#then flick (whos deaf) signed at me who you talking to so i was like bella she said whatd bella say and i was like she said we suck | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jolapeno · 1 year

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things you never asked

Javier Peña x f!reader (deaf/hard of hearing/hearing impaired!reader)

can you sign? biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. likely purposefully. but I will learn.

wordcount: 3.1k dedication: written for the wonderful anon who requested Javier Peña x deaf/hearing impaired reader, I hope you enjoy. AN: Please be aware, I am not deaf/hard of hearing myself, and therefore, I apologise to anyone who reads this and sees inaccuracies. I’m aware, even with the research, talking and asking questions, it doesn’t scratch the surface of truly knowing this experience.

javier peña masterlist

Initially, he doesn’t seem impressed that you are here.

Not at your presence, or that you’re standing in his office, bag in front of your thighs as you introduced yourself—never mind why you were here.

There was often little choice where you were sent. Assistance and special interests are rarely ever needed all at once.

Not that it matters, Javier Peña seems even less interested as to the reasons you’re here, or that you were sent here. Under it, though, you see something else. It's fleeting—breezing past like curtains caught in a draught—but he looks worried, concerned.

He does a good job at burying it, stuffing it down as he stares down at the file again, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge.

He does give you the nicety of looking at you when you talk, eyes, all hard and umber, flicking from the paper in his hand to you. Then, his eyes take in the sight you knew he would find eventually, the thing you don't hide, but rather wished you’d gotten to your credentials before it was spotted.

Then it flushes across his face, the flattening of creases and the immediate shift to concern.

You’ve grown good at reading people, having been around people who make assumptions as an occupational hazard. You’ve become well versed in reading lips, and the minor inflexions around them—the subtle shifts of their eyes, the way their lips try not to curl.

From the looks of it, if he had wanted someone, he had at least wanted someone who didn’t need an aid to hear him. And you foolishly wished to support someone who hadn’t written you off the moment you arrived, something you’d have commented on, if not for the fact you really wanted this particular job.

His eyes keep glancing over it—the cochlear implant—the object that allows you to do what you’d always wanted to and what you're good at.

Languages have always fascinated you, even with the clock ticking on how long you could hear them being spoken. It’s why you knew you’d be helpful—laundering didn’t tend to stick in one county, never mind the country.

“I don’t mean to be….”

You lick your lips, letting him do what he feels he must. Albeit softly, kindly.

“You can’t… you can’t go out—it’s dangerous and—“

Unmeaningly, you smile. “I’m aware I’ll be office-based, Mr Peña. But, a lot can be done from a desk.”

It leaves your tongue harshly, even if you don’t mean it to be. Even if his tone was the polar opposite, gentle, soft.

The rules of what you can and can’t do are firmly etched into your brain the number of times you’ve heard them. The amount of languages you’ve heard it said to you in—hell, someone had even once signed it.

It’s as though each time, they think you expect to run off with a gun and a badge rather than assess case files and assist.

“If you could show me where I can sit, I’ll get started—I was told you had transcripts I could read.”

He seems to run his tongue against his teeth before throwing the paperwork down on his desk.

The pile there large, sat at all angles, like adding to it is his hobby rather than sorting it.

He introduces you to his deputy—a man who tries not to stare but does so all the same. It’s his name, you remember on the initial paperwork: N. Stoddard.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr Stoddard.”

“Neil,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers before extending it.

Shaking it, your grip firm—just like you were taught—you stand a little straighter, spine a little stiffer, feeling brown eyes still on you.

In time, you’re left alone.

Playing catch-up is never fun. A risk of information overload set to hit at any moment, but able to keep it at bay with sugary snacks and coffee.

In the following days, you find it’s easier not to meet his eyes. To not suffer the same fate as the other women in the building—the ones who all sigh in the same horrid pitch that vibrates through your brain.

If he looks your way, someone else—an intern, a busybody—swoops in, desperate to remove you from the playing field. Because it’s a game getting noticed by him, each one stepping up to the plate, batting and seeing who can score.

All he ever manages to ask is whether you’re okay before his attention is needed.

You’re not sure you believe all of the reasons people give. But then, none of them realise you’re not interested in playing, not knowing that truthfully, as handsome as he is, even spending an evening with someone you assume wouldn’t be able to speak to you without your aid is more tiring and lonely, than declining the opportunity.

Even if, irrespective of the fact Javier Peña spoke Spanish and English, you doubted his language skills spread into Lengua de Señas Colombiana or ASL. Something you weren’t about to put to the test, time ticking, case mounting—there was little need in getting attached. In forming anything outside of polite behaviour and yes sir. Even if he had softened, even if he saw something in you that was worth keeping around.

Not that he shows that all too much to you, barely letting a glance fall in your direction. Occasionally, he’ll look, ask if you got that, whether he needs to repeat it.

With others, you’d have bitten back that you can hear him perfectly, but with him, you swallow it. Let it erode a hole on the tip of your tongue, suspecting he didn’t mean it as condescending as it came out.

You still do respond with a gesture—a thumbs up, an okay sign, just to stick the point in.

It seems he’s wired to keep everyone at arm's reach, you assume. Likely making up for something, a wrong or a right—you can’t be sure. So, you don’t assume, you’re too busy, too much needing to be checked, typed.

The more transcripts come in, the less it all makes sense. Your fingers typing, trying to find some pattern, so no one has to risk involving the wife.

It’s easier to fake being a workaholic as the reason you don’t look up at him when he walks past. When you keep your chin dipped when the end of the day arrives.

Because even if you’re here to help process legal paperwork, to be the middle person and keep the peace, you couldn’t help but notice that he was good-looking. Somewhat reserved, but handsome.

Something you get to see firsthand a few days later, finding him standing at your desk, fingers tapping against the wood.

At first, you don’t dare look up. Your stomach drops, your implant thrown in your bag—the lump in your throat from your earlier sob all returns.

You had known the day would end badly from how your morning began. An overslept alarm, a coffee-stained blouse and your lunch on the floor in a mess—and that was before you got in.

Then it was rushing, snagged trousers on a desk end and no batteries for your cochlear implant in your bag.

You reach for a pen, for paper—glancing up again, and it’s like the lights have been switched on, suddenly seeing what everyone else falls for.

The brown pools in his eyes—how they coax you in. Call for you. They make you forget how to think, breathe and recall. Mainly because, unlike usual, they’re soft, wide and large. They’re full of empathy and pleading for forgiveness—

Shit. He’s speaking.

His lips moving. Your brain quickly, and already, works a translation out as your forehead creases and your lips slide up into your cheek.

He’ll remember—you think. He’d stared at it enough in the moments you’ve been around him that he must.

But, the longer he talks, the more you fear that won’t be the case.

It’s why you stop him.

Racking your brain for the sign in ASL before slowly raising your index finger, moving it to your cheek near your left ear—to a spot close to your lower cheek, and signing to him.

His lips stop moving, sliding to a halt as he stares. And you grab a scrap piece of paper, your pen gliding over the sheet in the neatest you could get it:

I can’t hear you. Ask someone else.

Javier considers it. Leaning more so on your desk.

Doing so with a tilt of his head and a stroke of his jaw, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up—allowing you to see how his veins twitch and his muscles flex as he thinks.

Gesturing for the pen, he takes it, adding in neater writing than you banked on:

You don’t want to help me?

You smirk, looking up and finding him watching you—smiling.

Suddenly, you’re unsure whether you should remind him you can lip-read. That if he sticks to one language, you’ll be able to keep up.

Instead, you take the pen back, seeing something dance in his eyes, you know you should run from. But you don’t.

Can you sign?

Biting the inside of his mouth, he at least attempts to look guilty as he shakes his head. Gesturing, taking your pen, fingers brushing against yours ever so delicately. Likely purposefully.

But I will learn.

You snort. In all of your free time? you wonder, and from the way his eyes open a fraction wider, he reads your mind.

Staring, wiping his thumb over his lips as you stare at the imperfect handwriting with the perfect Spanish. You write:

I caught one word. Ask again, but slower. In one language.

It shifts, changes. Like day into night, like spring into summer. Things bloom.

Days bleeding into a week, a week ticking up to a month. The hours together, even with his meetings, growing, rooting something down that you know should worry you.

Because he’s not like this with Neil.

Neil who can hear him, and likely always will; Neil who works here permanently, and won’t be whisked away when all is said and done.

You let it happen anyway.

Watching it begin with him checking in, not just sending Neil to do so. His care spreads into offering you a drink, slowly mastering the perfect way you take it.

He hovers, and you don’t hate it.

An attachment forming, weaving itself between the two of you, pulsing—and you should stop it.

