Deku: I Know Bakugou Can Be A Bit…rough Around The Edges, But He Has His Good Qualities, Too!

Having the Number One pro hero as your boyfriend is not easy.

Especially when you're a pro hero yourself.

And especially when your relationship is supposed to be a secret.

And even more especially when your boyfriend needs to be around you every second of every day like his life depends on it.

Izuku's a sweet man, he always has been and always will be. But sweet isn't even close to the word someone could use to describe how he treated you. In fact, even infatuated wouldn't be sufficient.

But Izuku's love has a price. He knows you can damn well defend yourself (trust me, he probably knows best after you almost stabbed him by accident when he came home in the middle of the night with no warning)—but still, he worries.

Which is why, much to his chagrin more than your own, you kept your relationship hidden from the public.

But like I said, Izuku's love for you is a force stronger than One for All itself.

So you can imagine this 'secret relationship' thing didn't really work out..

It was after a mission, a big operation in the city - the heroes had won but barely.

You were all exhausted.

And your boyfriend Pro Hero Deku more than most.

You were talking with a reporter, trying to reassure the civilians that everything was now resolved, when Izuku stumbles over and just starts peppering your face with kisses tiredly, the battle taking so much out of him that he forgets where he is.

he just wants his baby :(

All you can really do is stand there and take it, face bright red as a stunned cameraman and civilians start snapping photos and taking videos of the affectionate pro hero.

...Good thing you can defend yourself.

A/N: Deku's not one of my favs heh but he's such a sweetheart we need more loverboys in the world 😔

02162025

cw suggestive as hell, suggestive in public, dancing during carnaval, mdni

the sea of bodies swarmed around the young couple as the streets pulse with color and sound, lanterns of light swung overhead as the air hummed with the rhythm of drums and laughter. amid the revelry, their bodies moved together—a dance caught between the wild abandon of celebration and something entirely more intimate, something only the two of them seemed to understand.

his chest pressed flush against her back, every beat and every movement pulled them closer together. his hands found the curvature of her waist, calloused fingers burning through the fabric as as he guided her through the dance, their bodies in perfect sync under the warm golden glow of the street lights. the thin fabric between them was barely a barrier, clinging to their skin, soaked in heat and anticipation.

she gasped softly as his lips brushed against the side of her neck, the touch featherlight at first–nearly teasing. his hot breath sent a shiver down her spine as his mouth found her pulse point, warm and insistent. he pressed slow, open mouth kisses against her flushed skin, her fingers reached back to tangle in his ginger hair, anchoring him to her, wordlessly asking for more.

“amorzhino…” his voice was low, velvet-soft against the sensitive spot just below her ear, laced with something heady. he lingered there, letting her shiver beneath him before dragging his lips away. “i can’t resist you.”

the way he spoke, voice so full of longing and desire, made her heart flutter; a delicate, thrilling ache that began in her chest and spread through every nerve. it was the weight of his words that pulled her closer, as if they tethered her to him in a way nothing else could. she felt his touch deepen, her breath caught in her throat as her fingers tangled in his hair more, pulling him closer, her body humming with a desire only he could fulfill.

the music swelled around them, but he only followed the rhythm of her breaths, the way she trembled when he dragged his lips to all her weakest spots, tasting salt and skin. the world spun–bursts of color, voices singing, confetti spiraling through the air–but none of it mattered.

not when he had her like this; lost in the moment, lost in him.

brshoyo, 2025 -> please do not copy or repost my works without permission

— 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 !! : hinata shoyo.

content: hinata shoyo + kageyama tobio (established relationship with hinata). afab!reader. group sex (3). cockwarming, cunnilingus, clit sucking, unprotected sex. implied virgin!kageyama. teasing, throat fucking & spit roast at the end.

— . ｡˚ ♡ you and shoyo have been feeling like trying something new !

"sh—shoyo," you murmur his name softly, pleadingly. "shoyo, please."

"mhm?" hinata coos at your whiney tone, hugging you tighter, angling his hips and shoving his cock deeper into your cunt. your back is pressed flush to his chest as he pulls you close, skin slick with sweat against eachother.

it feels so good — so stretched out and full, as he fucks himself up into you slowly, a little nudge of his cock head deeper into your cunt once every few moments — but it's not nearly enough. "what is it, baby?"

"wanna—" you're cut off by the breathy moan that spills from you, when he presses down on your stomach and rolls his hips up into you once, twice. "ngh— wanna cum."

"hear that, tobio?" hinata chuckles, bringing one hand to rest loosely at your throat. he looks down at kageyama, who's got his face between your legs, strong arms caging your thighs firmly around his head.

a shiver courses through your limp body at the next stroke of the setter's tongue on your clit — his eyes are narrowed with focus, as he carefully circles his tongue around the sensitive bud, making it swell and throb tentatively with the touch — torturously slow and gentle. "she wants to cum, tobio. y'know how to make her do that? or do you need me to teach you?"

kageyama looks up at that, not noticing how you keen and push yourself forward a little at the loss of attention — he grips your thigh and straightens up a little, from where he'd been laying with his tongue on you.

"i don't," he scoffs at your boyfriend, his best friend. "need you to teach me anything. i can do it myself."

his lips are glossy, shining in the low light, with all the slick of yours that he's got across his mouth. hinata giggles, unbothered, and brings his other hand down to rub lazy circles into your clit when you whine again. "you look so pretty right now, tobio. give me a kiss, wanna taste."

and kageyama leans past you, face hot and eyes lowered, to lock lips with hinata, his hand still gripping your thigh, squeezing sensually. the two men moan into the kiss, fervent and unsatiated — fuck, you squeeze your eyes shut, listening to them as you grind onto hinata's cock, wanting so badly to cum.

this is not what you'd expected, when you called kageyama up and asked him if he would like to join hinata and you for a night.

"kageyama," you'd spoken into the phone. "wanna come over and fuck?"

"w—what?" the setter had sputtered. "is hinata there?"

"tobio," hinata had leaned in to comment. "come over. it'll be fun, trust me."

hinata kisses kageyama once more, before he places a hand in his raven hair and pushes him down again. "now," he rasps, voice low. "make my baby cum. she's waiting, and you said you know what to do."

kageyama meets eyes with you as he settles between your legs again, their colour a piercing grey in the dim light — he feels his face gets hotter, the tips of his ears turning brighter, as he puts his mouth on you again.

he doesn't fucking understand how something like this can feel so good. how licking at your pussy and at hinata's balls, and kissing hinata with your slick in his mouth, could be so sweet.

you spread your legs further, whining incoherently, and hinata lets out a displeased sound. "be nice, baby. tell him what you want. and say it sweetly."

"please," your lashes flutter as you look down at kageyama, his pale skin such a pretty contrast with hinata's tanned, rosy complexion, tinted pink by his fluster. "tobio, suck my clit. please. wanna cum so bad."

he doesn't say anything, still so god damn shy with you, it's cute — but he grabs your thighs again, making himself comfortable as he carefully wraps his lips around your begging clit.

"ah— fuck!" your hips jerk when he gives you an experimental suck, vision going light and hazy for a second — and hinata laughs at the way you clench so tight around his cock that's still warming in your pussy, giving you another kiss before he's wrapping his arms around you again and finally fucking into you properly.

you swear nothing you've experienced before has ever felt so damn good.

"keep going, tobio," hinata encourages. "you're doing well."

kageyama hums softly, and as he resumes sucking, he brings one hand up to spread your folds apart, exposing you to him even further, allowing him better access. "ngh— feels good!" you pant, unable to hold your lips pressed together any longer.

they're being gentle with you right now, but it already feels so euphoric, heaven being pushed into you with each stroke of hinata's cock in your cunt and with each play of kageyama's mouth on your begging clit, now so puffy in his mouth.

hinata presses his lips to the side of your neck as you throw your head back against his shoulder and moan, now rhythmically thrusting up into you, one hand cupping your tit, calloused fingers rough against your sensitive skin. "so beautiful, baby. you like getting made a mess of like this?"

"mmm," you breathe, eyes shutting with anticipation as you reach the edge of your orgasm, the heat of your cunt wrapping so tight around hinata's cock. "please, gonna cum. gonna cum."

"good girl," he bites another mark onto the side of your neck, just above the previous spot — and your body jerks again, hot and sensitive as you cry out. "give it to her, tobio. she's being so good."

"don't gotta tell me," kageyama murmurs, a line of slick and spit connecting his lips to your clit still, as he moves back for a second. he surveys your fucked out appearance, pleasure tipping him when he sees how gauzy your eyes have become at the behest of his and hinata's work.

taking a breath, he presses his tongue into you again — and you whimper helplessly, drunk on how he's so fucking good at it despite never having done this before.

and as he sloppily eats at your cunt, the wet sound of his lips working around your clit and hinata's responding laughter ringing in your ears — you let out another moan, hinata grabbing your face and turning it aside to kiss you, rolling his hips up into you with a slap of skin against skin as you're finally pushed over the edge.

"fuck, fuck, fuck!" the cries spill from your lips into hinata's mouth, your back arching with the force of the orgasm as you crash into it, thighs locking around kageyama's head with every suck of his lips round your clit.

this time, your vision does go white, stars dancing in your vision as your cunt pulses around hinata's cock, the effect of your orgasm ripping through all three of you. hinata moans heavily, wrapping his arms around you, hands firmly squeezing at your tits as he bounces you on his cock, muttering, "go on, angel. tell us how it feels."

the bliss feels white hot. it's so good, it burns. "haah," you try, voice stuttered and hoarse as you desperately pull a sentence together for them. "sh-shoyo! tobio, please, so good, so good—"

then, without warning, hinata places a hand on your back and pushes you down onto your knees, on the bed.

"get back a little, tobio." he grins at his friend, and kageyama complies, looking a little confused. you let out a spoilt whine when hinata's cock slips out of your fluttering cunt — but the spiker pushes you down onto your hands and knees anyway. "look at tobio, baby. look at his dick."

your eyes first meet kageyama's own averted ones, as you settle between the two of them — he's still so shy, unable to even look at you straight.

he looks almost statuesque, towering over you as you trace his muscled form with your eyes, and when you lower your gaze over to his cock, you see how stiff and leaky it's gotten; weeping precum down the veiny, blushed length.

