#writes.bnha
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i like you a latte | denki kaminari.
denki kaminari's determined to make you fall in love with him, cheesy one-liners and all, even if it takes months and puts him in debt. little does he know he's already won you over, you just like watching him fumble.
pairing: denki kaminari x gn!barista!reader
word count: 1.3k
content: reader has a job!, mentions of food/eating, lots of fluff, denki's cheesy but it's fine bc he's cute
hehe do you like my very clever pun ?? i think writing this made me realize i'm a little in love with denki </3 he's a charming dork idk. written as part of @cup-of-fluff's time to shine collab !! ty so much for hosting ^-^ this was soso much fun to write,, im sorry for being a whole month late ;—;
You’re beginning to think Chargebolt doesn’t have any friends. At least, you would if you hadn’t seen him sitting at their crowded table—Red Riot, Alien Queen, Deku, Ingenium, Cellophane, even Dynamight makes the occasional, disgruntled, appearance—his elbows planted in their sides and smiles splitting their faces. Or a poorly hidden grin in Dynamight’s case. But, you reason, he must not like them very much with how much of his time is spent alone in the cafe. Always in the same spot, the same order, with the same barista: you.
So, he has friends. He’s just decided to spend all his precious free time drinking over-priced lattes and eating equally expensive cheese Danishes. Sometimes he brings a binder, thick with unorganized papers and what looks like incredibly important reports, but he never even opens it—too busy monopolizing your company and stretching over the little cafe table to get your attention.
You can’t really complain, though. He always attracts a crowd, even with an incredibly inconspicuous cap pulled over his eyes, which means more orders and more tips and more money. You also can’t deny that you’re just the tiniest bit amused with him, all with his cheesy smiles and jokes and flattery.
Which, he’s not nearly as skilled at as the press pretends. Pro Hero Chargebolt, with his bolstering reputation as a flirt with—reportedly—never-ending charm never fails to come up with the most nauseatingly cheesy café puns. Puns which have, regrettably, endeared you to the Pro.
“Just admit it, you’re in love with him! Y’know it’s healthy, everyone is in love with at least one member of class 1a,” Izumi’s wrought with faux consolation, “it’s human nature, inevitable even. And most people don’t have them sitting in the front of their shop every week.”
“I’m not in love with him,” you huff, sounding too much like a petulant child for your liking. Izumi’s tease isn’t new either, ever since Denki first showed up during one of your shared shifts, she's been insufferable.
“That’s not what your eyes say—they get all hazy and lovesick when he’s ordering,” Izumi says, voice high and sing-songy as she finishes clearing the last table, “and I think your chargebolt keychain says otherwise too.”
“You bought me that.” She doesn’t falter under your glare, though, smile only widening as she perches on the counter, chin cradled in her palms. “And you’re just hoping if he keeps coming around, he’ll bring Ingenium with him.”
A forlorn look suddenly passes over Izumi’s face as she remembers the one and only time he visited, a time she wasn’t even working, “and alas, it’s only happened once.”
“I’m not in love with him. He’s a good Pro Hero and I respect the work that he does.” She scoffs a laugh, earning a very pointed stare, “now, back to work—if you burn my muffins, I'm making you re-bake them.”
It ends the conversation—Izumi disappearing back into the kitchen, palms raised and facing you with a grin—but it settles deep and heavy in your mind. Her words repeat themselves to you throughout the day and into the next. You’d gotten used to Denki being there, to all his cheesy flirts and smiles. So used to them you’re not sure what a week would be like without them. Some selfish part of you hopes you never find out.
“They’ll work on you someday,” Denki catches your eye as you pass, the rest of the cafe quiet and empty. He’d been there since his morning patrol, entertaining the same blueberry muffin and attempting to fold his napkins into paper cranes. He was getting better at it despite the little stack of lopsided and half-formed birds.
He smiles, as bright as the dying sun streaming in through the cafe’s open windows. He watches you clear the table next to him, eyes trailing the slope of your nose and the subtle curve of your smile. His grin broadens when you scoff to hide your grin.
“Don’t you have t-shirts and headshots to sign, hero?” You can’t help the way you chew at your lip, fighting off the warmth bubbling there. He’s right, it’ll work on you, it is working on you. His voice calling you brew-tiful haunts you everytime you make a chai latte. He’s sunny and determined and you can’t help the way you relish the whole of his attention being focused on you. “You’ve had three tables staring at you the entire hour you’ve been here.”
“I’m not trying to woo them, I’m trying to woo you,” it’s a simple sentence, but it's the way he says it that gets to you. Sure and just a little exasperated—like it’s obvious he’d rather watch you clear tables for the next hour than anything else. “Is it working?”
Denki’s grinning again—wider, brighter, and utterly charmed by himself—from where his cheek is squished into his fist and you can feel the way your pulse stutters. He’s charming, disarmingly so, bundled in some obscure graphic t-shirt and bright pink puffer, jeans marked up with lightning bolts you’re pretty were done by him, he’s pretty. Prettier than you’d ever admit to his face, you think his ego’s plenty big enough.
“Maybe,” your voice is drawn out and teasy, hiding any nerves as you move to clear the last few tables of cups and pastry platters, “maybe not.”
Denki’s face warms just a bit in the way it always does when you tease, cheeks splitting with the force of his grin as he—somehow—leans closer. He watches you disappear behind the counter, picking through what's left of the muffins and danishes to reemerge with a square of cake—bright and citrusy in a way which always reminds you of him.
“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” he fumbles with the words despite saying them every week, a stack of manilla folders and binders, the same ones he’d been using as an arm rest, decidedly not working, are stuffed under one arm. He smiles and you’re reminded of spring and the warmth of the sun on your face, “rain or shine.”
“I know. I can’t wait.” You return his grin, lifting the slice of cake, now nicely wrapped and ribboned, “for the road.” The road being his half a block walk back to his apartment, though you know he’ll probably still have the slice eaten before he gets there.
Denki’s fingers brush against yours as you hand off the box. A chill runs up your spine at the contact. His hands are always warm, he’s always warm and this close you can smell the familiar citrusy warmth of his cologne. The thought makes you want to hold his hands, wonder what they’d feel like laced with your own.
You shake the thought with a smile, ignoring the little hitch in your chest when he turns to leave, forcing yourself not to watch him and hoping he’d find your note once he got home.
The note, written neatly on a slip of construction paper a week ago, is tucked into the top of the box. You’d written it the day after Izumi had teased you, hiding it beneath the tip jar and hoping that you’d work up the courage to slip it to him. ‘ I like you a latte too, hero. just make sure to save some of those lines of yours for the date ;)
xxx-xxx-xxxx
You think he forgot how glass works, pausing in front of the shop's corner to pump a jittery fist, the one still clutching your napkin and number—full and happy. The sight startles a laugh out of you. Denki’s head whips up to find you—face flushed and beaming—and he makes a show of waving the notecard in his hand.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#denki x reader#denki kaminari x reader#kaminari denki x reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.denki
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TIME OF YEAR — HAWKS
summary: the week following valentine's day, you start getting a gift a day. they're always sitting on your desk when you get in, never attached to any note, and always something that you'd like. then a certain pro-hero shows up at your door brandishing a bouquet.
pairing: hawks x gn!reader
wordcount: 1.4k
content: reader works in miruko's agency, fluff, stocked full of (very american) valentine's fluff and cliches, gift giving as a weird confession, best friend bakugou bc i can't help myself, mentions of food/eating.
happy valentine's day lovies !!! i barely finished this in time but ;-; it's done !! and i had to write something for keigo bc i love him dearly ;-; i hope you enjoy my self indulgence even if it's not my best work !
Working for Miruko's agency has been surprisingly mundane for a top hero agency. Spending your day filing reports and attempting to lessen the load of paperwork for her and the dozens of sidekicks she worked with. You'd grown fond of the routine, comfortable with your daily cafe runs and lunches spent working at your desk. It was nice, normal.
The past week has been weird, though.
It started with a rose. Soft and creamy maroon petals left in the center of your desk without a note or any hint of who had left it. You thought it'd been a mistake, someone mistaking your office for someone else's, but no one in the entire office building recognized or claimed it. So you found a dusty flower vase under your sink and kept it on the corner of your desk.
Next were blueberry muffins. You recognized the little white box from your favorite bakery the moment you saw it, the one nestled in a corner of the city which is almost always empty. Buttery and still warm when you finally willed yourself to open it. You couldn't help the warmth which filled your chest at the smell of them and you ate two of them for breakfast before starting your paperwork.
The rest of the week was filled with more gifts, all practical or catered perfectly to your own tastes; a pair of cashmere gloves a muted gray, a coffee from your favorite cafe just the way you ordered it, a shiny broach in the shape of two doves, a travel coffee mug not too much after your own finally worn out. Nothing that hinted at whoever's been leaving them for you.
"Come on, Katsuki," you lament, folding yourself pathetically over your desk, "you're always at the office--you have to have seen them come to my office! And you're the only one who knows I go to that bakery every morning, you have to know!" He snorts, barely looking up from his own stack of reports to see the considerably large box of heart-shaped chocolates. The rich, fancy kind that if you ever had a craving for you would've had to save half your paychecks.
His eyes seem to get stuck on the ribbon holding it shut, on the sliver of something soft and red poking out. You pluck it out, expecting a sticky note or card--anything but a feather the size of your index finger.
"Is this supposed to be a hint?" Katsuki only stares blankly at you, something akin to amusement warming the red of his eyes as your annoyance mounts, "do they have a pet bird? I don't think I know anyone with a parrot--except for that one guy from tech but his is blue."
Katsuki rolls his eyes, dropping his pen and shoving his chair away from his desk, “and why would he leave a hint? If he wanted you to know who he was he wouldla left a fuckin’ note on one of of ‘em.”
“I don’t know! I’m tired of not knowing,” you collapse back into your chair to stare forlornly at the ceiling, “no one in the building will admit to leaving them and we both know that they’re awful liars.” You’d tracked down nearly everyone who worked on your floor to ask about the gifts, even cornering an extremely nervous Midoriya in the elevator on your way home. None of them admitted to it. And none of them paid nearly enough attention to know where you bought your muffins or coffees from.
“You’re overthinking.”
You huffed, arms crossed over your chest as Katsuki returned to his paperwork. “I just don’t know who’s doing it, no one’s seemed nervous around me and I haven’t gone on a date in months.”
“Might make you less stressed,” Katsuki snips, a flash of canines when you chuck your now emptied coffee cup at his head—which he blocks easily with a laugh.
“I’m serious, Katsuki. I’ve never had someone all that interested in me—let alone this interested. I just want to figure out who it is.”
He softens just a little, sighing and dropping the empty cup in the bin beside him. You know you’re being childish, pestering him all week over something as trivial as a potential secret admirer when you both have stacks of paperwork and endless reports.
“I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” That look’s back, something passing slowly over his face—like he’s considering his words carefully, hiding what he knows, “Valentine's day’s tomorrow—maybe he’ll show up then.”
You don’t notice anything weird until you get to your office. Oblivious with the expectant stares of your co-workers, the raptness in which they watch you hurry to your office, the way they all look at eachother. Until you’re confronted with an incredibly familiar and out of place set of eyes, “Hawks!”
He starts at the sound of your voice despite facing the door, fingers tightening around a bouquet of budding peonies and wings ruffled and restless behind him. He looks out of place in your office—large and imposing, standing awkwardly in front of your desk and feathers twitching behind him.
Pictures could never do Hawks justice. He’s always prettier, brighter—the warmth of his hair and the flush of freckles across his nose—in person. He’s larger than life, all wide smiles and crimson wings, and no amount of photographers can capture all of him as he is. Breathtaking. But now, he looks nearly skittish.
Hawks smiles at you then—nervous and disarmingly ill-practiced for someone whose job is half made up of practiced smiles—and brings the bouquet just a little closer to his chest. “I saw these while I was on patrol… it’s that time of year, isn’t it?” His voice is quiet, something soft and tender that makes you feel warm all over.
Everything hits you very suddenly—the feather, the knowing way Katsuki had behaved when questioned, every pricey gift that had been left. Hawks visited the agency all the time, visited you in your office and had taken you for coffee at the very cafe your gift came from. He’d also put the final nail in your travel mug’s coffin, knocking it off the edge of your desk the last time he’d visited you with a teasing feather. Of course it’d been him.
“You left the gifts. You’re my secret admirer,” you say dumbly, sounding quiet and childish even to yourself.
But Hawks flushes, chin tucking into the plushness of his collar and failing to hide his wide and boyish grin, “I did—I am.” His hand—noticeably bare and warm—cups your own, transferring the bouquet of soft pinks and reds to you. “And these made me think of you when I saw them in the shop—you said peonies were your favorites.”
You flounder under the weight of his grin, the sweetness of flowers, the heady smell of his cologne, and the crispness of wind which always surrounds him. You’ve never been this close to him, always had a buffer in the form of mutual friend or coworker to soften the interaction. It’s overwhelming to be this close knowing he likes you. Knowing he pays such attention to you.
A swell of emotions overtakes you, grin so wide it aches and his own seems to mirror it. Hawks is warm, a slow gentle heat which seeps into you and melts against your skin from where his hands are skating up your arms. It’s dizzying and you find yourself leaning into him, overcome with the sudden urge to kiss him, to be even closer, to curl your hands into the softness of his collar and pull him into you.
But you don’t.
His wings twitch again behind him again, restless ruffling as he lifts a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. You track the movement with a smile—it’s oddly endearing to see him acting so human, so unlike everything you’re used to seeing of him. “Do you want to get dinner after patrol?” Golden eyes flick over your face, as if looking for any hesitance—discomfort. He doesn’t find any. “There’s this really good yakitori place down the street.”
“Sounds like a date, Kei.” His smile’s immediate, blindingly bright and so wide the corners of his eyes wrinkle.
“A date,” he echoes giddily, face flushed and smile half-concealed behind his hand.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#hawks x reader#keigo takami x reader#takami keigo x reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.hawks
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HANDS SO TENDER — DABI
✶ summary: domestic fluff; bath fic + sick fic. dabi's never been good at accepting help, but when it comes to you he's getting better at it.
