Hii!! I Was Wondering If You Cld Do Number 18, List 2 For Sieun ❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

since season 2 is coming soon, lemme express my love for this boy

our loves not one-sided

a/n; someone tell yeon sieun he’s loved multiple times until he’s got it engraved in his mind pls

kdrama yeon sieun x gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned) 399 wc

warnings; none

“I’m glad I met you, Sieun.” You murmur, leaning on the table as he studies. “Thank you for putting up with me.”

He looks at you, tapping his pencil against his fingers. “Where did that come from?”

There’s a lingering silence after his question. You’d turned to face away from him, his stare had gotten too overwhelming, yet he never took his eyes off of you. Just as he’d opened his mouth to ask again, you turned back to him, but why were there tears in your eyes?

“Can’t I appreciate you without you being suspicious of it?” He stares blankly at you, blinking slightly to turn his gaze away. “I won’t say it anymore then.”

He sucks in a breath discreetly, trying to distract you with the sound of his pencil hitting the table. Sieun watches you sit back up, leaning your head on your palm as you continue your notes.

Sieun stays silent, focusing on completing his notes for English. You don’t miss the way he pauses, though, meeting his fleeting gaze more than once.

“Sieun,” he hums, not picking his head up from his notes. “Stop looking at me like that.” He tilts his head to the side just the slightest, silently showing confusion. “I can read your mind, you know? You don’t have to say anything.”

He nods, pressing his lips together as he sits up straight, then leans slightly against the table. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t say I love you just to hear it back. I say it so you know I do.”

His only response is a hum, waiting for you to turn away to let his lips quirk up. Sieun doesn’t fight the smile this time, lowering his head while it forms. You don’t look. You know he wouldn’t want you to. But there’s a creeping urge to take a peek when you hear a puff of air escape his lips.

When you look at him, his head is kept downward, and you can see the ghost of his smile still lingering like a mirage. He catches your eyes quickly, looking down when you smile at him.

“Keep studying.” You hum at his words, turning back to your work, moving your chair just the slightest closer to his.

Your knee brushed against his, and in the quiet, dim apartment, the one that always felt cold, a wave of warmth washed in.

Of beauty marks - Iwaizumi Hajime

"Iwa-chan doesn't have any beauty marks," Oikawa points out, his voice obnoxious and annoying and-

"He does," you disagree without thinking about it. "On the back of his right elbow, for example."

Four sets of eyes flicker to you and you bite your lip and curse your tongue.

"How would you know?" Oikawa asks, his voice low and daring, like a trap. His eyes pose a challenge, too. Iwaizumi stares down at the table, like he can't believe he's having this conversation in the middle of lunch break, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa... well, who knows what they're thinking, really.

"I'm sitting behind him," you point out. "And he wore short sleeves yesterday."

-

You stare in disbelief. When you accepted the position of Manager of the Seijoh Volleyball Club, you hadn't considered meeting any classmates there. Iwaizumi looked more like a Baseball Player, Oikawa was annoying enough to win every debate he started, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa... well, who knows what they're into, really.

But now they're all here, right in front of you, and shirtless too.

Your eyes flicker over the beauty marks on Iwaizumi's back. They're scattered, like pins on a map. You can't help but think of the saying, and wonder how many past lives Iwaizumi might have had. Or maybe just one overeager significant other.

"You're staring," Oikawa points out with a mean grin.

You send one back. "Get dressed then. You're asking for it."

-

"Need help?" You ask, when Iwaizumi appears next to you after training.

Iwaizumi nods, head bent. It's rare to catch him alone like this. He's flexing his fingers, but keeps his elbows locked to his side.

"I think I injured my elbow," he mutters under his breath. "I don't want to make a fuss about it."

"Want me to check?"

He nods, though jerks his head. "But not here. I don't want-"

"Iwa-chan!" Oikawa sings and you lean around the Ace to stare down the Captain.

