#x deaf reader fluff

[mandomaterial]

Could you maybe write something about miguel and a deaf girlfriend or wife?

Ofc bby, personally its one of my favorite things to read because the fics are truly something else! I hope i did your request justice. :3 to be honest i don’t quite love how it turned out but i hope that’s just the little perfectionist in me. I really do hope you like it!

Btw i didn’t proof read any of this- feel free to tell me if they’re any typos! Masterlist

Miguel with a deaf reader

It all started when Miguel bumped into you at the library, you were struggling to reach a book from the top shelf and Miguel being the kind man he was, walked over, reached over your head and brought it down for you. All this had given you a terrible scare, you hadn’t seen him coming and well, you couldn’t hear him. So Miguel got quite concerned when he saw your panic stricken face “Are you all right?” He asked, his eyebrows clenching together. Fortunately you learned how to read lips, so you could quite easily decipher what he said and maybe you stared a little too long at his plush, full lips, you snapped out of it and nodded a little, cheeks all heated up and red.

To be honest Miguel thought you were pretty cute from the start, that’s why he actually came over, he thought that getting a book down for you would be a good conversation started and he didn’t mean to scare you. You hadn’t said anything to him yet, so he tried again “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to spook you.” With a soft smile on his lips, still holding onto your book. You didn’t react at first and you didn’t seem to be making eye contact, instead your gaze was set a bit lower, maybe that should have been his first clue that something was out of the normal here, but no. After a moment you stufend a little and started rummaging through your bag, looking for something, it didn’t take you long and Miguel was surprised to see that you pulled out a pen and a little notebook. You didn’t waste a second and started scribbling something and then turning the pages for them to face him.

«Hi, I’m deaf so i can’t really talk to you, I’m sorry » Miguel eyes quickly scanned the words and as soon as he was done, his big brown eyes snapped up to you, seeing the sorry look on your face. It was like you were sad that you couldn’t talk to him. You were sure that he’d just walk away after this, maybe if you could talk properly you could’ve had a chance with him. But against all odds, Miguel continued “Don’t apologize, that’s oka-“ he didn’t finish his sentence, caught in thought with his eyebrows scrunched. Could you understand what he was saying? And as if you’d read his mind, you started scribbling again. Miguel patiently waited until you turned it over again.

«I learned how to lip read pretty well, just don’t talk too quickly and everything’s okay» you smiled, happy that he was willing to continue. In all honesty you were so exited that this stranger wanted to talk! And he was so handsome too! You bit your lip a little and waited for him to finish reading. Miguels eyebrows raised a little, surprised that it would be this easy to communicate with you, maybe he still had a chance to score your number.

“Oh is that so? That’s pretty cool, do you also speak sign?” He questioned, making sure to not mumble, so that you’d understand easily. It looked like your eyes lit up, with little sparkles shining in them as you wrote on your little notebook. Miguel thought that you were really adorable and he couldn’t help but smile as you started writing excitedly. You handed the note book to him and his eyes shifted to the wording, gladly reading it.

«Yes, I speak sign! You you know any signs? It’s okay if you don’t. :) »

Miguel brought his hand up to his chin, thinking about his time at university, didn’t he take a sign course once? He was deep in thought until his eyes fell on you, you were standing there patiently waiting for him, big sparkly eyes and a big smile on your lips, you looked like a baby deer, just like a fawn. It was too adorable for him and he had to look away a little so that you wouldn’t notice the little bit of blush staining his cheeks. Your head flopped to the side and you didn’t understand, Miguel noticed and played it off as him fixing his already perfectly styled hair, by running his fingers through it. He forced himself to face you again and said

“Um, I took a course at Uni, but i don’t remember much.” He scanned his brain for any signs he still knew and a few popped up “umm, i think this was ‘thank you’?” He signed it, slowly, but correct “And this one’s ‘Hello’ “he signed again, this one was mostly correct as well! You’re ere so exited! You started applauding him just a tiny bit, your palms touching and just your fingers clapping, a gigantic smile on your face that reached past your eyes. Miguel almost couldn’t believe his eyes, how were you so fucking cute? His heart was pounding in his chest, unable to calm down and he was sure his pupils were heart shaped already. He just had to keep talking to you. So he did.

“Um, so what’s your name? My- My name’s Miguel. Miguel O’hara.” You nodded to show that you understood and started writing your name on the paper. You showed it to him and he paused for a second, he looked down to you again and realized that your name really suited you. You cracked a toothy smile that you covered a bit with your hand and just then Miguel realized that he’d said that aloud. His face flopped down embarrassed and he chuckled a bit but started looking at you again soon after “I said that aloud, didn’t I?” he smiled jokingly, you nodded vigorously and giggled a little. It was quiet but Miguel had heard and he could stop his smile from growing. He thought that it was no or never so he put on his brave face, shuffled around a little but made sure to keep his mouth where you could see it and asked confidently:

“I think you’re pretty cute. Could I maybe take you out sometime? Maybe dinner or something?” Oh, he hoped that you would say yes and that he could take you out, he already started thinking about places to go, his mind starting to spiral a little, thinking of you. Your face seemed confused, had you understood that wrong? Did he really want to take you out on a date? This hunk of a man, that could easily pick you up with a single hand? As if. It all feels like a cruel joke, maybe you do need to practice lip reading more. You didn’t quite know what else he could have said, so with a shaky hand you started writing down what you thought he said, preparing yourself for rejection or a misunderstanding.

It’s not like you haven’t been on dates before, actually you’ve been on quite a few, but it never lasted, all the guys thought it would be too hard to communicate and gave up before even trying. It broke your heart every time and you started hating your disability more and more every time it happened. So you decided to get off the dating apps and give meeting someone a rest. Once you finished moving your pen, you hesitantly flipped the notebook to show Miguel.

«You want to take me out? Like on a date?» Vulnerability was spread over your eyes as you feared his answer, expecting him to correct you or something similar, but to your surprise he just nodded, albeit a little concerned about the worried look on your face. He opened his mouth to say something “Do you not want to go out with me? That’s totally fine too, you probably have a boyfriend…” his mood sunk and he felt kinda silly for assuming.

