir,” you start, trying to keep your tone neutral, “is everything… okay? You’ve been—”

OK, YOU?

“Busy,” he cuts you off without looking up. He’s not even paying attention to what you’re saying.

You narrow your eyes and bang your hand on his desk twice to get his attention. His head snaps up at that. “Busy enough to ignore me?” His crimson eyes narrow. “I’m not ignoring you.”

“Wow! Could’ve fooled me,” you mutter under your breath, knowing he can’t hear it. Bakugo has read lips long enough to pick that up, even if you’re not signing. For a long moment, there’s silence. You expected him snap, have some witty remarks like usual. Instead his face falls.

“didn’t think you’d care,” he says finally, his voice quieter than you’ve ever heard it. Your eyes widen.“Care? I thought I did something wrong.. I-“ your hands stammer. “you didn’t.” He cuts you off again. “Didn’t wanna bother you. Figured you’d rather spend time with your friend or whatever”

His admission hits you hard, this…this is almost vulnerable? you’d never seen him like this. You knew this wasn’t easy for him to say.

“S-sir..” you stop. “Bakugo.. I didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” you say softly. “You’re not a bother.”

He mutters, incoherently, shifting in his seat a bit. You can tell he’s don’t talking and you take that as your cue to leave. You shake your hand in the air to get his attention again. “By the way,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I had lunch with my friend that day because I’d been ditching her for you. So… take what you will from that.”

You pause for a beat, your hands coming to a halt, your eyes meeting his, then turn on your heel and slip out the door without another word.

Later that evening, you linger longer than usual, pretending to be caught up in some last-minute paperwork. In reality, you’re waiting for the office to quiet down, for everyone else to leave. When you finally approach his door again, it’s shut, but you can hear faint movement inside.

You push it open a crack, peeking through, and your breath catches.

He’s standing in front of the mirror on the far wall, hands moving clumsily through a set of signs. His brows are furrowed, his jaw tight, frustration radiating off him in waves. He’s got that same notebook he was hunched over propped open on the desk beside him, glancing between the pages and his reflection.

“Fuck.” He mutters, shaking out his hands and trying again. You watch for a moment, something warm blooming in your chest. He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you almost feel bad for interrupting. Almost.

You shake you hand in the air to get his attention.

“You’re improving,” you say softly, your hands moving as you speak.

YOU, BETTER!

His eyes widen, caught completely off guard. For a split second, he looks ready to bark at you, but then his expression softens, just barely.

“Should’ve locked the damn door,” he grumbles, closing the notebook with a snap. You smile, stepping closer. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

His eyes meet yours, something lingering there and for once, there’s no anger, no irritation. Just honesty. “Yeah, I did.”

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, you settle for a small nod, the weight of the moment saying more than words ever could.

“Thanks,” you whisper after a beat, your palm faces you, fingers touching your chin before bringing your hand away from your face.

THANK YOU.

and this time, he doesn’t look away as a small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Katsuki Bakugo would never admit it, but he trusted you. And maybe—just maybe—he was starting to let you in.

This is soooo so long omg I’m sorry!! Also the sign is super basic bc he wouldn’t know.. I feel like I needed to say that lmaoo I hope anyone who reads this enjoyed!

Dedicating this to my luver @mimzyu and also @poemeater since Leigh encouraged me to start writing not too long ago <3