There’s fleeting things, ones which seem obvious, but it’s better to ignore. The way he moves you to the side of the pavement away from the cars when you find yourself going out for lunch at the same time as him; when he realises that you find it easier if he sticks to one language, not doing an oddly beautiful mix of Spanish and English.

You make him laugh, and he makes you smile.

Something you’re sure countless others do, but you try not to linger on it. Instead, finding his eyes barely glance at the thing, which helps you hear the sound he makes, instead only looking at you.

It’s why you don’t argue that you can’t go with him to Curaçao. Instead, you pack a bag—finding a rationale for the reason you’re on a plane, foot almost brushing his as you sit opposite.

“You stay out of sight, you’re here for—“

“My tongue,” you bite back, not glancing up, but smirking at the way the air shifts. “I know, Javi. You don’t need to read me my rights.”

He leans back, elbow meeting the armrest, studying you—thumb swiping his bottom lip. A movement you notice he does a lot, so frequently, you almost fear you’ll mirror it.

“¿Qué?” you ask.

He shrugs, thumb still tracing. “You’ve never called me Javi.”

Closing the file, you cross your leg over the other, the tip of your shoe brushing his in the act. “Well, I’ve never been taken from my desk.”

It’s chaos.

An inevitable coincidence when he takes off in a run, and Javi follows. Pink shirt blurring in the distance, your feet slowing to a near jog, knowing you’d never be able to keep up.

You try, because you’re stubborn, difficult.

A person who should know better, and yet finds herself very much somewhere you shouldn’t be—just because he asked nicely, and did so following a flurry of compliments.

You’re good, really good. You seem surprised. No. Not surprised. Just… Surprised? Alright, you got me, muñeca. You calling me muñeca cause I’m fragile? No, just other names seemed inappropriate.

It’s muñeca that circles your mind as you follow the mess the chase leaves behind—the shouts, the knocked-over furniture and the way the crowd parts like the sea. Your hands brush past people, guiding yourself back to him—to them. Your body catches shoulders, head almost knocks against walls as you try to follow. Running, fleeing—calves burning as the sun beats down on your skin. As your arm throbs from meeting a wall, a graze most likely being a badge you’ll wear for a few days.

Chest burning as you reach the square, finding pink and a crowd gathered you let a breath soak into your lungs. Taking another and another, steadying your pulse as you watch him raise a gun. You brace, but find nothing.

Just a shove and push of the crowd.

And nothingness.

Nothing.

It dawns then, as your blood stops thumping in your head. It rushes through you, crashes and slashes the relief at catching Jurado, because you can’t hear.

It rises like fire, spreading from your stomach and growing up your oesophagus. Disorientation mixing with loss, hand clutching the place it should be, eyes scanning the floor in circles as you pace and retrace.

It stings—the tears which come thick and fast. Your hand remaining against your ear, unable to catch each gasp from a sob, doing so, even if you can’t see through the thick pain coated in your eyes—

You’re spun, finding brown eyes, tousled hair and a pink shirt. Soft, but slightly calloused fingers, slide down your forearm.

He spots your tears, taking the sight of you in as his other hand cups your chin, tilting you to face him. Those brown eyes, the ones softening second by second, making you swallow, making your brain empty—

He’s speaking. A blend of languages from the look of it, mixing from one to the other, jumbling whatever thought process you had.

Lips moving quickly, fingers wrapping around your forearm, and you stare. It takes a second, your mind slowly engaging, before you lift your hand, tapping against your ear as you frown.

It’s then you can read it. Now he’s slowed his lips and chosen one language.

You can’t hear me?

You shake your head, unsure how to begin to explain, without sign language or paper, that you lost it somewhere in the chase. Your fingers pointing to your ear, moving your arm, signalling to him, but you could feel it—the dread. It creeps over you, half-expecting him to excuse himself.

But instead, he releases his hand from yours, asking with precise fingers and a concerned look if you’re hurt—if you can walk.

Answering with head shakes and signs in response, your eyes still brimming with tears—throat choked by emotion and the lack of sound.

There were moments, fleeting since you’d arrived in Colombia, where there had been no sound to the point it had hurt your head, and now you missed how loud it all was—missed the liveliness of it.

That feeling sitting with you, drenching you as he leads you into a car, and then a car into a plane.

It’s only after take-off, the sensation of being in the air felt by every bone, do you think, do you replay it all.

He’s lost in talking to Jurado. His words are not easily untangled, but his focus on him is enough to tell you that you can relax.

That’s when it floors you:

He signed.

Not once, twice or even thrice. He signed a multitude of times. In the square, in the car—even as you boarded the plane.

Your eyes look up, glancing over, finding his fingers wrapped around his chin, staring—as if waiting for you to notice.

He must read minds, concluding that you’ve figured it out. Not saying a thing. Neither of you is signing a vowel.

Not doing so until the wheels of the plane land in Miami, the people waiting to take Jurado do so, leaving the two of you for a moment.

He must wait for you to move, unbuckle your seatbelt and go over. But you don’t. The minutes collected, eventually finding him coming closer, sitting in the opposite seat—the table folded out without glancing at it. Pulling out paper and a pen.

Then he writes: Told you I’d learn.

You smirk, licking your lips, taking the pen—the one you realise is yours. You want a medal for learning a few phrases?

Tilting his head, he smirks back. Mirroring yours. The two of you sit in it, until you unbuckle your belt—shifting to the edge of your seat.

Now we’re done, I’ll be sent to another office.

He nods, smirk lessening as he takes the pen. I know.

The sorrow etched into his face is one you feel thumping in your chest. A longing to stay, to help in some other ways, not that you’re sure how.

Taking the pen, you offer a smile before you write quickly:

It cannot hurt to do this, then.

His eyes glance up to meet yours as they register, watching you move close—confusion melting outwards just in time for you to lean forward and kiss him.

A thank you, initially.

All soft, delicate—more testing the waters than anything else. Until, his lips move with yours. Thanking him again, thanking him for the kindness in the square, for trying.

Feeling that same palm cupping your cheek as he deepens it, as he holds you close, the other hand sliding along your knee.

It’s wrong, most likely—a breach of some kind of contract you signed. But, then, you weren’t meant to have left, to have gone with him, faux-finalising other documents in the air when you should have been on the ground.

So, this—giving in—kissing him, was minor.

an: to the anon, you deserve the world. thank you for trusting me with this.

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bonefall · 8 months

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hi! just discovered this blog from your hearing loss post, which i ADORE. throughout it you mentioned pawspeak, and i was wondering if you had any sources/posts about it, or could describe its fundamentals very simply? sorry if youve already answered this!!! youre very cool

There's not too many fundamentals to share, really! Pawspeak is just the fandom term for a Clan cat sign language. Most people have their own takes on it.

Some people like to make it use two paws, other like to do a single paw in tandem with ear flicks and tail movements, some have omitted paw movements entirely and just use ear and tail signs. Most people aren't my queer ass who worked with a friend to ACTUALLY create a full Clan cat language with its own grammatical structure; so likewise, they're just making a cat approximation of a sign language.

So there's no rules! Do as you please! You can just adapt ASL or BSL for cat paws if you want, the same way no one bats an eye when people animate the cats lipsynching to English.

I would just try to remind you, and recommend, that your sign languages evolve from deaf people.

It's both a misconception, and insultingly common for media to show hearing people inventing sign language for the benefit of their deaf friends and family, when that's not how that happens. Deaf people have agency, theyre not just waiting for an abled person to bestow language on them. Deaf communities, and communities with high rates of hearing impaired people, come up with unique sign languages if they don't already have one!

These languages are often studied by linguists as examples of "isolate" language families, which mean they evolved without ANY genetic 'relation' to another language. Nicaraguan Sign Language is a neat example of that!

(The "hearing people invent sign" thing is perpetuated by the myth that Francosign, the language family containing ASL, was invented by one really nice philanthropist. It wasn't. The man took a bunch of words from an existing deaf community in Paris, which was likely a language under the BANZSL family, didn't care to record or learn what they were ALREADY speaking, and made up his own clunky system called "methodical signs" to make a "signed version" of French. This was practically useless for casual use. Actual deaf people mixed this with the languages they were ALREADY using to talk to each other to make new ones; one famous example of this is actually ASL.)

For BB I actually plan to show Pawspeak evolving as an isolate language after the Clan's move to the Lake. It's going to be born out of Gatherings and Aftergatherings-- while Clan cooperation has actually lead to a period so peaceful that it's allowed a proper community to form. Now with a stable population of hearing-impaired cats of all Clans, each of them bringing new signs and phrases home, it can standardize into a true language around the lake.