But he couldn’t be more wrong, your mood had seemingly done a 180 and was completely flipped, you wanted to tell Miguel that you’d love to go out with him and that you didn’t have a boyfriend, but he wasn’t looking at you. So you did something a bit out of your comfort zone, you took hold of one of his hands to get his attention, before he even fully started looking towards you again, you began nodding like crazy, hoping to get the message across and bring it across you did, with a smile on his face he confirmed your answer and you just continued nodding with a huge grin.

The two of you exchanged phone numbers and that’s the story of how you met your now husband.

He was still ever so charming as the two of you sat on the couch in your living room, just enjoying each other’s company. You were leaning against his chest, curled up like a cat, just daydreaming about your lovely, handsome husband, until said person tapped your shoulder to shift your attention to him.

« What are you dreaming about, mi sol?» he signed, his finger moving quickly with precision, it had taken him a couple years to fully grasp the language but now he spoke it just as well as you! It was actually pretty cute how he started learning, each time the two of you met up for a date, he always showed off the new signs he learned in simple conversations and every time, you applauded him and gave him a little kiss as a reward. To him that was like the deal of a century, a kiss from his beautiful girlfriend for just a few new signs?m oh yea. He’d take that any day. It even gave him more motivation to study!

You just smiled and snuggled closer, before moving your fingers to say: « Oh nothing, just how we met and how cute you were » you snickered a little, knowing that being called cute would rile him up a bit. And right you were.

« Hey, hey, it wasn’t me that was cute, you were and you still are!» suddenly he grabbed you and almost crushed you in a bear hug, you loved his hugs, they were so warm and cosy, no need for any type of communication, his body telling you everything that you needed to know. This was truly a moment of bliss, Miguel wrapped his fingers around your own and brought them up to his plush lips, kissing your slender ring finger, so happy that the two of you were married. He’d stay with his Mrs. O’hara forever and ever!

Bonus headcanons

- he’s so protective of you, especially if you’re out in the city, he can only imagine how much more dangerous it could be walking around without being able to hear. What if you were crossing the street and didn’t notice a speeding car because you couldn’t hear the honking, what if you got splashed with water from the puddles when another car drives past, or that those stupid cyclists will nock you over, safe to say he worries a lot, so he absolutely always walks on the side wich faces the road, he never lets you get too close to the adage and he’ll always, always hold your hand.

- if someone ever gives you trouble or starts yelling at you because you don’t understand, (mostly Karens) hell put on his scary face and ask if they have a problem with his wife, while staring them down, not once has this ever backfired and he’s proud that he can scare anyone off that’s making you uncomfortable.

- If the two of you are out and about in the city he’ll always interpret anything that happening, oh there’s a crowd over there? They’re watching a performer. Oh, you wanna watch them too? Hell sign whatever they’re doing at the speed of light. Oh, someone’s yelling and there’s drama? If you’re interested he’ll tell you what they’re yelling about. Oh, there’s a cute puppy you wanna pet? Of course he’ll ask for you. And you’re ever so thankful, each and every night, you shower him in kisses and hugs as a thank you. And Miguel? He’s loving every second.

- sure there were a bunch of bumps and hitches in your relationship, lots of miscommunications and sure, it was difficult but he never gave up, he believed that you were the one for him and he’d do anything for you and of course you’d do anything for him as well, the two of you were basically made for each other and he didn’t mind your disability one bit, in fact, it just made you even more special.

[dollyfetti]

deaf!bakugou likes to feel the vibrations of your body.

to paint a clear picture, he doesn’t have his hearing aids in, and you two are in resting in bed after a few rounds of making love (and consoling your fiancée when he started tearing up and signing about how he was fucking pissed he couldn’t hear you moaning his name)

the sun’s orange glow as it sets just outside your window beams a gorgeous light onto you both, glistening with sweat. it’s a comfortable few minutes before you remember a juicy story you’d overheard earlier that day, and you gently tap the space next to your lover (you didn’t have to though cuz he was already staring at you with cheesy adoration).

you slightly pull yourself away from his beefy chest to begin expressively signing your daily piece of gossip. you always speak out loud when you sign, even though you know he can’t hear you. and as you’re signing with speedily, facial expressions big and enthusiastic, katsuki’s eyes dart to your lips every two seconds, nostalgically remembering the sound of your gorgeous voice before the war.

he huffs, signing wait. you pause with confusion before he shuffles forward so two of his fingers could rest on your throat. he feels you swallow and a little grin writes itself upon his face. he gives you a tiny nod to continue. and he smiles at the heavy buzzing against his digits.

[crushmeeren]

On rainy days, Katsuki aches.

His right knee hurts from when he blew it out on his first solo mission fresh out of U.A. Chasing a sludge villain of all things, how fucking ironic. But, what can he say? He was too over eager and got thrown into the side of building. He shattered the bone and ruptured a tendon. Stupid.

His left elbow screams at him because of that time he sparred with Kirishima. His arm ended up bent in a direction it should not have ever been be able to bend, snapping the bone clean off of his radius (forearm.)

Sometimes, he even has to take out his hearing aides because his ears are too damn sensitive! The material pisses him off and makes his inner ear throb something fierce.

Katsuki’s list of past injuries runs on and on and fucking on. The rain brings them to life and reminds him of all the stupid mistakes he’s made. Or the lives he’s saved. It’s bittersweet, he just wishes he didn’t have to pop ibuprofen like candy on these gloomy, pouring cats and dogs kind of days.

Although, the chronic pain fades into something more bearable when you’re there. When you come in through the front door, shaking the rain from your hair, and lift up a takeout bag of his favorite food with an excited grin.

You start to speak with what Katsuki’s knows is animation, but he points to his ears and shakes his head. No matter, because your face softens and you sign to him instead. It’s clumsy, a bit too quick, and Katsuki’s heart melts each time he sees it.

You learned just for him, after all.

You’ll throw blankets in the dryer to warm them up, change into your comfy clothes, and snuggle up with him on the couch. Devoured and empty food containers litter the coffee table. Katsuki struggles to keep his eyes open under warm blankets and with a full belly. So, you nap.

