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iceunhie · 10 months ago

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— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

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twoplayergaymers · 4 months ago

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A Sign Of Affection—

Part One // Part Two// Part Three

❋ deaf! Bakugo x Fem Interpreter! Reader

❋ Interpreting for Dynamight: How Hard Could It Be?

❋ a note before you begin:

After the lessons, every dialogue between bkg & the reader is signed and also verbally spoken simultaneously (unless stated otherwise or unless it’s in ASL gloss, it’s only signed.. lowkey I got lazy writing out the gloss) somewhat proofread, also idk if I ever specified but they’re like 24.

It’s been a few weeks since you caught Bakugo practicing his signs in his office that night. The sight stirred something warm in your chest, feelings you knew might be there but had been pushing down. You had no idea how long he’d been practicing on his own, but knowing he was doing this for you made your heart swell.

Your lunch “dates” with Bakugo have become a routine—Monday, Wednesday, Friday. On Tuesday, Thursday, and the occasional weekend, whether you’re working or not, you spend time with Talia. It’s a good system, one that keeps everyone happy. Most of all, you.

You’d gotten to know him better, comfortable enough to tease and joke with him, not missing the way his ears would tint pink, sticking out from the neck of his winter costume. Surprisingly, he’d become a little more talkative—at least, talkative for Bakugo. You do most of the talking, rambling about the stupid TikToks you see when scrolling before bed, how your favorite time of year is approaching, or how every time it snows it reminds you of making snow angels with the other kids in elementary school. He listens, head resting in his hand, nodding occasionally. He always listens.

One day, as you’re rambling on, hands flying as you speak, you catch his eyes. He’s watching you softly, his gaze intense but not unkind. For a moment, you freeze, caught off guard by the way his focus never wavers from you. It’s different from the usual Bakugo—no sarcasm, no annoyance. Just… quiet attention. Your heart skips a beat, and you clear your throat awkwardly, suddenly self-conscious under his stare.

“What?” you ask, your voice a little unsure, unsure if you’ve caught him in a moment of distraction or something more.

He leans back slightly, crossing his arms with that familiar gruffness, but his eyes don’t leave yours. “Teach me more.”

Your brow furrows. “Teach you more? What are you talking about?”

“Sign language,” he clarifies with a slight frown, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I’ve been practicing on my own, but… it’s harder without someone to help. So teach me more.”

You blink, surprised by the request. You didn’t expect him to ask, especially after all this time. “You want me to teach you more?” You repeat, feeling a little stunned.

“Yeah, unless you think I can’t handle it,” he adds, his tone rough but with a hint of something softer underneath.

You pause, feeling a smile tug at your lips. “Woooow THE Katsuki Bakugo aka greatexplosionmurdergoddynamight asking ME for help?”

He glares at you, unamused. “Shut up, I’m serious.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his attempt to act tough. “Oh, I’m serious too. The mighty Dynamight wants me to teach him how to sign? This is a day I’ll never forget,” you tease, hands dancing in the air as you laugh lightly. “okay, okay, fine!”

He nods, rolling his eyes but seemingly satisfied with your answer, and you can’t help but feel a little nervous, a little excited by the prospect of spending even more time with him in a completely new way.

“But,” you add, “we’re not just doing signs. You can’t really understand the language without knowing the culture behind it, so I’m gonna teach you about Deaf history too. You good with that?”

For a moment, he seems to hesitate, then he grunts, giving you a half-shrug. “Fine. Whatever. Just teach me.”

“Alright, then. Let’s start with something easy. You know this I’m sure. Repeat after me.” You make the sign for thank you, your fingers gently moving in front of your chin.

He watches for a moment, clearly studying your movements, and then mimics it, though with an exaggerated, almost sarcastic flair. “Thank you,” he signs, the expression on his face a mix of concentration and something close to pride.

You raise an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “You’re gonna need to tone down the ‘grumpy old man’ vibe when you do that. It’s a simple gesture, not a declaration of war.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “I’ll sign however I want.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” you say, trying to hide your smile. “But if you want to be understood, maybe tone it down a notch. Sign’s all about facial expression.”

Bakugo groans, rubbing his temples. “This is gonna be a pain.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad,” you reassure him, still grinning. “You’re already halfway there. You were learning without me! Just try to be a little more… chill about it. You don’t have to yell at the signs to make them work.”

“I’m not yelling at the signs,” he mutters under his breath, looking as if he’s ready to start up a verbal war with the hand gestures themselves.

You can’t help but laugh, enjoying the easy camaraderie between you two. “Alright, alright. Let’s move on to something else..”