So then I can show how most of the signs come from RiverClan, mix with the signals WindClan uses to communicate across the moor, show how violent signs tend to be tail-based because they come from battle commands, etc.

It fits the themes of BB, and gives me a chance to show how fascinating sign languages really are. Even though it'd make sense for them to already have one, tbh, I think it's worth it. (Or maybe have Lake Pawspeak basically be a language that combined the several 'pawspeaks' of the various clans.)

#Stonewing is part of Berry's cats in canon. But I think in BB I need to make him a Heartstar loyalist #Because there's no way he wasn't close with Strike and Dove #Even in canon he was spotted with Strike a lot but in BB I've explicitly made Stone deaf #So Stone Strike and Dove are like a little community in ShadowClan #When the arc is over I'll sit down and sort the Shadow cats into camps. But tbf Heartstar's controversial but VERY popular with supporters #So it could be fun for Stone and his mate to end up on separate sides of that conflict #bone babble #pawspeak

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marymary-diva17 · 1 year

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Hello. Could you make a storie where Neteyam is deaf or mute? Or in a wheelchair?

mute neteyam x metkayian reader

Finding true love was something that all navi wanted in their lives, to be with someone that will love them for them. That was something that neteyam wanted for him he wish to have love, and he wish for a mate to love him for himself not his family status and his future as well. He also wish to find someone who will except him for being deaf and love him, he thought that will never come until they day he meet you.

Y/n " ......" you were walking on the bouncing walkway of the village, heading towards the sully family home to see neteyam. The two of you had become clsoe friends and always did task together for fun.

y/n " hello Jake Sully is neteyam up" Jake soon saw you as he was about to leave the family home.

Jake " oh hello y/n he is just got done eating breakfast, it seem like he was in rush and now I know why" Jake had smiled him and neytiri had thought you and Neteyam make a cute couple. They will always ask neteyam when he was finally going to ask you to be his girlfriend or confess his feelings.

y/n " oh my father told me that you and tsu'tey will be joining him on the hunt today"

Jake " yes we are" you are the daughter of tonowari and ronal, being their eldest child was something you and Neteyam were able to bond over.

Jake " oh here he comes"

neteyam " dad im going to out to do my task with y/n today, I'm going to get her... oh you are already here"

y/n " well yes last week you picked me up and now it my turn silly" neteyam had learned to read lips and body language, he had learned sign language and so did his family and everyone else. He had learned others ways to understand people and others around him.

Jake " oh so you were going to pick her up that very nice of you"

neteyam " dad " you soon laugh as neteyam was looking at his dad trying not be embarrassed.

Tonowari " daughter there you are"

y/n " hello baba I was going to do my task outside of the reef with neteyam today of the fine with you and Jake Sully"

Jake " im good with that neteyam knows what to do"

neteyam " yes I do sir I will keep y/n and myself safe from any trouble, and if the others come along I will make sure we all stay out of trouble"

tonowari " then you kids can go b safe out there please"

y/n " we will dad come on teyam" you soon grabbed neteyam arm and soon started dragging him away, making the boy smile brightly and laugh a bit. The two father looked at each other and smile knowing there was something between their kids.

neytiri " it seems like our son and your daughter seem to have a good bond together"

tonowari " ronal has said neteyam is the perfect match for our daughter" the three parents had smiled as the watched the pair take off on their IIu together as they seem to be talking about something.

sometime later

y/n " we just have to make sure the nets over here are good, and don't need repair"

Neteyam " got it so let talk about my brother and your sister"

y/n " what about them I think they will make a cute couple"

neteyam " oh good because lo'ak has asked me to tell you about some good facts about him, that you can share with tsireya"

y/n " oh become tsireya has asked to ask you or lo'ak about his favorite things and stuff so, she can get to know him better" soon you and neteyam started laughing, the duo younger siblings were crushing big time.

Neteyam " here let me help you" you were having a hard time checking a net, when Neteyam had noticed that and came to help you. Soon the two of you had pulled out the net to see it was okay, but soon the IIu had grabbed the other side thinking, you were all playing and game sending you and neteyam falling into the water.

neteyam " we should of seen that coming"

y/n " yes we should of have but they are just being friendly and having fun ... ahh Neteyam" neteyam had soon flicked some water towards you, making you laugh as your hair was now back in your face after you pushed you hair back you soon got Neteyam back.

neteyam " oh you are in for it now"

y/n " hey you stand this water fight don't start something you can't handle" the pair seem to be very close to each other as they were enjoying each other company. The two of you soon swam back to shore neteyam and gotten back fist and soon help you up.

y/n " you know for use being he eldest I'm still happy we can find some fun in life"

neteyam " you are right we don't always heat to be responsible 24/7 and can enjoy some time off and not having to worry about everything"

y/n " I'm happy you are here neteyam you have made life here so fun"

neteyam " I'm happy to be here as well even due we have to leave home, you and everyone else has made life here well" you soon gave neteyam and smile making the man smile back towards you, lo'ak was lean against a tree.

neteyam " come join me" you soon nodded your head and soon sit with neteyam lean your head on his chest, neteyam was fine this this and accept it. Even due the two of you are not the a couple that did stop the both of you from acting like a couple, time and time again.

later that night

y/n " I really should be getting home thanking you for spending the day with me neteyam"

neteyam " anytime ma y/n"

y/n " see you tomorrow ma neteyam" you and Neteyam soon smile at each other neteyam and lean clsoe to you and soon kissed you, this actions had shocked you both but you soon kissed him back.

neteyam " good night ma yawne"

y/n " good night ma yawne" you and neteyam had kissed one more time before duo had parted way for the night, when you got home your family was looking at you it seems like they knew what had happened you didnt pay them attention and just joined them for a meal. After that day you and neteyam had started a courtships which was lie dating to humans, the two of you were so happy about the relationship.

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presidentroarie · 10 months

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Sophitz Week Day 1: Human AU

ft. Deaf!Fitz

Normally I'd put this on my writing blog, but sophitz week gets it everywhere. Written in a rush for yesterday and then I fell asleep, don't judge it too hard XD. I will be continuing and updating it (maybe ao3?)

Sophie sat in the second row in her second period class: Algebra 2. It wasn't exactly a great start to her first day, but that meant that her classes could only get better from there.

“Alright, students, let's take attendance!” Sir Faxon said. “There's only twenty two of you of you, so this should be quick.” He went down the list, and each of the first nineteen people raised their hands. “Fitz Vacker!”

No one raised their hand. “Fitz?” He asked again, and people started looking around.

There was a boy who sat three seats down from her who hadn’t raised his hand. It seemed he was looking at something on his desk. They almost looked like a set of light bulbs.

Sir Faxon started and hit the button on his desk. One of the bulbs on the boy's desk lit up.

The boy looked up to the front and raised his hand.

“Sorry Fitz,” Sir Faxon annunciated sheepishly. “I entirely forgot. It's good to meet you.”

The boy—Fitz—held up the okay sign, partnered with an easygoing smile to show he meant it. Then he signed something else: he put his left thumb toward his chest and moved his hand between him and Sir Faxon, his right pointer finger aimed at him. Sophie didn't know much ASL, but she guessed it meant something like You too.

Sir Faxon finished attendance and smiled. “Well class, it's nice to see some familiar faces from our Algebra 1 class a couple years ago. To those of you who didn't have me, it's nice to meet you.” He gave them a moment of silence before continuing, “Now I know the first day is stressful, so for today's class, I'm going to allow you to talk to each other. Just don’t be too loud about it, or I'll have to hear about it from Magnate Leto.”

The room immediately started switching seats with each other to get closer to their friends.

Dex, who was sitting in front of her, turned his chair around and flopped over on her desk. “Math second period? I'm gonna die.”

Sophie just nodded her affirmative. Her eyes flicked to the boy—Fitz.

He was reading a book, his teal eyes scanning the pages intently. Every once in a while, he must've read something funny, because he’d get a small smile from the corner of his mouth.

His cola hair and bronze skin made his eyes pop when he turned to look at her.

Sophie gave him a shy smile, slightly blushing from having been caught staring. and waved.

Fitz waved back with the same smile he'd had while reading.

Dex shoved Sophie's shoulder, and she turned her head back to glare at him. “What was that for?”

“Saving you,” he responded. “You've been staring so long at the deaf kid that he noticed.”

“First off, his name is Fitz, calling him the deaf kid is rude. Secondly, I was trying to see what book he was reading.”

Dex snorted. “More like you were trying to see his butt.”

Sophie went bright red. “Okay, was I noticing that he's cute, objectively? Yeah, sure. But he's not my type.”

“He's exactly your type,” Dex rebutted. “I mean, I get it. He's hot. But you don't usually oogle."