"he's pretty, isn't he?" hinata hums, placing his large palms on your ass as he speaks, and you nod in a daze— unable to control the way your pussy clenches around nothing at the sight, and at the realization of what's about to happen next. "put that pretty cock in your mouth then, baby, he needs your help."

kageyama's eyes snap up to look at your boyfriend's face, but you already know hinata will only flash him a roguish grin in return — you reach up and take his cock in your hand, hot and heavy around your fingers.

a groan slips from his throat despite how he tries to swallow it back, as you stroke him up and down, fingers sticky already, with only the first touch.

you lean forward, parting your lips and sliding his cock slowly into your mouth — wanting to pleasure him the way he'd just done for you, so pliable to yours and hinata's words.

and at the same moment that you take kageyama's cock in your mouth, hinata grabs your waist and pushes his cock in your cunt again. you're tight, wet and hot with the orgasm you haven't even recovered from yet — and hinata breathes in sharply. "hah, so tight, baby."

"mhm," you hum around kageyama's cock, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking him in as far as you think you can go, before looking up at him. he's looking down at you, as you'd expected — face flushed so hard, eyes half closed and lashes fluttering as he watches the way you take him in your mouth.

the shadows cloaking the dark room, and the flickers of light that come in through the window, bath him in a dim, blue glow — he looks gorgeous. you just wish you could turn and take a look at hinata right now. he'd be glowing.

"another kiss, tobio." hinata states, giving your ass a light slap as he sheathes himself in you all the way. "looking so pretty tonight."

"hm." kageyama mumbles shyly — hinata's hips press against your ass and your nose touches kageyama's pelvis, as they lean towards eachother over you, and share a kiss, hot and allured, with their cocks in your cunt and in your mouth.

"gonna help us cum, baby?" hinata asks you, settling back and thrusting into you a little. "gonna let tobio fuck your mouth and empty himself into you?"

"mhm," you say, giving kageyama's cock another suck, getting yourself used to having something longer than usual in your mouth. he twitches, sensitive towards the feeling.

"don't hold yourself back, tobio." hinata voices, watching him. "my baby's good at what she does. she's a good girl. tell her."

you look up at him again, anticipation evident in your gaze as you stare into his blue-grey eyes. "good girl," he breathes out after a second, resting a hand on your head before he curls his fingers in your hair. "good girl."

both of them snap their hips into you then, at the same moment — and hinata's cock kisses your cervix along with the way kageyama's leaking head hits the back of your throat — you moan pleadingly, feeling the way your core tightens up all over again.

"good boy," hinata smiles at kageyama over you, as you blink back the tears that immediately formed at the corners of your eyes. "i'll suck you off after this, as a reward. you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

kageyama's cock twitches in your mouth again — he looks away, blushing furiously as his hand tangles itself further in your hair; but shoyo sounds so sultry it makes you shiver, too.

you envision how things are going to end, hoping that kageyama stays the night after this — hoping that you'll get to sleep pressed between your boyfriend and his friend, sharing kisses and teasing whispers as you fall asleep together— fuck, this isn't how you expected things to go at all.

because this is so much better.

partners 💙🧡

🏖.

i want the messy, sweaty, five-rounds, stink up the room, break the bed, stain the sheets, fog up the windows, squirting, cumming, crying, hair pulling, biting, spitting, licking, humping, fingering, spanking, freaky, nasty, pussy destroying sex that only toji fushiguro can give me.

Panic ! !

A Sign Of Affection—

Part One// Part Two// Part Three

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ a note before you begin: wow finally the last part! Thank you so much for all the love I’ve received! Same thing applies to dialogue as the last part, angst..sorry, barely proofread

Hours later, you’ve paced your living room so much there’s practically a permanent path in the carpet. You’re replaying today’s events over and over and as much as you want to pretend it’s nothing, Talia’s words are still in your head.

“That man doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to, he doesn’t do shit to be nice”

You’re biting your nails as the knock on the door pulls your from your thoughts

The door swings open and reveals Talia, paper bags in arms. “I’m here!” She says. “Your text was so vague ‘please come over it’s important!’ I didn’t know what the vibe was so I think I got everything? Wine.. ice cream.. bunch of junk I dunno” she giggles out the last part but the serious expression on your face brings her back to reality “oh shit..”

You step aside wordlessly to let her in, closing and locking the door behind her and she’s already putting the ice cream into the freezer and grabbing two glasses and the wine opener as you’re throwing yourself onto the couch.

She places the glasses on your coffee table while she makes work of the bottle. “So.” she says casually, the cork popping loose, “start talking”

You groan into your throw pillows. “I like him.”

“come again?” she asks, tone teasing and you can hear the smirk in her voice without even looking up at her. “Please don’t be a bitch right now I know you heard me”

Talia laughs as she pours the wine, shaking her head. “Oh, I definitely heard you. I just wanted to make sure you heard you.” You sit up, grabbing one of the glasses she sets down. “Talia, I’m serious. This isn’t funny.”

“That’s why it’s funny,” she replies, taking a seat beside you and giving you a knowing look. “You’ve been dancing around this for weeks. Weeks. And now you’re finally admitting it.” She leans forward, resting her chin in her hand. “So? What happened?”

You take a long sip of wine, debating how much to share. “It’s just… he’s so frustrating, and he drives me insane, and yet somehow he still manages to—ugh!” You groan again, gesturing wildly. “He signed that I was pretty to me today during a press conference, Talia. And I cannot stop thinking about it.”

Talia’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops. “No way. During the press conference?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, slumping back into the couch. “I was a mess this morning, late to work, and he still… he said I was pretty. And then had the nerve to smirk about it like he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Because he does know,” Talia says simply, swirling her glass. “He’s not stupid, you know. He’s Bakugo. Dynamight. he doesn’t do anything by accident.”

You groan again, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s the problem, Talia! He’s… him! And I’m… me! This shouldn’t even be a thing, but here I am losing sleep over it.”

Talia grins and nudges you with her elbow. “You’re losing sleep because you like him. Admit it. Fully. Out loud.”

You glare at her but know there’s no escaping it. “Fine,” you mutter. “I like him. Happy?”

Talia clinks her glass against yours. “Ecstatic. Now, let’s figure out what you’re gonna do about it.”

You stare at her. “What am I gonna do about it? Nothing! I’m going to do nothing!”

She takes a long sip of wine and raises her eyebrow at you “so what? You’re going to sit there everyday and pine? Please, y/n, you’re much too pretty for that sad shit.”

You shoot her a look. “I’m not pining. I’m just… processing.” She snorts. “Processing? Sure. Totally healthy to pace holes into your carpet over someone who called you pretty.”

“It’s not just that,” you snap, running a hand through your hair. “It’s everything. He’s complicated and stubborn and way too good at getting under my skin. And then he does something sweet, like making a little girl’s entire life just by talking to her, and I—” Talia leans in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “And you melt. Admit it.”

You groan, pressing the glass of wine to your forehead. “I hate you.” “No, you don’t. You hate that I’m right,” she teases. “So what’s stopping you? He clearly likes you too.”

You sit up straighter at that, shaking your head. “He does not.” “Oh, please,” Talia scoffs. Talia snorts, setting her glass down as she fixes you with a knowing look. “This man signed that you were pretty during a press conference, in front of millions of people. If that’s not bold, I don’t know what is.”

You shake your head, desperate to downplay the moment before your face bursts into flames. “He knows nobody else there knew sign, and he wasn’t even on camera at the time. It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Talia gasps, mock-offended, clutching her chest. “Not that big of a deal? Are you kidding me? That makes it more of a deal! It wasn’t for the cameras. It wasn’t for anyone else. It was just for you.”

Her words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you blink at her, mouth opening and closing as you struggle to find a rebuttal. “I—no, it—it wasn’t like that. He’s just…” “Just into you,” Talia finishes, her tone smug as she leans back on the couch, wine glass in hand.

Your cheeks burn, and you down the rest of your wine, hoping the flush on your face can be blamed on the alcohol. “Even if he is—which he isn’t—it doesn’t matter. We work together. It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated is just an excuse people use when they’re scared,” Talia says bluntly, pouring you another glass. “So what’s the real reason?”

You hesitate, swirling the wine in your glass as you try to put the knot of emotions in your chest into words. “I just… I don’t think I’m what someone like him wants. Or needs.”

Talia’s expression softens, and she places a hand on your knee. “Hey. Stop that. You’re amazing, and anyone would be lucky to have you. If Bakugo can’t see that, though I’m pretty sure he does, then that’s his problem, not yours.”

You glance at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “When did you get so wise?”

She grins, holding up her glass. “Hey I’ve always been wise! You’re just finally listening!”

You clink your glass against hers, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Thanks, Talia.”

“Anytime,” she replies, leaning back on the couch with a satisfied smirk. “Now, let’s strategize. Step one: stop denying your feelings. Step two: figure out how to get Bakugo to admit his. Step three—”

You groan loudly, cutting her off. “Talia, I swear—”

She laughs, holding her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. No step three. Yet. But I’m telling you, this is gonna work out. Just wait and see.”

You roll your eyes, but a small part of you—a hopeful, stubborn part—wonders if maybe she’s right. You push the thought aside for now; overthinking won’t solve anything tonight. Right now, you just want to enjoy the time with Talia.

Scooting closer, you grab the blanket draped over the arm of the couch and spread it across both your laps. “Alright, no more of this. Let’s focus on something less complicated,” you say, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the movie options.

Talia grins, leaning into you as she sips her wine. “Fine by me. Something cheesy and predictable? Bonus points if someone has a dramatic airport chase scene.”

You snort and select a romcom that promises exactly that. The opening credits roll as you settle back against the couch, the tension in your shoulders finally easing.