And just like that, your lunch breaks change. They’re no longer just casual moments between coworkers—they’re lessons. Every day, you help him practice new signs, dive into Deaf culture, and teach him about the history behind the language. At first, it’s awkward, but as the days pass, Bakugo’s determination shines through, and you find yourself getting more and more comfortable with him. Little by little, he’s picking it up, surprising you with how fast he learns, his focus sharper than you’d ever expected.

It feels like something more than just teaching. It feels like you’re both learning—not just language, but something deeper, something unspoken.

Some days, Bakugo doesn’t need help. He’ll quietly practice the signs you’ve gone over, occasionally glancing at his notebook and muttering under his breath, and you watch him with a soft smile. Other times, when he’s frustrated, his hands move erratically, and you gently correct him. “Remember, sign’s grammatical structure is different”

He groans but tries again, this time a little more carefully. “Yeah, yeah. Got it.”

Your bond grows in these moments—subtle, but noticeable. The quiet pauses in conversation aren’t uncomfortable anymore. Instead, they feel like small, private moments that neither of you need to explain. The warmth between you is growing steadily, unnoticed by anyone else but you two.

You’re getting closer, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like the inevitable disaster you might’ve expected. There’s no awkwardness, no anxiety—just a quiet understanding that this, whatever it is, is worth investing in.

Lunch breaks are still your favorite part of the day. But it’s no longer just about teaching him signs; it’s about the little moments in between. The way he chuckles under his breath when he gets a sign right, the way he quietly listens when you talk about your day, and the way his eyes follow your hands as you sign to him—intently, like you’re the only thing in the room.

And though he rarely says it out loud, you can see it in the way his confidence grows. He stops hesitating as much, his movements becoming more fluid, and the frustration he used to carry when he couldn’t get a sign right is replaced with a sense of pride when he nails one. You feel that pride too, making your heart swell.. well that and.. something else

The changes in Bakugo don’t go unnoticed. He’s still the same stubborn, hard-headed hero you met weeks ago, but there’s a gentler side to him now, one that’s more patient, more willing to learn, especially when it comes to you. The way he listens, the way he looks at you when you’re teaching him—there’s something different about it, something that makes your heart flutter unexpectedly. It’s not just admiration for his progress; there’s a deeper connection growing between the two of you, even if you’re not quite sure what to call it yet.

You’re not sure when the shift happened, but somehow, his presence doesn’t feel as overwhelming anymore. His quiet moments with you, his small smirks when you catch him in a mistake, and the soft way he signs “thank you” at the end of each session—those moments become your favorites. It’s almost intimate, the language only two of you in the office understand.

The moments consume your mind more than you care to admit. You try to convince yourself it’s just your ego at play. You’re a great teacher, after all. You tell yourself the way your heart flutters and your skin flushes when you see him genuinely smiling at himself is simply the pride of seeing your little prodigy succeed. It’s what you want to believe.

But somehow, these thoughts slip out during your rambling, and you curse yourself silently for being such a yapper. Now, across the table, Talia’s smirking at you, tapping her French manicure on the surface.

Talia raises an eyebrow, her smirk growing wider as she leans in slightly. “Girl,” she starts, her voice playful, “you are so into him.”

You freeze, suddenly self-conscious, your face going hot. “What? No, I’m not.”

She shrugs, tapping her nails again. “Sure, okay. But I’ve seen the way you talk about him, the way your eyes light up when you mention his progress. You’re practically glowing”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I can’t help it. He’s improving so fast, and it’s just… nice to see him genuinely trying. He’s not just doing it for me, either. He’s really putting in the effort.”

Talia smirks, clearly not convinced. “Uh-huh. Sure, it’s just that. Nothing else.”

You shoot her a glare, but it doesn’t stop her teasing. “Come on, I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. You can deny it all you want, but I know what I see.”

“Shut up,” you mutter, but the playful tone in your voice betrays you. You’re caught, and you know it

You know it, but you’ll never admit it—not even to yourself. It’s complicated, and frankly, inappropriate on so many levels. You’re his ‘teacher’ and he’s your coworker… practically your boss.

There’s a million things that can go wrong, so many that scramble around in your brain as you stare down at the cup of frozen yogurt before you

You try to focus on the cold swirl of yogurt, the way the spoon sinks into it with a soft, satisfying scoop, but your mind keeps drifting back to him—Bakugo. How everything feels so easy when you’re together, yet it’s so complicated at the same time.

You know you’re crossing lines, blurring boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed. He’s your coworker, your boss, and you’re his teacher in this odd, quiet way that nobody else really understands. This is all risky, too risky for someone like you. The heart flutters and the rush of warmth you feel when he looks at you, when he smiles, aren’t supposed to mean anything. But somehow, they do.

A sigh escapes you, and you drop the spoon into the cup with a thud. What is this? What’s going on here?