✶ pairing: touya todoroki x gn!reader
✶ word count: 1,020
✶ warnings: domestic fluff >:), non-sexual nudity, mentions of eating/food, mentions of non-specified sickness/medicine. this spawned because. i wanna wash touya's hair and burrito wrap him like a cat. he deserves it. 🔫 love him >:( tagging: @atsumeii ; @tobiodose
taglist / anthology masterlist
“Think you’re getting sick.” Touya groans, his head lolling back against the couch cushions as you settle next to him. He can feel your fingers on his skin, skating through his bangs as you smooth them away. “You feel warm—warmer than usual,” the words are soft, concerned, spoken against his forehead. It makes him feel warm. Having someone be concerned for him. For someone to worry and care.
He huffs, “don’ get sick.”
Despite his petulance, Touya lets you poke and prod him, shedding his jacket and draping a cool cloth around his neck. Lets you smooth his hair back again and press your lips back against the feverish skin. Watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you look him over, brows creased.
“Have you eaten anything?”
The thought makes his stomach churn, “no.” He feels guilty when you sigh, thinks that maybe he should have tried to eat something—toast or crackers—before you got home and found him curled up pitifully on your couch.
Your fingers tangle with his own, pressing a chaste kiss to the skin of his palm as you think, “I’ll make you some toast—maybe check if I have any saltines in the pantry still.” The guilt ebbs away when you smile at him, all soft and adoring.
“What about a bath? Get ‘ya out of these clothes.” He doesn’t answer, lolling himself towards you and tucking his face into the crook of your neck, “please, baby? Then I’ll let you hole up in the bedroom watching horror movies and The Princess Bride for as long as you want.” Touya scoffs when you raise a hand, “scout’s honour.”
He huffs a laugh against you, scrubbing his face into your neck. You won’t, you’ll hover over him and hand feed him soup and awful-tasting medicine until he’s better and he can’t help but want it. A selfish little desire curling in his stomach, to soak up all your affection and worry.
“Shouldn’t have let you find out about that,” he nips at the skin of your jaw and you know you’ve won, letting your fingers tuck sweat-curled hair behind his ear. “Usin’ ‘em just so I cave—mean.”
“Not my fault you like it so much, pretty boy.”
Touya stands slowly, braced stubbornly against the couch to fight the dizziness before you—equally stubbornly—duck beneath his arm. He caves immediately, body slumping against yours even as he pouts, “I can walk, y’know.”
“I know you can,” you placate.
The bath’s warm, sweet and smelling of sandalwood, steam curling around his shoulders and bubbly water lapping at his collar. He’s easy to maneuver, following the soft warmth of your palms and eyes weighing heavy as you scrub at the flush of his chest. “Good?”
“S’good.” Touya’s quiet as he watches you, chin thunking against the rim of the tub as his whole body goes slack in your hold.
The shampoo—which smells overwhelming like you—is cool against his scalp and he can feel his eyes slipping shut under the repetition, soft strands coiled around your fingers and slicked back from his eyes. Soft contented hums as you comb through his hair, leaning into your touch and soaking up the affection.
He lets you tilt his chin when it’s time to rinse, one hand shielding his eyes from soapy water and the other tipping a cup of water over him. It’s something he brought home one day—a knockoff Jaws shark, clunky and impossible to drink from but you still kept it. Let it hold your—and his—toothbrush and take up space.
You do that with all his things, let him take up space. You’ve carved out so much room for him in your life, to let him be. Half your movie shelf was picked by him and you buy all the muted fruits he loves and let him have claim over half the bed despite him barely getting to sleep in it.
Touya feels you lean in, forehead knocking against his own softly and palms cupping his jaw, “I’m done.” You smile when hazy blue eyes meet yours, letting him nudge himself closer until he can kiss you. It’s simple, gentle and soft, but he feels himself shiver. He feels warm and safe, taken care of.
He lets you dress him too, bundling him in a fluffy towel and oversized sweats.
“Sit, gonna dry your hair so you don’t soak through my pillows.” Despite the warning he still glares at you when you ruffle a towel over him, nipping at the skin of your wrist, before settling into the bed. It’s nice—even though he’d rather die than say it—to be looked after, preened and soothed.
It’s only after you have him bundled up on his side of the bed that his eyes open again, face cocooned by blankets and eyes dropping with sleep, “gonna let me hole up and binge watch now?”
“As you wish.”
You grin when he huffs, the corners of his mouth downturning to avoid his smile, “you’re a nerd.”
He’s already fighting sleep, head lulling minutely as he tries to keep himself awake. “You’re one to talk—now, scooch.” You don’t get in though, guiding him back into the pillows and tucking the blankets back under his chin. Then, seemingly pleased, you worm your way under him.
It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the soft sound of waves and your breath—but he’s still awake. Stubbornly staring at your profile in hopes you’ll read his mind. You do. “Hey,” your fingers pause in his hair, tapping softly against the base of his skull. He hums against your sternum, making a show of cracking one, recently closed, eye to stare at you. “Kiss?”
“Needy,” he nips, propping himself up on an elbow, “now who’s gonna get sick?”
“Please, baby?”
He huffs again, eyes half-lidded and full of put-on annoyance, “really shouldn’t have let you know how much I like those. Nothing good ever comes from it,” he leans up anyways, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. And he lets you keep his cheeks trapped between your palms as he pulls away, kissing the tip of his nose and forehead.
“You know you love it.”
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#dabi x reader#touya todoroki x reader#todoroki touya x reader#dabi fluff#gn!reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.dabi#[🧺] — love is to care
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PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE — KATSUKI BAKUGOU
⚘ summary: prompt #63 "trying to concentrate on a task, but your lover kisses your neck, making your head spin"; from my lavished in love event for @kiyelle. you've never known katsuki to be very patient, something only made worse when he's tired and needy.
⚘ pairing: pro hero!katsuki bakugou x gn!reader
⚘ warnings: a little suggestive? not too bad, established relationship, fluff, mentions of food/eating, katsuki gets clingy when he's tired bc i said so. hiii this is kinda sucky but i hope you still like it !! and i hope i did clingy katsuki justice >:))
“We’re cooking, Ki.” The words come out more exasperated than anything else, layered beneath helpless affection as you let Katsuki pull you against him, “can’t you wait until we’re done.” He huffs petulantly, shoving himself tighter against you in answer. You sigh, “never gonna be able to start the show if we can't get this done."
It’s become increasingly difficult to focus on chopping the carrots, finishing the stir fry’s the farthest thing from your mind. Warm hands run over your hips to rest flush against your stomach and Katsuki’s nose nudges against the underside of your jaw before nestling into your hair. “Aw c’mon, angel—don’t really see you complain’.”
You’re definitely not, but it’s—he’s—distracting. The heat of him draped over your shoulders and lips running along the length of your neck. The smell of him, woodsy and sweet, seeping through your back.
He laughs when you huff, fingers curling back around the knife to resume chopping the vegetables in front of you. Katsuki hums, low and amused, and his hands curl into your sides, thumbs beginning to rub soft circles into the skin of your hips.
It’s as if he can feel he’s already won. Your body already melding back into him, already thinking about turning off the stovetop. His teeth graze against the crook of your neck as he smiles, “mhm, no fun if you give in this fuckin’ easy. Where’s your fighting spirit, sweetheart?” He turns to start dotting kisses along the length of your jaw and neck. You can feel the flash of teeth before he nips at your pulse point.
The action makes you gasp, jolting in his hold and your fingers loosening around the knife. It provides Katsuki with an effective in, his own hand capturing your wrist and slipping the cutting board away, pulling you back against his chest.
“Katsuki—!”
You barely have time to react before you’re tugged away from the counter. A thick arm belted around your waist as Katsuki made his way into the living room, leaving dinner to grow cold on the stove.
“I hope you're happy,” you huff with one last forlorn look toward the kitchen, sinking into the plushness of your couch and surrounded by soft throws. “We’re gonna starve and it’s all because you’re too needy to wait one more hour.”
Despite your whine, you’re quick to follow him, letting Katsuki move you onto his lap, legs bracketing his thighs and hands curling into his hair. And you’re even quicker to melt into the kiss.
Warm palms cups your cheeks, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear when he pulls back. You want to be madder, but your half-hearted glare melts under his gaze—softened with affection and adoring, cheeks dimpled with a grin.
“Shuddup, we’ll get something delivered,” Katsuuki nips, tucking your head underneath his chin and arms curling tightly around you. You can hear his heartbeat through worn-soft cotton—soft and content against you, “and I’m not fuckin’ clingy.”
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugou x reader#♡.lavished in love#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.deku
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GINGERBREAD COOKIES — HAWKS
❅ *:･ﾟkeigo is an awful baker, but luckily for him he makes up for it with his enthusiasm and pretty face.
*:･ﾟ❅ pairing: hawks x gn!reader
*:･ﾟ❅ content: fluff, established relationship, soso much domestic fluff, keigo's bad at baking but he's handsome so you put up with it, mentions of food/eating.
hehe this turned out cuter than i thought it would :3 alsoalso ik it makes sense for him to be able to cook !! but baking's a whole different skill so !! yeah !!
"What are you doing?"
Keigo starts, his feathers poofing and nearly sending your mixing bowl—one he must've haphazardly balanced on the edge of the sink—clattering to the ground. He looks comically caught, gripping your now dirty whisk with both hands and his eyes rounded in surprise.
It takes a moment for your sleep-addled brain to catch up, to notice the batter and poorly greased pans—he's baking. Never a good sign when it comes to Keigo, he’s never been the best in the kitchen.
You couldn’t count on two hands the times you’ve caught him huddled over the stove stirring something which should not be stirred or trying desperately to save the charred remains of dinner. Keigo had a multitude of practical skills, cooking anything but the basics just wasn’t one of them. At least not when you leave him unsupervised.
“S’a little early to be baking cookies, isn’t it birdie?”
He hums, eyes heavy and saccharine again with the weight of his grin, “never too early for something sweet, dovie.”
You don’t bother responding, instead shuffling across the kitchen so you can drape yourself over his shoulders. You tuck your face into the crook of his shoulder, the heavy and warm smell of his cologne overwhelming as you nose along the line of his jaw. Your fingers reach to tangle in his hair, nails scratching lightly over his scalp and drawing a low, appreciative hum.
The bowl of batter sits abandoned in front of him, and you finally get a better look at what he was trying to make. You think it’s supposed to be gingerbread, but it’s thick, full of clumped powder and smells overwhelmingly like cinnamon.
“I don’t know if you’re doing that right, baby,” you tease, eyeing his clumpy batter mixture. “Think you’re supposed to mix it until there isn’t any clumps.” Your arms belt tighter around his waist, hooking your chin over his shoulder to get a better look at the mess.
Keigo blinks then, staring down at the bowl with furrowed brows, “I've been following the recipe. It didn’t say what it was supposed to look like.”
“Supposed to turn into dough, baby—uniform so you can roll it out and cut it into shapes.”
His pout deepens then, returning the whisk to the bowl before detangling himself from you, settling against the counter to look at you. It’s then you notice just how messy he’d gotten, streaks of flour litter his cheeks and chin. The sight makes you laugh, leaning into him to wipe gently at his face with your thumbs. Keigo leans heavily into your touch, fighting to keep the pout on his face. “Mhm maybe you’ll have to stay and help me with them then, dove, you always make the best sweets.”
"Only if you promise not to go anywhere near the oven. I’ll fix the batter and you can help decorate them once they’re baked.” Keigo finally lets the smile grow on his face, leaning to nudge your nose with his own.
“Aww, you don’t think I can manage a few cookies all by myself? I think the dough woulda turned out good if you’d left me to it,” his voice is light and teasing as he turns into you, lips skating across your cheek.
“I think you would’ve come out with some rock-hard cookies if I let you try and put that batter in the oven,” with a quick kiss to his collar, you tug him back away from the counter. “Now scooch—quicker we get these made the quicker I can drag you back to bed, hero.”
He hums, letting you take his space in front of the stove and replacing your spot, draping his broad form over you. Keigo watches as you work, chin hooked over your shoulder and pressing incredibly unhelpful kisses to them.
You’re not entirely sure he knows just how unhelpful he’s being, a heavy weight at your back which forces you to awkwardly shuffle to get ingredients and makes whisking a much harder task than it should be.
You quickly learn he’s not much better at decorating the cookies then he is baking them, icing melted and crudely overlapping the lines of what was supposed to be a Christmas tree.
At least he’s pretty.
tags: @dinodumbass ; @uwuthatshit ; @hirugummies ; @dukina ; @trashy-bowtie ; @boo-kugo ;
#❄; 'tis the season#✶ venus.writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.hawks#bnha x reader#mha x reader#hawks x reader#keigo takami x reader#takami keigo x reader
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A PLACE TO RETURN TO — SHOUTO TODOROKI
✶ summary: you've always known shouto to be clingy, but being exhausted from patrol only worsens those tendencies, something which makes finishing folding laundry incredibly difficult.
✶ pairing: pro hero!shouto x gn!reader
✶ word count: 1k
✶ warnings: lots of fluff- too much actually, food/eating mention, established relationship. this kinda sucks i think :/ i'd apologize for only ever writing established fluffy domestic relationships but you know what you signed up for <3 this blog was founded on domestic fluff.
Shouto's tired. He usually is after a rough patrol, though, his arms weighing him down, strained from the excessive use needed to finish off the attack. He did find time to shower at the agency, between finishing off paperwork and flexing the ache in his shoulder, now swaddled in the plush sweater you'd bought him for his last birthday. It still smelt like you and he kept pushing his nose into the neck of it.
He finds you on the couch, a basket of laundry at your feet and the TV on, curled up in the crook of the couch under a thick throw. You let out a gasp when you hear the door open — excited and pin-straight — and grin at him over your shoulder, "hi!"
Shouto's shoulders rise as he stretches, his forearms throbbing uncomfortably under the pressure, a smile dimpling his cheeks as he leans over the back of the couch to press his forehead against your own. "Hi," he nudges his nose against yours before pulling up, huffing a laugh when you jut out a lip.
The sound smooths out your faux expression, twisting to cup both his cheeks in your hands, "tired?" He nods, letting you guide him onto the cushion next to you, chin sinking further into your palms when thumbs brush the skin under his eyes.
Shouto lets out a sigh when you open the blanket up for him, shifting to let him tuck against you and hide his face in your neck. your hands busy themselves with the hairs at the back of his neck, twisting the strands around the pointer and smoothing them behind his ears.
"I saw the fight," he hums and you continue, "I'm proud of you — you did so well." your fingers move against his neck, softly pressing out the tightness until he's melted flush against you. Shouto noses his way up your jawline, dotting a soft kiss against the skin until your cheeks pressed against his own.