The rest of the night passes in laughter and shared commentary about the movie’s ridiculous plot twists. The bottle of wine empties quickly, and by the time the credits roll, both of you are drowsy under the weight of the blanket.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself relax. Whatever’s going on with Katsuki, it can wait. Tonight is for you and your best friend, and that’s more than enough.

You walk into the office the next morning with a strange, uneasy feeling you can’t quite shake. It’s not like you expect anything to change—admitting you like Bakugo to Talia doesn’t magically alter the dynamic between you two. But now that you’ve acknowledged your feelings, every glance, every moment with him feels heavier, like you’re hyper-aware of his presence.

And you are.

Maybe you’d admit the way you feel, but every single voice of reason is screaming at you not to. Don’t do it. It’s a mistake. It’s just a crush and it’ll pass.

When you get to your desk, you glance toward his office out of habit, finding the door slightly ajar. You can just make out the blonde spikes of his hair behind his chair, his broad shoulders hunched over paperwork. He doesn’t look up when you walk in, and for some reason, that stings a little. Usually, he at least gives you a curt nod or some kind of acknowledgement, but today… nothing.

Shaking it off, you settle into your seat and get to work. Maybe he’s just focused.

But as the hours tick by, that feeling doesn’t go away. He’s quiet—too quiet. No sarcastic comments when he passes your desk, no requests for coffee or updates, no snarky remarks during meetings. You tell yourself you’re imagining it, that he’s just having an off day.

It’s not until the next day, when lunch rolls around, that your suspicions start to feel like reality.

“Hey, you still good for lunch today?” you ask, poking your head into his office. You try to sound casual, like you haven’t been overthinking every interaction since you walked in yesterday.

He doesn’t look up from his laptop. “Can’t. Busy.”

The response is so abrupt it almost feels rehearsed.

“Oh,” you say, blinking. “Uh, okay. Another time then?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

His tone is clipped, dismissive, and he’s still not looking at you. You linger in the doorway for a moment, waiting for… something. A glance, an apology, anything. But it never comes.

You nod to yourself, swallowing the lump in your throat, and step back. “Alright. Let me know.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and the uneasiness from yesterday flares into something sharper.

By the third day of his weird behavior, the uneasiness has settled into a constant weight in your chest. Every time you try to reach out—whether it’s a quick message, a casual question, or even just passing by his office—he’s distant, vague, and uninterested. You text him that evening, hoping to clear the air.

You: “Hey, everything okay? You’ve been kinda off lately.”

The reply comes almost an hour later, short and unhelpful.

Katsuki: “Fine. Just busy.”

You frown at the screen, debating whether to push further, but something stops you. Maybe it’s the flatness of his response, or the way he’s been acting, but you feel like you’re walking on eggshells.

And then, just as you’re about to respond, you notice something.

The text thread is gone.

You stare at your phone, disbelief flooding your veins as you realize what just happened.

He blocked you.

Your mind scrambles for an explanation. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe his phone glitched. Maybe—no, you stop yourself. There’s no justifying this. He’s been pulling away, piece by piece, for days now, and this feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You sit on the edge of your bed, phone still clutched in your hand as you try to make sense of it. What the hell just happened?

Was it something you did? Something you said? You replay every interaction in your head, searching for where things went wrong. But no matter how much you analyze it, you keep coming back to the same conclusion: you didn’t do anything. This is him.

And it hurts.

The next morning, you’re determined to act like everything’s fine. It’s not, obviously, but you refuse to let anyone in the office see you crack. Especially not him.

When you walk in, you don’t even glance toward his office. You focus on your desk, your work, anything to keep yourself occupied. But ignoring him is easier said than done when his presence looms so large, even when he’s not in the room.

The tension builds all day, and by the time you clock out, you’re emotionally drained. You make it home, kick off your shoes, and collapse onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You’re trying not to think about him—trying so hard—but every quiet moment drags your mind back to the same place. To the way he called you pretty, the way he made you feel seen, the way he’s been acting like you don’t exist.

And that’s when you decide.

You need a distraction.

You grab your phone and scroll through your contacts until you find the number you haven’t used since you’d seen it on that note. The guy with the easy smile and the bad pick-up lines. The guy you barely even remember

You: “Hey, are you free tonight?”

When he texts back almost immediately, you hesitate for half a second before replying. You set up the date—nothing fancy, just drinks at a casual spot downtown, maybe an appetizer if you’re feeling adventurous and then toss your phone aside, already second-guessing yourself.

You don’t like him. You know that. But maybe you could. Maybe spending time with someone who isn’t Katsuki Bakugo will remind you that the world doesn’t revolve around him.

Hours later, you’re at the bar, sitting across from the guy who’s trying way too hard to make you laugh. You’re smiling, you’re nodding, you’re even sipping your drink like you’re having a good time, but your mind is elsewhere.

It’s not working.

You’re halfway through the date when you feel it—that prickle on the back of your neck, like someone’s watching you. You glance around the room, and your stomach drops when your eyes land on him.

Katsuki.

He’s sitting in a booth on the other side of the bar, surrounded by a few pro heroes you recognize. He’s not looking at them, though. His gaze is locked on you, jaw tight, expression unreadable.

Your date says something, but you don’t hear it. The noise of the bar fades as the two of you stare at each other from across the room.

You look away first, heart pounding in your chest. What the hell is he doing here?

The bar is too loud. The kind of loud that drowns out every coherent thought if you let it. Katsuki doesn’t let it.

He’s leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually over the back of the booth, but his eyes are locked on you. He doesn’t even realize how hard his jaw is clenched until Kirishima nudges him with an elbow.

“Yo, you good?”

Katsuki doesn’t answer. He can’t. His mind is a tangled mess, and it all leads back to you. Sitting there with that guy. Laughing, even though Katsuki knows damn well it’s not real. He can read it all over your face.

And yet, he can’t look away.

His drink sits untouched on the table, condensation pooling beneath the glass, but he doesn’t notice. His thoughts are too loud.

Why does it bother me so much?

It’s not like you’re his. You never were. And yet the thought of you smiling at someone else, laughing at someone else’s stupid jokes—it makes something inside him twist in a way he can’t name.

And then, there’s that other thought. The one that’s been festering since the moment you walked into his life.

She has too much power over me.

He grips his thigh under the table, grounding himself. It’s true, isn’t it? You’ve taken up space in his head he never meant to give you. It’s not just the way you make him feel—it’s what you represent.

He used to think his Deafness was just another part of him. Like his quirk, like his temper. Something he’d learned to live with.

And then you came along.

You, with your easy understanding and your patience and your damn compassion. You didn’t just see him. You knew him, in a way that made him feel vulnerable, and he hates it. He hates the way you make him feel exposed, like you can see right through him.

That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? Power.

You have it, and he doesn’t. Not over himself, not over his own damn identity.

His grip on the glass tightens. He doesn’t need this. Doesn’t need you.

Kirishima’s voice cuts through his thoughts, though it’s muffled and distant, and he knows Eijirou knows he can’t hear him. Katsuki doesn’t bother trying to piece the words together. He just stands, shoving his hands into his pockets and muttering something about needing air.

You’d excused yourself to bathroom, feeling your hands go clammy and your heart race and you needed the relief of cool water. You don’t know how long you stand there, trying to pull yourself together, but when you finally leave the bathroom, he’s gone.

And somehow, that’s worse.

The rest of the night is a blur. You go through the motions, nodding along to your date’s stories and laughing in the right places, but your heart isn’t in it. Your thoughts are with Bakugo—his expression, the way he looked at you, and the fact that he just… left.

By the time you get home, you’re emotionally spent. You collapse onto your couch, replaying the night in your mind, trying to make sense of it. Why was he there? Why was he watching you?

You don’t have any answers, but one thing is clear.

Ignoring this was not going to be as easy as you thought.

The next morning you go through the motions, deciding fine, he wants to be that way and he can. You’re here to do a job and you will even if you hate the way there’s an ache in your chest.

You arrive at the agency, scanning you badge like usual only to be met with an unfamiliar red light and accompanied beeping. “Weird” you whisper to yourself, banging on the door a few times. You can see Talia at her desk and she walks over and opens up the door for you

“Sorry, my badge wasn’t working” you furrow your browns and shake your head in frustration. “No problem, girl,” she says with a small shrug, holding the door open for you as you walk inside. “It’s probably just a glitch. Happens sometimes.”

You nod, but you feel the weight of something off in the air as you head into the building. As you walk through the familiar halls, the quiet feels a little too heavy. You’re not sure why, but you can’t shake the feeling that something’s different.

You make your way upstairs, the thought of Bakugo weighing on your mind. You can’t help but wonder what’s going on. His behavior has been so strange lately—so distant. But you don’t have time to dwell on it. You sit down at your desk, hoping the distraction of work will ease your mind, but it doesn’t. Not when you keep thinking about him.

You glance around the office, everything still the same on the surface. But something about it feels off.

And then, you see him and it’s like a slap to the face.

Bakugo. Dynamight. Standing there, right across the room, and the moment your eyes lock, your breath hitches. There’s something different in his gaze—a cold, calculated look that doesn’t soften when it meets yours. The same gaze he gave you the first morning you’d arrived, when you were so sure you were about to help him in ways that mattered..and you see them. His hearing aids, it makes your heart drop

It’s like the whole world shifts with the realization.

He doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t need an interpreter.

Your feet move beneath you before your brain even catches up and you’re grabbing him, pulling him into his office and shutting..no slamming the door. You huff and your eyes search him for something, anything but you see nothing but his cold, crimson eyes.

You swallow hard, finally finding your voice again. “You… you got your hearing aids fixed?”

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. The silence says everything.

“I’m not… your interpreter anymore, am I?” He shakes his head, his expression unreadable. “No.”

It feels like the room falls silent, even though it isn’t. The words and hands are heavy in the air. Your mind races, your chest tightening with each passing second. You can feel your heart breaking

You hold your dominant hand up beside your head, making a motion as if your flicking up into the air as you shake your head

DON’T UNDERSTAND.