You’re not sure you can keep pretending it’s nothing.

But you’re sure as hell going to try.

Talia’s voice cuts through your thoughts, sharp and teasing, as she watches you play with your frozen yogurt. “You’re looking like you’re about to have an existential crisis. What’s going on in that head of yours?” She leans back in her chair, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, an amused glint in her eyes.

You glance at her, shaking your head but offering a small smile. “It’s nothing,” you murmur, but even you don’t believe it.

Talia raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I’ve never seen you look this spaced out, don’t think I’ve ever heard you stop talking for this long” she giggles

The teasing tone is there, but you can see the curiosity in her eyes. She knows you too well, and it makes you nervous. You try to keep your voice light. “I’m just tired. Long week.”

She leans in, her expression suddenly serious “don’t lie to me, y/n. What’s going on in that cute little head?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out and you just shrug in response, trying to laugh it off.

Talia raises both hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I get it. Keep your secrets. But just know, if you want to talk about it, I’m here.” She takes a bite of her own frozen yogurt, leaning back in her seat as if she’s already won the conversation.

“So,” Talia begins, spoon halfway to her mouth, “you too busy wallowing in your mystery feelings to come out with me tonight?” She pops the yogurt into her mouth with dramatic flair, chewing slowly.

You roll your eyes, and a hesitant look adorns your face. “I’m not wallowing I just—”

“Uh-uh!” she cuts you off, waving her spoon at you. “You owe me, remember? You ditched me for your little project—your boy,” she says with a smirk, emphasizing the last word as if it’s a scandalous secret.

You groan. “He’s not my boy—”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe,” she interrupts again, leaning back in her chair with a triumphant grin. “But tonight? You’re mine. No excuses. 9pm. Dress real pretty.”

“Fine, you’re so lucky I love you” you say with the shake of your head, taking another bite of your frozen yogurt

And that’s how you find yourself in the dimly lit jazz bar. not what you were expecting from Talia, thinking you’d be finding yourself in some dark, crowded club with music so loud you could feel it vibrating through your bones. Her energy is so playful, so lively you could’ve almost bet she’d be in a scene like that. A bet you apparently would’ve lost.

Your fingers drum idly against the bar as you wait for her to arrive, late, per usual. The jazz music surrounding you is nice, making you hum absentmindedly. You’re about to pull out your phone and text her in all capitals that she’s late and leaving you susceptible to creeps but you hear the click of heels behind you.

Acrylic nails rake lightly along your bare shoulders, making you jump. “Hellooo, gorgeous!” Talia’s voice lilts as she slides up beside you, gesturing dramatically at your outfit. “I see you, little black dress! Lookin’ like dessert!”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Flattery won’t make me forget that you’re late, as usual.”

She gasps in mock offense, clutching her chest like you’ve wounded her. “Excuse me! Fashionably late, babe. I had to give you time to get all this attention before I showed up and stole the show.”

You shove her playfully. “Yeah, yeah. I forgive you, though, because damn, my wife is sooo fine.” You drag out the last words, laughing as she strikes a pose.

“Don’t I know it,” she quips with a wink, sliding onto the stool next to you. “Now, what’s the vibe tonight? We drinking to forget, or are we scheming about your boy?”

You roll your eyes, flagging down the bartender. “Neither! You invited me out, we’re having a fun time together.” Talia arches an eyebrow, propping her chin on her hand as she studies you. “Mmmhmm.”

The bartender slides your drink across the bar with a smile, you return it and eagerly take a sip. “Stop looking at me like that. There’s nothing to say.” Her gaze doesn’t waver. “Talia! I’m serious. He’s my coworker. My.. my boss!”

“Uh-huh.” Talia’s smirk widens as she leans closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You’re telling me that you spend all your lunch breaks teaching him sign, watching him practice, and—what was it?—listening to you ramble? And you’re just coworkers?”

You groan, hiding your face behind your glass. “Why did I come here again?”

“Because you love me,” Talia says sweetly, patting your hand. “And because I’m not letting you mope around in your little apartment pretending you don’t have feelings for that man.”

“I do not—”

She holds up a manicured finger, cutting you off. “Nope. Let me finish. You’re allowed to have feelings. It’s not a crime. What’s the worst that happens? He likes you back? Shocking. Scandalous.”

You go to open your mouth again but her finger is still hanging in the air and she pushes it closer to you again, she’s not finished. “Let me be real with you baby, cause I love you. You know that. That man does not do anything he doesn’t want to do. He doesn’t do shit to be nice. Nothing. He wants you, y/n, I fucking know it”

You shake your head in disbelief, nervous smile plastered in your face “you make it sound so simple”

“That’s because it is.” Talia waves her hand as if to dismiss your doubts. “But I get it. You’re scared. You’re like a deer in the headlights of his grumpy charm. It’s cute, really. Annoying, but cute.”