You’ll even rub all his sore joints if he’s really feeling rough.

So, yeah, on rainy days, Katsuki aches. He throbs and twinges and wishes he could chop his fucking leg off.

But having you by his side to help him through it? He’d raw dog these rainy days if it meant you’d never leave him.

master list

ᯓ★ dividers created by me.

[solmire]

A glimpse of your voice

Pairing: deaf!gojo x f!reader

Synopsis: College!au Where deaf!gojo left alone in the hospital after the car accident, and the reader, who has a giant crush on him, brings him the notes after every lecture, saying that professors ask her to do that, but in reality, she just doesn’t want him to feel lonely and tries to be around so he will never feel like he is some type of burden for others.

Tags/Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort/hurt/no comfort/eventual comfort, angst, happy ending, toxic relationship, Sukuna is warning himself, bullying, physical abuse. I will add more throughout the story.

Author's note: little headcanons are NOT in the right time order, it's just something from the category of small memories from their relationship. There WILL BE a FULL fic, stay tuned.

Taglist: @someonenamedray @totallyuniquenut @not-aya @pinacoladagod @lumilarity @rh-tg1 @luv3nti @thequeenofcurses @arrozyfrijoles23 @hel1nn @luna-v-roiya @p1nkfl0wers @iwriteforlove @gloomysel @mashtura @chiyokoemilia @eolivy @getoicious @bbyrugou @moonlight-inthe-sea @dreamsarenicer @kidd3ath @1sweetheart1 @ethereal-moonlit @satoruxsc @linny-bloggs @whytfisgojosohot @entr4p3 @makimamybelovedwife @samxnavialover @haokanie @kye-chen-r @blitziwitch @des-todoroki @bunheadusa @gojojjknanami @sukunasrealgf @xavsbabagrill @pandabiene5115 @laukern @lady-of-blossoms @minascasket @chich1ookie @dazaisfavgf @kalulakunundrum

taglist is open!! Leave a comment if you want to be added.

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[starsofang]

simon riley x deaf!reader

tw: none, literally just pure fluff

“It’s just one date. I promise.”

You didn’t know how your friend had convinced you to go on a blind double date in the first place. In fact, you weren’t even the first choice, but when your friend came by to ask you to fill in for another girl who had bailed out last minute, you pity-agreed to help her out.

You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice. Dating wasn’t your thing, and you avoided it like it was the scum of the earth. Not to say you had bad experiences, per se, but you also didn’t have the best choice of men. None of them understood your situation to its fullest, but that was okay! You didn’t need their validation, and you were perfectly content with the way things were.

There was no harm in going on a fun date and having a few drinks and good food, you thought. One night, and you’d never have to see your blind date again.

Besides, your friend seemed to really be into her date from the way she’d gush about him after they met online (not your favorite choice, but you’d support her anyway), and you didn’t want to ruin that for her.

That’s what led you to be here, shoulder to shoulder with your friend as she rambled on about how excited she was with speedy hand gestures, how grateful she was that you came, that she’ll make sure your dinner and drinks are paid for. You weren’t exactly sure where the two of you were going, but judging from what she forced you to wear, it had to be a bit fancy and lavish.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that was also not your favorite choice.

She guided you inside of the building, which was a preview of what was to come — high ceilings, ravishing decor, and low lighting that made everything much more romantic. You took in the fluorescent scenery as she spoke with the hostess. You didn’t know what they were saying, but as the waitress gestured with a hand for the two of you to follow, you assumed the two men were already there.

Your arm was looped loosely with your friend’s as the two of you walked after the hostess. When you approached a table, you took in the sight of one man that looked familiar — your friend’s date, a man with smooth, tanned skin and a smile that could cure sickness. The other man was new to you, and compared to your friend’s date — Kyle? — he was much more phlegmatic.

Kyle gave a polite nod towards you with a blinding smile, and you have one back, bowing your head in greeting. You sat next to your friend, watching as Kyle pulled out the chair for her, to which your date definitely didn’t do the same.

That was alright. You weren’t planning on making it past the first date anyway.

Your friend began to chatter with Kyle while you and your mystery date sat in silence. Your hands remained in your lap as your eyes scanned the menu that sat on the table.

Focused on appearing as busy as possible, you were unfortunately snapped out of it before it could last long when your friend nudged your shoulder with hers. When you looked up at her, she was smiling, and she lifted her hand to signal the man in front of you.

Blinking at him, you realized he was possibly trying to talk to you, and you shifted awkwardly. He probably thought you were rude.

“Sorry, Simon. I forgot to mention she’s deaf, so she didn’t know you were introducing yourself,” your friend apologized, and you watched as he stared at her before nodding in acknowledgment. “It won’t change anything, yeah?”

You sat in tense silence as you averted your eyes back to the menu. Your date had eyes that could pierce right through you if they wanted to, and you weren’t quite sure you wanted to be their next victim, date or not.

A phone screen was slid across the table from where you were studying the menu, and your eyes flickered to see a string of words typed out in the notes app.

“Sorry if that came off as rude. I’m Simon.”

Glancing up at him, you flashed him a smile that was relieved. He gave you an awkward one back, and you thought maybe he didn’t do it much.

You picked up his phone from where it sat in front of you and began typing out your response before slipping it back to him. You watched as he read it, a look of amusement in his eyes as he did so.

“Not rude at all. Sorry she didn’t tell you. You can back out if you’d like, I won’t take offense.”

Kyle and your friend were conversed in conversation with one another while Simon and you had your own back and forth.

“Why would I do that?” his next note read, and you tilted your head at him. He offered you a shrug, and your fingers tapped along his screen in return.

“Most men wouldn’t like being blindsided by not knowing their date is deaf.”

You saw his mouth part open when he read it, and you wondered if he was chuckling to himself. You wished you could hear it.

Was it deep? What if it was one of those contagious laughs that sounded like the literal gates of heaven opening up, and you wouldn’t ever have the chance of hearing it?