“W-what about all your progress?” You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes and your voice is cracking almost pathetically. You can’t cry. You can’t cry because you don’t have a reason to, interpreters who get fired don’t cry.

Except… you’re not just an interpreter.

You’re something more. And you’re so damn tired of pretending you’re not.

He says nothing in return, but his eyes linger on you for a moment longer. You wish you could read him, but it’s impossible now. You can’t help but feel like you’ve lost something important, even though you don’t know what it is.

“Can we.. still have lunch together?” The words slip out before you can stop them, and you can’t help the way your chest tightens in that small flicker of hope. Maybe… maybe this isn’t all over. Maybe this rejection of his learning isn’t a rejection of you.

He looks down hesitating, taking a breath and opens his mouth to speak. His eyes flicker to you, and that’s when you see it—the flicker of recognition, the briefest trace of something almost human. He shuts his mouth with another shake of the head.

You notice the flicker in his eyes but It’s not enough to stop the ache inside you from spreading further, tearing at something you didn’t even realize would hurt you this much until now.

So he just didn’t want you. That harsh truth weighs on you like nothing else. It’s not just the physical presence of the hearing aids—it’s everything that they represent. The end of something you thought was real. Something you thought mattered to him.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Instead, you just stand there, feeling the weight of what he’s done. Feeling the weight of what he’s taken from you without a single word, without a single explanation he leaves the room.

He doesn’t need you. And in that moment, you realize, you never really mattered to him.

You hold yourself together—barely. Your nails dig into your palms as you fight to stay composed, forcing the tears to wait. But the second the elevator doors close behind you, it’s like a dam breaks. Hot tears streak down your face, silent but unrelenting, as you descend. You can’t stop them, can’t stop the way your chest feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

By the time you reach the lobby, your sobs are quiet but persistent, the ache in your throat growing unbearable. Talia’s voice calls out to you from the front desk, a mixture of concern and confusion. “Hey! Hey, what happened? Wait—”

You don’t stop. You can’t. You push through the front doors, ignoring her voice, knowing she can’t leave her station to follow you. The cold air outside hits you like a slap, but it does nothing to ground you. You’re too far gone, your mind replaying the scene over and over like some cruel, inescapable loop.

He doesn’t need you anymore. He doesn’t care.

You don’t even remember how you get home. The walk is a blur of noise and tears and a weight pressing down on your chest so heavy you’re sure it’ll crush you. When you finally make it back, the silence of your apartment is deafening. It surrounds you, suffocates you, fills every corner like it’s mocking your emptiness.

Your bag hits the floor, and you follow it, sinking to your knees as another sob tears its way out of you. You clutch your chest, trying to hold yourself together, trying to keep yourself from falling apart completely. But it’s no use.

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you can’t explain, in a way you’ve never felt before. It’s not just the loss of a job or the suddenness of it all—it’s him. It’s the way he looked at you, like you were nothing. Like everything you’d worked on, everything you’d shared, meant nothing to him. And maybe it didn’t. Maybe you were foolish to think it ever did.

You sit there for what feels like hours, your tears eventually slowing, replaced by a numbness that leaves you hollow. You’re not sure when your phone starts buzzing, but you glance at it long enough to see Talia’s name lighting up the screen. You don’t answer. You can’t. Not right now. Not when the sound of her voice will break you all over again.

You toss the phone onto the couch, curling up against the cushions and pulling a blanket over you like it might shield you from the world outside. But even as you close your eyes, the ache in your chest lingers, reminding you of what you’ve lost.

And for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure how to move forward.

It’s dark out when the front door opening makes you jump and there you see Talia, still fully adorned in her work clothes and a panicked expression kicking off her shoes in your front entry way. She closes the door behind her and crushes to your slumped form on the couch.

“You don’t think I know you keep the key under the mat? I’ve been calling you for hours!” She says, her tone sharp with worry but she softens when her eyes meet your puffy, red ones.

“It’s fine,” you mumble, barely lifting your head from the couch cushion. Your voice is hoarse, raw from hours of crying. “You didn’t have to come.”

“Stop it. Clearly, I did,” Talia shoots back, dropping her bag on the floor before sitting beside you. She sighs as she takes you in, her brows furrowed in concern. “What happened, babe? I’ve never seen you like this.”

You shake your head, willing the tears not to start again. “It’s nothing. I’m just being stupid.”

“Stop that,” she says firmly, reaching out to grab your hand. “You’re not stupid. Something happened. Talk to me.”

You don’t respond right away. Your throat feels tight, and for a moment, you think about brushing her off entirely. But the way she’s looking at you, like she won’t let you get away with it, makes you cave.

“It’s Bakugo,” you finally admit, your voice breaking on his name. The tears you were holding back spill over again, and you quickly wipe at them, frustrated with yourself. “He… he doesn’t need me anymore, Talia. He got his hearing aids fixed, and he fired me.”

Her face shifts from worry to disbelief, her mouth falling open. “He what?”

You nod, pulling your knees to your chest. “He didn’t say it outright, but my badge didn’t work this morning, and he… he told me I’m not his interpreter anymore. I think he knew exactly what he was doing.”

“Are you kidding me?” Talia’s voice rises in outrage, and she looks ready to storm out of your apartment and march back to his office. “That’s insane. You’ve been there for him every step of the way. You’ve helped him. And now he just—what? Tosses you aside?”

You shrug helplessly, your fingers twisting in the hem of your sweater. “I should’ve known better. I thought… I don’t know. I thought maybe it meant something. But it didn’t.”

“Oh, hell no.” Talia stands up, pacing the room as her anger radiates off of her. “This isn’t about you. This is his problem. You’ve done everything you could for him, and if he can’t see that, then that’s on him—not you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t really make it hurt any less.”

Talia stops pacing and sits back down, pulling you into a tight hug. “I know it doesn’t. But you’re not gonna sit here and blame yourself for this. You’re amazing at what you do, and if he can’t appreciate that, then he’s the one who’s losing out.”

Her words offer a small comfort, but the ache in your chest remains. You lean into her, closing your eyes and letting the silence stretch between you. For now, you’re grateful she’s here, even if nothing else makes sense.

She rubs your back for a few short moments before getting up and leaving the room, reappearing minutes later and helping your weak form to your feet, guiding you to the bathroom where she’s drawn you a warm bath. Steam rises, and the faint scent of lavender fills the air.

“Relax, love” she smiles. “Breathe, okay? Take your time in here. Call me if you need”

Tears prick your eyes at her thoughtfulness, and you manage a small nod, unable to speak. She squeezes your hand before leaving, and you lower yourself into the bath, the warmth wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. For the first time all day, you feel a sliver of peace creeping in, though it doesn’t quite reach your chest. You let the water carry you for a while, letting yourself simply exist.

When you finally rinse off and step out, you make your way to your bedroom to find fresh sheets neatly made on your bed and your softest pajamas laid out. The sight makes your throat tighten, but in a different way—there’s comfort in knowing someone cares this much.

there’s a faint smell wafting through your small apartment and you, now dressed search for her to find her in the kitchen. humming softly to herself. She glances up the moment she notices you, her face lighting up.

“There she is! Feeling a little better, love?” she asks, setting down a spatula.

You give a small nod, though the heaviness in your chest hasn’t fully lifted. “A little,” you manage, your voice still shaky.

She smiles, turning back to the stove to plate the food. “So… I’m not the greatest cook. You know I’m no Bakugo, but—” She cuts herself off when she sees you wince at his name, muttering a quiet apology. After a beat, she places a plate in front of you and gestures toward the couch. “Come on. Let’s sit and eat.”

You feel bad, the meal looks delicious and you know she worked hard on it but you can’t bring yourself to eat it, there’s an emptiness, a hollowness but it’s not hunger. Talia watches as you push the food around your plate. Her smile fades, replaced by concern. “You need to eat,” she says gently but firmly. “I know you. You skipped breakfast this morning. Don’t try to deny it—I can tell.”

You shrug, your fork barely scraping the surface of your food. “I’m just… not hungry.”

“Babe, you have to take care of yourself,” she insists, her voice softening but still insistent. “I know today was awful, but you can’t keep running on empty.”

You don’t respond, your eyes fixed on the plate in front of you. The emptiness in your chest feels too big, too consuming to let anything else in. Talia places a hand on your knee, grounding you. “I know it hurts,” she whispers. “But you can’t let this break you. You’re stronger than this. Stronger than him.”

Her words stir something deep inside you, but the ache remains. You take a small bite, more for her than for yourself, and she offers a small, encouraging smile. “That’s my girl,” she says quietly.

The two of you sit in silence after that, the only sound the faint clink of her fork against her plate. Even though the pain doesn’t go away, having her there makes it feel just a little more bearable.

When you finish eating, Talia wordlessly takes your plate and hers, rinsing them off and placing them in the sink. She hums softly to herself, the sound grounding in its normalcy, as she washes the dishes. Afterward, she disappears into the bathroom to take a shower, calling out a quick, “I’m stealing your sweats!” before you hear the water turn on.

You crawl into bed, exhaustion weighing down your every move. The fresh sheets feel cool against your skin, the faint scent of lavender fabric softener lingering from earlier. By the time Talia returns, her damp curls are tied up, and she’s wearing your oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants. She’s carrying a pint of ice cream in one hand and two spoons in the other.

Wordlessly, she slides into bed beside you, popping the lid off the ice cream and offering you a spoon. You take it, and for the next hour, you cuddle together, legs tangled beneath the blankets as you watch a lineup of terrible romcoms on your laptop. The kind of movies with cheesy dialogue and over-the-top plots that you usually roll your eyes at but now somehow find comfort in.

Every so often, Talia sneaks a glance at you. She doesn’t say anything when the tears start to fall again, silently wiping your cheeks with her sleeve and giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “But you’re not alone, okay? You’ll never be alone.”

You nod, leaning into her warmth. For the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself believe her. Even if the ache in your chest still lingers, you let yourself be held. Let yourself cry. Let yourself exist, just as you are, in that moment.