“Shut up,” she said, collecting her stuff. The bell rang, and Sophie nodded at Dex before making her way to Study Hall. Seeing the blonde girl in the back row, she snagged the seat beside her. “Marella!”

“Hey to you too,” Marella said. "What do you want?"

“Oh what? I'm not allowed to be glad to see you?” Sophie asked.

“No, but I'm assuming since we came in together with Dex this morning and you weren't so jovial, you have something to talk about. So spill.”

Sophie glanced around the room. Other than the teacher, whose face was stuck behind a book, everyone had headphones in and were doing work on their computers or were on their phones. She leaned in conspiratorially. “Okay, have you had a class with Fitz Vacker?”

“Oh,the deaf guy?” Marella asked.

“His name is Fitz.”

“I was just checking! Yeah, he's in European History with me first period. Elodie Musker and her posse were drooling all over him until they realized he was deaf. Lady Dara lit into them about it after class."

"Good for her. What the fuck is wrong with them?"

“Thats a long list. So, what were you going to say about him?” Marella asked.

Sophie blushed. “Oh, I just wanted to see if you knew anything about him. You know, normal stuff.”

Marella squinted at her. "Like what?”

Sophis shrugged, blushing slightly. “Like, just whatever you know. I'm curious.”

“Alright, you never ask me for gossip about anybody. Do you like him? Because I dont know if he has a partner, or even if he's interested in anyone."

“No!” Sophie said. “I dont know him. And that's the problem. How is it that I've never seen him before? What's the deal?” When Marella side eyed her, she gave her back puppy eyes. “Please?”

Marella sighed. “Okay, okay. I don't know much to be honest. I know that his parents are pretty rich and that they're really well-known. His dad is Alden Vacker.”

“Who?”

“Alden Vacker? The guy who used to date Governor Alina? He's a stockbroker.”

“Oh, that's cool I guess. So his family is a bunch of rich people?”

“Basically. I know he has an older brother who graduated a few years back and is now overseas in Germany, and his little sister Biana is our age. Fitz is the only one who's deaf. So maybe his family had him homeschooled.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Sophie said. “Okay, that's a good start.” She pulled out her phone and began typing away into the search bar.

"Sophie, where is this going?"

"I'm gonna talk to him. "

“You don't know sign language.”

“But I can learn. Honestly, I should've earlier. It's not like there aren't deaf people all over the country.”

"Hmm," Marella said.

“Anyways,” Sophie said casually. “What's this year’s plan to get Linh Song’s attention?”

“Oh shut it,” Marella grumbled.

“You mean you've got nothing?” Sophie teased. When Marella grumbled more, Sophie said, “How about you just ask her out?”

“No, no,” Marella sighed. “It's okay, I'll think of something."

They spent the rest of the class period researching ASL, or stewing in Marella's case, until the bell rang, signaling lunch time. Sophie determined she would ignore Fitz for the rest of the day until she got home so she could practice some ASL and be back Monday, ready to try.

-----------------‐---------------‐------‐-------

Of course, life decided to put her in the same 5th period AP Bio class and the 6th period lab. But she managed to stay focused on the task at hand and only glanced at him a few times, thankfully without being caught.

At the end of the class, Sophie walked up to the teacher. “Hey Elwin,” she said. “Long time no see.”

“What do you want?” Elwin said with an eye roll. “It better not be asking me why I'm not in the Healing Center.”

“Oh, not at all!” Sophie assured him. “Just wanted to ask if you could wait until Monday to make up lab partners.”

“What are you up to?”

“Nothing. Just asking.”

Elwin just shook his head. “Alright, I'll wait until Monday.”

“Thank you! Okay, gotta go, bye Elwin see ya tomorrow!” She stopped in the doorway. "Actually, why aren't you in the Healing Center?"

"I saw you on the AP Bio list and figured I could keep an eye on your accident prone self," Elwin teased.

Sophie stuck her tongue out at him and laughed when he did it back. The second bell rang, and Sophie said, "Shit, gotta go. See ya!"

---------------‐-------------------------------

Life gave her another shock when she walked in 8th period to find a worksheet on their assigned desks with another name on the top.

Tiergan said, "Yes, yes, welcome back, pupils. I thought today I'd make it easier than in the past and do a simple 'Getting to Know you' worksheet. Now, your partner's name is written at the top, and it's up to you to find them and ask them their questions. You can not trade partners, and at the end of class, you and your partner will be sitting next to each other in your new assigned seats. If you do the assignment, you get a 100. Don't, and you get a zero. If your partner isn't here, ask me your questions so you can get a grade. Sound good?"

Sophie read the name at the top of her paper three times. Fitz Vacker.

Well, shit. Hopefully, she'd researched enough during lunch, with no help from Dex and Marella, to be able to answer and ask the questions.

They found each other towards the back of the room and sat, staring at each other for a minute.

Finally, Sophie couldn't take it. She waved before rubbing a closed fist over her chest a couple circles and then holding it up, flicking her fingers behind her a little. Hi. Sorry for before.

Fitz looked confused. He tapped the side of his head gently before rolling two pointer fingers around in front of his chest and splitting them apart, laying them out. You know sign language?

She paused a moment, trying to figure out how to sign what she meant. Finally, she signed, Reading? Yes. Signing? No, but trying.

--------------------End here ------------------------

Leaving it here for later

#sophitz week <3<3<3 #sophitz week 2023 #fitz vacker #kotlc #sophie foster #sophitz #fitzroy avery vacker #kotlc fitz #fitzroy vacker #sophitz positivity #sophie elizabeth foster #kotlc sophie

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starfall-spirit · 9 months

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Read on Ao3

Summary: Hoping to score a dinner date, Sawyer approaches Jesinia after weeks of practicing sign language with his squadmates.

AN: Obviously we haven’t been given any details on handshape, orientation, or NMMs in Navarrian Sign Language, so for the purposes of the fic the signing error Sawyer makes is realistic to ASL. I don’t know any sign languages for other countries, so if this mistake is totally unrealistic in BSL, FSL, etc, I’m unfamiliar with the language.

In this work I mention Sawyer has a name sign. For readers who don't know much about ASL, a name sign is a sign created by a Deaf individual and given to a friend, coworker, aquaintance, etc. and a shorthand to avoid fingerspelling someone's full name. It is usually based around a trait in one's physical appearance or personality and can only be given by a member of the Deaf community. To make things simple, I designed Sawyer's name sign around the flicking movement for the word metal (signet), replacing the X handshape with an S handshape to tie in his first initial.

Anywhoville, enjoy!

He was just asking her out to dinner, nothing more. And if she said no... He would probably never show his face among the Aretian scribes again.

"Don't you think that's a bit dramatic, Sawyer?" Sliseag grumbled. "The girl is passive, her companions more so. A failed romantic pursuit would not be the end of your welcome, I'm certain."

"I would not call a woman willing to commit treason on the vague word of a friend passive, Sliseag," he snipped back.

"Then this exile from scribe territory would be a self-inflicted act of cowardice? That is not a trait I chose you for, boy."

He rolled his eyes at the exaggerated remark. Exile was a rather heavy term for his potential predicament, but he wasn't about to argue semantics with a dragon. "This must be the arrogant shit Violet grumbles about when it comes to Tairn."

Hearing a scuffing sound against the stone floor, he threw his shield in place, cutting off his dragon's next quip as Jesinia stepped into view. "Good afternoon, Sawyer," she greeted him, utilizing the sign name she'd given him a few weeks after meeting. It was blunt, as most of the language was prone to be, playing off of the sign for metal thanks to his signet, though the X handshape was replaced by an S to link in his name. Her hand lingered below her chin, fingers slowly uncurling from the loose fist the sign created. Her brow furrowed slightly as she looked over his shoulder, likely noting he was unaccompanied for once. Ridoc of all people had been the one to point out that for all Sawyer's visits here and his interest in learning to sign, he'd yet to drop by without a wingman. "Are you stopping in for Violet? I sent her a missive about a translation aid I stumbled upon."

"No. Not today. Though I'm happy to take something back, if need be. I wanted to talk to you about something outside of rider business. If you have a moment."

Brushing her dark hair back, she dipped her chin in a short nod, gesturing for him to join her at the nearest table. "Is everything alright. You seem a bit nervous."

"Nervous? No. It's just that my signing is..." He paused, trying to recall the sign for rudimentary—a word that didn't necessarily exist in NSL. "...basic," he finished, his dominant hand circling a few inches below his left. "One of my squadmates is normally here to help." Jesinia cocked her head slightly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "So, I'm a little nervous. Not only about signing something wrong. Let me be more direct. I was hoping to take you to dinner."