"Your boy-crush can wait," you holler back at him. "Iwaizumi needs to help me first!"

"Rude!" Oikawa pouts but turns back to the others.

Your hand curls around Iwaizumi's elbow instinctively as you lead him out the door, the equipment bag now heavy on his shoulder. Your pointer finger brushes over something and you know, without having to check, that it's a beauty mark, slightly raised.

You wonder about the intimacy of kissing that spot, a hidden place, love tucked away like a secret.

Iwaizumi shivers and you apologize, but the feeling lingers, the thought has etched itself into the canvas of your mind.

-

"Hey," you look up from your books, surprised to find Iwaizumi towering over your table, his face set into a scowl.

"Yes?"

"Are you free this weekend?"

You mentally check your calendar. "I think so, yes. How's your elbow?"

"Better," he grunts, one hand rising to grip his neck. You spot the beauty mark winking back at you with this movement and almost miss the hints of a blush on his cheeks.

"There's a firework at the park," Iwaizumi points out, looking pained now. "Do you want to join me... there?"

"Oh, who's coming?"

His face contorts for a moment. "Just... us."

You stare at him. He stares back at you. And then it clicks.

"Like... a date?"

"Yes. Please?"

-

"Call me Hajime, please."

You stare at the ceiling of your room, too wired to sleep.

A firework dances behind your closed eyes, but it's not the one you saw tonight. It's a flashwork of memories, of glimpses and stolen moments.

Hajime, smiling up at the sky. His hand around yours, dragging you along to the best spot. The way his face changes at the sight of a bug, delight turning his features younger.

You know the feel of his lips on your cheek, know the warmth of his hand and the taste of his first name on your tongue.

You curl your toes and bury your head in your hands, irrevocably in love.

-

"I miss you," Hajime mutters, bleary eyed and exhausted. He yawns. "I don't want to hang up yet."

"You have to," you disagree. "You need your beauty sleep."

"Who's idea was it anyway, to study in America?"

You laugh. "Yours, Hajime."

"Sounds fake. Sure it wasn't Oikawa?"

"Sadly so. Hey," you smile cheekily. "Are you wearing sunscreen?"

Hajime furrows his brows. "Course. Always."

"Goód, good. Don't want you to get any new beauty marks without me to check."

He laughs, belly-deep and carefree, before slipping out of his shirt in one fluid movement, twisting to turn his back to the camera. "Still the same, love?"

"Still the same."

-

You find Hajime at the window, back bare, hair a mess.

"Hey," you lean into him, press a kiss to the beauty mark right on top his shoulder blade. "What's so interesting out there?"

"We're married," Hajime points out, his voice airy and dreamlike. "We're really married."

"Hmm," you kiss the next beauty mark, the one right above his spine. "Did the view tell you that or did you figure that out yourself?"

He pinches the skin above your hip in retaliation. "You're pretty sassy for a newlywed."

"Doesn't feel that new," you admit. "Feels like we've been married forever."

"Yeah?" He doesn't try to turn, rather takes your hands in his, rubs his thumbs over your wrists. "In a past life, maybe."

You laugh at the thought. "Oh, so I was the overeager significant other that got you those marks, eh?"

"Like it could have been anybody else.

for @chimielie and @seiwas-interact bc I was inspired by this post

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could you write a story about bakugou teaching y/n how to kiss?

🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

𝐵𝑎𝑘𝑢𝑔𝑜: 𝑆𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑆𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑠

Thank you so much, hope you like it as much as I did! Don’t forget to drop any other requests you got in mind!

Every time Bakugo tried to make a kiss last longer than a brief brush, you pulled away. Not abruptly, but with subtle gestures: a slight turn of the head, a nervous laugh that broke the moment, an apologetic excuse about the time, the movie, the phone.

And of course, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew everyone had their own pace. Their fears. Their walls. And if you needed time, he was gonna respect that. Period.