“Thanks for the pep talk, Dr. Phil,” you deadpan, but you can’t stop the grin tugging at your lips.

Talia lifts her drink with a wink. “Anytime, babe. Now, cheers to you, me, and your inevitable realization that you’re head over heels for Dynamight.”

You clink your glasses, the sound light and musical against the backdrop of jazz. Maybe she’s right—maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. For tonight, though, you let yourself laugh, let yourself relax, and let the music carry you away.

A few drinks and much tipsy laughter later the bartenders sliding another drink across the bar to you

“Oh? I-“ “it’s from him.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder to a man sitting on the other side of the bar.

“Ooo he’s cute!” Talia whispers, leaning closer to you as the man raises his glass in your direction. You return the gesture with the drink he sent, offering a polite smile before taking a sip and turning back to your conversation with Talia.

Minutes later, just as you’re mid-laugh at something Talia says, the same man appears beside you. He clears his throat softly, a friendly, slightly nervous smile on his face. “Excuse me, ladies. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I just wanted to say hi—and I hope you’re enjoying the drink.”

Talia raises an eyebrow at you, her lips twitching into a mischievous grin. You set your glass down and smile up at him. “Thanks for the drink. That was kind of you.”

“It’s nothing, really. I just thought… well, I couldn’t help but notice your laugh from across the bar.” His smile grows a bit more confident. “It’s contagious.”

Talia nudges your arm with her elbow, and you swear you’ll never hear the end of this late.

You feel your face flush and you can’t tell if it’s from his words or the liquor, but you give a small smile back. as Talia, ever the wingwoman, leans in and whispers, “I’ll give you two some space. I’ll be right over there.” She walks away with a subtle grace, but the second she’s out of his line of sight—and firmly in yours—she shoots you a wide grin and two enthusiastic thumbs up. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing into your conversation.

“I swear I’ve seen you before..” he starts “I can’t forget a face that pretty. You’re.. on tv right? Wait don’t tell me.. I know this.. interpreting!”

You blink, caught off guard by the leap in logic. “Uh, yeah,” you admit, half-laughing. “I do some interpreting work for heroes sometimes.”

He snaps his fingers, grinning. “I knew it! You’re the one who works with Dynamight, right? That’s so cool.” His tone is earnest, though the mention of Bakugo makes your stomach flip in a way you’d rather not unpack right now.

You nod, swirling the drink in your hand to focus on something other than the sudden knot in your chest. “Yeah, that’s me. It’s, uh… an interesting gig.” You try to keep your tone light, though the thought of Bakugo lingers in the back of your mind.

The man leans on the bar, clearly intrigued. “Interesting’s an understatement. I mean, you must have stories. He’s kind of… intense, right? Like, what’s he like off-camera?”

You can’t help but smile at the question, though it’s small and guarded. “He’s… dedicated,” you say after a pause. It’s not a lie, and it feels safe enough. “Takes his work seriously.”

“Dedicated, huh?” he muses with a chuckle. “Well, I guess that’s a nice way of putting it.”

You laugh softly, sipping your drink. “Something like that.”

The conversation drifts into safer territory you learn his name is Mason, you talk about his job, your favorite drinks, his love for the jazz band currently playing—and it’s surprisingly easy. He’s charming, polite, and not pushy, which you appreciate. Still, there’s something tugging at the back of your mind, pulling you out of the moment.

Talia eventually meanders back, her arrival announced by her heels clicking against the floor. “I hate to interrupt,” she says sweetly, though the mischievous glint in her eyes says otherwise, “but I’m stealing her back for some girl talk.”

Mason doesn’t seem too fazed. “Of course. It was nice meeting you, though. Hopefully, I’ll see you around maybe not just on my tv screen?”

You nod, offering a polite smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Talia slides back onto the barstool, raising an eyebrow. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Are you into him, or was that just free drink bait?”

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “He was nice.”

“But…?”

“But nothing,” you insist, though the teasing smile on her face tells you she doesn’t believe you.

Talia leans closer, her voice low and knowing. “It’s because he’s not him, isn’t it?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t find the words. Because you should be into mason and you’re not. The truth is, she’s absolutely right—but admitting that feels like stepping onto shaky ground you’re not ready to navigate just yet. Instead, you take another sip of your drink and let the music fill the silence.

You quickly change the subject. “Forget men what if I just marry you instead?”

“Now you’re cookin’!”

You wake up the next morning to the blaring of your phones ringtone. With a groggy “hello?” You find out you’re being called into work on your one day off this week. Great.