Her eyes flared wide at that, and not just due to surprise at the request. Something went wrong in his request. "To eat," he tried to repair the miscommunication, whatever it had been.

Understanding seemed to dawn and it was clear she was trying to hide her amusement. "Dinner?" she asked, first fingerspelling, then double-tapping a D hand against her mouth, palm turned inward. He nodded in confirmation. Pausing a moment, she kept the D shape, bouncing it from her chin to the back of her jaw. "That sign is dorm."

He winced. "Now I look like an ass."

"You look like a man trying to learn a new means of communication. I have great appreciation for that effort. Learning languages beyond childhood can be difficult." She smiled again. "And I would love to go to dinner with you, Sawyer."

He grinned right back. "Are you free tonight?"

~~~~~

End Note: If I have any d/Deaf, hard of hearing, or CODA readers who think I could better structure this fic regarding signing elements and word choice, please know that you are more than welcome to reach out. I always appreciate polite feedback on my work and want to do everything I can to encourage representation in my writing. I am not fluent, so I know this might not be perfect. All I ask is that comments remain respectful in their correction.

#fourth wing #sawyer x jesinia #fanfiction #iron flame #Deaf character #asl #Deaf and hoh representation

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thebangtancloud · 2 years

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can you do a reaction to bts where their s/o is deaf or dumb? Thank you 😊 I love your work 😘😘

Their s/o is deaf/mute ~ BTS Reactions

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warnings: Italicized dialogues are spoken using sign language.

A/n: I don't know much, but I've tried to create scenarios where the members interact with their s/o, instead of how they talk in sign language. I have attempted to highlight instances where the couple struggles due to the gap in communication and yet work their way around it to always comfort each other.

Kim Namjoon:

"(Y/n)?"

You sighed in relief, getting up and reaching for Namjoon's hand. He immediately pulled you into his side, protectively holding you against him and looking at your face to see what was wrong.

"Did someone misbehave with you?" He whispered sadly, his eyes glazing over with tears when you nodded a little.

"But it's okay!" you gestured, flashing him a brave smile. "He didn't know. He probably thought I was playing the fool."

"Irrespective," Namjoon frowned. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing much," you shook your head. "Let's just get the popcorn and go."

"What did he tell you, (Y/n)?" he pressed, his voice dropping in concern. "Please don't hide this away from me."

You sighed.

"He told me that I was trying too hard to pretend to be dumb. He said that if I really was dumb, I wouldn't be at the movies, alone."

Namjoon's jaw clenched. He took a moment to look into your eyes, and the tears that finally made an appearance were all he needed to act.

Taking your hand in his, Namjoon marched over to the counter and slammed his hand against the marble.

"Who spoke to my wife?" Namjoon growled. The people around suddenly grew silent. You tugged at Namjoon's arm in panic.

"Don't make a scene, please!"

"I want to know who spoke to my wife!"

"Sir..." a young boy raised a hand meekly. "I did."

"Come here."

"Namjoon," you made him face you. "He's young. Let him be! Just get the popcorn and let's go."

The boy walked over nonetheless, looking terrified at the anger on Namjoon's face.

"What did my wife ask you for?" Namjoon demanded. "Tell me."

"Uh...she uh... I guess she was asking for popcorn. She pointed to the screen." The boy gulped.

"And what did you say?"

The boy's eyes nervously flicked over to yours, and you sighed.

"I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't have said anything."

"Damn right!" Namjoon's hand hit the counter again. The boy flinched away and you winched, pulling Namjoon's hand to your chest.

"My wife can hear you. I'm pretty sure you said the bullshit that came out of your mouth thinking that she can't hear you. But boy!" Namjoon resisted the urge to catch the fellow's collar. "If it wasn't for my wife still defending you after you behaved like a jerk, I would've made sure you-"

You pulled Namjoon away forcefully.

"That's enough."

Namjoon let out a heavy breath through his nose, turning back to glare at the boy who was already crying.

"I hope this teaches you a lesson. Come on, (Y/n)."

Without another word, Namjoon grabbed your hand and pulled you away, walking straight towards the exit instead of towards the theatre.

"We're not staying in a place that treats you the way they did."

Kim Seokjin:

"Mommy?" a little voice floated towards you. Both you and Jin looked over from where you both were sitting, a bright smile growing on both of your faces.

"Whatchu doing at this time, baby?" Jin cooed when your little girl came over with her little bunny held up against her chest.

"I wanted to ask mommy something."

You extended a hand out towards her and she climbed up, settling between the two of you and looking up at you.

"Can I ask you?"

You nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Why don't you ever talk?"

Jin looked up instantly, wanting to see if he should intervene and divert her attention. The two of you had planned to tell your daughter about it, but not so early. She was only five. But you shook your head, reassuring him that it was alright.

"Can you tell her, for me?" You gestured towards Jin. His lips pursed into a tight line, appearing hesitant. The little one looked up at her father, her eyes widening inquisitively.

Giving it a thought, Jin finally sighed and nodded.

Patting your daughter's shoulder, you slowed your movements and began to talk to her using your hands.

"When mommy was sixteen, I used to ride a bike."

"Mommy used to ride her bike when she was sixteen years old." She looked across at the two of you before nodding.

"One day, one bad bad man was going home. He didn't see mommy on the bike."

"But there was a devil that didn't like seeing mommy happy."

"Hey!" You slapped Jin's shoulder playfully. "Focus!"

"Okay," Jin nodded. "One day, there was a man who was driving back home in a car. He didn't see mommy on the road."

"And we had a big crash. I got a big boo-boo."

Jin's eyes faltered momentarily. Your daughter looked across at Jin, waiting patiently.

"They both had an accident. Mommy got really badly hurt."

"I hurt my throat, and the doctors said I could never talk again."

"Mommy hurt her throat because of that. It hurts her a lot."

You looked across at Jin who was avoiding your eye. A little pressure against your chest made you look down, your daughter holding you to the best of her abilities with her little hands.

"I hope your throat gets better mommy. I want you to sing to me the way Bo-ra's mommy sings to her."

You felt a pinch at your heart, looking down into her bright eyes with tears shining in yours.

"But daddy's a better singer than me," you offered weakly. When Jin turned away from the two of you, your daughter looked down at her pink bunny that Jungkook had gifted her.

"But you always sing to me in my dreams, mommy. Your voice is really pretty."

A single tear rolled down your cheek, wiping it away and flashing your daughter a smile.

"Thank you."

Min Yoongi:

You stirred awake at a dip in the bed, the mattress shaking continuously as you attempted to blink the sleep out of your eyes. Placing a warm hand over Yoongi's back, he turned to face you with a guilty expression.

"Did I wake you?"

You shook your head, moving closer to him and rubbing his back.

"No. What happened?"

Yoongi sighed in exhaustion, leaning into the warmth of your embrace and resting his head against your collarbone. You delicately touched the outline of his ears, holding him up against you and comforting him wordlessly.

In the corner, you noticed the little bucket that he had kept in case he felt nauseous, and the strip of medication sat precariously at the edge of the bedside table.

Yoongi sniffled a little, something that you felt, before shooting straight up and coughing violently. You patted his back lightly, feeling the rumble from within against your pain, Yoongi's head facing the ceiling with watering eyes.

He tried to clear his throat, accepting the bottle of water that you offered. After he took a tiny sip, Yoongi rested his elbows against his knees, holding his throbbing head in his hands.

You got up from the bed, deciding to boil some herbal tea to make him feel better. When you returned, Yoongi was laying horizontally on the bed with his legs dangling off, an arm draped over his eyes.

Tapping his knee, Yoongi slowly got up with a wince.

"I'm sorry to wake you up," Yoongi apologized with a sour expression. "My whole body hurts."

"You've caught the flu and food poisoning at the same time, it's only natural." You caressed the side of his face tenderly.

"Should I press your back?"

Yoongi nodded with a pained expression. "Thank you."

"Have this, then take the medicine." You placed the mug of tea in his hand. Climbing back onto the bed, you crawled over and stood behind him, gently massaging his shoulders with the tips of your fingers.

Moving up, you pressed the base of his neck and Yoongi groaned, some sort of relief being given to him. Your fingers continued to ease the tension across the length of his back, and after a few minutes, Yoongi took a hold of your hand and brought it towards his lips, kissing the inside of your palm.

"Thank you."

"Are you feeling any better?"

With a little sigh, Yoongi shook his head.

"I just need to sleep."

"Wanna sleep in my arms?" You patted your chest before holding both of your hands up. Yoongi nodded eagerly, placing the mug of half-drunk tea on the table and turning to face you. You pulled the blanket up and over his feet which you knew were cold, propping up a few pillows and laying against it.

Yoongi molded himself into you, melting at the warmth of your embrace and sighing in content. With an arm draped over your stomach, Yoongi nuzzled his head further into the arc of your neck, planting a little kiss over your skin.

Without any words, Yoongi tapped the side of your hip with his finger thrice, bringing a soft smile to your face. Smoothening your hand across the expanse of his back, you tapped back four times.

I love you more.

Jung Hoseok:

Tears immediately formed in your eyes at the sight of Hoseok sitting by the front door, his head leaning awkwardly to the side and his eyes closed in exhaustion. He had his phone in his hand, and a thin layer of sweat around his neck made the fabric of his t-shirt darken.