As the night drags on, the ice cream long forgotten and the romcoms playing in the background, you feel yourself start to relax in her arms. And though the pain hasn’t gone away, the weight of it feels a little less unbearable with her there by your side.

Bakugo sighs, staring at the ceiling above his bed His jaw clenched as the memory of her face flashed in his mind. The way you eyes had widened in confusion, then crumpled into something raw and broken when you realized what he was telling you. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the way your hands moved, shaky and uncertain, as you signed don’t understand.

You didn’t understand. Of course you didn’t. He’d made sure of that.

“You’re a fucking coward,” he muttered to himself, fisting the comforter around him

The truth was simple, but it was too ugly to say out loud. He couldn’t handle you anymore. Couldn’t handle the way you made him feel seen in ways that scared the shit out of him.

He’d spent his whole damn life being the best. Strong. In control. And yet, somehow, you had this hold over him. This power.

It wasn’t just you. It was everything you represented.

Being around you made him feel exposed, like you could see all the cracks he worked so hard to hide. And when you signed, when you looked at him like he was worth the effort, it was like you were holding up a mirror to all the things he didn’t want to face about himself.

You made him weak. At least, that’s what he kept telling himself. He stood abruptly, pacing the length of his bedroom.

He had his hearing aids now. He didn’t need to rely on anyone anymore. No interpreters. He could go back to being the Dynamight the world expected him to be. So why did it feel like he’d just thrown away something he couldn’t replace?

Bakugo stopped in front of the window, staring out at the city below. His reflection stared back at him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t recognize the man in the glass.

“This is for the best,” he muttered, as if saying it out loud would make it true.

But the ache in his chest didn’t go away.

You feel a bit hollow as time goes on, your heart still tethered to the past despite the passing months. Every morning you wake up, you get dressed, and you go through the motions of your day. You’ve found yourself in a routine, one that doesn’t require too much emotional investment. But still, that ache—the one that first blossomed the day you left Bakugo’s office—hasn’t faded. It may have softened a little, but it’s still there and you find it pathetic

Talia is there, Her comforting presence fills the empty spaces in your life, and though you don’t deserve the kind of loyalty she gives you, she doesn’t care. She’s your friend, your rock, and for all the hurt you’ve experienced, her kindness is a balm for your soul. Even though this job broke your heart it brought you to her and for that you couldn’t be more grateful.

It’s been three months since you left the office that day. You get a new interpreting job at Red Riots agency, the same work, interpreting press conferences and such while working for the VRS. It gets you by.

Red Riot is calmer, and has this softness about him that comforts you. You like this job, everyone is kind and you have staff lunches together. It’s a far cry from the tension that always seemed to hang in the air at Bakugo’s agency, and you’ve started to find comfort in the mundane, in the simplicity of working with good people who care about each other.

But still, there are days when you find yourself staring off into space, the memories of Bakugo haunting you. It’s strange—how someone you once thought was nothing but a client could leave such an impression on your life. You shake your head, trying to push away the lingering thoughts. You’ve moved on, right? You’ve found someone else.

Mason.

The relationship is casual—something that started with an easygoing vibe, no expectations. He’s a good guy, in his own way. But there’s something missing. You don’t feel the spark, the connection you once thought would be there when you found someone else. He’s just filling the void left by someone else’s absence. And when he eventually leaves, when he decides he wants something more than you’re willing to offer, you don’t blame him.

He deserves more, just like you do.

You can’t love Mason—not in the way he needs you to. But you can’t love anyone the way you loved him either. That part of you is broken, fragile, and still stuck in the past. And when Mason walks out of your life, it stings, but it’s not the gut-wrenching pain you once felt. Instead, it’s a quiet acceptance that you can’t force something to be what it isn’t.

You’ll heal. You have to.

Days go by, and you settle into the rhythm of your new life. You’re getting used to being on your own, to not having that constant pull of someone you can’t reach, someone who made you feel like you were worth something and then yanked that validation away. The job, the quiet comfort of Red Riot’s agency, even the stillness in your apartment—it’s all a small, healing process.

Talia notices the change. You’re not as sad as you were, but there’s a quiet in your eyes, a space where something used to be. She’s not the type to press you about it, but you know she’s there, always. And sometimes, in the stillness of your shared moments, she asks about your day, about the people you’re meeting. It’s gentle, but the concern is there, too.

One afternoon, as the sunlight filters through your apartment, Talia shows up with her usual enthusiasm.

“I was thinking,” she says, her voice light, “that we should take a weekend trip. Just to get away, y’know?”

You look up from the book you’ve been skimming, surprised by the suggestion. “Where would we even go?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs, “but I thought it might be nice to shake things up. A change of scenery. You’re kind of… in this zone lately. I mean, I get it, but maybe it’s time for something new.”

Her words hit a little too close to home, but you don’t resist. You nod slowly. “Yeah… maybe.”

So you do, you book a little weekend get away to somewhere that might me warmer at the end of March. Somewhere remote and peaceful, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself get excited about something. It’s the promise of something different, something that doesn’t carry the weight of your past.

The day of the trip comes, and you pack with an ease that surprises you. You’ve never really been the type to just leave, but the idea of doing something just for you, for the sake of your peace, feels right. The car ride is full of chatter and laughter, the way it used to be before everything changed.

You spend the next few days enjoying the quiet. Talia insists on cooking meals, and you both take walks in the crisp air. Evenings are spent curled up by the fire, watching movies or talking about anything and everything. It’s healing, in its own way. You still think of Bakugo sometimes, but not with the same desperation. It’s more of a quiet recognition of what once was.

On the last day, just as you’re packing up to head home, you find yourself alone outside, staring at the horizon, the sunlight filtering through the trees. There’s a soft breeze that cools your skin, and for the first time in months, you allow yourself to feel a bit of peace. You breathe in deeply, letting go of the tension that’s built up in your shoulders.

“You okay?” Talia’s voice breaks the silence, and you turn to find her standing there, leaning against the porch rail.

You nod, smiling softly. “Yeah. I think I am.” She grins. “Good. You deserve that, you know? To feel… okay.”

It’s the first time in a while that you’ve been able to say that, and the fact that she’s right makes you feel something you haven’t in a while

Bakugo stands in the crowd, a frown etched on his face as he tries to power through yet another community event. He’s here because he has to be. This is part of the hero work—the appearances, the press, the smiles for the public. But none of it feels real. His mind keeps drifting back to that day, three months ago, when he’d decided to sever ties with you, with the very thing that had helped him feel whole again. If you were here maybe he wouldn’t feel nearly as uneasy.

“Dynamight!” He blinks and turns. there she is. Emma. The small Deaf girl he’d encountered months ago.

She’s bouncing up and down with excitement as he strides over to her, hands up to sign with her. Something he said he would do but never stopped doing. Because even though he’d told himself he was done, part of him knows it’s a lie. Not completely. Not for Emma.

For her. He tells himself, pushing the thought away. Deaf kids should get to talk to their favorite hero too.

“Hey, kid” he greets her with a rare, softened tone. He crouches slightly, offering her a small smile as she holds something up excitedly.

“I wanted to show you something!” Emma exclaims, her hands moving rapidly in excitement. She opens a small notebook in her hands and flips it to the first page.

On it is a crayon drawing of the two of them, him dressed in his hero suit and her dressed in her own, future hero suit

“It’s us together as heroes!” She beams. “Yeah…” he murmurs, his hand hovering above the drawing but not quite touching it. There’s an unexpected warmth in his chest. “It’s… great, Emma.”

“This is you,” she signs, pointing to the crayon version of him in his hero costume, “and this is me, when I grow up! I’m gonna be just like you!” Her hands move quickly, her enthusiasm clear, but Bakugo can see the spark in her eyes—a trust, an admiration, something that feels different than what he’s used to.

For a moment, Bakugo doesn’t know how to respond. He hasn’t been sure of himself in so long, especially in moments like this—when people, when kids, look at him like he’s a hero they want to emulate. He stands, not quite sure how to bridge the silence that lingers.

“You’re gonna be a great hero,” he says, the words feeling like something he’s wanted to say to someone for a while, but could never quite get out. “You’re strong.”

She beams again, her smile lighting up her face. “Really? You think so?” She signs the question with wide eyes.

“I know so,” Bakugo replies, and this time, it feels like he’s speaking the truth. His gaze softens as he looks down at the drawing again, and for a second, he can almost see it—the future she imagines, the one where they both stand side by side. The idea lingers in his chest, but then Emma pulls him from his thoughts again.

“You’re a good kid,” he tells her, then signs, “Be careful. Heroes gotta be smart.”

She nods vigorously, her small face serious, but only for a moment before she’s grinning again. “I will! I promise!”

Then for a second, her brows lift with her widening eyes, she reaches up to lightly brush her small fingers at his ears.

ME, YOU, SAME?

His breath hitches and he releases a shaky breath, looking down at this little girl, so innocent and full of hope.

YES

And in that moment, something shifts inside him. Something he’d tried to bury, something you had stirred, but he’d resisted. For the first time in a while, Bakugo doesn’t feel like he’s convincing himself of something. He’s simply… doing. Simply being.

Maybe he doesn’t have all the answers, but for Emma, for the hope she carries, he’ll show up. He’ll be the hero she sees in him.

Later that night, alone in his apartment, Bakugo stands in front of the mirror, his hands hanging at his sides. His mind runs back to Emma’s simple words, her unguarded, honest look at him.

Maybe it’s time to stop pretending.

Maybe it’s time to stop hiding.

He’s been living in the shadows of his own self-doubt, letting fear drive him to keep his identity a secret, to avoid confronting the truth of who he really is. But Emma… she’s not afraid. And if she can embrace who she is, maybe he can too.

The decision comes suddenly, but he knows it’s right. He reaches for his phone, fingers trembling slightly as he types out a message he’s been avoiding for months.