You drag yourself through your morning routine, repeating a mantra to keep yourself sane: It’s just one meeting. Just one. Then I can go back to bed. Shower, clothes, aspirin, keys, coffee—you’re out the door, though the dull ache in your head reminds you of last night’s decisions.

When you finally trudge into the office, you immediately feel a pair of sharp eyes on you. Katsuki’s leaning against the desk, arms crossed, with a barely-there smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look like hell,” he comments, his tone casual but undeniably amused.

“Good morning to you too,” you mutter, gripping your coffee like it’s the only thing keeping you alive.

“Didn’t think you’d be here,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“Wasn’t supposed to be,” you reply, sinking into the nearest chair. “But apparently, nobody respects a day off anymore.” “Hah,” he huffs, shaking his head. “You’re too soft. Should’ve told ‘em no.”

You scoff and glance up at him, brows furrowed in annoyance “I’m YOUR interpreter you know damn well you’re the only reason I’m here”

His expression flickers for a moment—something between amusement and slight irritation—but then he leans forward slightly, resting his hands on the desk. “And you get paid for it, so quit whining.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “You know, you could’ve sent someone else today. Let me have one day off.” “Yeah, but they’d screw it up,” he says bluntly, waving off the idea. “You’re the only one who doesn’t piss me off.”

The comment stirs something in you that you wish it wouldn’t— an overwhelming fluttering in your stomach, millions of butterflies rapidly stirring. God, it makes you feel nauseous, but you quickly push those feelings down. because it’s katsuki, that means nothing.. right?

The meeting goes by in a blur, your hands moving on autopilot, barely registering what you’re signing anymore—it’s just second nature at this point. God, you’re so exhausted.

So exhausted, you almost miss the subtle way Katsuki’s hands move to communicate with you.

TIRED, YOU?

You ball your hand into a fist, thumb resting in front of your knuckles and bend your wrist forward twice

YES!

The way you raise your eyebrows, the look on your face, ‘enthusiastic’ YES.

FOOD, OFFICE, LATER?

Lunch. He’s asking about lunch. You were gonna go straight home.. but.

YES.

You find yourself saying yes.

The meeting finally wraps up, and you both shuffle into Bakugo’s office. You’d planned on today being a half day, so you hadn’t even thought to pack a lunch. You silently hope he doesn’t bring it up, because honestly? You don’t have an excuse.

As soon as you step inside, you slump down onto the couch with a heavy sigh, the cushion swallowing you up like it’s begging you to stay. Lifting your hands, you sign lazily:

TODAY, LESSON, NONE, EXHAUSTED.

Bakugo, who’s in the middle of grabbing a water bottle from his mini fridge, glances over at you and smirks. “You look like you’ve been hit by a bus,” he mutters, twisting the cap off the bottle.

You glare at him half-heartedly, lifting your hands again “wow. Thanks, you’re so nice Bakugo!”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before Katsuki is slumping into his chair, leaning back with a heavy sigh. He raises an eyebrow at you, signing with practiced precision

LESSON, NONE? LAZY.

You narrow your eyes at him, too tired to respond with anything clever. Instead, you let out a breathy laugh, flopping your head back against the couch. “Not lazy. Tired. Huge difference.”

NOT, LAZY, TIRED, DIFFERENT

His lips twitch, not quite a smile but close enough, and he lifts his hands again. “Excuses. Weak.”

You let out a fake gasp, dramatically clutching your chest like he’s just wounded you. “Mean.”

You’re giggling to yourself and for a moment the office is filled with a comfortable silence, the type that settles when two people are at ease.

You look at him, a flash of curiosity falling over your face and you mouth opens, your hands move quicker than your brain even thinks “why don’t you want people to know?”

His brows knit together in confusion, he’s not sure if he understood you correctly. “What?.. know.. what?”

“About you” your bring your index finger and tap it on your ear, then your mouth “being deaf”

He doesn’t respond immediately, taking a second to bask in your question, his eyes fall to the floor. When he finally looks at you, there’s something raw in his expression, something he usually keeps hidden behind all his usual gruffness

“It’s not about shame” his hands move simultaneously as he speaks. “I just… I don’t want anyone thinking I’m weak. That they can use it against me. I have to be the strongest.”

You nod, letting his words settle between you. “I get that. But Deaf doesn’t mean weak, Katsuki” you use his first name without even realizing. “It’s not a weakness—it’s a part of you. And it’s…” You hesitate, searching for the right words before finally signing, “It’s beautiful. There’s a whole culture, a whole community, that sees the world differently. You’re part of that, whether you realize it or not.”

His hands fall to his lap, and he studies you with an unreadable expression. “You really believe that?”