You fell to your knees beside him, hyperventilating and gingerly touching his forearms with trembling fingers.

Hoseok sniffed in a deep breath, his shoulders clenching in a stretch before opening his eyes and turning to face you. With bloodshot eyes that immediately widened, Hoseok immediately grew concerned at the tears that were streaming down your face.

"I'm sorry."

He looked pained, sad eyes following your movements before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey," he murmured gently, taking a hold of your trembling hands in his warm ones and bringing them up to his lips.

"Shh, it's okay."

Your head dipped in shame. Hoseok leaned up and straightened himself with a little wince, but he tried to hide the pain from you.

"I was asleep, I didn't see the light. I'm sorry!"

"Darling," he took your hands back in his to stop you.

"It's okay. I'm okay."

You had indeed fallen asleep a few hours after Hoseok had left for work, not knowing that he would be back early. The light signaler, of course, couldn't alert you of Hoseok's arrival back home because you were sleeping.

"I left my keys back in the drawer."

"How long were you sitting here?"

Hoseok simply closed his eyes and shook his head, not wanting to make you feel any worse than you already were.

"Tell me," you patted his shoulders desperately.

"It's okay, it really doesn't matter."

"Tell me," you pleaded, a single tear rolling down your cheek. Hoseok sighed at the look on your face, reaching up and wiping it away before holding up three fingers.

Three hours.

"I'm sorry!"

Instead of trying to stop you, Hoseok pulled you down against him, tenderly wrapping his arms around your shoulders and holding your head close to his chest. With his other hand, he began to draw out a few words over the expanse of your back.

With the softest kiss on your crown, Hoseok held you closer when he felt you tremble in his embrace.

Love

He let you take your time to understand his wordless gesture before leaning away to look at your face. You looked up into his eyes, pained and distraught, but he simply shook his head with a warm smile.

He pointed to your face before booping your nose, taking your hand and placing it against his sternum.

You.

Park Jimin:

"Hi!" Jimin waved at you excitedly. "I've missed you!"

You grinned at him through the screen with an eager nod.

"Me too."

"How're you doing, my love?" Jimin leaned in a little closer, carefully examining your expression.

"I'm perfect!"

"That's good," he nodded with a fond smile. "I'll be home tomorrow night."

"I really can't wait, I'm so excited."

Jimin chuckled at the thrilled look on your face, nodding and leaning across his table to get a hold of something.

"Look what I got for you!"

Jimin held up a massive bottle of peanut butter, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"It looks small, but it's 3kgs, can you believe that? I went to buy a shampoo because we've run out of ours, and I saw this in the store. I immediately picked it up for you!"

"AH!" You squealed, clapping your hands at the sight of the bottle in Jimin's hands.

"That's so much! I've never seen such a big one before!"

"Me neither," Jimin laughed. "If we had this during our trainee days, three fourth of the fights between Tae and me would've never taken place. We only had those small bottles of peanut butter." He held up two fingers sizing up approximately to the size of a tennis ball.

"And to be honest, when I saw the bottle yesterday, it was the 'smooth' one. I literally sat on the floor and reached all the way to the back of the rack to look for the 'crunchy' peanut butter!"

"That's so sweet," you grinned, shooting him two aggressive finger hearts. "I have something for you too. Wait here."

Coming back a minute later with a big metal grill in your hands, you stood away from the phone so that Jimin could see it.

"WOAH!" You heard him gasp loudly. "Where did you find this? I've looked on so many sites for this!"

You smirked, placing it down and sitting on the chair, moving closer toward the phone.

"This is for when we go camping next week."

"Eek!" Jimin squealed in excitement. "I'll try to pick up some meat on the way back home."

"No, no!" You shook your hands. "We'll buy it on the day we go, we need fresh meat."

"Okay, okay, mom," Jimin chuckled. "As you say."

"Come fast! I'm too lonely here without you," you pouted.

Jimin nodded with a fond smile, leaning towards the camera and attempting to kiss it.

"I'll be there before you know it."

Kim Taehyung:

"This, right here," the ob-gyn pointed to the screen, "is your baby."

Taehyung's hand tightened around yours, looking across at you with wonder in his eyes before mouthing 'baby' to you. You nodded with tears shining in your eyes, holding your shirt up further over the bump and looking at the quite significant mass on the screen that was clearly forming the shape of a baby.

"This side is the head," She pointed to the left side of the screen, "and you can see the limbs here. The legs, two hands. If you look closely, you'll see the fingers too."

Taehyung took a moment to let his eyes travel over the various different shapes that he could make out over the screen, before proceeding to move closer and point to all the different places and telling you what it is.

Your hand reached for him which he immediately took a hold of, dragging his chair back next to you and kissing the side of your head lovingly.

"Would you like to hear your baby's heartbeat?"

You looked at the doctor before turning to face Taehyung, nodding at him and smiling. Taehyung gazed down at you for just a moment, before shaking his head.

"I don't."

The doctor looked baffled, to say the least. Her eyes traveled to you before looking at Taehyung in confusion.

"I don't want to. If my wife can't hear our baby's heartbeat, I wouldn't want to, either."

"No, no, no, no," your hand shook in disagreement, catching Taehyung's attention. "You should listen to it. Don't say no."

"Can we still hear the heartbeat in a few months?" Taehyung inquired. The doctor nodded with a little smile, touched by Taehyung's gesture.

"Of course. Your baby is very healthy."

You patted Taehyung's arms, feeling saddened at the opportunity that he was letting go of.

"You're getting your transplant done in a few months," Taehyung explained to you kindly.

"We both will listen to our baby together."

The doctor turned in her seat to face away, her eyes burning with tears. She busied herself with some papers to give you both some privacy.

You shook your head, wanting Taehyung to understand you as well.

"You've waited for this."

"You have waited, too."

A tear slid down your temple. Taehyung caught the side of your face, gently peering down at you before kissing your forehead.

"We take every step, together. No exceptions."

Jeon Jungkook:

Slamming the book closed, Jungkook sighed, completely frustrated. Nothing sounded good. Nothing was working out. Jungkook wanted to make at least one song without the help of his hyungs, but he just couldn’t. He found himself lacking in ways he’d never want to admit, and that made a heavy feeling settle upon his chest.

Sliding his notebook to the side, Jungkook stretched out across the table and placed his ear flat against it, holding his phone up as a means of distraction. His message box had many unread messages, and he didn’t really have the heart nor patience to open or read any of them. But a little later, a notification popped up on his screen.

My baby

Jungkook tapped on it before it could disappear, but the little smile on his face vanished as soon as it made its appearance.

Sometimes I wish I could listen to you sing. I don’t usually allow myself to think things like this, but I was scrolling through the comments on your single, and I’m not sure what I feel. Jealous? I guess it’s not exactly that, but I feel like I’m missing out on something that’s extremely special. Something that I have, but I feel like I don’t deserve it. Someone could appreciate your voice so much more. When you struggle, I don’t even know what went wrong. I don’t know how to tell you where to improve, I don’t know if I deserve to tell you that you sound amazing, when that’s probably something you might not want to hear in those moments.

Jungkook didn’t move a muscle, his eyes burning with tears that were quick to gloss over his eyes. His eyes flitted up to your contact, heart racing straight out of his chest when he read the words ‘Typing…’

Giving you your time and not wanting to break your train of thought, Jungkook re-read the message that you had sent, not even knowing how to respond to it.

Jungkook, I’m sorry. I was just having a really bad day. I was feeling incredibly insecure. I wanted to wait for you to come home because you always tell me that I shouldn’t cry alone. I’m not crying, I promise. I was just feeling really sad. I’ll wait for you to come home before I cry.

Holding a hand over his mouth, a single sorrowful tear slid down his cheek, staring at his phone, absolutely numb.

He’d never ever heard you speak this way. It terrified him, to say the least. There was something about the sudden revelation of your insecurities that filled Jungkook with the urge to protect you. To assure you of his love and commitment.

Jungkook found himself making much more typos than he normally does, but the urgency to respond to you didn’t let him correct his mistakes.

I’m on myway. Wiat for me. aand if its hard then its ok to cry, alright? I’m coming homr soon. I’m only coming home to you. I love you. Don’t feel like these things are not ok to be felt, ok? it’s a part of youu. A part of you that I want to love, that I choose to love. Pls don’t forget, I love you so much that it hurts even more thann you can imgine. I love you baby. I’m coming, pls wait for me.

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eyeles-writing · 2 years

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Open to Interpretation | read also on ao3

⭐︎Word Count: 2651⭐︎

⭐︎Pairings: Itachi Uchiha/Reader ⭐︎

⭐︎Content: First encounter! Domesticity, getting to know each other. Mild suspicion.⭐︎

⭐︎Description: A one-shot in which Reader uses sign language as their primary form of communication.

Upon meeting you for the first time, the majority of people believe that you are about to violently attack them.

This isn’t because you’re big and scary. You don’t have a resting bitch face, you don’t carry a giant weapon with you, you don’t wear a cult-like cloak symbolizing your belonging to a criminal organization. Nothing like that.