"Why don't you eat and get ready for bed, baby?" Your voice is quiet, soft against the curve of his cheek as you run your fingers through his hair, "I'll join you when I finish up the laundry."
"No," he moves, hands cupping your cheeks instead and pressing a tender kiss to your chin, then the plush of your lips, "wanna stay." You sigh, affectionate and exasperated without the heart to refuse him. So you don't. Letting him nuzzle his way back onto your shoulder, watching your hands as you continue folding the clothes at your feet.
"Okay. Okay, I'll be quick."
You're not surprised by his movements, seemingly trying his best to mould himself to you, hands fisted in the sides of your shirts and ankles curled around your own. Shouto's always this way — there, like a part of you — his hands would brush your own when you walked, chilled fingers tracing shapes against the soft skin of your arms. He always sought you out first, eyes soft and rounded when they caught your own.
He always melted into you; something which always, no matter how long you'd been together, seemed to take his friends off guard. Shouto was always seen as reserved, quiet or emotionless, but he was only ever adoring when it came to you.
You weren't tired, it was far too early in the night and far too invested in the drama you'd put on to fold linens too. But you found yourself wanting to abandon the basket and cocoon yourself in Shouto. He'd been slowly caving into you, now almost fully slumped over, heat seeping into you and coaxing your eyes closed.
Shouto's fighting sleep, blinking heavily and shaking his head against your shoulder every time you glance at him between pairs of socks. His forehead is still tucked against your neck, bangs falling against your collarbone and brushing against your neck with every breath, tempting you to drop the towel you're folding to run through it.
He's brought back to consciousness when you stifle a laugh, eyes searching before meeting your own and cheeks — though one still smushed against you — curving into a sleepy smile. Shouto's always been pretty, features delicate and soft, rounded despite being so sharp. That softness is made all the stronger like this, bleary and smooshed childishly against your shoulder.
The smile is interrupted by a yawn before his whole body falls forward, nose nuzzling into the underside of your neck and arms winding around your waist, fingers slipping to rest against your skin.
Shouto scoots impossibly closer, the nose at your jaw trailing up your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. You can feel the heat off him flare as if he's attempting to coax you into him — into sleep. You finally give in just a bit, dropping the now-folded towel to wrap your arms around him, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck and tracing the line of his jaw. You can feel his breath against you, slowing and evening out, thick lashes brushing against the skin. He's nearly asleep.
"I'm done, baby," your voice is soft, honeyed against his forehead, "we can move to the bedroom." He hums, thoughtlessly, and burrows deeper into your collar. "Shouto," you're a little louder this time but it doesn't accomplish much, only pulling another content sound from him. Sighing, your cheek falls against the top of his head, eyelids sticking as you try and blink away sleep.
Shouto's hands slip further under your shirt, fingers rubbing lazy shapes in the skin. His breath, now short puffs of heat, stutters as he turns to press a messy kiss to your cheek, "mhm, sleep well, m’ love."
You know you should wake him up. Or at the very least attempt to pry him up and carry him into the bedroom. But he's warm and content, that small smile still dimpled in his cheeks. All you can do is shift him further into you and nestle into the crook of the couch.
tagging: @mxgenderbender ; @izukus-gf ; @tipsyangels ; @uwuthatshit ; @akaakeijii ; @hirugummies ; @dukina ; @trashy-bowtie ;
taglist (to be removed, pm or send an ask) + masterlist
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#shouto x reader#shoto x reader#shouto todoroki x reader#shoto todoroki x reader#todoroki shoto x reader#todoroki shouto x reader#todoroki x reader#todoroki fluff#shoto todoroki fluff#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.shouto
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THE SUN ON YOUR SKIN — BAKUGOU
✶ summary: katsuki's always loved nature and being outside, an activity which is only made better in your company.
✶ pairing: pro hero!katsuki bakugou x gn!reader
✶ word count: 1k
✶ warnings: mentions of food/eating, incredibly self-indulgent. i started thinking about katsuki + nature and how he likes the sun and hiking and it made me so !! and i wrote this <3. i've been writing this for like. four months and still kinda hate it so. i'm sorry.
The air’s getting colder as you move deeper into the forest, the sun barely dipping from behind the trees and autumn just starting to melt into winter—the smell of it, crisp and sharp, heavy in the air. You’ve made it past the hardest part, past the uneven and sun-bleached rocks at the base of the trail and the path studded with hooked roots and shallow holes. This will probably be your last hike of the year, and you can barely keep yourself awake for it.
The ground grinds beneath your boots, brittle leaves and frost bitten earth a sign of the impending season change. You’re deep in the forest now, the tangy scent of dirt and the freshness of pine heavy and thick in the air. It’s nice—quiet, content: nothing but you, Katsuki, and the distant sounds of birds.
The sun has started to rise, slinking from behind the shadow of the mountain and casting the forest in soft warmth. Lush greenery brushes against your knees, curling around your ankles as you lead Katsuki up the path.
You scrub fruitlessly at your face, tucking your now empty thermos back in your backpack, “I was hoping that’d wake me up a bit before we reached the peak.” You sound annoyed, huffy, and you can hear Katsuki tsk from behind you.
He scoffs, shoulder knocking against your own, “maybe if you’d slept on the way here like I told ‘ya too, you’d me more coherent.” Despite the roughness, despite the way his fingers pinch at your hip, he hands you his thermos—warm between your palms and catered to your tastes. “Now stop your complainin’. Nearly at the end of the trail.”
You smile, leaning into the hand he smooths across your back as you tuck his thermos back in his bag, “thank you, Ki.”
He stays beside you this time, the broad expanse of a palm pressed into your back as you fall back into step. Katsuki likes this more than he’d ever admit, taking time away from the agency to spend with you. Even as he has to hover behind you and catch you when you trip and let you drink over half of his thermos because you drank yours before the first mile. He likes taking care of you, of having you rely on him.
“We’re nearly there, dummy,” he nudges you again, “we’ll eat that piss poor lunch you made then head back down.”
You gasp, loud and exaggerated, and halt the both of you in the middle of the trail, “how dare you! I go out of my way to make you sandwiches and you insult my effort! We’ll see if I ever cook for you again, you jerk.”
Katsuki grins wider when you huff, arms crossing tight across your chest. It grows even more when you're caught under his arm, tugged against his side as you continue to sigh petulantly. “Awww, I’m sorry, baby, I’m sure your sandwiches will be fine—can't be worse than some of the shit half and half tries to cook.”
It’s a half-compliment at most, but it makes the faux annoyance slip off your face and let him tug you along with him. Content and quiet as you make the rest of the climb. He doesn’t let you slip away from him, keeping a steadying hand on your hips or shoulders, a soft and comforting weight. His hand slips into yours, fingers weaving tight as he guides you up the last of the trail.
Your legs have just begun to ache when the path finally opens up, revealing the rocky ledge and sprawling trees before it. The perfect place to settle down and eat and watch as the sun settles in the sky. Though, you don’t end up doing much sight-seeing once he settles beside you.
Katsuki reminds you so wholly of the sun—warm and bright and all-consuming.
You think he looks best in it, when he’s nestled somewhere beautiful, when he’s surrounded by light and warmth and the smell of the trees. He looks most himself surrounded by beautiful things and with the sun on his skin.
He can feel the weight of your eyes, heavy on him as he peels a pair of oranges. His fingers are gentle, prying thick peels away from soft fruit, and his eyes are sharp and focused. It’s sweet. Sweeter than the juice that runs down his forearms, making him scrunch his nose in annoyance.
Katsuki huffs when he finally acknowledges your staring, the corners of his lips twitching as he suppresses a smile, “tch, you done starin’ now?” He doesn’t let you answer though, hand tugging impatiently on your own, “c’mere.”
You let him pull you into his side, tucked beneath a heavy arm and head cradled against his collar. Let him hand feed you slices of fruit, soft and tangy on your tongue. He smells nice, cloying yet sharp—the overwhelming scent of smoke and the sweetness of cologne. It fits him, you think, something that takes root in your chest and pulls. A smell that you can always sense—sweet and dark and him it makes you dizzy.
Katsuki lifts your hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss across your knuckles. You're sticky with juice and sweat but he doesn’t seem to mind. He holds you, fingers intertwined, tight against his chest as he watches you, “thank you.”
You hum, high and questioning, as you rake a hand through his bangs. He chases the touch, lips skimming the thin skin of your wrist, “for what?”
“Comin’ with me today.” It’s more than that, you can see it in the softness of his eyes and the way he lets himself smile—unabashedly adoring and syrupy sweet.
“Don’t need to thank me, Katsuki.” You’re silent for a beat, eyes soft and adoring before something clicks. Then, you grin and he can feel himself preparing to groan. “But, I think you should carry me on the way down this time. Y’know as a thank you.”
He laughs, a sharp scoff that devolves into something easier, eyes bright as a hand comes to ruffle your hair, “in your dreams, dumbass.”
tags: @call-me-ko ; @michabun-uwu ; @maplesuna ; @smashboxgirl26 ; @boo-kugo ; @dinodumbass ; @uwuthatshit ; @sugarmaplewings-fics ; @violetdahlias ; @hirugummies ; @dukina ; @trashy-bowtie ; @scarekat ;
#is this so self-indulgent it might as well be a self-ship ?? yes. yes it is.#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bakugou x reader#katsuki bakugou x reader#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugo x reader#bakugo katsuki x reader#katsuki bakugo x reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.bakugou
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A BIT OF REPRIEVE — IZUKU MIDORIYA. cw. kids, no pronouns used, biological kid implied, domestic fluff as always. (this is very bad and only 500 words but,, enjoy)
It’s become a sort of routine for Izuku to visit you at the office on off days, usually with your daughter balanced on his hip and a stack of poorly wrapped bentos in the other.
You stopped trying to discourage the behavior, no amount of chastising, telling him to enjoy his days off, will get him to stop him from eating lunch with you. “It tastes better when I’m with you,” he pouted, eyes preformatively glassy and wide.
So, you’re not surprised when someone knocks on your office door the minute your lunch break officially begins, muted giggling leaking through the wood.
You can tell they've been home—at least for a bit—izuku's bangs are clipped back with little butterfly clips and his eyes are rimmed by poorly applied glitter. And Mei’s hair’s done, poorly braided into two pig tails and tied off with mismatched ribbons—clearly Izuku’s work.
“Hi, honey.” His voice is all soft, sweet and syrupy enough to make the tightness in your shoulders lessen. Mei’s nestled in the bend of one arm, curled around a comically large seal that he’d bought for her the last time you went to the aquarium, and her grin splits wider when she sees you.
“I’ve missed you,” you coo, reaching to wipe at the bit of glitter still clinging to the round of her cheek, unveiling your husband’s freckles and dimples, “both of you—day’s been really boring.”
“Missed you too, wish you could’ve gone with us.” Izuku grins brightly, sitting his stack of bentos on the edge of your desk, “you would’ve liked the penguins.”
You lean in to meet him halfway, smiling into the kiss, "mhm, I can tell you dressed her this morning—she doesn’t match at all." Izuku nips at your lower lip, eyes narrowing into a glare as he pulls back.
"Mean." It’s a tease, soft and breathy as the hand cupping your head smooths down your neck, thumbing at the line of your jaw. “And to think, I went all this way just to bring you lunch just for you to bully me. Must really love you or something.”
“Mhm, I love you too,” it’s earnest enough for his eyes to soften, dropping to knock his nose against yours, “or something.”
“Can we eat now? ‘M tired and I wanna eat the strawberries.”
Izuku huffs, pulling back to poke softly at her sides, “you weren’t supposed to tell, that part was a surprise!”
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#deku x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#✶ venus.writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.izuku
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CAUGHT 'YA — HAWKS
✩ ˛˚ . the last thing you were expecting on your morning coffee run was to come face to face with your,, acquaintance?? the number two hero. even further from that was nearly face planting in front of said hero.
˛˚ . ✩ pairing: hawks x gn!barista!reader
˛˚ . ✩ word count: 1.2k
˛˚ . ✩ content: fluff, coffee shop + meet cute, reader works at a coffee shop near hawks' agency, he's insufferable in a good way, it's a cat cafe too <3 bc i think hawks likes coffee + cats and can't be convinced otherwise.
this is so self-indulgent it should probably classify as self-ship but,, it's my birthday weekend :3 so i'm letting myself do it. it's not winter yet </3 but i really love the setting!! this is written as part of my love in the everyday collab!
“Don’t you look warm,” your voice is muffled, a whisper buried deep in the softness of your scarf. The malice is unearned, bright yellow eyes blinking up thoughtlessly as you glare down at the calico’s toasty fish-shaped bed.
It’s too early for you more than anything, the sun barely warming the sky and trees creaking with the weight of last night’s ice and snow. But you’d run out of the overpriced coffee your friend gave you for your birthday and you’d been suitably spoiled away from anything canned. So, you woke up an hour earlier than normal to make the icy walk.
There’s barely time to relish in said overpriced coffee, warming your frigid fingers against the paper cup, before you’re back in the cold. Misfortune chases you further, catching your heel on the shop’s icy step. You don’t have the chance to catch yourself, let alone the time to wallow in your poor luck, before you fall.
Your face doesn’t immediately meet the icy cement though, someone from behind catches you with a soft ‘careful!’. You claw blindly at their arms with little care for the paper cup splattering on the sidewalk, thankful that it’s not your nose or knees instead.
You smile, fighting down the grief for your coffee and the mounting embarrassment from falling, “thank you, I don’t know...” The words catch in your throat, squeezing next to your now hammering heart, when you finally meet his eyes. A very familiar pair of gold-ringed eyes. Your mortification only grows as he helps you upright with a disarmingly well-practiced smile, warm palms strong and sure around your elbows.
Billboards have never done Hawks justice. He’s always prettier, brighter—the warmth of his hair and the flush of freckles across his nose—in person. You’re always taken aback by him, by the width of his wings and the breathtaking way he smiles. He’s larger than life and no amount of magazine covers and spreads can capture it, the way his eyes—narrowed by the dark of his markings—seem to pierce through you, pinning you where you stand.
Hawks—face awash in gentle eureka—says your name, voice so soft and tender you nearly lose it to the wind. And then he smiles—a charming smile, a boyish grin so unlike the sultry smirks he wears on every ad and billboard. “If it isn’t my favorite barista,” something like affection gleams in the gold of his eyes.
You flounder under the weight of his smile, the heady smell of his cologne, and the warmth of his hands on your shoulders. You’re not used to having him so close, always keeping behind the safety of your counter whenever he comes in for his criminally late-night coffees and scones.