You didn’t have time to think about it when he placed the phone back in front of you, and when you glanced down, you couldn’t help but smile bashfully to yourself.

“A pretty girl’s a pretty girl. I’d be an idiot for backing out on the prettiest one I’ve had the gall to see over something like that.”

Fuck.

You weren’t supposed to like your date, much less so quickly. You only came for the food and for the sake of your friend’s happiness, but here you were, cheesing to yourself like a stupid teenager with a new crush.

But as the date continued, with the both of you eating alongside Kyle and your friend, shamelessly passing his phone back and forth and filling his notes app with evidence of your growing infatuation, you knew it wasn’t only for the food anymore.

He was sweet. Sure, it was all on paper (well, screen), and you told yourself to always be cautious with men.

But when he asked you out on a second date, then a third, you allowed your concrete walls to crumble.

And when he showed you the new signs he’d been working on so he could communicate with you on the fourth date, spelling out your name with cautious, slow fingers, eyes searching for your approval? You could’ve already married him then and there.

[qdrntln4]

i’ve always thought about lando having a deaf baby, as someone who is deaf myself and i too think he would be amazing. like imagine the baby was born deaf, and his reaction to the baby hearing your voices for the first time after having a cochlear or just a hearing aid fitted🥹🥹🥹i’ve thought about this sm

you. are. so. RIGHT

thank you so much anon for this ask and i’m sorry i took so long to get to you!!! and kudos to you for telling us your story 🥹 this one’s for you 🧡🧡🧡

people might’ve said it was controversial, for lando to be holding eden instead of y/n, but they’d never realise it was y/n’s idea.

the doctor’s office was quiet - ironically. eden looked around, her tiny baby arms flailing in the ear as her curious eyes looked around the white room.

lando swore he almost cried when the doctor re-entered the room with that tiny hearing aid in her hands. he looked over to his wife, that signature grin plastered on his face.

“alright…” the doctor spoke, bending down to be eye level with the baby. after a minute or so of eden’s whinging because a random stranger lady was trying to put a piece of metal on her head, the doctor was finally able to connect it. “get ready.”

as soon as the aid was turned on, eden let out a cry. lando turned the little girl around to face him before saying his first words to his daughter.

“eden, daddy’s here.”

as soon as lando spoke, eden stopped. the whole room stopped. y/n held her breath, tears brimming her eyes. suddenly, eden let out a soft giggle, and the world seemed to stop. lando let out a laugh, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

his daughter - his first child - could hear.

[little-jana]

"Unspoken Understanding"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: reader is deaf, insecurities, minor talk of work discrimination, use of y/n

Words: 1.6k

Summary: Spencer learns something new about the the reader and his reaction is not what you expected.

Request: @lucreziaq2001 - Hope you like it 🧡

It had been a long case in Seattle — one that left everyone on edge and emotionally drained. But at least now it was over, and the team had decided to decompress together before heading to the airport. The cozy restaurant Derek picked was warm and lively, with the smell of freshly baked bread and the low hum of conversation filling the air. You were sitting next to Spencer in the booth, his shoulder just brushing yours, as the team unwound around you.

Over the past few months, you and Spencer had grown close. It had started with quiet conversations in the bullpen, him recommending books and you teasing him about his endless trivia. Gradually, coffee dates turned into real dates, and now there was something unspoken between the two of you — a tender connection neither of you had defined yet but that you both knew was there.

You watched him now, the way his hands gestured as he explained something to Emily and JJ about probability theory. His passion always made you smile. But your focus was broken by the vibration of your phone on the table.

You glanced down at the screen, your expression shifting when you saw the name. It was someone from home — someone you couldn’t ignore.

“Sorry,” you murmured, leaning toward Spencer briefly. “I have to take this. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Of course,” he said, his eyes soft as he watched you leave.

You slipped outside, the cool evening air hitting your face as you found a quiet corner near the entrance. With practiced ease, you answered the call and began signing. The conversation flowed smoothly, your hands moving quickly and gracefully to convey your thoughts. It was a short call — less than five minutes — but when you hung up, you sighed softly, glancing up at the stars to clear your mind before heading back inside.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had seen the entire exchange. He’d excused himself to grab a glass of water, and through the large front windows of the restaurant, he’d caught sight of you outside. At first, he’d just smiled, watching you pace as you spoke. But then his expression shifted when he realized you weren’t speaking. You were signing.

He stopped in his tracks, his mind racing as he watched you. The grace and fluidity of your movements were unmistakable. You were fluent.

Pieces of the puzzle began falling into place. The slight delays in your responses during conversations. The way you always angled yourself to face whoever was speaking. The way your gaze lingered on people’s lips.

Spencer’s breath caught. You were deaf.

It wasn’t something you’d ever mentioned — not in the months you’d worked together, not on any of your dates. And now, watching you, he realized why. You’d hidden it. But why? His chest tightened as he thought of all the possible reasons.

When you came back inside and slid into the booth beside him, you gave him a small smile.

“Everything okay?” he asked, his voice warm and gentle.

“Yeah,” you said, brushing it off. “Just a quick call.”

He nodded, but his mind was still swirling with questions. He didn’t ask any of them, though, not yet. Instead, he silently vowed to approach this with care.

---

A few days later, Spencer he spoke to you at work.

“Hey,” he said uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Hey,” you replied, curious about the look on his face.

“I was wondering,” he began, “if you’d like to grab coffee this weekend. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”

Your stomach tightened at this. “Sure,” you said, trying to sound casual. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing bad,” he said quickly, as if sensing your nerves. “I promise.”

“Okay,” you said, relaxing slightly. “Saturday work?”

“Perfect,” he said.

When Saturday arrived, you found yourself feeling inexplicably anxious. Spencer had never made you feel anything less than safe, but the way he’d spoken had left you wondering if something had shifted.

The café he chose seemed quiet and cozy, with large windows that let in the morning light. He was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with a cup of tea in front of him. He stood when he saw you, smiling warmly.

“Hey,” he said, pulling out your chair for you.

“Hey,” you replied, sitting down and setting your bag on the floor.