It’s time to tell the world.

you wake up on your day off to the buzz of your phone going off relentlessly. You groggily reach over, blinking the sleep from your eyes, to see an array of notifications lighting up your screen. The headline of every major news source, from social media to the morning news, reads something like:

“Dynamight Comes Out as Deaf: A Hero’s Journey to Self-Acceptance.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. You stare at the words, barely able to process them. He—Bakugo—has finally done it. The world now knows. You scroll through the articles in a daze, seeing snippets of his speech at a press conference. Your eyes narrow as your heart aches. The weight of the moment is suffocating, but you can’t look away.

The conference has already aired live, but you pull it up on your tv and your eyes widen as Bakugo steps up to the podium. His usual arrogance and gruffness are there, of course, but there’s a noticeable change in his posture. A shift. The man who once shielded himself behind his bluster is standing there, claiming something that you knew all along. His truth.

His voice is as brash as ever, but there’s a vulnerability to it that you’ve never heard before.

“I know you all love to make a spectacle out of things,” Bakugo growls into the mic, his usual arrogance never wavering. “But let me make one thing clear: I was always Deaf.” He pauses, a brief, almost imperceptible shift in his eyes.

You hold your breath, waiting for him to go on. Then, he says it. He finally does.

“And, uh,” he starts again, his tone softening just a little. “There was someone who helped me get to this point. They taught me a lot. Gave me the space to be me. They didn’t coddle me, didn’t make me feel weak—just helped me find my strength. You know who you are.”

Your chest tightens as your mind races. You can hear the unspoken words. The gratitude he hasn’t voiced directly to you, but you know it’s for you. You can see it in his eyes, even through the stubbornness he wears like armor.

The rest of the press conference carries on with Bakugo making his usual gruff remarks about being the same hero, just with a little more transparency. “I’m not any less of a hero. I’m the same as I was yesterday. Only now, maybe you all can stop treating me like some damn novelty. I’m a person, this is who I’ve always been”

But in between his words, you can feel something—a small shift in the way he’s holding himself. Maybe he’s not just talking about his Deafness anymore. Maybe he’s talking about everything. About being seen for who he truly is. You’re not sure if he’ll ever admit it, but the way his words hit, the way he doesn’t shield the vulnerability behind his usual tough exterior—it feels like progress.

And though his words are blunt, as expected, there’s something softer there, something you thought you might never see.

Bakugo clears his throat, voice slightly rougher now, but the words are still sharp.

“There’s been a lot of talk lately, a lot of assumptions about who I am and what I’ve done. And yeah, I’ve made mistakes. I pushed people away. People who were trying to help, who saw something in me that I couldn’t see for myself. And… I regret that. Maybe more than anything.”

His gaze falters for just a moment, a fleeting vulnerability before he steels himself again.

“I’ll finally admit it, I’m not perfect. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be perfect. But I’ve learned. I’ve learned that the people who matter—the ones who care about you—they don’t just disappear. You make the mistake of thinking you can push them away and that they’ll just stay gone, but deep down… you hope they’ll come back.”

He pauses, a flicker of something deeper crossing his face, before he looks out at the crowd again, the familiar fire returning to his words.

“I’m the same hero I was before, but I’m not the same person. And I hope that someone out there can see that.”

You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest as you try to process it all. You know what this means for him. You know how hard this must have been to say, and asu much as you want to hate him, you can’t help but feel proud of him, you can’t help the way your heart leaps in your chest

Talia starts blowing up your phone, repeatedly asking if you’re ok but there’s one message staring back at you, from Bakugo

“I’m sorry”

Your hands tremble as you stare at your phone, the words glaring back at you like a challenge, like a wound you thought had finally started to heal.

“I’m sorry.”

Two simple words, but they’re heavier than you can handle. You don’t even know why he’d send it. What’s he sorry for? Pushing you out of his life? Acting like you never mattered? Or is this just another layer to his guilt, something he’s doing for himself and not for you?

Your phone buzzes again, the screen lighting up with a string of messages from Talia.

Talia: “Hey, are you watching this? Are you okay?”

Talia: “Please tell me you’re not ignoring this. You need to see it.”

Talia: “HELLO? BITCH, ANSWER ME!”

But you can’t bring yourself to type a response. Your thumb hovers over the screen, frozen, before your gaze drops back to his message.

“I’m sorry.”

A laugh escapes you, bitter and hollow, tears burning at the corners of your eyes. Sorry doesn’t fix the nights you cried yourself to sleep. It doesn’t fix the emptiness he left behind. It doesn’t make up for the way he made you feel so small, so disposable.

The TV is still on, now muted, but you glance at the screen, the image of Bakugo standing at a podium plastered across every news station. His face is unreadable—hard, almost—but there’s something in his eyes, something you know too well.

Regret.

You pick up the remote, unmuting the TV just in time to catch the end of his speech.

“…And yeah, I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt people. People I wish I hadn’t. But I’m not here to dwell on the past. I’m here because it’s time I stopped pretending to be someone I’m not. This is who I am. I’m still Dynamight. I’m still the same damn hero I’ve always been. I was always Deaf—you idiots just never noticed.”

He steps back from the podium, and the reporters erupt with questions. He doesn’t answer any of them, simply turning and walking offstage with his usual sharp determination.

Your phone buzzes again, snapping you out of the daze.

Talia: “Please tell me you’re okay. Do you want me to come over?”

But you can’t think, can’t process, can’t breathe past the knot in your chest. The words on your phone screen blur as fresh tears spill down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the last thing you wanted to hear from him, but maybe it’s also the one thing you needed.

You sit there for what feels like forever, the world moving around you while you stay frozen. His voice from the conference echoes in your mind,

Sorry for what? For firing you? For shutting you out? For breaking your heart? Your chest feels tight, and you take a shaky breath. You tell yourself not to overthink it, not to let him back into your head, but it’s impossible. That press conference wasn’t just an apology to the world; it felt like an apology to you.

Your phone buzzes again, and this time you force yourself to look

Talia: “Okay, I’m coming over if you don’t answer me in the next five minutes. I’m not kidding.” You type back quickly, fingers shaking.

You: “I’m fine. Don’t come over.”

Her reply is instant.

Talia: “You’re lying. Be there in 10.”

You groan, tossing your phone onto the coffee table. You’re not ready to talk about it yet, not even with her, but you know she won’t let you avoid it.

The knock on your door comes exactly ten minutes later. You don’t even bother pretending you’re not home. You open the door to find Talia standing there, arms crossed and a bag of snacks in her hand.

“I knew you were lying,” she says, pushing past you into the apartment. She drops the bag on the counter and turns to face you, her eyes scanning your face. “You’ve been crying.”

“No I haven’t, I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, brushing past her to sink down on the couch. You know she’d know if you’re lying but you do it anyway. Who are you really lying to? Her or yourself?

“Seriously? You just watched your ex-boss—and let’s be real, the guy who broke your heart—go public about being Deaf and basically admit he screwed up with you. You’re fine?” She sits next to you, pulling her legs up onto the couch. “Talk to me, y/n. You know I’m here”

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Did you see the part where he said he hopes someone comes back? Because if you didn’t, I’m pulling it up right now.”

Your stomach twists. “I saw it.” “And?”

“And nothing,” you snap, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “What do you want me to say, Talia? That I forgive him? That I’m ready to go running back to him? Because I’m not. He doesn’t fucking deserve that. I want to say that, because I’m not, but there’s still a part of my heart that’s aching right now.”

Her expression softens. “I don’t want you to say anything you’re not ready to say. But I think you need to figure out what you do want, because from where I’m sitting, it seems like he’s trying to make things right.”

“Are you seriously defending him right now? Like he can just say “I’m sorry” and that’s it? And I’ll come running back? Do you think I’m that pathetic?” you spit back

“Hey!” She snaps, with a tone you’ve never heard her use. “Do not put words in my mouth, I don’t know who you think you’re talking to like that right now, but let me remind you—I’ve been here with you for months. I’ve held you while you cried over that asshole. Of course I’m not on his fucking side. I’m just stating the facts.”

Her words hit you like a slap, the room falling silent as her glare softens ever so slightly. She crosses her arms, her brows furrowing in that way that shows she’s more hurt than angry. “Don’t take your anger at him out on me.”

You bury your face in your hands, her words sinking in. You don’t know what you want. Part of you wants to scream at him, to tell him he doesn’t get to just say he’s sorry and expect everything to go back to normal. But another part of you… another part of you misses him so much it physically hurts.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You’re right.” You lift your head, meeting Talia’s gaze with a mixture of guilt and gratitude. Reaching out, you grip her hand tightly, as if grounding yourself in her presence. “I’m so sorry,” you repeat, the apology carrying the weight of your frustration and pain.

“I don’t know, Talia,” you finally admit, your voice barely above a whisper. She wraps an arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Then don’t decide right now. Just… sit with it. And maybe, when you’re ready, you’ll know what to do.”

You lean into her, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Maybe she’s right. Maybe you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. But as you sit there, one thought keeps replaying in your mind.

He hopes they’ll come back.

And for the first time in three months, you wonder if you might.

The next few days are a blur and as much as you want to ignore the situation bakugo’s face is still plastered on every news outlet, every social media platform, he’s even in conversations you overhear. He’s haunting you. Everyone’s talking about him—about his “coming out” as Deaf, about his gruff yet surprisingly heartfelt press conference, about how he’s still the same Dynamight.

And, of course, there are people who don’t feel the same, suddenly questioning his capabilities—despite thinking he was more than capable just a month ago when they had no idea he was Deaf. It makes you understand, at least in part, why he kept it a secret for so long. Ignorance is frustrating, and it’s easy to imagine how much he worried about his rankings taking a hit. Though, ironically, you suspect his popularity is about to skyrocket. You’re caught in the middle of it, carrying a secret that no one else knows.

He’s apologized to you. Privately. While the world cheers him on for his public bravery, you’re left staring at that two-word message on your phone every night, as if it’s some kind of puzzle you’re supposed to solve.

Talia’s been supportive, always checking in and trying to distract you, but she doesn’t push. You’ve thrown yourself into work at Red Riot’s agency, hoping that the busy schedule will drown out the thoughts of Bakugo that seem to creep in every time you let your guard down.

But it doesn’t work.