You always greet people with a smile. You wave at them, you open your arms, you allow yourself to be vulnerable. You make yourself small and you invite people to see your weakness. However, everyone still hides behind their defenses the moment you begin talking.

Why? The answer is simple. You’re an ex Fire Nation Sign Language Interpreter, and you now communicate primarily through sign.

It’s not dangerous on its own - Fire Nation Sign Language is a gorgeous language that symbolizes centuries of innovative work for the deaf and hard of hearing communities in your nation. It creates a bridge between the great divide that is language and, in its simplest form, is the basic tool for communal survival.

It does, however, look almost identical to hand signs for deadly jutsu. When you initially raise your hands to sign a greeting, the uninformed are quick to assume you’re making a threat. They don’t see you as trustworthy or kind - they only see you as a target, which leads to plenty of tricky situations. You only ever met one man who was kind enough to give you the benefit of the doubt when you first met him.

“Excuse me,” a voice appeared behind you. You turned your head and furrowed your brow as your eyes landed on a tall man that was standing a few feet away from you. You were in the middle of the forest currently, only a few miles from Konohagakure. A decision had been made earlier in the day for you to go on a walk to collect berries for a medical group right outside the city, so you entered the forest and never considered that someone would be following you.

The man stood there and watched you for a moment before he spoke again.

“I have some questions about Konohagakure,” he eyed the hidden leaf charm that dangled from the handle of your basket holding your berries. “I have a feeling you may know the answers to them.”

You slowly raised your hands while nodding, immediately sensing that the man in front of you was certainly more powerful than you could ever hope to be. He stood tall and confident, like he’d never lost a fight in his life. His piercing black eyes were locked onto you - his long hair was tied back into a low braid, but the few strands dangling in front of his eyes were quickly blown out of the way by the oncoming gust of wind. His eyes remained focused on you as you slowly signed a message, desperately hoping he would understand that it was sign.

“I can help you” you signed, and smiled at him. “Do you know FNSL?”

The man, upon seeing your signing, found himself smiling in response. “A Fire Nation Sign Language user,” he said, “I have little experience in the language, but I’ll manage.”

You felt a pull at your heart, delighted to have finally encountered a hearing individual who, at the very least, treated your sign with respect. You set your basket down on the ground before pulling up your sleeves, ready to talk to the man in front of you.

“First, I need to know your name.”

The man nodded and blinked slowly at you - it reminded you of a cat, almost, and the way that they show trust to one another. “My name is Itachi Uchiha,” he said. Your blood ran cold. You knew that name all too well.

“I-t-a-c-h-i,” You fingerspelled, then followed with the name sign that he’d been given among your community. “Your name is BIRD in my language.” You flicked your dominant hand to mimic the movement of a wing, earning a chuckle from Itachi in response.

“I know you. Itachi of the Leaf.”

“Yes, that’s me.” Itachi stepped forward and showed his separated hands to you - a sign of respect not only within the shinobi community as an assurance of peace, but also in your community as an offer of mutual respect. “I would like to ask you a few questions regarding the Village Hidden in the Leaf.”

“Your brother is doing well,” You said, a gentle smile appearing on your face. His expression noticeably softened - the average person would have never even guessed that Itachi’s face had changed at all, but you were different.

Sign language has five parameters - handshape, palm orientation, movement, location, and non-manual signals. Those non-manual signals, primarily facial expressions, are a crucial part to communicating through sign. It makes the difference between LIKE and DISLIKE, between a question and statement, and shows the emotion of the speaker. Over the years of using Fire Nation Sign Language, you’d developed a keen eye for facial expressions; even the slightest twitch of the lip would be caught by your eye, and it would always indicate something.

In this case, it was clear to you that Itachi cared for his brother. Hearing the news that he was alive, that he was doing well, was delightful to him.

“I want to ask you about a child. His name is Naruto Uzumaki.”

You grinned and chuckled to yourself upon hearing that name - Naruto was an infamous boy in the village and he also happened to be your favorite.

“What do you want with the boy?” You asked, eyeing Itachi. “He is just a child.”

Itachi shook his head. “I cannot tell you that. I just need to know where he’s at in his training.”

You shrugged, frowning. “I wouldn’t know, I’m just an interpreter. He seems promising, though.”

“So you’ve heard about him, then?” Itachi asked.

“Everyone has. He’s the Nine Tails boy. I heard he’s being trained from the best.”

Naruto was certainly one of your favorite children in the leaf - being barely a chunin, he was starting to get sent out on missions that allowed you to interact with him and his team more. Team Seven had once accompanied you on an escort to and from a city across the Fire Nation to receive some medical supplies. You often fondly recall the moment you gave Naruto a sign name.

“I believe your name is N-a-r-u-t-o, or NARUTO,” You signed. The sign began with the movement for HOKAGE - two open hands, palm facing in, at the top of your head and moving outward into a sweeping motion, as if grabbing the rim of the Hokage headpiece. When your hands reached the end of the sign, you transitioned into bringing your hands forward, reminiscent of the sign for FUTURE.

The boy, upon being crowned a name by someone from the deaf community, cheered in excitement.

“THAT’S FREAKIN' AWESOME!” He exclaimed before signing his name, giggling to himself the entire time. You showed him slowly how to sign the name, feeling your own heart warm at the sight of his dedicated eyes focused on the movement of your hands.

“Sign language is so awesome!” He beamed, “it’s like jutsu but for talking!”

“Yeah, that’s what it’s for, idiot,” Sasuke had chimed in. He had been sitting under a nearby tree and watched everything that had gone down between you and Naruto - he pretended like he wasn’t listening, but you picked up on the change in facial expressions when you told Naruto that you wanted to give him a sign name. In his voice, you could even sense the obvious jealousy.

“Would you like one, Sasuke?” You asked, and all he did was ‘humph’ in response. You giggled and thought for a moment before you decided upon a sign.

“Your name is S-a-s-u-k-e, or SASUKE.” You began with the S-sign, a closed fist with your thumb placed on the lower knuckles of your fingers, and held it up toward your right eye. You opened the fist quickly to mimic the opening of an eye; You decided on such a sign because you’d just seen his Sharingan in action after you’d run across a team of lowly rogue ninja that wanted to know what you were doing.

“Woah, Sasuke,” Sakura grinned, “You have such a cool sign!” She stared at Sasuke, who slowly copied your own hand movement and then paused to consider it. After a satisfied nod, you smiled in satisfaction and turned to Sakura.

“Would you like one?” You asked, and she immediately said yes. You watched as she rocked back and forth on her feet as she anxiously awaited your response, biting at her lip in anticipation.

“Your name is S-a-k-u-r-a, or SAKURA.” You decided to combine another two signs for Sakura - FLOWER and KIND. You began with the handshape for FLOWER, a closed hand with all five fingertips touching, and circled it around your heart in the same location and movement for KIND. Despite being your first time meeting the girl, it was clear along the mission that she was the strongest of the team; During every moment of intensity that you faced throughout your journey, she stayed calm and collected the entire time. There was not a moment where she faltered or thought of anything except your safety. The other two had their moments of brevity, yes, but nothing compared to the composure of the girl in front of you.

“You are kind and strong,” You spoke quietly, “much more than the other two. Please use your name with pride.”

Sakura gave you a warm smile and pulled you in for a hug. “I will,” she said, “thank you.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts by another question from the man in front of you, Itachi Uchiha.

“And who is the best, exactly?”

“Kakashi Hatake,” you signed. You showed him the name sign for Kakashi - it used the sign for LIGHTNING, with the dominant hand using a K-shape instead of a usual pointer finger. You used your non-dominant hand to represent a cloud, holding out just your pointer finger at your chin. Your dominant hand started at the top of the pointer finger, held in a K-shape, and moved downward in a zig-zag movement. This represented the jutsu that Kakashi Hatake was known for the most - his Lightning Blade.

“The Copy Ninja,” Itachi confirmed. You nodded. He sighed audibly before looking to his side, glancing deeper into the forest. There was nothing but miles of nature surrounding you, and you had suddenly become painfully aware of it. One of the most dangerous ninja in the world was standing right in front of you, and you were all alone with your defenses.

You sympathized with Itachi, though. Back when you were simply an interpreter and had no interest in betraying your village, you would have never thought for a moment that you would ever indulge in the thoughts of Itachi’s. Shortly after your mission with Team Seven, though, you found yourself in an unfortunate situation that cost you friends, family, and a part of yourself.

Your throat had been torn to shreds. You were locked up for days by an interrogation expert - he poked and prodded at you endlessly until you were slipping in and out of consciousness. You had screamed so loud, begged for mercy so desperately, that your vocal cords had ruptured. A heated blade had drawn itself across your arm, causing you to scream out in pain. A new pain struck immediately into your throat the second that you released any air, sending a shockwave of adrenaline through your body. You began coughing violently, blood spilling out of your mouth as you cried in pain. The interrogator stood there, a plain look on his face, before he exited the room. Later that evening, you found yourself incapable of using your voice.