Still, in his crimson gaze, always alert, the question floated: Why?

That night you were cuddled on the couch. A movie played in the background, the lights were low, a bowl of popcorn between you and a spoon buried in a tub of ice cream you were sharing. The atmosphere was chill, comfortable… until he noticed some ice cream at the corner of your lips.

"You got a little something..." he murmured, leaning in to wipe it with his thumb. But his eyes, intense as always, didn’t leave yours. And with a smooth movement, with that same confidence he always carried, he gently held your chin and pressed his lips to yours.

He was inviting you to follow… but there was no response.

You pulled back. It wasn’t dramatic, just a tiny space, barely a few centimeters. But for him, it was enough.

"Y/n..." he whispered. His voice was deep, rough, but controlled, like every word cost him his calm. "Something wrong?"

You hesitated. Swallowed hard, looked down. You couldn’t hold his gaze. And in the end, with a low voice, almost embarrassed, you confessed:

"It’s just… I don’t know how to kiss."

For a second, Bakugo went silent. He blinked, processing your words. And then, to his own surprise, let out a soft laugh—more like an incredulous exhale.

"That’s the problem?" he scoffed at himself, shaking his head for overthinking it so much.

"I feel like I’m gonna mess it up…" you said, biting your lower lip, insecure.

"There’s nothing to mess up, Y/n…" he replied sincerely. His voice sounded different now: lower, warmer, like he was talking to you from a place he didn’t show to just anyone.

You made a face, still not quite convinced.

"I’m gonna learn," you declared, more like a promise to yourself than to him.

"Oh yeah? And how you gonna learn?" he asked, crossing his arms, raising a brow with barely hidden amusement.

You went silent. You didn’t wanna admit what you’d already thought about. Didn’t wanna sound pathetic.

"Reading? Watching videos? Or worse… practicing with your reflection in the mirror?" he went on, and even though his tone had a teasing edge, it wasn’t mean.

"You’re making fun of me?"

"No," he denied, shrugging. "I’m just saying it’s kinda dumb… when you got me right here."

You looked at him, a little surprised, a little hopeful.

"You gonna teach me?"

He barely nodded, that half-smirk on his face that made you feel like you were the only person in his world.

"Who else, Y/n?"

"Now?"

"Now… if you want."

You didn’t say anything. You just closed your eyes and let yourself be guided. Because if you were going to learn, you wanted it to be with him.

The calluses of his palms grazed your cheeks, rough against your skin, but the touch was incredibly gentle. His thumbs stopped just beneath your cheekbones, drawing tiny circles, as if he was memorizing every detail of you.

The first touch of his lips was so light you barely noticed it. There was no pressure, no rush. Just the warmth of his breath mingling with yours.

He leaned in again, this time with a bit more pressure. His lips moved slowly, teaching you the rhythm:

To the right (a soft glide).

A pause (his lips stayed still, letting you feel the heat).

To the left (firmer this time).

By the time he pulled away, his fingers were still on your face, his eyes watching you intently.

“See? There’s nothing to mess up,” he said, and his voice, for the first time, sounded almost… sweet.

His lips brushed yours again, slowly, recreating that warm, soft connection where time seemed to fade away. He paused there for a moment, breathing with you.

“I’m gonna use my tongue this time,” he whispered, his lips barely parted from yours. “Just a little. And when I do… don’t freak out. You don’t have to do anything right away, okay?”

Bakugo kissed you again, just as slowly, but this time his tongue barely peeked out, grazing your lower lip. It was a light caress, an invitation, not an invasion. He waited for your reaction. When you didn’t pull away, he did it again, firmer this time, running his tongue softly along the seam of your lips, asking for permission with patience.

“Open them a little,” he whispered, his voice soft between kisses. “Not much… just a bit.”

You did.

His tongue sought yours carefully, touching it, brushing it gently, guiding you.

“Don’t push,” he murmured between sighs. “Just follow me… respond.”