You smile softly, your hand touches the side of your forehead with the tips of the fingers ,your hand in a flat shape. “I know that.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, just lets your words linger. Then he lifts his hands again, slower this time, almost timid? “You… make me think about it different-“

He doesn’t finish his sentence, there’s a knock at the door. You glance over as an intern pops their head in, holding a bouquet of flowers so vibrant it practically lights up the dull office.

“Uh, these are for you,” they say, stepping in and handing them to you. “For me?” you ask, confused. You take the flowers, and the intern nods. “Yeah, there’s a note. Looks like your name’s on it.”

Your stomach flips as you glance down at the card tucked between the stems. You open it, reading the handwritten message:

Had a great time meeting you. Would love to see you again. Call me?

There’s a phone number scrawled underneath, and you immediately know who it’s from.

Katsuki, meanwhile, is staring at the flowers like they personally insulted him. “What the hell is that?” he doesn’t bother signing, instead speaking sharply

You feel the flush creeping on the back of your neck as your gaze breaks from the flowers “flowers.. from some guy I met last night”

His jaw tightens, and he leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Lame” he mutters while shaking his head

That earns an eyebrow raise from you. “Lame? I think it’s sweet

“It’s desperate.” He shoots back almost immediately “don’t call him.” There’s a sternness in his voice that a few weeks ago would’ve given you chills but you can’t help the laugh that flys past your lips.

“Excuse me?”

He won’t repeat himself, instead his eyes narrow and he stands up abruptly, shoving his wallet in his pocket and resuming his signing. “Come on. We’re going to lunch, my treat”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by the sudden change of pace. “What?” “You heard me,” he signs, already heading for the door. “We’re getting lunch. Now.”

You can’t help but laugh as you set the flowers down on his desk, grabbing your bag to follow him. There’s no way he’s jealous, right? but he’s definitely not thrilled about the guy from the bar…and, for some reason, you don’t mind that one bit.

The walk to the café down the block is quiet—well, mostly. Katsuki has his hands shoved into his pockets, his brow furrowed as if deep in thought. You steal a glance at him, trying to read his expression, but he’s impossible to crack.

The café is small and cozy, the kind of place that smells like fresh bread and espresso. Katsuki orders for himself without hesitation, then turns to you with a raised brow, waiting for your choice. When you tell him, he nods and adds it to the order, swiping his card before you can even think about reaching for yours.

As you settle into a booth by the window, you can’t help but notice how relaxed he looks here, away from the office and the weight of his hero persona. He’s still gruff, sure, but there’s something softer about him in this moment.

“So,” you start, signing carefully to make sure he catches every word. “What’s with the sudden lunch invite? You’re not usually this… spontaneous.”

He smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t read too much into it. You looked like you were about to pass out in my office. Figured food would keep you from keeling over.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, so it’s for my benefit? Not maybe because you might be.. I don’t know.. jealous of some guy from the bar?” You’re teasing, you shouldn’t be but god isn’t it fun?

His smirk falters for a split second, just long enough for you to catch it. He quickly recovers, though, leaning forward to sign, “I’m not jealous. Just don’t like idiots wasting your time.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, but you manage to keep your expression neutral. “Right,” you sign back, your movements slow and deliberate. “Because you get to decide who’s worth my time.”

“Damn right I do.” His hands move with a confidence that’s almost infuriating. But there’s something else there too, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between you.

Before you can even respond, the food arrives, breaking the tension. He begins eating without another word, and you follow suit, though your head is still spinning. There’s no way he doesn’t realize what he’s doing to you…right?

You’re eating together in silence for a few long moments when you see little eyes peering over the table in your peripheral vision. You turn your head to see a little girl, she couldn’t have been older than five. Her big brown eyes bouncing between you and Katsuki like she’s starstruck.

You chuckle softly, nudging Katsuki under the table to get his attention. He glances up, confused, before following your gaze to the little girl.

“What?” he mutters, completely missing her awe-struck expression.

“You’ve got an admirer,” you tease, keeping your voice low. Katsuki frowns, but you wave him off and turn to the girl. “Hi there, sweetheart. Can I help you?”

The girl’s hands start moving as she signs, “I know you! You’re on TV! You talk when Dynamight is on tv!”

Your heart melts instantly. “That’s me,” you sign back with a warm smile. “What’s your name?”

She signs back—“Emma.”

“Hi, Emma. It’s so nice to meet you,” you sign, keeping your movements slow and clear. “Do you want to tell Dynamight something?”

Emma nods eagerly, then hesitates. “I’m deaf,” she signs shyly, looking between you and Katsuki.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” you sign back, giving her a reassuring smile. “Let me get his attention for you.”

You tap Katsuki’s arm, and when he looks up, you sign to him, “You have an admirer” You repeat. He furrows his brows in confusion but glances at Emma, his expression softening slightly when he sees her beaming up at him.