On your lunch break one afternoon, you find yourself scrolling through videos of the press conference again. You’ve watched it so many times that you practically have it memorized. The way he stood there, shoulders tense but head held high. The way his hands moved as he simultaneously signed, bold and unapologetic.

The way he said he made mistakes.

The way he said he hopes “they” come back.

Your chest tightens as you pause on the frame where he glances at the camera, his eyes full of something raw and unguarded. Regret? Hope? You don’t know, but it’s enough to stir something in you.

You don’t know why you do it, but your fingers move to open the message thread with him. His “I’m sorry” stares back at you like it’s mocking you.

You start typing a reply. Then delete it. Then type again.

Finally, you send something simple. Something neutral.

You: “I saw the press conference.”

The three little dots are almost immediate and your practically chuck your phone across the room when you see them.

Bakugo: “I figured.”

You stare at his response, waiting for him to say more, but nothing comes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. What are you supposed to say to that?

You: “It was brave of you to do that.”

You say the truth, because as much as you’re torn in a battle of wanting to run back to him, to tell him how you felt and how you felt or punch him square in the jaw. You still are proud. You know what that took for him.

Bakugo: “It was overdue.”

He’s right. It was overdue. But the fact that he’s admitting it so openly feels… different. The Bakugo you knew never admitted he was wrong, never apologized, never showed vulnerability.

You don’t know what to say next, so you leave the conversation there. But for the rest of the day, you can’t stop thinking about him. About what it would mean to go back. About whether you even could.

That night, as you’re lying in bed, your phone buzzes again.

Bakugo: “I meant what I said. I’m sorry. For everything.”

You stare at the message, your heart pounding. You know he’s not just apologizing for firing you. He’s apologizing for shutting you out, for breaking you, for making you feel like you didn’t matter.

You don’t reply. Not yet.

Instead, you set your phone down, staring blankly at the wall as the weight of everything crashes over you. The apology sits in your chest, heavy and unresolved. It’s not enough, not after months of silence, but it’s also everything you’ve been longing to hear. You let it linger in your mind for the rest of the next day, mindlessly going about your routine until you lie awake in bed the following night

The city hums faintly outside your window, but your thoughts are louder. You think of Bakugo—of his press conference, of his apology, of everything you’ve been through.

And finally, as the clock ticks past midnight, you pick up your phone.

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. You could ignore him. You could let him feel the same silence he left you with. But a small, stubborn part of you wants answers. Wants closure. Wants him.

Taking a deep breath, you type out a response, your hands trembling slightly.

You: “I don’t know if sorry is enough. But if you want to talk, really talk, you know where to find me.”

You stare at the message for what feels like an eternity before hitting send. The moment it delivers, you toss your phone onto the nightstand and bury your face in your pillow.

Now, all you can do is wait.

The days after the message are unbearable. He doesn’t know how to respond, doesn’t know if you even want him to, and he’s terrified of screwing things up more. Every time he picks up his phone to reply, he freezes, his mind racing with things he wants to say but can’t bring himself to. He leaves the conversation on read, knowing it’s making things worse but unable to stop himself.

Then there’s the interview. His PR team insists on it, saying it’ll help smooth over the public’s reaction to his “big reveal.” He doesn’t care about the opinions of people who didn’t matter a month ago, but he knows he can’t avoid it forever.

During the interview, the topic shifts to his Deafness and how it’s impacted his relationships—both professional and personal. He hesitates, his jaw tightening, but then, without meaning to, he brings you up.

“There was… someone who taught me a lot,” he admits gruffly, his hand clenching into a fist on his knee. “I pushed them away. I was a fuckin’ idiot. They deserved better.”

It’s the most anyone’s ever heard him talk about feelings, and when the clip circulates online later that day, everyone’s talking about it, people are guessing it’s you.

You don’t see the interview live, but Talia sends you a link with like ten exclamation points in the message. Reluctantly, you open it, and there he is on your screen—Bakugo, looking uncomfortable but honest. Hearing him admit he was an idiot feels… surreal. He’s not one for public displays, so for him to acknowledge you in an interview like this? It’s huge.

But still, it’s not enough. A few days pass. The tension lingers. And then, late one night, your phone buzzes. A voicemail. When you check it, your heart stops at the sound of his voice.

“Shit…” His words are slurred, and you can hear the clink of a bottle in the background. “I… I don’t even fuckin’ drink, but I needed… I don’t know, somethin’ to stop me from thinkin’ about you. But it didn’t work, and now I’m here, drunk as hell, leaving this dumbass voicemail because… because I’m a goddamn coward, and I can’t stop fuckin’ missing you.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, and it’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever heard him.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time. “I’m sorry for everything. For bein’ an idiot, for not tellin’ you what you fuckin’ mean to me before I ruined it all.” There’s a long pause, and you can hear him breathing unevenly. “I don’t deserve you. I know that. But… I can’t stop hopin’ you’ll come back anyway.”

The voicemail ends, and you’re left staring at your phone, your heart pounding. The familiar sting of hurt and anger still sharp, but something deeper lingers: an aching sense of loss. The person who had once made you feel seen, understood, is now the one who’s broken that bond beyond recognition.

You want to ignore him. You want to erase him from your life completely, but you know you can’t and deep deep down you know you want him in your life again.

The next afternoon you’d been needed at red riots agency agency, the familiar chime of your phone breaks the stillness. It’s a message from the front desk, telling you a delivery has arrived for you.

You stand up, confused but curious, as you walk to the lobby. The package is large, wrapped in simple brown paper, with a handwritten note affixed to the top in elegant script. You turn the note over, your eyes scanning the words.

“I’m not good with this shit. I don’t expect this to fix everything, and I know I don’t deserve it, but I can’t keep pretending. I fucked up, and I hurt you, and I’m sorry. You mean more to me than I’ve ever been able to say.”

The signature at the bottom, written with shaky confidence, is unmistakable.

Bakugo.

Your heart skips. But it’s not the excitement you once felt when you’d get a text from him. It’s something else, something heavier. The flowers, fresh and vibrant, are beautiful—a sharp contrast to the flowers the guy from the bar had sent you. It’s clear this wasn’t a rushed thought or just a generic gesture. Bakugo took the time to choose something meaningful, something you’d actually like. It’s a reminder of who he can be when he tries, of the man who’s not only a hero but someone who truly knows you.

You take a deep breath, your fingers hovering over your phone screen for a moment before you type out a simple but sincere message:

You “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. And the note… I appreciate it.”

You hit send, your stomach twisting in anticipation. The dots appear almost immediately, and then his reply comes through.

Bakugo: “I meant what I said. I’ve been running from this for too long, like a fucking coward and I’m sorry for that. I’m ready to talk. I should’ve done it sooner, but I’m asking now. Can we meet?”

Your heart races. The words hit you harder than you expected, like a punch to the gut, but it’s also the closest thing to an apology you’ve gotten. You close your eyes for a second, letting the feeling settle before you type out your response.

You “We can meet. But I need you to understand, I’m not going to make this easy for you. It’s not just going to go back to how it was. I have to think about this too.”

You hesitate before hitting send, but then, your finger presses the button. The message is out there now.

A few seconds pass, and then his reply comes through.

Bakugo: “I get it. I’m not asking for it to go back to how it was. I just need to talk.”

You meet him late afternoon in a dimly lit cafe, he’d requested the private back room for the two of you. You see him his back straight, posture tense, but there’s a softness in his eyes that you didn’t expect. The sight of him makes your chest tighten, and for a split second, all the hurt floods back, threatening to break through. But you swallow it down, pushing the emotions back where they belong, at least for now.

Your usual coffee order was sitting in front of the chair when you arrived, he’d remembered.

When he sees you, his jaw clenches, and he stands up. His gaze is apologetic, but guarded. He says nothing as you sit down across from him. There’s an unspoken distance between you, both of you unsure of how to start.

For a moment, it’s quiet. Awkward. You glance at him, not knowing whether to wait for him to speak first or if you should just get it over with. It’s him who breaks the silence first.

“I… I don’t know how to start this,” he admits, his voice low and rough.

You give him a pointed look, your arms crossed, but you don’t say anything. You want him to go first.

“Look, I know I fucked up,” Bakugo continues, his words rushed, his voice catching slightly as he forces them out. “I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back.” His eyes shift down for a moment, but when they return to you, there’s something raw there, something he’s been holding back for too long. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was scared. I thought… I thought if I shut myself off, I wouldn’t drag you down with me. But I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”

His hands are clenched into fists on the table, like he’s trying to hold himself together, but the vulnerability is leaking through.

“I was an idiot, and I know it,” he continues,

“I don’t know how to fix this,” his hands gripping the table tightly. “I don’t know how to make it right. But I… I’m willing to try. I’m ready to try.”

You swallow hard, unsure of how to respond, but his eyes are so desperate now. Not just for your forgiveness, but for something else. Something deeper.

“I don’t know if I can just forgive you, Bakugo,” you say softly, but firmly. “You hurt me. You made me feel like I didn’t matter. And it’s not something that just goes away with a couple of words.”

He flinches, the sting of your words landing harder than he expected, but he nods slowly. “I get it,” he mutters. “I don’t expect you to just forget. I don’t deserve that. But I… I’ve spent the last few months regretting the way I treated you. I’ve been a fucking mess.”

The silence stretches out, thick and uncomfortable, before he adds, almost like an afterthought, “I’m not saying this because I think it’ll fix anything… But I care about you. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know if I’m ready to say all the words… but you should know, I—” His voice hitches, and he grits his teeth, frustration flashing across his face. “I fucking need you. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking, pushing you away. I can’t keep running from it.”

There it is. He’s not saying it outright, not yet, but it’s clear. It’s written in the tension in his voice, in the way he’s looking at you. He needs you. But that’s as far as he can admit right now. He’s too scared to say the words, but it’s all there in the way he’s speaking.

You exhale, looking down at your hands. The silence stretches between you like a heavy weight, but it’s different this time. It’s not suffocating, just… thick with everything unsaid. You want to push him further, but you’re not sure how much more he can take.