When you dared to touch his tongue with more intent, when your movements stopped being clumsy and became curious, he smiled against your lips, quietly, as if he didn’t want to interrupt your progress.

“Feel it?” he asked, his breath mixing with yours, his voice low.

The sounds —your muffled moans, his approving grunts— became impossible to ignore.

Your hands, which had stayed still at your sides until then, rose of their own accord. Your trembling fingers found his chest first, feeling the wild thrum of his heartbeat under the shirt, before tangling in the collar of his hoodie.

By the time you pulled away, both of you were panting. Not exactly from lack of air, but from everything that kiss had awakened. Your lips still pulsed with every rapid beat of your heart, and his looked slightly more red, wet, and slightly parted.

A strand of saliva still connected you, glistening obscenely under the warm light of the sunset streaming through the window.

His thumb slid slowly over your lower lip, wiping away the trace with an unexpected tenderness.

“Not bad for a first lesson,” he murmured, his voice lower, rougher.

You let out a nervous laugh, still trying to catch your breath, but didn’t look away. Not after everything that had passed between you in that kiss.

“And… what grade do you give me?” you asked, barely a whisper, unable to hide the shyness still trembling in your voice.

Bakugo smirked, his gaze intense and slightly mocking as he leaned in a little toward you, letting his breath caress your skin.

“A grade high enough to want more, Y/n,” he replied, his tone low and husky. “But don’t get excited, there’s still plenty more to learn.”

The gleam in his eyes was clear: he wasn’t stopping there.

• Masterlist

Content @ghostlycamil4 2025. Do not copy or modify.

Pregnancy: Iwaizumi

The second the double doors of the weight room open, it’s like you’ve stepped into a different universe—a world of metal clanks, low grunts, chalk-dusted air, and the constant thud of iron plates hitting the floor. And now, slicing clean through that rhythmic storm of testosterone and hyper-focus, is you: very pregnant, slightly annoyed, and holding the wallet your husband managed to leave behind on the kitchen counter this morning. You didn’t think twice about walking the ten minutes over from your place. It’s not like you hiked a mountain—you waddled across pavement in sneakers. But by the way the entire Olympic volleyball team turns toward you in unison, you might as well be carrying a live grenade instead of a baby.

“WOAHHH—LOOK OUT! Civilian on the floor!” Bokuto’s voice booms across the room, sweaty hair sticking up, arms mid-air like you’d broken the rules of gravity just by showing up.

Atsumu, flat on a bench press with Kageyama spotting him, twists his head far too dramatically toward you and lets out a long, low whistle. “Ain’t no civilian, Bo. That’s Iwaizumi’s wife. And she’s lookin’ like she’s about to drop that baby right here in front of the dumbbells.”

You don’t even get the chance to sigh before you spot him—Hajime, towel around his neck, clipboard tucked under one arm, halfway through barking cues at someone doing squats. His head snaps toward you the second he hears Bokuto’s yell, and his entire body goes rigid. The clipboard hits the bench with a clatter. The towel is forgotten. His mouth moves, but there’s no time for words—he’s already weaving through machines and teammates, practically charging toward you like the floor itself might crumble under your feet.

“You walked here? Alone?” he demands as soon as he’s within a few feet, eyes scanning you from head to toe like he’s checking for bruises.

“I’m not made of paper, Hajime. I walked from the apartment. Not across a battlefield.” You hold the wallet up between two fingers, giving him a pointed look. “You left this on the counter, by the way.”

He takes it, but barely spares it a glance. His attention is completely on you—his wife, his very-pregnant-wife, standing in the middle of the Olympic team’s weight room surrounded by free weights, kettlebells, unstable mats, and volleyball players who think balance training on BOSU balls is a personality trait.

“This place isn’t safe for you,” he mutters under his breath, eyes narrowing at a barbell someone just let crash onto the floor nearby. “You shouldn’t be around this equipment. There’s too many ways you could trip, or get knocked, or—hell—slip on a chalk patch.”