“She’s deaf,” you explain.

Katsuki raises an eyebrow but quickly switches to signing. “Hey, kid.”

Emma gasps, her jaw dropping as she stares at him in shock. “You can sign?!” she signs back, practically bouncing in place. “Oh my gosh, you’re my favorite hero! I didn’t know Dynamight could sign!”

Katsuki huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Course I can sign,” he replies. “How else am I supposed to talk to cool kids like you?”

Emma giggles, her eyes sparkling with admiration. She leans closer, signing quickly, “My mom says I can’t have Dynamight toys because they’re for boys, but I don’t care! You’re still my favorite!”

Katsuki’s eyebrows furrow, and he signs back immediately, “That’s dumb. Dynamight’s for everyone. Tell your mom I said so.”

Emma giggles even harder, glancing back at her mom, who’s watching nervously from across the café.

“Do you fight bad guys every day?” Emma asks, her little hands moving excitedly. Katsuki smirks. “Pretty much. But they’re not as tough as me.”

“You’re so cool! Can I be a hero like you one day?”

Katsuki leans forward slightly, his gaze steady and serious. “Yeah, you can. But only if you promise to work hard. No slacking off.” Emma nods so enthusiastically you’re sure she’s going to tumble over. “I promise!”

You can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest as you watch them. Katsuki, for all his rough edges, is handling this so naturally.

“Thanks for talking to me,” Emma signs after a few more moments of chatting. “You’re the best hero ever!”

Katsuki grins faintly, his hand ruffling her hair briefly. “Go tell your mom you’re cool now ‘cause you met Dynamight. Emma giggles again, waving goodbye to both of you before running back to her table. Her mom mouths a thank you to you, and you nod politely.

“She was adorable,” you say, turning back to Katsuki. “Tch. Kids are annoying,” he grumbles, though there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he picks up his drink.

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping you. “You’re good with them, you know.”

“Whatever,” he mutters, but his ears are a little red.

You toss onto your side, pulling the blankets tighter around you as sleep continues to evade you. Your mind drifts back to the scene at the café, playing it over and over again—Katsuki sitting there, so naturally at ease with that little girl, his sharp eyes softening, his movements fluid and comforting. The way he spoke to her, so effortlessly kind, so… genuine.

Your face flushes at the memory, a quiet warmth spreading across your chest. And, of course, he’s fucking good with kids. He’s everything—strong, confident, and… that kindness.. in the way that katsuki can be kind. You can’t help but think about the way he told Emma, the young girl at the café, that she could be a hero—despite her deafness. How he made her feel seen, empowered, strong.

But then, why did he act so differently when it came to himself? Why did he view his own deafness as something to be hidden, something that made him weaker? That’s what he had said, after all—a weakness—when you asked him why he didn’t want anyone to know. And you can’t help but frown, confusion tightening in your chest.

It’s not a weakness at all… not like he thinks. You know that, deep down. Deafness doesn’t make you less—it’s part of who you are. And yet, here he is—someone so capable, so strong, so undeniably powerful—acting like it’s something to hide, something to shy away from.

Why couldn’t he see what you saw? How empowering it could be, how beautiful. How much it could mean to others to have someone like him—someone so fierce—representing that strength.

A frustrated sigh escapes your lips, and you shake your head, rolling over onto your other side. Why does he get it for someone else but not for himself?

The frustration eats away at you because Katsuki Bakugo has always been someone who’s never cared what anyone thinks, someone who’s been proud to stand alone, to prove he’s the strongest, to fight for what he believes in without hesitation. So why now? Why does he suddenly feel the need to hide parts of himself from the world?

That’s what gnaws at you—this contradiction in him. He’s fearless, bold, and unapologetically driven… so why, with this, does he shrink away, like it’s something to be hidden or kept separate? You know it’s not shame.

The thought lingers, burning in your mind as you shift restlessly in bed. It gnaws at you—how easy it was for him to tell Emma she could be a hero with her deafness, while he himself clings to the idea that it would make him be seen as less. it doesn’t make sense! Not with someone like him. It’s not about what others think—it’s about what he thinks… and what he’s been telling himself.

You wake up the next morning with a start, blindly feeling around your bed for your phone and when you see the time your stomach drops—you’re late. So late. Of course, after all the tossing and turning you did last night, you didn’t double-check your alarms.

If you’re going to make it only five minutes late, you’ll have to skip breakfast. You throw on clothes, shove whatever else you can into your bag, and practically sprint out of your apartment. With any luck, no one will even notice your absence.

When you finally sneak your way into the office, it’s swarming with press. You make a beeline upstairs, dropping your things at your desk and scanning the chaos for someone who can explain what’s going on. Your confusion must be plastered on your face because a passing intern mumbles, “Last-minute press conference,” as they rush by.