“Thank you,” you repeat, only a little dazed now as you determinedly keep your eyes locked on his own. It doesn’t help you, though, soft pools of honey bore into you from under his pretty, thick eyelashes and you’ve already forgotten your niceties.
“You’re welcome,” he answers, voice bright and airy as he searches over your face. “You alright? That was quite the fall.”
“I’m fine!” You untangle yourself from him, hoping that giving yourself some distance will help clear your head. All it does is remind you of your coffee, “can’t say the same for my cup, though.”
Hawks frowns down at the puddle, hand still cradling your elbow softly, “what a waste.” Then, his expression clears, and he smiles at you, “c’mon we can get you a new one. Heard they started making blueberry muffins again and I’ve been dying to get my hands on one.”
The cold chases you into the coffee shop, clinging to your coat and nipping at the round of your nose. Hawks is warm beside you, a slow gentle heat which seeps into you and melts against your skin from where he’s holding onto your arm. It’s dizzying and you fight the urge to lean into his side, to cocoon yourself in the plushness of his wing.
“You cold?”
You become painfully aware of your shivering; pinning your hands tight between your arm and side in a fruitless attempt to leech body heat, “oh no, I’m okay! I’ll be warmer once I'm back home.”
Hawks hums, unconvinced, at your attempt to placate him. And much to your mounting horror, he begins fishing into the pocket of his hero costume, pulling out a pair of thick dark gloves. You recognize them as a part of his winter costume, trimmed with white and clearly made of something heavy and incredibly soft. He doesn’t give you the opportunity to politely decline, tugging your hands gently into his own and slipping the worn-warmed gloves onto your hands. He presses his thumb affectionately into the grooves of each knuckle as he goes, as if mimicking the press of lips.
“There,” he muses, a contented looking smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “now, you’ll have an excuse to see me again. You’ll have to give me my gloves back somehow,” he teases, eyes warmth with mirth. He’s gone before you can respond, already half-way across the café to order and leaving you to tend to your stuttering pulse.
One of the cats trots after him, batting after his boots. It takes to circling his leg while he orders, brushy orange tail curled tight against his ankle and head butting against the length of his calf. He stoops to pet it after handing over his hard, cooing softly as he scratched dutifully behind each velvety ear.
He returns to your corner bearing two paper hot cups and two delicately wrapped blueberry muffins. Hawks hands you the furthest cup, muffin balanced on top with something pinned beneath it. He smiles, something nervous in the way his wings twitch behind him.
“I can pay for my own coffee, Hawks—you didn’t have to.”
“I know, I wanted to,” Hawks assures as he leads you out of the shop, palm warm against your back as he does.
“Well, thank you. I appreciate it, Hawks.”
His wings twitch again behind him, restless ruffling as he lifts a hand to rub at the name of his neck. It makes you smile—he looks nearly skittish, so unlike the normally poised and controlled persona you’re used to seeing on TV. Normal almost.
“It wasn’t any trouble, I needed to get one for myself before heading in anyways,” he makes a show of lifting his own cup. “Just try not to fall victim to any villainous sidewalk again. You might not be so lucky to have such a brave and dashing hero there to catch you this time.” His smile grows when you laugh—easy and wide.
“I’ll try my very best, birdie.” The reaction is immediate, a bright flush crawling up his neck as he turns into his collar.
Something deep in your chest lurches when he turns to leave, a bitter curl of reluctance as you watch him. You look down at the cup in your hands, whose heat’s leeched from between your palms and the enticingly sweet pastry on top.
Once the muffin’s removed you realize what it had been pinning—a small square sticky note you recognize from behind the counter with a number and note scrawled in practiced lettering: ‘maybe I'll let you get the next one –hawks ;>’.
TAGS: @httpghostface ; @boo-kugo ; @boyfrwenz ; @iitoshi ; @saintouru ; @bbiemilk ; @xphntmhvx ; @itachislut ; @kailali ; @asaptakami ; @https-bachira ; @saturnsbluestar ; @izufeels ; @dinodumbass ; @uwuthatshit ; @hirugummies ; @dukina ; @trashy-bowtie ;
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#hawks x reader#keigo takami x reader#takami keigo x reader#keigo x reader#hawks fluff#✶ venus.writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.hawks
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HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS — HAWKS
no matter how rough the patrol, keigo always knows he has people who love him to greet him at home. i.e. you and your son greeting keigo when he comes home from patrol.
★ pairing: hawks x afab!reader (biological child, they/them used)
★ word count: 1.4k
★ content: fluff, kid fic, established relationship, children (oc son kaito, around 3-4 years old), food/eating mention, use of petnames (dove/ie, birdie, angel), a nauseating amount of fluff.
i saw a panel about hawks coming home to an empty apartment and it made me sad ;-; so i impulse wrote this. have this soft bird dad in an attempt to make everyone love keigo and doubles as me fighting for my hawks moot right <3
It’s been raining periodically all day — all week actually. Heavy clouds and dark skies shaped miserable conditions for patrol. Conditions made worse by how uneventful they are, filled with petty criminals and runaway pets. Keigo wastes nearly his entire lunch perched on top of an office building glaring at a pair of pigeons who’d tucked themselves in the of a patio; dry and warm.
Keigo’s always despised the rain. Water soaking his wings, weighing them down, curling the ends and matting the down of them. His hatred for the weather only grew when he knew you and Kaito were at home, swaddled in the warmth of your apartment and working through the lingerings of a cold.
He’d sent you a text a little after your own lunch, a pitiful picture of him far too close up hiding behind a Miruko billboard. His hair wet and clinging to his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.
You gave him very little sympathy. You'd answered with a photo of you and Kaito in the kitchen wearing matching fluffy robes and holding mugs of hot chocolate.
He keeps his collar up against his neck, burrowing his face into the fluff of it. It smells like you, detergent and perfume clinging to the fabric from when he’d tucked it over your shoulders the day before.
Keigo finds himself watching the clock the closer his patrol’s end becomes, using the awning of a coffee shop as an umbrella. It’s odd, he thinks, how quickly he melted into his — domesticity. It happened slowly, without him even realizing it had until you were already moving in. Until he’d started counting the minutes until he was home again.
When six finally does hit, Keigo’s fighting off a smile, shoving his phone back into the damp pockets of his jacket, and taking off for your apartment.
He used to check-in at the agency first before returning home. He'd finish up whatever paperwork was created throughout his shift and utilise the oversized showers which were perpetually empty. Now, he always found himself rushing to get back — even if it meant earlier hours to do the paperwork from the day before.
So it’s also expected of him. The ease with which he accepted you — your change, love. He’s spent years longing for something a little simpler, softer, kinder. Keigo’s never been someone to take things slowly and he loved no differently.
The apartment — one you’d helped him pick — is quiet when he pushes the door open, peeling off his overcoat and heavy boots, “I'm home!”
He barely has both shoes tucked under the entry table when he hears laughing, small and light. Your answer comes as he rounds into the living room, “welcome back!”
The couch is gone. Or it’s covered at least. Obscured by large throw blankets propped over the dining room chairs and spilling over with pillows and soft-looking throws. The TV’s on too, playing a manta ray documentary and bracketed by patterned cushions.
Kaito’s golden eyes, softened echoes of Keigo’s, round in excitement and he nearly trips over a sea-turtle printed blanket in his haste to get to him, “daddy!”
Keigo makes an exaggerated sound, a huffed little oof, when Kaito collides with him and his tiny arms tangle around his legs. His pudgy cheek smushes into Keigo’s thigh and his fists curl into the fabric of his pants.
“Kaito!” Keigo echoes the boys’ excitement, smoothing his bangs from his forehead as Kaito giggles. He chases his hand and the little plumage of red on his back ruffles.
Both of their attention shifts when you finally detangle yourself from the couch, moving to cup the softness of Keigo’s cheeks with warm palms. Your thumbs brush over the bones before warm lips connect with his forehead. He huffs a soft laugh when you continue the kisses, dotting them over the freckles coating bridge of his nose, the divots of his dimples, the apples of his cheeks.
“Aw, did’ya miss me?”
“Mhm, ‘course I did,” you answer, combing through his bangs as he ducks to Kaito, “always do.”
Your affection is repeated when Keigo finally pries Kaito from his leg, hoisting the boy into his arms and settling him on his hip. Kaito’s grin broadens, nuzzling his cheek against Keigo’s and pressing a messy kiss on his brow bone.
“Saw the fight on tv, birdie,” your voice is quiet — reflectively, like any louder it’ll shatter the intimate little bubble, the warmth — as you trace his features with your eyes. No injuries.
Keigo leans in to knock his forehead against yours softly before he grins at you, “did I look cool?”
“Aww, of course you did!” His eyes narrow, your tone playful as you run your fingers along Kaito’s ribs, “rigghhhtt after you got your butt handed to you.” Kaito giggles softly, nestling into the crook of Keigo’s arm to escape your fingers.
“You wound me, dove — what, did you two spend the whole time celebrating my pain?” His free hand fists over the fabric covering his heart when you hum and Kaito lets out a happy ‘yep!’ “I can’t believe you two!”
“But you looked so cool!”
It’s immediate, the way Keigo’s entire being brightens. His eyes narrow in a smile and wings puff up behind him as he nuzzles his cheek against Kaito’s, turning to you with a faux accusing glare, “at least one of you loves me.”
A soft blurb from the stove pulls you away from them, knocking your forehead affectionately against Keigo’s this time before moving to lower the heat and continue your previous stirring.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” you hum, feeling a soft cheek squish into the side of your neck and a chin hook over the other side, Keigo’s free arm winding around your waist.
“Ooo, you’re an angel, dovie,” Keigo’s arm tightens around you, lips brushing your temple, “what’d ya make?”
“Chicken noodle,” you reply cheerily, turning to wind your arms around his waist. “Kaito and I just got over that cold, we should make sure we’re getting all our fluids, isn’t that right?” Kaito ruffles at your cooing, leaning in to tap the point of his nose against your own.
“Mmm, sounds amazing, angel,” he presses a soft kiss to the round of your cheek, “I didn’t eat lunch — I’m starving.”
“Y’know just because I forget to pack you something doesn’t mean you get to just skip eating,” your chastising falls on deaf ears as he watches you finish off the soup, ladling it into tall mugs. “You have to take care of yourself, Kei.”
“Awww, c’mon — you take care of me plenty! I was totally fine. Drank some coffee and everything.”
He quiets at your glare, jutting out his lip when Kaito laughs, “ooo, you’re in trouble!”
You move into the living room to eat, all three of you nestled in the plush nest you’d helped Kaito make, mugs of soup warm between your palms as you watch the ending of another documentary.
Kaito falls asleep first, bundled up on one end of the sectional snoring softly — a habit picked up from Keigo.
“I’m really glad you’re okay.” Your fingers find the red and gold bead bracelet around his wrist, fraying and poorly strung together courtesy Kaito, “it looked rough.”
You’re propped up against the arm of the couch now, both of Keigo’s wings sprawled over you and dragging against the carpet. He huffs, propping his chin against your chest, “aww, you know I can’t get taken out that easily.”
His voice is playful but you know he means it. He always does. So you smooth a hand through his curls. “You better,” pinning him with a teasing glare, “it’s not too late to get a divorce.”
Keigo laughs, wiping his smile into your shoulder and humming contentedly when your fingers thread through his hair. Your other hand smooths down his back, brushing through the down at the base of his left-wing. It flutters minutely underneath your touch and he presses himself closer.
“Like you’d ever want rid of me,” his tease is undermined by the tone, cooed and full of adoration. You can’t help the smile, shuffling down the couch so your lips can connect with his. It's tender, slow and you hope he knows that you meant it, your worry for his health. The way he responds, enthusiastic and through a grin, tells you he does.
Keigo’s ear settles over your heart, arms wrapped around you and fingers rubbing soothing circles into your hip bones. His wings tuck fully around you, overwhelming himself with you — the gentle puffs of your breath, the beat of your heart, the rising of your chest. This is nice, he thinks. Slowing down, being content.
#bnha x reader#mha x reader#hawks x reader#hawks fluff#keigo takami x reader#takami keigo x reader#keigo x reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.hawks
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THE NIGHT WE MET — IZUKU MIDORIYA
★ ˛˚ . little mermaid themes, after nearly drowning and being saved by… something, you’re met face to face with your home towns legends, sending your relaxed summer break taking care of your uncle spiraling.
★ pairing: mermaid!deku x marine science student!gn!reader
★ word count: 8.2k
★ content: fluff, modern fantasy?? au, reader is in college/studying marine biology (only briefly mentioned), bestie bkg, reader is from a fishing village, swearing, mild mention of injuries, semi-graphic drowning, mentions of hospitals, eating/food mentions, fruit as a love language.
i realized when writing some of the bestie bakugou parts that i was… showing my bias just a bit :’) so to remedy it i wrote myself in as his off screen partner :) this is the first part of right below the surface mermaid series !!
YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO COME BACK HERE. You always hated this place — it was small and even when you were a child, it was dying — and you quickly find nothing at all has changed. Everything's standing still — stagnant. You hate it. You feared getting stuck, it's why you clawed so hard to get away, being just as stagnant as the rest. You'd promised yourself. You told yourself you'd graduate, get into a good college, and never look back.
But you've always been bad at keeping your promises. And when your uncle broke his leg falling off his fishing boat, forcing him to be house ridden and work less, you couldn't say no.
And so here you are, nestled in overheated sand and letting the same water you spent your whole life resenting lap at the soles of your feet. That fear, the creeping feeling of stagnation—of never being better—haunted you. The idea of standing still terrified you, watching the world grow while you were stuck in your tiny, unchanging hometown.
Though, even then, you can't help but melt in the familiarity.
"You're gonna have a damn heatstroke if you spend the whole day holed up on the rocks."
“Awww, it’s almost like you care about me,” you have to squint up at him, hand a poor shield from the sun. Bakugou scoffs, trapping the notebook he was holding against the back of your head.
“You fuckin’ wish. Just don’t wanna have to haul your ass to the doctor when you pass out in the sand. And I need you to help me run some errands.”
You groan, flopping boneless against the sand, “why me?” He doesn’t entertain the whine, pulling you up by your wrists. “Can’t you get one of your idiot friends to help you?”
“I am getting one of my ‘idiot friends’ to help me- you, dumbass.” You try your best to act as dead weight behind him, dragging your feet through the sand, “and they're errands for your uncle so you're lucky I'm doing them at all. Should make you run the boat while he’s holed up.”