You raise your eyebrows and gesture around you. “I am standing still, Hajime. On flat ground. Wearing shoes. Holding a wallet. This is not a life-threatening activity.”

His lips flatten into a tight line. “You’re thirty-eight weeks. You should be sitting, preferably somewhere padded, with a bottle of water and a snack within reach.”

You blink. “Are you reading off a checklist right now?”

He doesn’t answer.

At that moment, Komori jogs up with his usual bounce, sweat still gleaming on his forehead and a towel slung haphazardly over his shoulder. “Wait—this is your wife? The one we keep hearing about?”

“He doesn’t talk about her,” Kiryu calls from the dumbbell rack, not even bothering to look up. “He says stuff like ‘my wife made soup’ and ‘my wife needs pickles.’ That’s it. That’s all we get.”

You offer a small, amused smile and rest both hands on your stomach. “Hi. Yes. I’m Soup-and-Pickles. Thirty-eight weeks along. Full of baby. And apparently one bad step away from being put in a medically induced nap.”

There’s a chorus of laughter, though it’s mixed with soft whistles of awe as more of the team gravitates toward you. Aran strolls over with a light smile, while Hinata’s practically vibrating behind him.

“You really came all the way here?” Aran asks.

“It’s ten minutes from home,” you reply, shooting a glance up at your husband who still looks like he’s trying to map the safest escape route out of the gym for you. “I’m pregnant, not cursed.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Iwaizumi mutters. “You’re standing next to iron weights in Converse. That’s a hostile environment.”

You roll your eyes, adjusting the strap on your bag. “They’re high-tops. Extra support.”

Before he can scold you further, Hinata suddenly leans forward with stars in his eyes. “Is the baby kicking?”

“Oh yeah,” you nod, hand moving instinctively to the right side of your belly. “She’s training for nationals, I think. My ribs are her new personal practice net.”

“Can I feel?” Komori blurts out, his expression open and hopeful.

You’re about to say yes, but Hajime moves before you can answer, shifting his stance ever so slightly to put his body between you and Komori with the quiet intensity of a dad who’s already protective before the baby’s even born.

“She’s not a mascot,” he says flatly.

You place your palm on his chest. “Hajime. It’s fine.”

His eyes flicker to yours. He relents with a small sigh, stepping aside like it physically pains him to do so.

Komori gently places his hand on your stomach, and when the baby kicks, his face lights up like someone handed him a puppy. “Oh my god. That’s incredible.”

Kageyama peers over curiously. “Does it feel weird?”

“Like an alien living under your skin,” you say cheerfully. “And sometimes the alien cries when you don’t feed it grilled cheese at exactly 3 a.m.”

“Sounds terrifying,” Sakusa mumbles nearby, adjusting a band on his wrist.

“Iwaizumi,” Yaku calls from where he’s doing banded lunges, “you better give that kid rock-solid calves. I don’t care how. It’s your duty.”

“Oh, we’re starting this already?” you laugh. “Pressure before she’s even out of the womb?”

“Oh, we’ve been taking bets,” Suna says, finally looking up from his phone with the laziest smile. “Due date, hair color, position they’ll play.”

“Definitely not libero,” Bokuto adds, puffing his chest. “That baby’s got outside hitter energy.”

“I swear to god,” Iwaizumi mutters, dragging a hand down his face.

You press a soft kiss to his jaw and whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “You love it.”

He doesn’t answer. Just wraps one arm around your shoulders, pulling you gently into his side, hand resting low and protective on the curve of your stomach. He kisses the top of your head. Quiet. Steady.

You nudge him lightly and lift a brow. “Still mad I walked into the weight room?”

He looks down at you, expression flat. “I am always mad when you walk into a room with flying metal plates and men with the coordination of blindfolded rhinos.”

“I brought you your wallet.”

