cw: babies!!!! you’re also referred to as “ma” once
okay but like,,,,,first time dad Bakugou giving his baby their first bath after coming home!!! you’re fluttering around the kitchen, trying to make sure you have your daughters towel ready, her baby safe soap, a tiny washcloth, that her teeny tiny pajamas are in the dryer.
it’s only when you take a second to ask Bakugou something do you finally just—pause. your gaze instantly softens, a lovesick smile inching on your face as you watch your big buff pro hero husband hunch over the kitchen sink.
your daughter is resting in the baby bath seat, lilac colored and reclined back. she squirms when Bakugou lets the warm water run over her naked, fat little belly. her face scrunches at the new sensation, fists balling up against her chest. he coos at her, gentle,
“I know, ya little princess. Feels weird on ya, doesn’t it?” he asks her, voice so small under the running water. he cups his hand, holds a handful of water, tilts her fat cheek up to let it slide in her neck rolls that always smell like milk. she whines at that, sniffles and hiccups before she cries. you go to take a step forward, to console her, but Bakugou is so patient.
“It’s alright,” he kisses her tears away. “Daddy’s just tryna help you.” he runs the water all over her body, and paired with his softly spoken words, does she finally quiet after a few seconds. her little body trembles with the aftermath, pouty lips puffy and he can’t help but smooth his hand over the softness of her face.
“Yer a crybaby, just like your ma.” he whispers to her, grinning when that breaks you out of your stupor to smack him on the shoulder. you both laugh at that, and you finally feel the peace that is your little family. you lean against Bakugou’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to his jaw before looking at your daughter again.
“You’re gonna be a great dad,” you mumble into his skin. he doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his shuddering breath, and the calmness that blankets the rest of your house.
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uhm shyly comes into your inbox to give a steve idea :’)
finding him so so so pretty in that stupid dark blue polo, not being able to really look at him properly. it’s tight against his chest and stomach which makes him look delicious, wanting to be devoured really. he’s simply so pretty. worst thing is: he fucking knows it. so he’s cocky about it and teasing, it’s never relenting. he loves it and honestly so do you.
(feel free to ignore!)
trying to get my steve groove back on!!! thank u for sending something nonnie!! a lil bit of shy!reader <3 just a blurb too
Steve doesn’t know it’s a favourite of yours.
One of his polos fits his chest pretty perfectly if anyone asks your opinion. It’s that nice navy colour that looks good against his tan skin, with a bold stripe of white through the middle. A little plain but classic.
It hugs his biceps snugly and stretches ever so slightly over his chest. At the right angle, you can see the definition of his pecs and it’s awfully good at reminding you of what they look like with no shirt on at all.
The thought makes you fluster a bit.
He’s got plenty of polos but this one— this is your favourite. And he’s wearing it tonight, on Valentine’s day, and now you’re not quite sure you’ve been as slick with your wandering eyes as you hoped.
Across the booth, Steve smiles at you, his lashes kissing in the corner. He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and your eyes zero in on the bulge of his bicep instantly.
Steve’s smiles melts into a grin, a tad wicked.
Yeah, okay, maybe he does know it’s your favourite.
You fluster again. Something nudges at your foot under the table, right as Steve says, “What?”
He’s teasing. He definitely knows what.
“Stop,” you murmur, on the side of embarrassed. “You know what.”
Steve smiles again and drops his arm, thankfully, only to fold them and lean forward on the table. It does wonders for his arms, especially in that shirt. Damn that shirt. Damn him. He’s evil.
“Do I know what?” He pretends to muse thoughtfully.
He tilts his pretty head to the side just an inch. His eyes stay locked on you, drinking up every second your flustered reaction. You’re beautiful, even more so when you get all embarrassed about liking him.
“Steve.”
“What?”
“I will not be responsible for any further inflation of your ego, thank you very much.” You mumble it as you take a sip of your soda, eyes on the table. Why is it so terrible to have him know you were leering at him?
Steve laughs loudly. He finally slides his arms back and off the table, giving you a temporary relief.
“You’re the only one who can inflate my ego, actually.” Steve counters, his brows raising. He steals a fry off your plate and chews it slowly.
You eye him over your cup, skeptical.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” He shrugs, swallowing his food. He takes a sip of his own milkshake, oh-so casual when he says, “Your opinion is the only one that really matters to me anyways.”
He grins across the table at you, a more mischievous shine in his eyes.
“Why do you think I picked this shirt?”
You’re equal parts mortified and enthralled at what he’s said. In your surprise, you accidentally inhale a bit of your soda and it burns as it goes down the wrong way— you cough awkwardly to clear it. Okay, less equal, more mortified now.
It’s your turn to ask. “What?”
Steve nudges your foot under the table again, teasing and flirting all in one. His pink lips curve into that grin that makes your heart flip flop— and there’s even a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. As though he’s also endeared but embarrassed by your attention.
“It’s your favourite.”
“It’s—” You splutter and for some reason, decide to lie. “No, it’s not!”
“Yes, it is!”
“No, it’s—” You pivot mid-sentence. “Who told you?”
Steve laughs again, that big loud belly-laugh where his cheeks get all chipmunk-y cos he’s grinning so hard. When he stops laughing enough to talk, he’s reaching across the table. You’re not quick enough to pretend to avoid his hand as he snags it with his own.
“Baby,” he says. “Nobody had to tell me. I could just tell.”
Somehow when he says it like that, when he calls you baby in a voice all sticky with fondness, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing at all.
You nudge him back under the table and sip your sofa again to try think of something to say. He knows what you look like when you love something. How terrifying. How intimate.
Another sip of soda. Steve rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, content to gaze you. His view is sweet enough he must have cartoon hearts circling above his head.
You can’t think of anything to say in the end, so you just squeeze his hand and nudge his foot again — and trust that he’ll just be able to tell what you mean.
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Ok, so Muppet AU! Every ability user in canon is a muppet, except for Dazai, who nullifies both abilities and the physical state of being a muppet!
Now that that’s established:
Bram is already kind of a muppet, right?
(Whenever Bram spreads the vampirism, the newly infected muppet just gains a pair of glued-in fangs)
Corruption is just muppet-Chuuya on a string, being swung wildly about like the killer rabbit from Monty Python and the Holy Grail
Imagine you are a muppet for as long as you can remember, and then one weird human pokes you, and suddenly you are also human for the first time alsksjdjf
Oh and the best part of this AU is Ranpo!!! Because if Fukuzawa convinced Ranpo that he had an ability when he was fifteen, then that means that Fukuzawa simultaneously had to convince a human boy that he was a muppet.
And Ranpo believes this for years.
Ranpo, a human man: “Haha, I have the best ability in the agency! >:D”
Atsushi, a tiger-muppet who has just learned how all this works:
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