“You know he hates it as much as you do, Katsuki. He’s been driving me crazy trying to take care of himself.” He’d always been that way. Stubborn. Your mother used to tell you that you reminded her of him. It didn’t feel like a compliment.
Katsuki looks back at you, fingers loosening around your wrist, like he knows what you're thinking. “Trust me, I know how stubborn that bastard can be,” his arm is hooked around your neck to drag you into step next to him, “we’re buttin’ heads constantly.”
You flail a bit in surprise before teeth sink into the juncture of his arm and he lets you go with an affronted gasp, “you fuckin’ gremlin.” Bakugou rubs at the indents roughly, “thought the city was supposed to civilize ya.”
The walk into town is longer than you remember, but maybe you just forgot how expansive the town really was. Katsuki was right, it’s uncomfortably hot, air thick and sticky — it feels like every breath takes effort. It gets worse the closer to town you get, the smell of iron and gasoline pressing down on you. The dock is empty, most boats already out for the day, but the smell lingers.
Main street is busy, as busy as the town can get, and you can already hear the cheesy nautical music being played in the little tourist shops. You always found it funny just how many there were. Little brightly coloured shops filled with novelty plates and mermaid-themed mugs and shirts. When you were little you’d always buy something absurd for your uncle, a windchime carved like a giant crab or a snowglobe whose red glitter looked morbidly like blood. He always kept them.
There’s only one grocer on the island, boxed in by countless fishing supply stores and boat shop repairs. It’s always been so overcrowded you were tempted to start up a rival just so you could get your strawberries without shoulder checking a grandmother.
“Gotta stop by the boat shop before we head back,” Katsuki says, nudging you with an elbow, “yer uncle’s needs a new cleat.”
“Aye aye, Captain!”
He rolls his eyes, pushing the door to the grocery open for you. It’s oddly empty, with no one but the distant sounds of shuffling in the back and a very sunburnt teen closely reading the back of a cereal box.
The shops are rather unchanged, sole for a couple of aisles of sugary cereals and chips, you find it easy to navigate the crates of fruits, “he give you a list?”
“Nah- here for pickup.” Katsuki’s moved to the front, flicking the little bell on the counter, “always buys the same shit anyways.”
The shopkeep, a grinning mess of familiar dark hair, pokes himself from the back. Kirishima’s stayed the same, too, you think. The same horrible cut-off novelty Hawaiian shirt he wore during summer breaks and strong arms, hoisting the heavy crate of plums easily.
“Hey!” You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you step up beside Bakugou. He gasps audibly, quickly moving around the counter to yank you into a hug, “I forgot you were supposed to be back today!”
He pulls away, still gripping your forearms, to do a once over.
“Kiri, it’s nice to see you again.” And it is.
“I’ll say- feels like you’ve been gone a decade.” A very apparent thought crosses his face, an audible little oh escaping him as he grips you tighter, “you should come to the bonfire with us tomorrow morning!”
You huff a laugh at the enthusiasm, “us?”
“Yeah! Mina, Denki, and hopefully Bakugou planned on going out to look for shells and teeth! It’s supposed to storm tonight, perfect weather!"
It’s sweet that they’ve kept up with that — combing the beach in a futile effort to find whole shark teeth or the decorative shells tourists seem to always leave with. You used to do it for the grocery store, back when Mina’s grandma owned it, and she’d string up the little shells and pieces of sea glass found into windchimes or bracelets.
Katsuki lets out an exaggerated groan, head tossed back, “Kirishima. The groceries?”
“Oh! Right.” Kiri ducks behind the counter and rummages around before remerging with two packed paper bags of meats and vegetables. You can see the tops of a celery stalk leaned against the little homemade cookies your uncle likes so much. When Katsuki reaches for the handles Kirishima pulls them back, “you are coming, too, right?”
“I really don’t have the patience for this right now,” his snarl doesn’t seem to phase Kiri, though, who continues to slide the bags out of his reach.
“Katsuki!” He whines, lip pulling into an exaggerated pout, “please come?” Kirishima looks pointedly at you, his little way of making you feel included, and grins, “you can come too! It’ll be like back in the day!”
He groans, scrubbing at his face roughly, “I don’t know, ‘t’s date night, y’know.” You huff a quiet little laugh, it’s nice to know Katsuki hasn’t learned how to lie since you’ve been gone.
“Date night is on Wednesdays, which means you’re free! So you’ll come, right?” Kirishima leans onto the counter, resting his chin in hand, “unless you want me to ask them? I’m sure she can give me a straight answer.”
“No- don’t! Don’t fuckin’ threaten me with that. Fine, I’ll go. But I’m home by 12.” Kirishima beams, sliding over the prior hostage groceries before turning back to you.
It’s cute how well Kirishima’s threat worked on him. But the closeness sends a little pang of hurt through you. They know each other. Now that you’re back, faced with the lives that moved on without you, you regret never settling. Even if it was just a little: trying to date or befriending more than the people you’d known since birth. Anything but burying yourself in jobs and school and breaking up with the only boyfriend you’d had so you could finally get out. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so… alien in your hometown.
“You too, right?” You’re startled by the attention, meeting Kirishima’s earnest eyes. “You’ll come?”
“Of course!” It’d be a lie to say you didn’t want the company. Or that you’d missed them after you’d left. “You know I love shore hunting.”
“Great!” He beams, revealing a third bag of groceries for you to carry, “Bakugou can give you a ride and everything! Mina will be thrilled to see you again — Denki, too.”
He flashes one last smile before disappearing back behind the shop's little door, avoiding Katsuki’s pointed hey! and leaving you to follow a fuming Bakugou to the boat shop across the street.
Maybe it’d be nice to see everyone again .
“You’re a lot of fuckin’ help, y’know,” Katsuki grunts from the hull, struggling to haul the metal cage over the side of the boat. It hits the water a moment later, sinking below the choppy waves. “I’m so glad I brought you along.”
You snort, head lolling against your shoulder so you can grin at him, “awww, you knew what you were getting into. You’re the one who said it was ‘my damn uncle’s boat’ and I needed to ‘get off my ass’,” his eyes narrow at the impersonation. “Even though, technically, I came to sit on my ass and watch my uncle’s leg heal. Not to run his crab traps.”
It was his job, technically. You'd started going with him to check the traps after your uncle got better at using his crutches. You hated to admit that it was nice to be doing something other than reading old boat manuals and eating the shrimp chips your uncle bought in bulk.
He grumbles, tossing the ropes back to the boat’s deck before making his way to the helm. You had five more traps to set before the storm moved in, stirrs up the smell of the bait and the water stays warm.
But the skies are darker than they should be. The rain wasn’t supposed to start until noon, and the wind wasn’t supposed to pick up until hours later. You had time, but you still found yourself worrying.
“Are you sure we should be out here? Why can’t the traps wait until after the storm,” you grumble, tucking your hands underneath your arms. Katsuki glares at you from where he’s steering and you can hear your uncle’s rant pooling on his tongue.
“Stop fuckin’ complain’,” he barks, tossing another rope onto the hull, “not even makin’ you do shit and you still find something to complain about.”
You huff, sitting up to glance over the edge of the boat. The water’s dark and choppy, waves slapping against the metal and hissing. Bakugou drops another cage, sending more waves against the boat's side.
The cage sinks slowly, pushing against the current as it disappears into the dark. There’s another splash in front of you, louder than the cage, and you jerk upright. Katsuki shouldn’t have dropped another trap already and it sounded too far away.
You pull yourself up, leaning against the rails as you search the churning waves. There’s nothing, any ripple from the movement hidden in the vicious waves caused by the storm.
It’s raining now, your boots squeaking against the metal floor as you chase the noise. There’s a flash of color—green, the green you’d seen on the beach—and you lean to see more.
“What’re you doin’ dumbass? Get away from the sides!” Katsuki drops the rope he was holding, gripping the railing, “gonna get yourself swept over.”
You ignore him, heart beating out of your chest as you see another flash of fins, “did you-” lightning cracks over you, and you feel the boat start to tip with the waves. It happens so quick, a wave beats against the side and spills over. Your feet, already slipping on the slick metal, are swept out from under you.
You’re too shocked to react, hands clawing at the railing but too slick to get traction as the waves drag you back. The water’s cold, shocking a gasp out as you're pushed under—even though you tell yourself you shouldn’t- that you know how to handle this.
But you don’t. You’ve never drowned and the tightness in your lungs feels ready to burst, your head hits the ground again and your ears begin to ring. You can feel yourself being pushed further to sea by the currents, further away from the boat.
Something moves above you, quick and shadowed and for a moment you think you’ve seen a shark, of all times, but it looks too big. Your vision darkens, blurred green as you feel your hands, too cold, press into your sides, something rough wrap around a leg. Eyes find yours, more green swimming against pale color and the hands start to yank, pulling you up through the water.
You want to see more, to figure out what has you — who saved you, but your vision finally darks, ringing worsening.
You're thirsty when you wake up.
They must have the window open, the saltiness of the air sheening your skin. The room’s silent when you wake up, deathly quiet. As if everyone had established an understood quiet game once you’d been situated into a bed. Your uncle is next to you, propped awkwardly in a chair and gripping at your hand.
Katsuki is behind him, leaned against the wall holding a box with a bow, one that looks suspiciously unlike anything he’d do. He’s the first to notice, straightening in his seat and nudging Kirisihma awake, with much more force than necessary — nearly pushing him from his chair, before moving to the bedside.
“You’re awake,” your uncle sounds out of breath, like he’d spent the entire morning pacing the floor. You wouldn’t have been surprised. Normally, you’d laugh at the observation — obvious — but your throat still aches and breathing hurts.
His palm finds your back when you sit up, coughs raking your lungs. It’s comforting, even if it does little to help, and you find yourself curling in on yourself. “You’re okay, everyone’s okay.”
Your hands fist into the back of his sweater, soft and loosely knitted. The iv aches at the movement and you finally look down at yourself. The skin of your arms seems greyer, as if the water had sucked the very warmth from you, and dry.
You recognize the hospital, you think, from the view. It’s a tiny little clinic downtown which can house a max ten patients at once. The room itself doesn’t feel much like a clinic, walls painted a warm green and gauzy curtains blowing over the opened window. Even the bedding, though spread over your usual hospital bed, comprises soft sheets topped with a worn patchwork quilt. It feels like you’ve fallen asleep on a friend's couch.
“Uh, I brought you flowers,” Kirishima was standing, now, though he looked incredibly out of place. He was wearing another cut off Hawaiian shirt, this time covered in pink and purple turtles, cradling a wilting bouquet of asters like a newborn. “It’s, uh,” he’s shuffling slightly as he stares down at the blooms, “they’re not really in season.”
You laugh a little, despite yourself, which he seems to take great pride in. Your uncle takes the bouquet from him and lets you dunk them in the little pitcher by your bed. “Thank you, Kiri. I love them.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
The little bit of laughter dies with the words. It’s as if something cold has slipped down your spine — you almost died. It’s a grim thought and your shoulders tighten at the memory.
You could’ve died.
Katsuki hasn’t looked at you yet, eyes locked on the little wrapped box in his hands. He rubs a thumb over the corner once more before finally handing it to you, “it’s, uh, brownies. I didn’t make ‘em but they’re still pretty good, I guess.”
That’s high praise, you think and if it didn’t hurt so much you’d laugh. “Tell them thank you, then.” He nods slightly, still picking at the beds of his nail. And you know what he’s thinking.
“Can I — uh, why don’t you and Kiri get me a new thing of water?” Both of them understand, you think, glancing between you and Katsuki, “since I’ve used mine as a vase.”
Katsuki doesn’t look at you until they’re gone, eyes red-rimmed and glossy, “real subtle, dumbass.”
“I wasn’t trying to be subtle.”
It’s quiet. Not that you expected him to talk first, but you’re still a little annoyed that he’s making you strain your throat this much, “Katsuki — ”
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” He’s staring at the floor again, voice so quiet you’re almost sure you missed it, “why? It’s not your fault.”
Bakugou stands suddenly, pushing himself from the rickety lawn chair, and you can see his jaw clench. “I was the one who made you come with me. I could have done it alone — I could have set those damn traps without you. But I made you come.”
“You didn’t make me do anything, Katsuki. And if I hadn’t gone, it could’ve been you that got swept off and then what? Who would’ve been able to get you out?” That was half the reason you’d gone to begin with. You never liked when your uncle went out by himself, let alone a less experienced sailor. “The storm came in quicker than it was supposed to, the sea got rougher than we expected. It’s not your fault, Katsuki, you can’t control the weather.”
He huffs, lifting a hand to scrub through his hair, and you realize you’ve won.
“Now, I do expect ice cream. And I don’t expect to pay for it.”
Katsuki barks a little laugh, “fine. But ya gotta promise not to try and drown yourself anymore.”
You hate that you need looking after, now. It’s minimal, really, considering you nearly died. But you were supposed to be looking after your uncle. Supposed to be making his recovery easier, not sitting on his couch with an icepack tucked against your ribs and earning sympathetic glances whenever he hobbled by the living room.
You hated it. You understood your resemblance, now.
Even though you’ve been cleared, now, your head still aches and your lungs sting with every intake of breath. It’s miserable, feeling so helpless.
The walk to the beach is easy, second nature by now, and you let your feet drag through the sand. The little rock path to the cove isn’t covered, letting the full force of the sun beat down on your neck and you can feel yourself already sweating. The glossy cover of the hardback book you brought along sticks to the underside of your arm and the oranges you’d picked up the week before were already sweating.
Summer hasn’t quite taken over the town, yet. Still too early to be peak tourist season but you can’t help thinking the beach does look a little picturesque — like something you’d see on a cheap motel postcard.
Finding a tree nestled between the rocks, you settle into the plushness of towels and cool sand. The ocean’s slow today, waves lapping against the rocks and pulling at the shore.
This is what your summer break was supposed to be — easy, slow, boring. You were supposed to be able to lounge on the warm sand you hate, read your novel, one about runaway lovers, and peel your oversized oranges Kiri’d made you take.
It’s odd to hear the ocean be natural background noise. You’d been so used to hearing it over a speaker, distorted, then the easy hiss of waves crashing melts comfortably against your skin.
The sound nearly lulls you to sleep, head lolling to rest against the tree's smooth trunk, until you hear a splash — heavy and loud and too close.
You sit up, a book falling from your lap, and see a flash of green — a fish? But it sounded large, larger than anything should be so close to the rocks. Pompano’s are green, but those are deepwater game fish and they weren’t that big.