“And almost gave me a stroke in the process.”

You grin, dig into his pocket, and pull out one of his protein bars. “And I’m stealing your snack.”

“…Unbelievable.”

౨ৎ‧₊˚ "you're not special", the girls on my girlblog say otherwise

Original by @diz_korall_DB

pick up the phone !!!

synopsis: my take on whether they’re a caller or texter

cast: yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki

cw: cursing, usage of the nword, kinda proofread

a/n: sorta just filler work, i was in the mood to write smth but didn’t want to do too much. might make a part 2 with the second years

megumi - texter

do not expect this dude to answer ANY calls LOL

calling means you have to talk a whole bunch and he’d rather just…not

like it’s physically draining to him (same tho)

even so, bro is a dry ass texter, like he’s one of those people where you have to read it in his voice for it to not sound so dead

you could prob send him smth earth shatteringly hilarious and bro will respond to it like

“lmaoo” or “im dead”

like damn nigga put some enthusiasm into it 😭

his read receipts are off cause he has a habit of looking at texts and forgetting to respond. he figured if he turned them off he wouldn’t hurt anyones feelings by accident

the dnd stays on!!

he sends voice messages if he doesn’t feel like typing a whole lot

he doesn’t have contact photos for anyone, everyone got that nasty default letter one

has gojo muted cause he’s always texting him about dumb shit 😭

no one in his pinned

will text you out of the blue and ask if you wanna hang out

could be 2am but that won’t stop him

“wanna run to the gas station?”

“my nigga it’s 1 in the morning 💀”

“not reading all that, you coming or not?”

—

nobara - caller (specifically facetime)

this bitch loves being on the phone !!! especially with people she’s real, real, close with

expects you to pick up EVERY SINGLE FACETIME CALL and if you don’t best believe she’s finna spam text you

“bitch ik you saw my call 🤨”

“answer your phone rn ik you not doing nothing with your lonely ass”

she’ll eat you up fr if you don’t answer 😭

facetimes with her are lit thooo, like she always has a story to tell

“and then guess what happened!!!”

is a bad texter tho

like really bad

she’ll either answer in 3 seconds or 3 weeks, you’ll never know !!

has certain people muted if she doesn’t like them

only has 3 convos in her pinned and one is a gc with her, yuji, and megumi

gojo is blocked LOL

she blocked yuji once too and forgot to unblock him (he kept sending her those wolf memes)

—

yuji - both, but more of a caller

he loves phone calls !!! especially facetimes

he likes being able to see and hear the people he’s talking to

takes screenshots

he usually facetimes when he has like,,, chores to do? like if he’s gotta clean his room or something he’ll call so that way he can stay focused

likes when you talk about your day or if you have a story to share, he gets INVESTED

“what??? that’s kinda fucked up… what’d she do next???”

is lowkey an instigator

“me personally…. i wouldn’t let him talk to me like that”

eats on the phone!

bro has a whole mukbang set up don’t play with him!

he’s also a very engaging texter

has a perfect reaction photo for any situation

sends lots of tiktoks

i feel like when he’s expressing laughter he does the keyboard smash thing

or he’ll go like

“BYEEEE LMAOOO 😭😭”

everyone has a special name and contact photo

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Smile, Bakugou!.𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. Fluff

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x reader

⤿ yn convinces bakugou to do the Kim Seon Ho wink and smile tiktok trend in a suit.

You weren’t sure how you managed it, but somehow, somehow, you convinced Bakugou Katsuki to do the most impossible thing in the world.

Smile.

In a suit.

On TikTok.

Like Kim Seon Ho.

The setup had been masterful on your end. first, showing him the trend casually on your phone. “Look at this guy. See that wink? That little smirk? That’s the energy.”

He scoffed, arms crossed. “What the hell is this cheesy crap?”

“That cheesy crap has over 2 million likes,” you grinned. “Plus, you’d kill this. Bonus points if you wear a suit.”