You nod in understanding, silently cursing the timing. Of course today, when you look like you got ready in five minutes—because you did—is the day you’re interpreting on live television.

You barely have a second to process the chaos before someone’s calling your name, a frazzled assistant waving you over. “Y/n! We’re live in five!”

Perfect. Just what you needed. You rush to a mirror, smoothing down your hair and attempting to make yourself look somewhat presentable. There’s no fixing the bags under your eyes or the crease in your shirt, but you do your best.

By the time you make it downstairs to the press area, Katsuki’s already standing at the podium, arms crossed and his usual scowl plastered on his face. His sharp eyes flicker to you the moment you walk in, and you swear you see the faintest hint of amusement in them.

“’Bout time,” he mutters under his breath as you take your spot across from him, beside the speaker for the agency. You shoot him a glare and roll your eyes. You don’t even have time for some witty remark, you’re frantically trying to smooth down your shirt.

As the cameras start rolling and the reporters quiet down, you slip into work mode, your hands moving fluidly as you translate his speech. But in the back of your mind, you can’t stop thinking about how, even now, he’s managing to get under your skin. And, annoyingly, how much you don’t mind.

Your distraction is evident, the signs are messy and your brains all over the place, there’s a pause in dialogue as the audience is directed to view something on the screen and you take a breath, so frazzled you almost missed Bakugo trying to get your attention off camera

RELAX

he signs, his expression calm but firm, his sharp eyes meeting yours. You start to shake your head as if to say I can’t, I’ve barely had time to breathe and I look like I barely slept

And it’s like he reads your mind.

YOU, PRETTY.

you practically choke on air, as you watch him, You try to keep your composure because—oh, right—you’re still live. Your heartbeat quickens as his hands move one more time, his gaze steady.

ALWAYS.

He looks away with a smug expression his face unreadable to anyone else, but the moment feels unbearably intimate—more than you want it to be. His message is meant just for you, spoken in a language only the two of you in the room understand.

But you don’t have time to unpack that right now, you’re working. You take a breath, as much as his words stirred up the most confusing emotions they also comforted you, you’re fine. This is the job you love, the job you’re great at.

The press conference ends without any further hiccups, your hands moving fluidly through the signs as you finish the broadcast. You can feel Bakugo’s presence, and while you’d never admit it, the occasional glances he throws your way seem to steady you more than anything else.

As the room clears out and the camera lights dim, you exhale a sigh of relief, rubbing your temples. You don’t even notice Bakugo stepping closer until he’s right next to you, arms crossed, an unreadable look on his face.

“You good now?” he asks, his tone softer than you expected, though he still looks more smug than concerned.

“I’m fine,” you reply, a bit defensive, standing straighter. “It’s just… it’s been a morning.”

“Tch, no kidding,” he mutters before his eyes narrow slightly. “But you pulled it together.”

You glance at him, surprised by the unexpected compliment. “Thanks, I guess.”

His gaze lingers on you for a moment before he signs, slow and deliberate, like he wants you to really pay attention.

YOU, STRONG. ALWAYS.

You feel your heart skip a beat, your mind replaying the earlier moment from the press conference. He doesn’t look away this time, holding your gaze like he’s daring you to argue.

And you want to. You want to tell him you don’t feel strong right now, that everything’s a mess, that he can’t just say things like that and expect you to be fine. But you can’t. The intensity in his eyes stops you.

Instead, you swallow thickly and sign back: THANK YOU.

He gives a small nod, satisfied, before turning and walking toward the door. Just before he leaves, he throws over his shoulder, “Don’t be late again.”

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself throwing you hands up to sign a quick, “Thanks for the pep talk, boss.”

You don’t need to see his face to know he’s smirking as he leaves.

And you hate the way that smirk affects you because you know he knows he’s pretty, and you know he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. It’s infuriating. That stupid, cocky grin lingers in your mind even after he’s gone, making your blood boil and your chest tighten all at once.

You slump back into your chair, running a hand down your face. It’s exhausting, being around him. Not just because of the work or the constant press conferences, but because he has this way of getting under your skin in ways you didn’t even think were possible.

It’s not fair. It’s him. Katsuki Bakugo. The man who scowls at everything, talks like every word is a challenge, and somehow still manages to have moments where he’s thoughtful, protective, and… sweet? Ugh. You hate it.

You hate how he’s in your head. But the worst part?

You’re starting to think he knows that, too.

—

A/n: yayy pt 2 finally! Part 3 coming soon (next few days!)

Tags: @poemeater @beebunsx @mimzyu @beabamboo

#shut up haley!#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugou #deaf bakugo #bakugou x reader

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