For a while, you made small talk, discussing books and work and everything in between. But you could tell he was working up to something, his hands fidgeting slightly with his cup. Finally, he took a deep breath.

“I saw you the other night,” he said.

You blinked, confused. “Saw me?”

“At the restaurant,” he clarified. “When you were on your call outside.”

Your stomach dropped.

“I saw you signing,” he said gently.

You froze, your hands tightening around your cup.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re deaf,” he said, not as a question but as a statement of understanding.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I am. Since I was a kid.”

He didn’t say anything, and you rushed to fill the silence, your words tumbling out in a rush.

“I didn’t tell anyone at work because I didn’t want it to affect how people saw me,” you said. “I can read lips, and my hearing aids help enough that most people don’t notice. But I’ve seen how some people treat disabilities, and I didn’t want anyone to think I couldn’t do my job. I just... I didn’t want to take that risk.”

Spencer reached out, covering your hand with his. The simple gesture made you pause, your breath hitching.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady. “You don’t have to explain. And you don’t have to hide this. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

Tears prickled at your eyes, and you quickly blinked them away.

“You don’t think it’s a liability?” you asked, your voice small.

He shook his head firmly. “No. If anything, it makes me admire you even more. You’ve been doing one of the hardest jobs in the world, and you’ve done it so well that none of us even realized. That’s... incredible.”

Your chest ached with relief and gratitude, and for the first time, you felt like you could breathe.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

---

A week later, Spencer appeared at your desk, looking unusually nervous.

“Hey,” he said, rocking slightly on his heels. “Can I show you something?”

“Of course,” you said, tilting your head curiously.

He took a deep breath, then lifted his hands.

“Hello," he signed, his movements a little stiff but unmistakable. "How are you?"

Your eyes widened, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“You’re learning ASL?” you asked, your voice filled with disbelief.

He nodded, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “I’ve been practicing,” he admitted. “I wanted to be able to talk to you in a way that’s comfortable for you.”

For a moment, you couldn’t speak. The gesture was so thoughtful, so kind, that it left you completely overwhelmed.

“Spence,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said simply. “Because I care about you.”

The words hung in the air between you, and all you could do was smile, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

He smiled back, his hand brushing against yours in a quiet promise. And in that moment, you knew you didn’t have to hide anymore — not from him, not from anyone.

Because Spencer Reid had seen you, truly seen you, and he cared.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤBAKING BLIND, DEAF AND MUTE * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Y/N participates in the Baking Blind, Deaf and Mute video, but things don't go as planned.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　beginning of a panic attack, anxiety.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

"Alright guys, it's been almost a year since the last time we filmed one of these, I think..." Nick began, his body appearing in the camera frame, stopping next to Matt.

"Yeah, and today we have a special guest-" Matt was interrupted by Nick, who swallowed all the rest of his energy drink, stumbling back as he shook his head hard, feeling the burn go down his throat.

"Like she doesn't appear in almost every video." Chris ignored Nick's reaction, momentarily pointing to his girlfriend next to him.

A laugh escaped his throat, followed by a dramatic sound of pain as he received a slap from Y/N as a response, who rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms and looking at the camera.

"They love me more than they love you guys at this point." She murmured, pointing at the camera with her chin, blowing an air kiss towards it.

"Anyways!" Nick shouted, casting a scolding glance from the corner of his eye at Chris and Y/N, focusing his eyes on the lens. "Today we're going to do the baking blind, deaf and mute challenge, and we have a guest with us, Y/N!" He raised his left hand, pointing it towards the girl momentarily, who smiled big and waved.

"Exactly, and since there will be four of us, instead of three, we will repeat one position. Y/N will be blind with Matt, while I will be mute and Nick will be deaf." Chris explained, wrapping his left arm around his girl's shoulder, pulling her close and massaging her biceps slightly, sealing his lips over her head momentarily.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Okay, today we're going to cook a carrot cake with chocolate frosting since it's our guest's favorite." Nick spoke, his voice coming out louder than normal since his ears were covered by the headphones where music was coming out at full volume.

Y/N nodded, resting her hands on the table, unable to see exactly where she was, her eyes already covered by Chris's red bandana.

"Y/N doesn't eat ready cake mixture, so we're going to make it from scratch!" Matt added, his back resting on the counter next to the stove.

His arms were crossed, and his head was turned in the direction he thought the camera was.

"Let's begin!"

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"Can someone preheat the oven, please?" Y/N asked, her head turned to the side where she heard footsteps.

A tired sigh escaped her nose when she received no response. The girl moved slowly, using her raised arms for support, feeling wherever she went.

Sudden hands on her waist made her jump in fright, relief coursing through her veins as she quickly recognized Chris's touch. The boy holds her tightly, guiding her slowly through the kitchen, until they reach the stove.

Chris lightly held her wrist, guiding her hand to the button to turn on the oven, waiting for her to do so before letting go of her hand, moving away slightly.

"What is happening? Are you still here?" Matt's voice cut through the air, his figure doing a 360° turn as he tried to understand where the others were.

"In here, Matt." Y/N replied as she walked back to the table, feeling around until she found the ingredients already separated.

The girl reached for the carrots, feeling them to check if they were peeled. They weren't.

"Chris, can you peel it for me, please?" The girl asked loudly, lifting her chin in the air so her voice could echo better.

Footsteps approached, and soon, the carrots were taken from her hands, the sound of a knife hitting the cutting board filling her ears.

The sound of screams filled the kitchen, Nick singing the songs he was listening to as loud as possible, probably dancing around the space, checking every now and then if the others were making the recipe correctly, despite Y/N and Chris knowing it by heart.

"Nick, can you shut up?" Matt asked loudly, turning in the direction where his brother's voice came from.

Nick noticed Matt trying to talk to him, looking back while furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

"What?" He screamed.

Y/N, who was blindly measuring the correct amount of oil using a measuring cup, jumped in place in fright by the sudden loud sound. Her hand holding the oil shook slightly from the movement, spilling some of the contents onto her other hand and the table.

Her shoulders slumped, but she just kept going, knowing that there was nothing she could do at that moment other than fulfill her task.