He rolled his eyes. “Tch. I don’t do stupid trends.”

But a few days later, you caught him adjusting his collar in front of the mirror.

Now here you both were, in your room with your phone propped up on a makeshift tripod. He was in a sleek black suit, hair spiked up as usual but just a bit more controlled. The lighting was perfect. The music was cued. And you were absolutely buzzing with excitement behind the camera.

“Alright, Bakugou,” you said with a teasing grin, “you walk in like you’re late to a meeting but hot enough to get away with it. Then stop, wink, and give me that cheeky Kim Seon Ho smile. Got it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“You agreed, remember? Now go before I start recording your practice takes.”

He groaned, muttering something like “Damn nerds and their stupid trends,” before taking his position. You pressed record.

The music played.

He strutted in like he owned the whole damn building.

The wink? Sharp.

The smirk? Dangerous.

The energy? Cheeky, cocky, and dare you say, perfect.

You were speechless for a second.

Bakugou raised an eyebrow. “Well?”

You squealed. “BAKUGOU YOU JUST BROKE THE INTERNET.”

You immediately hit post, not even letting him argue. “This is gonna go viral in, like, ten seconds.”

He snorted, loosening his tie. “Tch. Whatever. Don’t expect me to do any of that dumb trend crap again.”

But when you left the room and came back later, you definitely caught him checking the comments.

And maybe even just for a second smiling at the top one that read:

“Who is this man and why is he hotter than Kim Seon Ho???”

© jxwl4k 2025

katsuki who traps you into a tight bear hug whenever he comes back from a long mission, shoves his head into your shoulder and takes a big, looong, hard whiff.

"wah—katsuki !! don't, i—don't smell good !" you whine, like that would stop him. you were unfortunately already used to his antics. you'd come to pick him up early at the airport and hadn't bothered putting on any perfume or anything.

and of course, it doesn't stop him. he growls, arms tightening around you threatening to melt into your ribs. he even nudges his nose even harder, moving into your pulse point and his hair tickling your ear.

"shush, stop squirming—don't move. i wanna smell you."

you groan at his lack of shame. "you're way too blunt about this."

"don't know why i'd have anything to be embarrassed about. wanna smell mine. missed you." he says, mumbling the last time just a little bit quieter. but since he's like, pressed to you you had no problem hearing his words and sigh. "y'smell good.." he adds.

you run your fingers through his hair, fondly rolling your eyes at his weak reassurance. "yeah, thanks.." and he has the nerve to grunt in agreement for succeeding in helping you.

LORD WHEN IS IT MY TURN?!

katsuki bakugo’s love language is definitely acts of service. he’s not the best at expressing his feelings — usually blurting out the wrong thing or saying the complete opposite of how he actually feels. so instead, he puts his heart into the things he does for you, rather than what he says.

it’s usually the little things. like doing your laundry before you even notice the pile building up. packing your lunch when you’re running late (which is often), scribbling a snarky note on the lid like, “eat all of it. don’t be stupid.” massaging your sore spots after a long day of training, grumbling under his breath about how you “need to take care of yourself.”

somehow, he remembers everything you say, even if you only mentioned it once. he was like your own personal to-do list in human form.

the trash needed to be taken out? it was gone before you could even stand up. cleaning your room? done quietly while you were in the shower. needed to study for an exam? he had your notes ready and made you sit with him, just so he could make sure your focused. your favorite lip gloss went missing? there were three new ones waiting on your desk, the exact shade, like it was no big deal.

but he never brings any of it up himself. so when you catch on and finally realize how much he does for you without ever asking for credit, you throw your arms around him in a hug full of thank yous and messy kisses.

he rolls his eyes and grumbles, “yea, s’whatever.”

however, you see the way his ears turn red and how he tries holding back his grin. and although he’d never say it out loud, you knew. he loved you more than anything. and this was his quiet, steady way of showing, and saying it, every day.

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