You’re beginning to wish you’d stayed on the mainland and hadn’t ventured out into the cove. You eye the place where the shores connect, now totally submerged by the tide. Dumb.
“Maybe it’s friendly,” you don’t sound convinced, “most fish are skittish, anyways.”
And so you let yourself relax, settling back against the sand. You can’t keep fearing the ocean, you’ve built your whole future around the sea and you can’t let it be ripped away now.
You're not sure why the noise — a soft little blurb, like a buoy had surfaced quietly, made you look up but it did. At first you see only seaweed — dark green and soft floating amongst the waves — but then you recognize bright eyes and damp curls, clinging to sun-kissed cheeks and nose bridge.
“Hey,” the word comes out fumbled, unsure and a little dumb. You don’t remember anyone being out here or seeing a pile of someone’s belongings on your walk over. So… where did he come from? “I -”
Whatever you were planning on saying frizzles up and dies in your throat when you see it, a tail — at least five feet, maybe more, long curls over the water. It’s the same green you’d seen, paler than his hair but richer than any fish you’d ever seen. The fins, spindly stalks ending in a wide lobe, remind you of a glauert's seadragon.
You scuttle back a step when he moves further out of the water, pulling up onto one of the exposed rocks. “I’m glad you’re okay,” his voice is softer than you’d expected and he looks incredibly non-threatening with his chin perched on his own folded arms, “I was worried you’d gotten too deep.”
“So it was you, then.” His head tilts, and you clarify, “in the water, that pulled me up.”
His tail whips through the water, like he’s pleased, “of course! I was worried, your boat was the only one out on the water.”
You move a little closer, butt-shuffling until the water starts to lap at your skin again. His eyes follow you, zeroing in on everywhere the waves hit before finding your face again. He seems like he’s looking for something, checking for a sign of… something hidden in your expression.
“So… you’re… a mermaid?”
He smiles, then, all sunny and dimpled and cheeks rounding up, “yeah! But Izuku’s my name, please.”
It’s pretty, you think. Suits him. He’s still looking at you, this time brows raised expectantly. You’re about to question it when it hits you, a soft little oh before giving him your own name.
He smiles again, warmth spreading over the apples of his cheeks, and he tests the name on his tongue. The sound tightens your chest and spreads warmth to the very tips of your fingers. You like it.
His — Izuku’s — brows pinch as he spots something behind you. Looking over your shoulder you notice it. The unpeeled oranges.
“Oh, are you hungry?”
“Hm, oh! No, I just… I’ve never seen anything that looked like that before,” he lifts himself off his arms and you notice his hands for the first time, dark and short claws curling into the rock. “What’s it taste like?”
You turn, dragging the little knapsack to you and carefully peeling the fruit. Izuku watches you the entire time, wide green eyes rapt. Like he’s never seen something so interesting.
“Here!” Izuku takes the slice delicately with his knuckles, claws tucked into his palm and his nose scrunches cutely.
“It’s… squishy.”
“It’s supposed to be, it’s fruit — most of it’s squishy.”
When he finally eats it, after some overly thorough sniffing, his eyebrows pinch together. It’s almost humorous how you can see the flurry of emotions which overtake him — disgust, confusion, then interest — before his face softens back out, “I… I like it. I think.”
You snort, which makes his attention snap back to you and his smile returns tenfold. “It’s spicy but like… in a sweet way.” A laugh breaks free before you can stop it. Sour would be better, you think, but you also suppose you don’t know what anything in the ocean tastes like.
You gasp. He does.
“Wait! You’re a mermaid, right?”
“Uh, yes- yeah, I am.”
It’s like it only just hit you, that you’re only just able to connect the dots, “That’s! Oh my god, what’s it like? The ocean?” You barely give Izuku the time to breathe, “what do you eat? Is there… is there a government? Do you migrate — oh, oh, how deep can you swim?”
Izuku looks startled, completely lifted off his arms and staring at you with parted lips, “I… it’s warm and incredibly full of life.” You scoot towards him, nodding quickly, “I usually eat fish, stuff that’s already in the ocean. I like crab a lot, which is why I’m usually so close to crabbing boats.” His flush has worsened a little and he’s staring determinedly down at the rock, like he’s reading from a script. “I can’t swim all that deep down, the pressure gets really bad and it’s too cold for me.”
“We have a King, but it’s not really decided by blood, it's just whoever is the most capable!” Izuku’s looking at you know, propped up on his elbows, “which is a really good system, I think! Helps keep corruption out of power and the King right now is so good! You’d love him, I bet. He’s the coolest.” He seems to realize the rambling, but you only urge him to continue, “some of us migrate, but it’s more a personal choice! I had a friend that moved further south last year, but we’re not like turtles or anything.”
“That’s so cool,” you're not really talking to him anymore — voice so quiet only you can really hear yourself, “it’s like a mini-society.” You scoot closer to the ocean, “is there, like, species of mermaid? Like freshwater, saltwater, deep water ones?”
He nods and you notice his hair has dried, green curls bouncing with the movement, “mhm, the deep-sea ones barely ever get spotted though! They have their own little world down there, I bet.”
The idea conjures a, arguably, fantastical image in your mind. The haunting appearance of all those deep-sea fish science has captured projected onto human forms. Bioluminescent mermaids whose skin is so light it’s nearly see-through, showcasing glowing veins and bones. Mermaids with dangerous teeth and long claws dug into the wreckage they call home.
You haven’t noticed the tide rising, water now gently lapping at your hips instead of your thighs until Izuku says something, “you probably shouldn’t be in the water — it’s late.”
Something odd is lurking in his eyes as he watches the water lap at your clothes and you nod, “yeah — yeah I should check on my uncle. Make sure he hasn’t strained himself.”
You feel his eyes on your back the entire time you're packing up, tracking your every move, until you’ve crossed the quickly vanishing bridge from the mainland to the cove. Izuku’s still perched on the rock, chin resting on his arms in a deceptively lax position. You can tell he’s alert.
“I’ll — I’m gonna come back, okay?” He seems to shake whatever had bothered him earlier off, grinning brightly.
The walk back to your Uncle’s house is quiet. You can’t help but think about Izuku and the look on his face. It was like he was… worried about the water touching you, like he didn’t like you sitting in it. And the way he’d watched you until you were back on dry land. Like he wanted to shelter you.
You see Izuku practically every day after that. After getting your uncle situated for the day and running whatever errands Katsuki needed help with, you’d make your trek down to the cove.
He tells you more about the ocean and starts bringing you gifts. Little things, usually, broken shark teeth and full sand dollars. You start bringing him different foods, mostly sweet fruits or fluffy breads.
Izuku asks a lot of questions, you learn. You also learn he’s not the biggest fan of citrus, preferring the muted sweetness of a mango or peach. Though you also quickly learn to remove the pits before he gets ahold of them so he doesn’t attempt to split them on his molars.
The little walk to the cove has become routine, by now, despite being thwarted by thickets and grass, you find it easy to navigate. Your bag has a combination of kiwis — which you don’t expect Izuku to like — and mangoes, covered by a soft beach towel from when you were young.
Izuku’s there when you arrive, perched on top of a large smooth rock close to the water's edge and fiddling with something in his hands. It looks large, from where you are, and pale.
He jumps when you settle beside him, fingers tightening around the object — a shell — before he relaxes. Izuku says your name like a laugh, “you startled me.” His grip on the shell loosens and you can make out the details. It’s a conch, a beautiful swirl of pink and burnt orange and nearly half the length of his forearm. It’s beautiful.
Izuku notices your stare and holds the shell up, nodding to you, “I found this the other day and I thought you might like it.” He barely lets you process the words before his breath stutters, “you, um, you don’t have to keep it or anything! You could give it to one of your friends or sell it or anything! It just made me think of you. Not that I. Not that I think of you.”
“Izuku,” you breathe, voice heavy with mirth and adoration, “I love it. It’s so pretty.” The fins on his tail shiver against the rocks when you take it and the blush coating his cheeks deepens. “Thank you.”
He doesn’t respond, not verbally, but his tail curls up against your thigh and the fins protruding from soft curls flatten against his head. Izuku’s eyes alight and he preens under the attention, shuffling even closer. He mumbles something under his breath and you have to lean in to catch even a word of it.
You make a quiet hm? in an attempt to have him repeat it, occupying your hands with running over the notches of the shell in your lap. He jumps again when he glances at you, like he’s surprised that you’re still perched on the rock next to him.
“I,” clawed fingers flex against your calf as he stares, lip caught between his teeth, “I wanna show you something. Next time you come.”
“Oh,” you’re not really sure why you’re surprised, “like underwater?” He nods earnestly, lip still caught between sharp teeth. Your hand curls over his own, fingers slotting together, “I’d love to, Izuku. I’ll dig my old snorkeling equipment out tonight.”
He lets out a breath, shoulders sagging as he melts into your side, “thank you.” Izuku makes a soft noise, low and rough like a purr, when your thumb rubs against his knuckles.
“I have more fruit.” You say it more as a distraction, a way to ignore the puffs of air against your throat, “mangoes and kiwi’s this time.”
“Kiwi?” His head lolls against your shoulder until he can look up at you.
“It’s kinda like… an apple and an orange mixed together,” you fumble. How are you supposed to describe the taste of something to someone whose pallet is so narrow? “Like, the same texture as an apple but a little softer and a little more citrusy.”
His nose scrunches up and you laugh, “I didn’t think you’d like them all too much. But I figured you could eat the mangoes.”
You take to digging through your bag, his chin still balanced on your shoulder. The three fruits you’d brought are still cool from the grocer, sweating slightly in the sun. You’ve gotten good at cubing the fruits without anything to cut against, prying the pits from the cloying flesh. Though you suppose you’re entertaining any easy audience since Izuku usually eats fish straight from the sea.
It’s easy to melt into the familiarity, no matter how odd the situation really is, of being around Izuku. You should probably still be weirded out by him — you’ve only known him for a couple weeks — but it feels right. Spending your day laid out on sun-baked rocks eating cooled fruit feels somewhat… inevitable.
The moment’s interrupted by a noise, heavy footfalls which sends Izuku shooting up and pushing himself halfway into the water. His hand curls against your ankles and a sound, low and crackly — a hiss — you realize, erupts from the back of his throat.
Then a head of blonde hair, spiky and soft, emerges from the trees. “Katsuki?”
“Kacchan?” You don’t have time to question why Bakugou’s here, too focused on the recognition in Izuku’s voice. The nickname, you assume, sounds too personal and you’re so confused.
Katsuki ignores him, staring pointedly at you, “your uncle needs ya. Now.”
Izuku’s still halfway in the water, fins pressed flat against his temples and claws dug deep within the rock. You apologize quietly as you gather your things, eyeing Katsuki over your shoulder.
The walk back into town was quiet again. Unnervingly so as Katsuki was determined to keep his eyes locked on the ground in front of him. You do the same, just to avoid the question, and interestingly sand looks the same in every single spot you check. Cool.
“So,” you start to regret the words before you even speak them, “you, uh, you already knew about mermaids, then?”
He grunts in a way you take to mean ‘yes’ and you continue, “so did you know that’s what happened that night, then? Why I ended up close enough to the boat for you to be able to get to me?”
Another grumble.
“So… how’d you… how’d you meet?” Katsuki would’ve been the last person on the island you thought knew about mermaids. Denki maybe, who’d tried to convince you that every minor problem the town faced was aliens. Or even Eijirou who was so open-minded sometimes you worried about him catching flies.
He sighs heavily. It was a fair question all things considered. “You’re not the first one in town to get swept off a fuckin’ boat.” A muscle in his jaw spasms, “and you’re not the first one that dumbass has rescued.”
Katsuki stops talking after that, like he answered your question in any way satisfactorily. Then, he scrubs a hand over his face — pressing so hard against his eyes you think he’s trying to dig them out — before scoffing, “Just. Just don’t leave the fuckin’ beach without him around, alright?”
“Katsuki, I can swim, you know? I’m not a child.”
He pointedly ignores you, “alright?”
“Fine.”
“Planning on snorkeling later?” Your uncle’s gotten better, only needing a walking stick to be able to move around the house. You worry less about him now, too. “Didn’t know you still had those.”
“Yeah, I saw something at the cove yesterday,” you smile. It’s not a total lie, at least.
He chuffs a laugh, turning the heat down on his bacon, “you remember how much you’d begged for us to finally take you? You hated being under. Had to hold you above the surface so you could just put the mask in.”
You do. You’d always had a weird relationship with the ocean — you loved the idea of it, what it held, but were terrified of the power. The destruction you’d seen it cause to not only the village itself but the people within.
“Didn’t stop coming, though. You’re stubborn,” he turns to wink, “get that from me.”
The flippers don’t fit into your bag, bright green ends pressing against your arm and squishing the plums you’d bought yesterday. It’s earlier in the day than normal — sun not as bright and the sand cool beneath your feet.
Izuku’s waiting for you when you, his tail cutting impatiently through the water, when you finally arrive at the little cove. He schools his expression when he sees you, lifting out of the water with a bright smile and calling your name. “You came!”
“Of course I did! I promised, didn’t I?” He makes room for you on the rock, watching as you work the bright rubber flippers onto your feet. They’re uncomfortable and you can feel sand clinging to the sides of your feet.
“I was just… worried.” There’s an underlying tone that makes you think he’s not talking about you showing up. That he’s talking about this is—the water—what he’s worried about. “It’s not too far, promise.”
You’re not convinced he’s really telling you, more a reassurance for himself. But all the same, you smile down at him, “I trust you, Izuku.”
He seems to relax at that, hands coming to brace your shins as you scoot closer to the stone’s edge. It is a little unnerving, being in the water again, but not so bad with him there. His palm slides up your leg, clawed hand curving over your hip—bracing you—as you finally shimmy down the rock.
Izuku’s hand moves to the back of your head when you start to sink, cradling your skull as a wave pushes you back against the rock. “Careful,” he murmurs. He doesn’t let you go once you’re fully in the water, tucking you easily in the crook of his arm and helps you slip the mask over your face.
The water’s colder than you’d hoped, shudders racking you and you press closer into his side, “thank you.”
He swallows, visibly, and you can feel the anxious squirm of his tail against your leg before he settles. You float there, your back still pressed against the rock, for a moment before he grins again. Izuku’s grip tightens minutely before he lowers himself in the water, “ready?”