After measuring the oil and flour as correctly as possible, the girl felt the table on her right side in search of the cut carrots, no longer feeling Chris' presence there.

Her hands ran across the wooden surface, grabbing the first thing she found in the belief that it was the vegetables, but instead, it was a knife.

A wince escaped her lips, feeling a sharp burning sensation spread from her right index finger to her hand. She had cut herself.

"Can I have a paper towel?" Y/N asked in a low tone, her voice coming out choppy from the pain she felt. "Hey, somebody, a paper towel. Please?"

No one answered her, Matt and Nick's arguing voices only growing louder and louder.

The girl took a deep breath, wiping her finger on her t-shirt, feeling pain and disgust at the same time at the thought of cleaning a wound on a fabric that wasn't as clean as something specific for hygiene.

Her attention returned to the things in front of herself. Y/N replayed her last steps in her mind, making sure she did everything right.

With that, her hand rescued the fuê that she knew was on her left side and began to mix all the ingredients in the ceramic bowl carefully, despite the pain in her hand.

She felt her senses were more heightened than normal, perhaps because her eyes were covered, which made her hear the different steps of each of the triplets, their voices, and in which direction they were going.

But at that moment, her attention was so focused on the mixture that she forgot to pay attention to the three boys.

"Matt, I'm not listening to anything you're saying!" Nick shouted, his tone full of sarcasm.

"I'm just asking you to stop-"

"Don't touch me, Chris!"

"Nick, stop doing that-"

"Stop talking, I can't hear you-"

The impact came suddenly against Y/N's back, causing her to hit her belly on the corner of the table and, consequently, pushing the mixture forward due to the impact. She was certain that everything had been spilled onto the wooden surface when she heard a loud gasp coming from Matt.

Y/N's lips trembled before the tears even came. She felt her eyes burning behind her bandana while her cheeks and chest ached with anguish.

"Y/N?" Chris's voice came out softly, his hands quickly ripping the bandana from his mouth, approaching his girl, ignoring the guilty looks from Nick and Matt as they both removed their respective bandana and headphones.

Y/N didn't respond, resting her hands on the table and lowering her head, feeling the fabric over her eyes getting damp little by little.

"Baby?" Chris whispered, slowly untying the knot on the bandana behind her head, being careful not to pull out any hair. The last thing he wanted was to cause pain on his girlfriend.

He felt his heart sink at the sight of her eyes closed tightly and her eyelashes damp against her pink cheeks. His own eyes quickly caught her chest rising and falling faster than normal in agitation.

Chris moved closer to her, positioning his hands on both of his girl's hips, lightly squeezing the covered skin in an attempt to ground her.

"Hey, hey, pretty girl, it's okay. Deep breaths, hm?" The brunette whispered close to her ear, casting a quick look behind his shoulder at his brothers, silently asking them to move away. "That's right, just like that. You got it, my love."

Y/N sucked in air through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before releasing it through her mouth.

After repeating the process a few times, she could finally feel her heart calm down and the anguish slowly disappear. Y/N opened her eyes slowly, blinking a few times to remove the remnants of tears.

"There's my pretty girl. Are you with me, baby?" Chris smiled kindly, his eyes shining as he looked at Y/N, waiting for her answer.

"Uhum, I am good. Thank you, baby." Her voice came out still a whisper, but in a healthier tone. "Can we continue? I really want to-"

"Wait, is that blood? Baby, are you hurt?" Chris noticed the reddish tone on her right hand, interrupting her sentence and holding her hand delicately with both of his, analyzing the small cut.

"Yeah, with that knife. It was an accident, but it's not hurting anymore." The girl tried to assure him, stroking his hands with her thumb slowly.

"Can we at least clean it? Before we continue." He asked, his tone full of hope while his eyes run through her face, trying to find any trace of pain.

"Okay." Y/N nodded, whispering with a small smile decorating her face.

The boy guided her to the sink, turning on the tap to cold water and slowly bringing her hand closer to the jet, letting the water hit the injured skin slowly, so that it didn't make her feel any more pain.

A wince escaped Y/N's throat when she felt the contact, suppressing the urge to pull her hand back.

"I know, baby. I know, I'm sorry." Chris whispered, his lips pressed against the side of her head. His free hand made small circles on her back, trying to reflect calm to her.

After a few seconds, Chris finally turned off the tap again, drying his own hand before rescuing a few sheets of paper towels. He wiped Y/N's sensitive skin slowly, wrapping her finger around a clean sheet.

"All done, honey."

"Thank you." She smiled, sealing her lips on his jaw slightly. "Can we bake now?" She asked innocently, looking at Matt and Nick, who were still watching them with guilty eyes.

Chris let out a low chuckle at her comment, waving his brothers closer again.

"Are you good, girl?" Nick asked as he approached Y/N, stroking her left shoulder lightly, his eyebrows furrowed.

"I am good, Nick. I promise." She smiled big at her best friend, hugging him sideways and laying her head on his right shoulder for a few seconds before stepping away again.

"Okay then, let's bake a cake!" Matt smiled at the camera, grabbing the nearest roll of paper towels, ready to clean up the mess before they could start baking again.

extra - comments:

"omg I would die on Y/N's place, all this was so overwhelming 😭"

"chris is such a good boyfriend and you can see it in here, the way he helps her at the beginning? bf goals 😫😫😫"

"chris and Y/N are so beautiful together 🥺"

"the way chris was super worried about Y/N so he ripped off his bandana too quickly to help her 😔😔😔"

"I want what they have so bad"

"nick and matt feeling guilty and then worrying about her was so cute!!"

"them baking it from the beginning again only because Y/N wanted to eat that cake is so thoughtful 😭"

© vanteguccir

[reidmarieprentiss]

Languages of Love

Summary: Based on this request! Spencer meets you, someone who uses a language he can't use, and is determined to learn your language and impress you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x deaf!fem!reader

Category: fluff

Warnings/Includes: sign language

Word count: 4.1k

a/n: this was adorable omfg i can totally see spencer needing to learn a new language because he meets a beautiful person

main masterlist

You were standing in line, waiting to order your coffee, when the person ahead of you suddenly turned around with a confused expression. You blinked, tilting your head slightly in question, trying to understand what their look meant, only to realize they weren't focused on you—they were looking at something behind you.