Even now, you were still hardly capable of letting any sound pass through your throat. Any noise that did exit was extremely painful.

You hated the Leaf ever since. You rotted in that cell for weeks on end before they had finally come to rescue you, and only then were you informed that a member of your family had been killed in an attack. At that moment, you retired from all ninja-related duty. Your life as a field interpreter had come to an end. A flame of hatred took its place.

It’s also why you felt no remorse in feeding Itachi information. You knew that you were giving the enemy a chance at destroying the village - of course you didn’t want Naruto to be harmed, being your favorite village child, but you simply couldn’t find it within yourself to deny Itachi’s questions. You figured that if anyone asked, you would say that you were being threatened by the most dangerous ninja in the bingo book - how could you not release information?

“All I know is that they are training together. I know no detail.”

Itachi nodded and bowed toward you in thanks. “I appreciate whatever information you can give me…” He paused for a moment before locking eyes with you, a smile drawn across his face. “I apologize, but I never caught your name.”

“Y/N,” You signed, “or Y/N.” You gave him your sign name - a combination of RED and MOON. The finger movement for RED was used, which was simply flicking your first finger up and down. You used the location of the MOON sign and used your dominant hand to sign RED at your eye-level before using a swooping motion to bring it above your head. It was the sign that you were first given by your teacher when you just entered the academy, and you cherished it well.

“That’s a beautiful name,” he stated simply. You nodded. “It was given to me by my teacher.”

“I have one more question for you.”

You nodded and urged him to ask, feeling a tug at your heart upon realizing that your conversation was about to come to an end. Itachi was good company, it seemed.

“What do you know about medical ninjutsu?”

You furrowed your brow. “I was a field interpreter with medical training,” you explained, “I know enough to get by.”

Itachi’s face relaxed and a genuine smile flashed on his face. “Lovely.”

He glanced at your basket before stepping toward you and picking it up, looking down at the path ahead. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk to you a bit about this organization I’m part of.”

“You want me to join the Akatsuki?” You asked. The sign for the Akatsuki was one that was controversial in your community - people couldn’t decide whether or not a group as terrible as them deserved such a precious name. A sign name was a rite of passage into the world of sign language - to be given a name is one of the highest honors in the world of the deaf community, and it was unclear whether or not the deaf community had come to a consensus on whether or not the Akatsuki deserved a sign name.

You used it anyway - it combined the signs RED and CLOUD. You used the handshape for RED and moved both hands in the same circular motion as CLOUD, bringing your hands up toward your eye level. You moved your hands to mimic the shape of a cloud, and Itachi nodded in response.

“We believe you would make a great addition.”

“So you already knew about me, then.”

Itachi hummed and glanced back into the forest. “I like to play games, that's all.”

Together, the two of you walked down the path. You stopped at a few bushes to pick berries and harvest a few plants that you saw, pondering the idea of joining the Akatsuki along the way.

“How bad could it be?” You asked yourself.

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amansabastris · 2 years

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The Notebook

Dwayne Hoover x Deaf! GN! Reader - Preview

A/N: This is a preview of the first chapter of my Dwayne x Reader story :) Now renamed to The Notebook! Previously The Hitchhiker.

Overall Warnings for the Story: Slow Burn, Mentions of Death/Going to a Cemetery, Reader is a Runaway, Negative Foster Care Experience, A Shit-Ton of Swearing, Angst at Some Parts, (but not as part of the eventual relationship, you already know the movie is pretty angsty at some parts,) Mentions of Sex Work, Drug Use

Chapter Warnings: Sheryl Not Knowing How to Interact With Deaf People But Thats Ok, I Forgive Her, Frank Knows a Little Bit of ASL (He is the Number 2 Proust Scholar in the World, So I Think He'd Be Smart Enough To Learn Some ASL to Communicate With the 600,000 Deaf People in the US)

"You don't see many of those anymore." Richard said, nodding his head towards the hitchhiker a little ways up the road.

"Mhm?" His wife's eyes flicked up to the road, though she sounded disinterested. "I guess not." She looked back down, but did a double take and looked back up.

"Oh my God- They look like they're 15! Richard, pull over." She tapped on his arm as she spoke.

"What? Pull over? We barely have space as it is- And then we'll have to push the car to get it started again!"

"Richard!" She started, getting annoyed. "They can't be older than Dwayne! And they're hitchhiking, so they obviously need help!"

The mention of his name caught Dwayne's attention. He looked up from his book and towards his bickering parents, but he couldn't tell what they were arguing about at this point. He wished he had started listening earlier.

Tap tap. He smacked his uncle on the shoulder and scrunched his eyebrows as if to ask "what's going on?" Luckily, he got the message.

Frank had been listening to the argument, smirking as his sister easily won. He laughed as the car finally pulled over.

"We're picking up a hitchhiker."

The teen outside smiled wide and picked up a duffel bag from the ground beside them. They patted their pockets, looking for something as they walked up to the passenger side window.

Sheryl rolled down the window and began talking a million miles a minute.

"Do you need a ride somewhere? We're heading up to California- And lord, you just look so young! How old are you anyway? Are you okay?"

The teen watched her ramble on and their smile fell as they tried to understand. They held their hand up quickly, signaling for her to hold on. Sheryl knit her eyebrows at this.

Finally, they pulled out what they were looking for in their pocket. A notebook, similar to Dwayne's. They flipped to a page and handed it over.

Hi, my name is [Name] and I'm deaf. I'm trying to get back to my mom in California. I don't have a lot of money, but I can give you what I have and I'll really appreciate however far you can take me :)

When she finished reading, [Name] handed a small wad of money to her- A twenty, a ten, and some ones. Sheryl pushed it back at them.

"No, no, no, honey, that's okay!" She shook her head back and forth and exaggerated her words. [Name] smiled, knowing she was doing her best to help them understand, even though she was doing quite the opposite.

She turned around and shouted something to her family. Soon after, the side doors slid open and people filed out. An older man, a teenage boy, a little girl, a man who looked about 30, and then the woman and man from the front.

[Name] looked over the group and decided that the 30-year-old was the best bet. They furrowed their eyebrows and stuck out their notebook, but he shook his head and raised his hands instead.

"We have to push the car," He signed.

And then the biggest smile blossomed on the hitchhiker's face. He could sign too.

They nodded, set their bag in the van, and then dutifully placed their hands on the trunk, ready to push- grin still on their face.

do not copy/paste, claim as your own, post on different sites, or translate without prior consent from me

#dwayne hoover #little miss sunshine #paul dano #danonation #dwayne hoover x reader #dwayne hoover x female reader #dwayne hoover x gn!reader #dwayne hoover x male reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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strawberry-nugget · 3 years

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Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo

★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader

☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other

★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language

☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets 's Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3

★Word Count: 10.6K

i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top

"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds

it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.

Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night.

ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how

willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret

springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.

"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars

And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.

iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps

quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of

Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most

of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.

iv. depression | 12.07 am

Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.

Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.

Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.

For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.

He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.

His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.

Small reassuring acts of

love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced

himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to

meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.

v. acceptance | 6.59 am

The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.

The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.

Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.

But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.

He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.

"Nooo, I'm cold"

He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"

"Katsu!"

You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.

His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.

I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that

you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.

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