The flippers make it easier to keep up with him—a feat made even easier as Izuku refuses to let go of your hand, pulling you close to his side—and it doesn’t take much to reach what Izuku had wanted to show you.
There’s a reef, bright and colorful, just beyond the cove. The water’s colder there and bluer. The floor is covered in life, thickets of seaweed and bright clusters of pink and orange coral. The fish are smaller, but colorful and they don’t seem to fear Izuku when he pulls you in.
He still never lets go of your hand, following close behind you whenever you need to breathe. Izuku’s smile hasn’t left either—dimpled even as he watches you bob with the waves, wiping at the air slicking against your forehead.
You take to following him, cutting languidly through the water as he shows off his tiny world: bright pink plates of encrusting and fish no bigger than your palm. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it, of course, but it feels like you’re seeing it differently.
You’re grinning when you break the surface, pulling your mask up your forehead and hands gripping at Izuku’s forearms, “that’s so cool, ‘zuku.” The taste of salt is heavy on your tongue, clinging to your teeth but you don’t mind.
Izuku grins, the fins buried in green curls twist forwards, “good?”
“So good! I forgot how pretty the reefs out here are. I’m so glad you brought me,” he preens under the attention and you can feel his tail brush against your calf. You think he’s going to say something when he stops, staring at something over your shoulder, and gasps.
“One more,” his hands curl around your wrists and tug you forwards, following whatever he’d seen in the water. You have half a mind to try and slip the snorkel over your face but you don’t. You trust him.
He stops a little ways away, pulling you against him and staring down in the water, “look.”
Your grip on his arms tighten when you do—a large manta ray is below you. It’s moving slowly, wings cutting lazily through the water barely a foot beneath when you’re floating. There’s a few more of them, deeper in the water, below it and you watch as they glide easily through the waves.
You laugh, quiet and startled, as you watch the creatures disappear from sight. The sound draws Izuku’s eyes to yours and he watches you for a moment. His hands move on your back, readjusting their grip and he knocks his head against your own, “ready?”
Your legs are screaming by the time Izuku’s leading you back to the cove. He seemed to have noticed you slowing, insisting you wrap your arms around his neck to let him pull you along.
The air feels colder after being submerged for so long, and you shiver against his back. Izuku’s breathing is odd. You’ve always noticed it, it’s so much slower than your own, but the feeling’s soothing. You start to count them in your mind, letting your cheek rest against his shoulder as he moves.
You barely notice that you’ve gotten back to the cover or that he’s started to move you. You follow him sleepily, letting him tuck your head under his chin and legs into the crook of his arm.
He hoists you up onto the same rock you’d sat on before, slipping the rubber flippers off you. You don’t expect him to follow after you, arms on either side of you and hips framed by your knees, “did you like it?”
“I did,” you hum and tuck a drying curl behind his ear, “it was beautiful.”
Izuku grins again, so bright your chest tightens, and leans to press his forehead against yours. You feel his lips skim your cheek when he finally parts from you and slips back into the cove.
You wish you’d thought about this more—the inevitable—before you forced yourself to confront it. You’d always been meant to stay for just the summer. Help your uncle get back on his feet, enjoy the break before your semester started, and maybe figure out what you were going to study long term. You never planned on staying.
Izuku’s words replayed, the seemingly insignificant fact from when you’d first met. Most mermaids never left home. He’d spent his entire life here. You didn’t expect him to want to leave.
And how would that work, anyway? You didn’t think he’d enjoy living in your bathtub nor do you think you’d be able to get him back home without more than a few questions.
So the conversation had to happen. You just wish you’d prepared better. Or at least not keep avoiding it.
Izuku had started sunning with you. You’d spread out your plush towels by the water’s edge and he’d flop next to you, squinting at the sun and pressing himself into your side. It was easy, nice. And incredibly hard to think about leaving.
You’re sunning now, Izuku’s face tucked against your collarbone and curls dried against your jaw. His breath warms your neck, spreading across your chest.
“Izuku?” He hums, fins twitching minutely, “do you think about the future?” You can feel his brow crinkle and have to fight yourself from smoothing it out with your thumb. “Like… what-”
You’re not sure how to ask. How do you tell him you’re leaving, that you were never here for long and your time has more than run out.
“Are you okay?” He’s propped himself up on flat palms, peering down at you, lip caught between his teeth, “what’s wrong?”
You regret bringing it up, wishing you could sink into the very sand and never emerge. But you can’t. And you can’t keep putting off this conversation. “Summer’s almost over,” you sigh.
Izuku’s head tilts, confusion washing over him before it hits. Oh. You’re leaving. His bottom lip escapes his teeth, wobbling slightly, and he pushes himself further away, “you’re leaving?” You don’t say anything—afraid the burning in your eyes will spill over—but you nod. “When?”
Your breath is shaking when you answer, “in the morning.”
You can see the words hit him, his shoulders sloping and tears bubbling to the surface. Izuku stares at you for a moment and you can feel his slow breathing speed, tears finally spilling over freckled cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, thumbing the tears from his face and pressing your forehead to his, “I have to go back to school and my uncle’s healed but I, I’ll visit.” You’re crying, too now. “I’ll come back every break if you want me too, I promise.”
Your throat burns as you look at him, he looks so distraught. You want to fix it, but there’s nothing you can do.
“I’m sorry, Izuku.” Your thumbs continue to wipe at his cheeks, ignoring your own tears, “I wish there was a way—but I can’t. There’s nothing I can do, I can’t stay here and—”
“And I can’t leave.” Izuku’s voice is brittle when he speaks, waterlogged. You hate it.
Your forehead knocks against his, nose nudging his own, and your arms drag him down against you, “I’ll come back, I promise, anytime you want me to.” The words come out weaker than you’d hope and you hope your actions are stronger, fingers tangling in his hair. “I wish I could take you with me.”
He tenses, breathing evening out suddenly. Your phone buzzes from the beach and you glance at it, “it’s probably my uncle.” You smooth a hand over his cheek, “I’ll figure something out.” Something odd has overtaken his expression, the sureness he had before he’d given you the shell or asked to show you something new—determination.
You gather your towels quickly, avoiding the water and Izuku’s heavy eyes. You know you��ll stay if you look.
You almost leave the shell. It’s the very last thing you pack, sitting on your windowsill beside a vase of dried flowers. It’d be easier to leave everything, you think. Bury it in your childhood chest of drawers and forget this break ever happened.
But you can’t. So you wrap the shell in a soft sweater and tuck it into a corner of your suitcase.
The bags a lot fuller leaving than it was when you first arrived. Stuffed with all the little shells Izuku’d given you and the small crate of creamy chocolate bars Kiri had insisted you keep to “remember him” by. He and Sero had also surprised you with an armful of hawaiian shirts, every single one already had their sleeves cut off for you. “Saving you time!” Sero had declared when you’d sighed heavily.
You still pack them.
You’ve cleared out everything but the tiny closet when you hear your uncle talking to someone. He sounds pleased, someone he knows then, and you only recognize the second voice when they’re at your door. Katsuki.
The door is pushed open, revealing a disarrayed Katsuki whose comically out of breath, gripping your doorknob and grabbing at your forearm.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
He ignores you, pulling you out the door and down the stairs. Yanking at his fingers accomplishes very little, and complaining about your incomplete packing seems to make his grip tighten.
“Katsuki! What’s wrong?” You dig your heels into the ground, finally becoming a big enough resistance for him to huff and turn to you.
“The cove.” Izuku.
Your breath catches and you let him pull you quicker, mind racing. Is he hurt? Did something happen? You’d seen him a few hours ago, how’d it happen that quickly?
The water’s empty and still when you finally breach the trees. And you fist at Katsuki’s sleeve. Then, you see him. He’s bundled up in a towel near the shore, curls damp and dark against his forehead. “Izuku,” you gasp. You notice the lack of fins first, nothing but achingly human ears protruding from his hair, then the fact that the beach towel ends in feet, pruned from the water.
He smiles when he sees you, pained but still achingly bright and you choke on a sob, scrambling to kneel in front of him. He catches you easily, melting into your arms as soon as they find their way around him.
Your heart is still beating against your ribs as you cup his face, running your thumb over the curve of his cheek to collect the tears and saltwater. The absence of his tail becomes glaringly obvious when he shuffles closer to you, knees knocking against your own. “Izuku…why did you… what did you do?”
He shakes his head softly, curls dragging against your cheek as his nose presses into yours, “doesn’t matter.”
You laugh, bright and relieved, and he pulls you further against his chest. His lips skate across the curve of your cheek before his mouth meets yours, chaste and sweet. His arms wrap around your waist as blunt hands curl into the back of your shirt. You can feel his heart beating beneath your palm, skin warm and sticky with the sea.
He noses at your temple when you part, sighing softly, “I, uh, I can go with you, now.” He says it a little hopefully, like you’d ever say no and you nod hurriedly.
“Of course you can, ‘zuku,” nuzzling into his palms, “you’re gonna be hard-pressed to get rid of me.”
#eee mermay !! (barely)#bnha x reader#mha x reader#izuku midoriya x reader#midoriya izuku x reader#deku x reader#izuku fluff#izuku midoriya fluff#bnha fluff#izuku x reader#mha fluff#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.izuku#[ 🐚 ] — right below the surface
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miruko x f!reader; no thoughts, head empty. (head pretty full actually, here's 377 words of it this is dumb,, no one look at me)
you hadn't even wanted to come--it was far too many people and too much noise for a weekday--and if you could've been just a bit stronger, just a bit more resilient against hawks' whining, you wouldn't have. a routine you've despised as long as it's been running, an excuse for him and rumi to find a new hole in the wall bar and waste away the few hours they have off. you hate it.
but it's quickly becoming more and more enjoyable. you feel warm, burning under the low lights, and you're not sure if it's the alcohol, stomach heated and syrupy with overpriced and flowery drinks, or the body pressed against yours.
it had started friendly enough, a dumb and flimsy bet on an even dumber and flimsier game of pool. you'd overestimated yourself. forgot that you couldn't play pool until the cue was in your hands as you were staring across at rumi's wolfish grin.
that's how you ended up like you did, her curved over your back with warm palms covering your own as she guides you. "pull your arm back, just like this," she's so close now, cheek pressed against your neck as she watches your hands. you can feel her breath, the soft strands of her hair, skating across the sensitive skin of your neck.
you know she can feel you shaking, hoping fruitlessly she can't hear your pulse or feel your heart attempting to escape your ribs. the way her grin keeps widening and the way she keeps brushing her lips across your ear tells you otherwise, though. she knows.
seemingly pleased with your arms, her hands skate down your sides, palms falling flat against your hips. the warmth presses down on you further as she moves your hips back, fixing your stance over the table before the weight of her settles back along your spine.
her voice is smooth in your ear, low and overwhelming, "and, release." she does most of the work then, too. your hands still shaking as the cue strikes a ball, sending it and two others skating into the corner pocket. rumi's grin doubles then, and the swell of pride crumbles quickly back into overwhelming embarrassment as her breath is back on your neck.
"that's my girl."
#feeling very very !! about her always#feeling very wlw tn#also this is a bit h*rny for this blog i think but also .. idk#fem!reader#<- it slipped i'm sorry#bnha x reader#mirko x reader#miruko x reader#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.mirko
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PROPOSAL — IZUKU MIDORIYA
⚘ summary: prompt #42 "a kiss to celebrate an engagement"; from my lavished in love event for anon. also for his (late) birthday! you can tell izuku's been nervous, he's never been good at hiding things. especially something so important to him.
⚘ pairing: pro hero!deku x gn!reader
⚘ warnings: marriage, mentions of food/eating, marriage/engagement, what do you mean its not the 15th ?? it totally is <3.
Izuku's always been terrible at hiding things from you; or maybe you've just grown to notice everything about him. Either way, you can tell something's gnawing at him--he's been quiet, staring listlessly at the floor and fingers twirling up the cuff of his shirt and shifting in his seat.
He’d been the one to plan this, a relatively quiet celebration for his birthday, which in of itself isn’t all too surprising. But he usually saved the pricer outings for your birthday unless you took over planning. So, it was just a bit… odd.
And you know he’s nervous. He’s quiet during dinner—not concerningly so, though. He still smiles when you joke and clears the plate in front of him. You think he means to ask you something—eyes lifting, floundering for a bit—before he hunches back over to continue nibbling on his roll.
The quiet doesn’t break once you leave, huddled close to his side despite the lack of chill. It’s not until you reach the park next to your apartment that you even feel Izuku breathe—deep and deliberate, his eyes squeezing shut before he turns to you.
His hands find yours, warm fingers tangling with your own. "I--I just, you're kind of my favorite person; i love being around you and waking up to you every day and i find myself thinking about you all the time—”
Izuku stills when your hands squeeze his own, eyes flicking back over your face and offers a trembling smile. One you smooth with the pad of your thumb, skating over the skin of his eye and pressing the crease of his brow.
“I—’m sorry,” he takes another breath, fingers squeezing back. “I’ll start over. I love you. So much and I’d like… I’d like to be like this for the rest of my life,” he’s laden with adoration, the color of his eyes spilling over and reflecting the newly-formed stars. “If you’ll have me.”
You feel the cool press of metal when his free hand cups your own and the implication finally sinks, carving warmth through your chest. Izuku searches your eyes, hunting for a glimpse of hesitancy—rejection—and is met with the full force of your affection.
Izuku’s not given time to react, cold lips pressing to his. He flounders for a moment before his hands, one still curled around a ring, smooth over your hips. Your own slip around his neck, one hand curling into Izuku’s hair.
You sigh into the kiss, melting into the hands cradling your back as Izuku curls himself over you. Izuku’s cheeks are wet when he noses your temple and laughs, watery but bright against your cheeks, before he litters you with a flurry of warm pecks that has a smile of your own breaking across your cheeks.
Izuku’s mouth curves against yours and his hands smooth down your sides to pull you tight against his chest. You’ve barely pulled apart before he’s cupping your hand, pressing a kiss to the skin of your palm, eyes swimming with affection.
The metal, warmed by his touch, bands your finger easily, his thumb rubbing affectionately over it as he smiles, “I’ll, uh. I’ll take that as a yes.”
#deku x reader#izuku midoriya x reder#midoriya izuku x reader#izuku x reader#midoriya x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#deku fluff#pov: ur bad at titling and also . you kinda hate this .#devastated that i am late ;-; but migraines suck#♡.lavished in love#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.deku
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PART I. NARCISSUS: A NEW BEGINNING
✶ next part || series masterlist.