Curious, you turned around to see what had caught their attention. Standing off to the side were two people who looked very official—a man and a woman, both watching you expectantly. The sight puzzled you, and your brow furrowed as you tried to make sense of their presence.

You tilted your head again, a silent question in your eyes, wondering why they seemed to be addressing you. Before you could react further, the man began to speak, but his words spilled out too quickly, and his lips moved in a blur—far too fast for you to read.

Feeling a bit flustered but wanting to clear up the confusion, you lifted your hands and signed, “I’m sorry, I’m deaf.” Your movements were calm but clear, hoping they would understand.

The woman’s eyes followed your hands carefully, and after a brief pause of comprehension, she responded in sign language, though her motions were a bit awkward and unsure. “I’m sorry,” she signed, her hands slightly stiff, “can I talk to you?”

You nodded, though a hint of hesitation clouded your eyes. You motioned towards the counter, your hand forming the sign for "coffee" as you asked, “Coffee?” A small, polite smile spread across the woman’s face, and she nodded while signing back, “Yes, please.”

Turning back to the barista, you quickly ordered two coffees, keeping your movements efficient, your eyes flitting back occasionally to the two strangers. After a few moments, you balanced the cups in your hands and followed the man and woman to a nearby table, your mind racing with questions about who they were and why they wanted to talk to you.

You all sat down together, the tension of the unknown hanging over the table like a thick cloud. The man, looking slightly flushed—embarrassment, you observed—pulled a notebook from his pocket. He scribbled across the page quickly, his eyes darting up to you every so often as though gauging your reaction. After a moment, he flipped the notebook around, pushing it across the table for you to read:

We are with the FBI. We’re canvassing this area as a potential suspect has been spotted coming to this café. Can we ask you some questions?

Your eyes scanned the note, the words sinking in like stones as your heartbeat quickened. FBI? Suspect? You looked up at the two agents, your pulse in your ears, and nodded, your hand lifting instinctively to sign, “Yes.”

The two agents introduced themselves, the man as Dr. Spencer Reid and the woman as Dr. Alex Blake. You nodded at each name, trying to maintain your composure despite the underlying nerves. Once introductions were made, they dove right into their questions—simple, straightforward things: How often did you come to this café? Had you seen anyone suspicious lately? Any strange behavior that stood out to you?

As you answered each question in turn, you couldn’t help but notice Dr. Reid’s frustration. It became apparent how much he wished he knew more sign language, his brow furrowing whenever he struggled to understand, his hands occasionally twitching as though wishing to communicate properly. He would look to Dr. Blake for support each time you signed a response, and you found his earnestness almost endearing, this quiet desperation to make sure you felt understood.

Dr. Blake, on the other hand, impressed you with her sign language skills. Although her movements were not perfectly fluid, her recall was solid, and she managed to keep up with you almost effortlessly. She took the lead in asking follow-up questions, her hands moving with a careful confidence that showed she had practiced this before. Every now and then, you’d catch a glimpse of Dr. Reid glancing between you and Dr. Blake, clearly trying to learn and understand, his eyes darting back and forth with sharp focus. 

It made you smile—just a small quirk of your lips—as you could tell he was putting in genuine effort, and you appreciated it more than you could say. In a way, it softened the situation, making it feel less like an interrogation and more like a casual chat, albeit with an important undertone.

After you’d shared everything you could think of, Dr. Reid and Dr. Blake nodded appreciatively. They both signed "thank you," and while Dr. Blake’s movements were confident, Dr. Reid's were hesitant and slow, his brow furrowing as he tried to get it right. He turned to Alex, his voice tinged with a shy curiosity. “Alex, can you show me how to say ‘thank you for your time’?”

A grin spread across Dr. Blake's face as she demonstrated the sign slowly, her movements exaggerated so he could easily follow along. Dr. Reid focused intently, copying her motions with a nervous determination. After a couple of attempts, he finally got it, his face lighting up with a small, triumphant smile as he turned to you. “Thank you for your time,” he signed, a bit clumsily but with sincerity in every gesture.

You couldn't help but giggle softly, charmed by his effort, and you responded with a bright smile, your hand moving fluidly as you signed back, “Thank you.” There was something warm and genuine about the exchange, the simple kindness in their attention to making sure they communicated with you as best as they could. You all signed your goodbyes, your hands dancing through the familiar gestures, and then you turned to leave, ready to head back to your day.

But before you could take more than a step away, you felt a gentle touch on your shoulder. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes widening slightly until they landed on Dr. Reid. You couldn't help but smile as he stood there, his expression a mixture of hopefulness and uncertainty. He hesitated for just a moment before raising his hand to his ear and mouth, mimicking the universal “phone” gesture. It was clear he didn’t know the proper sign, but his eagerness was adorable, and you found yourself giggling again, nodding to show you understood.

Reaching into your bag, you pulled out your phone and handed it over to him. He accepted it with a small, bashful smile, quickly typing his number into your contacts before handing the phone back to you. As you looked at the screen, your eyes danced with teasing amusement. You saved the number and immediately sent him a text, letting him see that now he had your number, too.

Spencer’s eyes met yours as his phone vibrated in his pocket, and he fished it out to see your message, his cheeks tinting slightly pink. You waved, your hand fluttering playfully, and then turned to walk away, glancing back just once to catch a final glimpse of his shy, boyish smile before you disappeared into the crowd.

When you finally got home, you kicked off your shoes, dropped your bag by the door, and flopped down onto the couch with a sigh of relief. It had been an odd day—running into two FBI agents at your favorite café was definitely not part of the plan—but it was intriguing.

Your phone buzzed as you relaxed into the cushions, and you quickly fished it out of your pocket, your eyes lighting up when you saw the message. It was from Spencer Reid, and just seeing his name brought a grin to your face. You opened the text, your smile widening as you read his polite and thoughtful words.