“Did you know?” you ask, voice trembling a little, though you try to keep it steady. He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in confusion. “What?”

“Did you know about my feelings for you?” you push, meeting his gaze, watching his expression shift as if something inside him clicks.

He hesitates, then lets out a frustrated breath, looking away for a moment. “I had a feeling,” he admits, voice low, almost reluctant. “But I told myself I was wrong. I let my own doubts cloud my mind… I was trying to convince myself it didn’t mean anything.”

You swallow, the words hitting deeper than you expected. “Why? Why didn’t you say anything? You just pushed me away, Bakugo.”

He stares at you, his expression torn, jaw clenched tightly. “I didn’t want to feel weak,” he says, barely above a whisper. “And I sure as hell didn’t want you to have power over me.” You furrow your brows. “What do you mean by that?”

He lets out a breath before continuing. “I don’t… like feeling like I’m not in control,” he admits, voice rough. “Everything about me has to be under my control. My strength, my image—everything. And then you… you came into my life, and everything just got… confusing. You made me think about everything differently and I didn’t know how to deal with it.”

You remain silent, taking in his words. The rawness in his admission shakes you, but there’s still a part of you that wants him to go further, to say the things you need to hear. But he’s still holding back.

“You make me weak, you know?” he finally adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, giving a small awkward laugh with the shake of his head. “And I hate it.”

The vulnerability in his voice hits you harder than you expect. It’s the same Bakugo, the one who once seemed invincible, but now, you see the cracks beneath it.

For a moment, you let the silence linger between you, trying to digest everything. “But you were never weak,” you say quietly, your voice softer now. “You just… didn’t want to let anyone in.”

His gaze softens, but he doesn’t say anything. The weight of the moment settles in, and you know that you’re both standing on the precipice of something—neither of you fully ready, but maybe, just maybe, willing to step forward.

You take a deep breath, your heart racing. “I’m not saying yes, Bakugo. I can’t just forget everything and run back into your arms.” You hold his gaze, steady. “But… I’m not saying no either.” You smile slightly, your hand reaching for his.

Bakugo grabs your hand. His grip is firm, but it’s not forceful—just a silent plea for you to understand. A glimmer of relief flashes in his eyes, though there’s still a heavy weight of uncertainty. He exhales sharply, relief mixed with a heavy dose of uncertainty in his eyes. “I get it. I’ll wait. However long it takes.”

The words hang between you, heavy but hopeful. There’s a long road ahead, and neither of you knows what’s at the end of it. But there’s a crack in the door now, a glimmer of possibility that you can’t ignore.

For the first time, Bakugo isn’t just pushing forward on instinct. He’s waiting for you. And for the first time, you’re not running away from him either.

And just like that, the lunches start again.

The first lunch is simple, a quiet little café tucked away in a corner of the city, far enough from prying eyes but close enough for comfort. Neither of you wants to make a big deal of it. No cameras, no expectations. Just two people sitting down, eating a meal, and talking like they used to.

Bakugo fidgets with his napkin, clearly not used to this kind of calm, but he’s trying. There’s a sense of hesitation between you, like neither of you wants to be the first to break the quiet. But then, unexpectedly, he asks you about your new job. The question is casual enough, but you both know it’s more than just small talk.

You smile, feeling the weight of his words in a way that feels like a first step, and you respond with a little more than you normally would. And for the first time in months, you both get lost in the conversation—just two people sharing a meal, no pretenses.

The next lunch is a bit easier. It’s not perfect, and there are still moments where silence feels heavy, but the air between you has softened. Slowly, but surely, you’re both learning how to be around each other again without the need for words to fill every moment.

Another month passes, slow but steady. Every lunch feels like another brick being removed from the wall between you and Bakugo, but there’s still something unspoken between you. He’s still Bakugo—gruff, proud, and a little closed off when it comes to talking about what he feels.

But in his own way, he’s been complimenting you more than he ever has before. He praises your work, your passion, the way you handle yourself when you talk about your dreams. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make your heart skip a beat each time.

Then, one evening, you invite him over to your place for dinner. He doesn’t know what to expect, and honestly neither do you, but he agrees. The silence between you isn’t heavy this time—it’s comfortable. You’re both so used to the quiet now, to the small moments that don’t need to be filled with words.

You made one of his recipes—the one he’d hastily shoved into your arms with the muttered excuse of “making too much” all those weeks ago. You’re eating casually, and he’s telling you a story from his latest mission, grumbling about his hero friend Chargebolt and his antics. You can’t stifle your laughter

You’re laughing so hard your sides hurt, gasping to catch your breath but when you look back up his eyes are on yours, watching you and his hands move again

BEAUTIFUL.

You feel your face flush and you try to hold back the smile that wants to plaster itself on your face, but you know he sees it. You quickly change the subject. “I need to meet him one day. Chargebolt”

After dinner he helps you wash dishes and it’s all.. oddly domestic in a way that gives you butterflies, and you have no idea how he feels, only the way sparks ignite when your fingertips brush as you hand him dishes to dry. The tension is thick, and you can’t take it anymore. Before you know it, you flick the water from your hands onto him. He shoots daggers at you with his gaze, but then, unexpectedly, he smiles. you’re laughing and you do it again but he grabs your hands

And.. you stand there, frozen for a minute with his hands holding yours, his crimson gaze meeting yours and it’s softer now, nothing like the harsh intensity you saw back in the conference room all that time ago.

His hands and eyes fall from your and you can almost see the gears turning in his head, he goes to open his mouth but hesitates, shaking his head and raising his hands instead

He brings his two closed hands together, fingertips touching and bouncing off each other lightly.

KISS.

Can I kiss you?

Your eyes immediately shoot to his and you nod and that’s it. The tension that’s been building over the past month snaps. You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re in each other’s arms. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s both desperate and tender, all the words neither of you has been able to say spilling out in that single moment.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands trembling slightly as he cups your face. “Please… I can’t keep pretending I don’t need you,” he admits, his voice raw, the weight of everything he’s been holding back finally pouring out.

Bakugo’s hands hover near your sides, as if unsure whether to pull you closer or give you space, like he’s waiting for you to tell him what comes next. You both stand there for a moment, the silence enveloping you again, but this time it doesn’t feel awkward. It feels like the calm after a storm, like the tension has dissipated, but there’s still more to work through.

You smile softly, reaching for his hand, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you promise, squeezing his fingers gently.

He nods, like he’s trying to process the weight of that assurance. “Good,” he mutters, and for once, the sharpness in his tone is gone, replaced by something softer. Something a little uncertain, but real.

Without thinking, you pull him down to sit with you on the couch, your bodies close but not quite touching. You both need time. Time to catch up with each other, time to figure out how to navigate this new phase of whatever this is between you two.

“So… what now?” you ask, voice small, but hopeful.

He leans back into the cushions, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if he’s thinking. When he finally speaks, his voice is gruff again, but there’s a flicker of something else there. “Now, we take it slow,” he says, his gaze meeting yours. “I’m not asking for a lot. I don’t know how to do all the shit I should’ve said before, but I’m here now. For real. And I’m not running away from this.”

It’s the most honest thing he’s said in weeks, maybe months, and it means everything to you. It’s not perfect, and it’s not a fairytale, but you can see the cracks in his armor, the rawness that’s finally coming through. He’s not pretending anymore, and that’s the first step.

You nod, resting your head against his shoulder. “I’m not asking for perfect either. Just… just us, okay?” “Yeah,” he replies, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “Just us.”

And with that, it feels like the tension between you has finally broken. You’re not all the way there yet, and you know it’ll take time. But for the first time in a long while, you feel like there’s hope. Not a perfect solution, but something real, something worth fighting for.

As you sit there, quietly, his arm wraps around you, pulling you closer. Neither of you speaks for a while, just feeling the comfort of each other’s presence. There’s still a long road ahead, but for now, you’re okay. And that’s all you need.

You’re both in this together.

You move closer, and he instinctively moves to hold you in his arms. Everything feels right, and you relax into him, letting his presence comfort you until your soft breaths even out, and you drift to sleep.

He glances down at your sleeping figure, careful not to wake you as he shifts slightly. He takes a picture, knowing you’ll probably kill him for it later, but he can’t resist. With a soft smile, he posts it on his Instagram story.

“🤟@ y/nsigns”

I LOVE YOU.

—-

A/n: its my birthdayyy!! This is my present to yall tho

bakugo saying ily first?? Idk if the ily is too soon but at the same time they’ve known they each had feelings the whole time idc lmao. I really hope yall enjoyed the series! This is the first thing I wrote on tumblr!! I’m so appreciative of all the nice comments and everything love u guys <3

Tags: @poemeater @mimzyu @beebunsx x @v3n7s

@cielito--lindo @starrmage @unabletonotlovesatoru @beabamboo

oh, to fly with you again

izuku swears he doesn’t make noise when he gets up in the morning. 

your hours as a pro-hero are often funky, the times that you get up varying greatly from day to day — whereas your husband has a very fixed sleep schedule in order to get to his class on time. 

he’s very, very careful not to wake you when he crawls out of bed at 5:30 every morning, making sure the blankets are covering you from head to toe. his footfalls are almost silent as he creeps down the hall, he winces as the bathroom door creaks ever-so-slightly. 

but inside the bathroom itself? that’s where all hell breaks loose. 

izuku swears he’s quiet in the mornings. he makes a point of mentioning it to your friends, how dutiful a husband he is to let his hard-working spouse sleep in when you can. 

he doesn’t know that you can hear every cabinet open, every clatter of the brush on the sink, the beep of the stove turning on or his keys jingling about in his pocket. 

he doesn’t know that you’re awake when he presses a goodbye kiss to your forehead every morning without fail, doesn’t see the little smile you hide under the covers when he whispers that he loves you before going out the door to work. 

when he smiles at you like that, you can’t help but agree. as far as you’re concerned, he’s silent as a mouse!

the best husband ever, you tell him with a little laugh and kiss on his cheek. (not the quietest — not by a long shot — but the best husband on earth nonetheless.)