✶ summary: with your kingdom's lack of viable heir to the throne, crumbling alliances, and a war brewing in the south, your father seeks a union with the west, a kingdom rumored to be isolated but strong. despite your reservations, you're determined to make a good impression. to do what's best.
✶ pairing: (kinda)harpy royalty!keigo takami (hawks) x elven royalty!afab!reader (gn pronouns are used for the reader but the concept of the fic is fem coded)
✶ word count: 2.1k
✶ content: mentions of food/eating, arranged marriage but in the loosest sense, my attempt at developing a writing style, me spending too much time focusing on flower meanings that aren't important at all <3 part of @myherokatsuki 's a familiar face collab.
✶ title credit: "peace" by henry vaughan ( link to poem )
YOU HATE THIS. CERTAINTY. Your whole life has been plagued with it. One monotonous day void of choice after the other. You don't know why you expected your marriage to be any different, why you thought your father would grant you that mercy.
“You’ll be needed, today.” You pause at the words, forefinger and thumb pressing painfully into your utensils. It’s the way you’re always addressed—as an order.
“Why?”
It makes him uncomfortable, you notice, his eyes cast pointedly down and turning the ring on his finger, “I want you to meet someone.”
The potato splits and you can feel yourself tighten—you knew that already. You’d heard the rumours—the union, one the nobles seemed to think warranted a celebration. You just wish he’d call it what it was.
“You want me to marry someone.” You don’t want to be so resentful, but you can’t help it. The idea of a stranger encroaching on your life, another hand which is sure to force your life on course, angers you.
“The people tire of orders,” your father sighs and you feel him staring past you, “the court finds it in the kingdom's best interest to build a strong alliance with the west. I am… without a proper heir and my death would breed mutiny among the people.” It’s always that, what’s best. “The southern alliance is strong, stronger than we’ll ever be, and it’s in the kingdom's best interest to extend our loyalties.”
You want to scoff, but manage to keep yourself occupied by splitting the rest of your potatoes childishly. The quiet stretches.
“We’ll be hosting him for the season and I expect you to act civilly for the duration of the visit.” You remain silent once again which wrenches another worn sigh from the King, “I really am trying to go about this as amicably as possible, you know. You’ll be without the interruption or input of the court and I’ll be, in turn, visiting the West to make arrangements.” He finds your hand over the table, finding your eyes, “I just ask that you make a decision, one which will foster this alliance.”
That’s not what he means—you think. He means for you to accept the inevitable proposal, one you’re sure will be lackluster and expectant. You can only hope that he’s not unfortunate to look at.
“I understand. Should I be expecting him soon, then?”
You’re to expect him incredibly soon, you learn.
The gardens are beautiful, settled on the cusp of springs and the trees cloying with fruits. You much rather be hidden away between the rose bushes than sitting uncomfortably—incredibly overdressed—to meet the strange you’re expected to marry. You wonder if you’ll be able to pick what you’re wed in, the venue. Probably not.
You hate that you’re just a little bit excited. It’s muted, though, and mostly directed at being back in the summer palace. Your father, who has been exponentially happier than you, thought it best to combine both the prince’s arrival and his own departure.
The King had taken to pacing. He’d walked the floor of the entry hall so many times you’re starting to believe he’s working a whole in the marble. You would’ve thought he’d been awaiting the return of a lover. You wish he was.
You could tell when he arrived easily, your father hurrying to pull you from the plush cushion underneath you.
It occurs that you have very little expectations of him. No one’d tell you much—his rank and family name—and you have very little to go on. Older, you expect, if he’s been deemed “marriable” and has yet to wed. The thought churns your stomach.
He’s not.
You can tell he’s had the same learning as you. Your own stiff and purposeful mannerisms echoed on him—shoulders uncomfortably straight and hands practicably placed. His wings, one of the very few things you’d known about him, have suffered the same training. They’re tucked away neatly against his back and you can see the thought it takes to keep them still, crossed and off the floor, in his brow.
His expression was more unpracticed, though, softer. Warmer. It was like he was always smiling, the ghost of dimples and eyes a little narrowed and you find yourself curious what he’d look like laughing.
The wings, a notorious staple in his kingdom, were all the more impressive to someone who’d never seen them before. Wide and a deep red. They looked soft—buttery, like the petals of roses—and they glinted under the candles.
His attendant, you assume, stepped forward with a curt smile, “it’s an honor to introduce his Excellency, Takami Keigo, Prince of the Western Kingdoms.” He, Keigo, squirms halfway through the title, the rich red of his feathers twitching minutely.
The King smiles, nodding into a bow, “it’s a pleasure to be hosting your Highness.” His eyes cut to you and you follow him into a bow quickly, blood rushing to your ears.
Keigo squirms more, attempting to hide it behind a wide and easy smile, “please, the honor is mine. There’s no need for such formality.” His voice is soft, quieter than you would’ve expected but nice.
Sharp eyes meet your own and his smile softens a little. He approaches you slowly, as if you were something skittish, and offers a hand, “If I may?”
Your own hand slides into his and his thumb rubs over the bumps of your knuckles, “It’s nice to finally meet you.” He seems genuine this close, smile smaller and eyes heavy.
You hum slowly, returning his introduction. He repeats the name against the back of your hand, lips smoothing into a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too, your highness.” He deflates at the use of his title before he straightens himself before you.
You see very little of Keigo before the ball—purposefully, you assume. He dines with you, keeping himself politely sat an arms-length away and easily carrying conversation with your father.
It'd be easier if he wasn’t so… him. If he was rude or was unpleasant, it'd give you a reason to hate him. A reason for his disinterest. But he wasn't. He was kind and polite and seemed to get along with everyone in the palace. You hated it.
He joined you in the gardens afterwards. You’d hoped he would, deep down. There was a twisting part of you that wanted him to like you, to find your company pleasing. So you were all the more pleased that he did, “you’re too quiet, unless you were trying to sneak up on me.”
He laughed, warm and bright but still… calculated. “It wasn’t my intention—may I?” He tucks in next to you when you nod. His hands lace together and you notice they’re different, too. His nails are much darker than your own and sharp, thicker you think. “Do you like flowers?” You snort and Keigo’s chin knocks against his collarbones.
“Sorry—yes, I do like flowers.” You could notice a lot about him this close. His hair, duller in the dark, seems sinfully soft and feathery where it’s curled around his ears. The skin of his nose and cheeks, which seemed nearly inhumanly smooth and warm, was dotted in freckles. “Narcissus’ are my favorite.”
His eyes, thickly framed by dark markings and heavy lashes, crinkle into a smile, “they’re lovely, like little trumpets.”
You think he’s gotten closer since he first joined you, warmth rolling off of him and seeping into your very bones. You shrink back, just a little, and smile, “and what about you?” He makes a soft little hm which sends another wave of warmth through you. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“Oh! Honeysuckle,” he replies, cheeks dimpling into another smile, “simple flowers.”
He’d insisted on escorting you back inside, as well as insist that you call him, “Keigo—formality makes me itch.”
Your father’s departure was due soon and so the expectation of marriage weighed heavier as the banquet was planned around you. You were glad it would be small, only the King and his advisors, very few nobles you’d have to perform for.
The dressings you’re expected to wear are laid out for you. Soft and velveteen fabrics covered in little details. They’ve dressed you to match him.
Your only mercy was that the event wasn’t being seen as formal. You wouldn’t need to suffer through each noble's introductions or present yourself. It was for Keigo and your father.
Keigo is, predictably, swarmed when you finally make your way into the hall. The carefulness is back, hands kept tucked away at his sides and a bright smile on his face, coaxing himself through easy laughs.
Something odd overtakes his face when your eyes meet—something new. The bridge of his nose warms and his eyes round at the corners. It’s strange, like something you’d only ever seen carved in marble or in the portraits lining the corridors.
You barely have the chance to look over your shoulder, sure he’s staring past you, before he’s in front of you. His hands find your forearms when you jump, smiling widely, “got ya.”
Keigo’s grin only widens when you huff, “you didn’t startle me.”
“Aww, it looked like I did, sweetheart.” You school yourself, refusing to let the earnestness of his voice sway you. But, still you don’t shy away from the hand that finds your chin, “you look good.”
You scoff softly as your own hand curls around his wrist, “you look nice, too.”
You regret the compliment as he falls into an open smirk, thumb swiping over your cheek as the other clutches the fabric covering his sternum, “aww dove, you flatter me.”
“I take it back.”
“Too late! You’ve already made me swoon, I’m afraid.”
Your retaliation is interrupted by the swell of music, warm and slow. Keigo’s eyes brighten before he turns to face you fully. He wants to dance. You scramble for an excuse, something to worm your way out of his grasp so you can hide behind the banquet table and occupy your time with rolls.
But he catches your hands before you can try.
“Do you trust me?” No. Not really, but you let your hand meet his nonetheless. Because you could—trust him. He moves you easily, hands adjusting your wrist before falling to rest, wide and warm, against the small of your back. “You’re the only person I know here, sweetheart.”
You ignore the warmth of the nickname, undeserved, and your brows pinch as you let him guide, feet moving easily to echo his own. He’s concentrating on his feet, letting his wings move minutely behind him. The steps were easy, made even more so by Keigo’s hands. “Not well,” you answer as you let him guide you in a spin.
Keigo huffs, eyes narrowing minutely, “no, but I’d like to.”
“I mean, you have to,” your voice is airy, teasing, but he knows you meant it. His brows pinch together as another swell of music sends you away from, only the tips of your fingers touching as you rotate. “I imagine my father has pushed for us to ‘know each other’, right?”
Keigo’s quiet and you can see him thinking, turning softly in the circle. He’s pretty, classically so. He’s neater today than he was in the gardens, hair arrayed in more purposeful curls and fingers banded in gold rings which press cooly into your skin. He huffs again, seeming to have found something in your face.
“That’s not what I meant,” he sounds exasperated, taking advantage of the music to pull you into him. “I mean you’re the only one I know here—the only one I hold any loyalties for.” Another spin brings you closer, chest against his own. “We might have to get to know one another, but I’d like to be the place your loyalties lie, as well.”
You’re separated shortly, then pressed right back against him.
“I don’t want you to force yourself to be around me, I want you to choose to.” His eyes were soft, sickeningly so and focused solely on you. You’re beginning to feel a little like he’d pried open your chest. “I want you to be able to trust me—to want me, if you’re willing.”
He pulls you even closer as the music slows, cheek sliding against your temple and his heart beating against your sternum. You can feel the stutter in his breath, the way his hand twitches nervously against your back.
“Keigo,” he seems to brighten at the use of his name, feathers ruffling behind him, and he tilts himself towards you. “I… I do want to get to know you, without the obligations of my father.”
His wings flutter and the earnestness bleeds from his eyes into his voice, "that's all I ask."
#takami keigo x reader#keigo takami x reader#keigo x reader#hawks x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#bnha oneshot#mha oneshot#bnha reader insert#mha reader insert#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#✶ writes.hawks
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SWEET DOMESTICITY — BNHA DAD SERIES
summary: just a bunch of kid fics and simple art pieces with different bnha guys and their children.
warnings: oc kids, implied female reader (though no titles + pronouns used), eating/food, mainly just a bunch of domestic fluff.
home is where the heart is | art
hawks x reader - no matter how rough the patrol, keigo always knows he has people who love him to greet him at home. i.e. you and your son greeting keigo when he comes home from patrol.
a bit of reprieve | art
izuku x reader - izuku and your daughter have made a habit of visiting you at the office during your lunch breaks on izuku’s days off. you can't say that you mind at all.
daffodils & hair clips | art + art
dabi x reader - touya struggles with domesticity, with everything soft and tender and loving. but he's learning, trying. and despite what he thinks, he's doing an amazing job at it.
all the love in the world | art
shouto x reader - tba
soft interlude | art
bakugou x reader - tba
shouto x reader - tba
kirishima title | art
kirishima x reader - tba
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📁 ﹕SOMEWHERE TO BEGIN — ZOOKEEPER AU SERIES.
summary — a little au anthology centered around yuuei animal sanctuary and the meetcutes which occur between you and the various experts who work there ;3.
tags — gn!reader, fluff, strangers to lovers, meetcutes, children (never the reader's or the character's). each fic will have their own warnings as well!
note — i love animals a wholewhole lot !! and ever since i saw that official zookeeper art,, this has been heavy on my mind--i just needed the opportunity to finally write it !!
I. LOST AND FOUND // KATSUKI BAKUGOU
zookeeper!bakugou x zoology student!reader; during your tour, guided by an incredibly annoyed zookeeper, you both stumble across a lost child which forces you to work together to find their parents. and maybe bakugou gets a little a lot less annoyed with you. ( ??k )
II. MIGHTY PAW // IZUKU MIDORIYA
zookeeper!izuku x primary teacher!reader; you're excited to bring your class to the animal sanctuary for their field trip; a class which is less interested in roar might, an incredibly impressive tiger, and more in the feelings between you and the incredibly enthusiastic keeper tasked with leading them around. ( ??k )
III. FELL FOR YOU // SHOUTO TODOROKI
zookeeper!shouto x zookeeper!reader; you're a trainee who hopes to get to work in the Antarctica, mostly the penguins, section of the sanctuary, but it's a lot easier to slip than you thought it'd be. at least the, unfairly attractive, keeper is there to save you. ( ??k )
IV. MY 'HERO' // KEIGO TAKAMI [HAWKS]
zookeeper!hawks x photographer!reader; when you get a little too distracted taking photos for the sanctuary's brochure to notice you're standing on a bike path, he's there to help you out. for a price (and a coffee). ( ??k )
V. RAINFOREST CAFE // EIJIROU KIRISHIMA
zookeeper!kirishima x aquarium worker!reader; kirishima had seen you around before, never getting his chance to properly talk to you or introduce himself. when you both order the exact same coffee from the sanctuary's rainforest cafe, though, he gets his chance. ( ??k )
VI. WINE & DINE // TOUYA TODOROKI [DABI]
zookeeper!dabi x teacher!reader; as your class' field trip comes to an end and you're preparing to leave, it begins to rain, forcing you and the keeper in charge of the reptile house to huddle together under a small roof until it passes. and maybe once the rain stops you'll make room in your schedule to visit again. completely unrelated. ( ??k )
#[ 𓃰 ] — somewhere to begin#hehe welcome to my brainrot <3#rbs are welcome and appreciated !#✶ writes#✶ writes.bnha#im nervous bc this is my actual baby#i've been thinking about this au for months i love it dearly
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