Hello, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. I did not know how to sign this, but I wanted to give you my number in case you thought of any additional information or had any questions. I hope I did not make you uncomfortable.

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, amused by how proper and formal he was, even over text. His thoughtfulness shone through every word, the way he worried if he’d made you uncomfortable, and the cautious professionalism in offering his number just in case. It was sweet, and it made your heart warm a little.

You typed back quickly, fingers flying over the keyboard as you smiled to yourself, deciding to add a hint of playful teasing to your response.

Hi! You did not make me uncomfortable at all, you’re sweet. Although, I am a little disappointed you only gave me your number for professional reasons.

You hit send, the message whooshing off into cyberspace, and sat back with a satisfied little grin on your face. You wondered how he might respond—would he be flustered? Amused? Whatever the answer, you had a feeling that this wouldn’t be the last you’d hear from Dr. Spencer Reid. 

—

Spencer couldn’t help the small smile that spread across his face as he read your message, his eyes lingering over your words. He tucked his phone back into his pocket, the warmth of the exchange settling comfortably in his chest. It wasn’t often that someone teased him so lightly, so playfully. He liked it—more than he expected to.

Alex caught the change in his demeanor instantly, narrowing her eyes with a teasing grin. "What was that?" she asked, her tone playful and prodding as she tilted her head towards him. "You seem... unusually cheerful for an investigation."

Spencer cleared his throat, doing his best to mask his smile, though he was fairly certain he failed miserably. "Hmm? Oh, nothing," he replied casually, trying to shrug it off as if it was no big deal. But the secret smile that tugged at his lips betrayed his nonchalance, and Alex could see right through it.

Alex’s eyebrow arched, a playful glimmer in her eyes as she observed Spencer's sudden burst of enthusiasm. She shook her head with a soft laugh, her amusement evident. But rather than dive into teasing him more, she let it slide, instead leaning back against the wall, folding her arms comfortably. 

Spencer, eager to steer the conversation away from the curious sparkle in her eyes, tilted his head. “When did you learn sign language?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I didn’t know you knew so much.”

Alex’s expression softened, the laughter fading into a more thoughtful smile. “A long time ago, actually,” she replied. “I took a linguistics course in grad school, and one of the areas we studied was American Sign Language. I found it fascinating—how rich and expressive it is. A completely visual language. So I kept learning, practiced with some Deaf friends. You know how it is—you start learning something new, and it just sticks.”

She paused for a moment, a fondness in her voice as she reflected on the skill she’d picked up so many years ago. “I haven’t had many opportunities to use it recently, though, so I was a bit rusty today. But I’m glad it came in handy.” She gave a small shrug as if it was no big deal, but Spencer could tell how much it meant to her to be able to communicate with you effectively.

“I’m impressed,” Spencer said earnestly. “It’s a beautiful language. I just wish I knew more of it. You made it look so easy today.”

Alex chuckled lightly, shaking her head. “Don’t worry, Spencer. You did fine. And besides, looks like you might have an excuse to practice now.” She shot him a knowing glance, and Spencer’s cheeks turned slightly pink as he glanced away, a small, bashful smile playing on his lips.

When Spencer returned home that night, his first instinct was to reach into his bag and pull out the book on American Sign Language he had impulsively picked up on his way home from the library. He settled down in his favorite chair, the worn fabric molding comfortably around him as he cracked open the first few pages. The textbook felt heavy in his hands, but the thrill of learning something new made his pulse quicken, the familiar rush of excitement he always felt when diving into a new subject.

He scanned the table of contents, eyes darting over the list of basics—alphabet, numbers, common phrases. His fingers itched to start signing immediately, but he forced himself to go slowly, knowing he’d need to cover the fundamentals before he could even think of diving into conversational fluency. Spencer read carefully, mouthing the words as he memorized the signs, occasionally raising a hand to test out the motions, his fingers forming the letters of the ASL alphabet with care.

Of course, he told himself, this sudden drive to learn had nothing to do with you. The way you had smiled so brightly when he’d attempted to sign, the warmth in your eyes as you’d encouraged his clumsy attempts—that had nothing to do with this. He’d probably never run into you again anyway, right? It was simply a practical skill, he reasoned, one that could serve him well in the field, and it was important to be able to communicate with anyone he might meet.

But as Spencer flipped through the pages, trying to imprint each sign in his memory, he couldn't ignore the flutter in his chest, the small hope that maybe, just maybe, he would see you again. And when that day came, he wanted to impress you—he wanted to sign your language, seamlessly and naturally, so you’d never feel that gap between spoken and signed words again. Deep down, Spencer knew that every sign he learned was a step closer to reaching out to you, to breaking the barrier that had momentarily stood between you both.

So he stayed up late that night, practicing the signs over and over, his fingers moving clumsily at first, but gradually gaining confidence. He covered the basics—the alphabet, greetings, simple phrases like “How are you?” and “Thank you.” And as he signed each one, his thoughts returned to the cafe, to the way you’d laughed so easily, the gentle curve of your hands as you’d signed back to him, your eyes filled with light.

—

"Hey, Alex," Spencer said as he slid up to the side of her desk, trying to sound casual, though the eagerness in his voice made it obvious he was anything but. His fingers tapped lightly against the edge of her desk, his eyes flickering between the book of ASL phrases he'd brought with him and Alex, who was typing away at her computer.

She glanced up, raising an eyebrow with an amused smirk. “Sure, Spencer,” she replied, leaning back in her chair. “Any particular reason you suddenly want to practice?” The corner of her mouth twitched upward knowingly, the hint of a teasing smile spreading across her face.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, and he fumbled to keep the book tucked under his arm. “Uh, no,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant, though it came off a bit forced. “I mean, yes, but not really. It’s just, you know, important to be able to communicate in different ways. In case we... ever need it again for a case, or something like that.” He shrugged, but the movement was stiff, and Alex could see right through his excuses.

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, clearly not buying his half-hearted explanation. “Or something. And this doesn’t have anything to do with the woman we spoke to at the café?” Alex roughly signed while she spoke, just to throw a little more teasing into the mix.

Spencer gave a small, sheepish grin, one hand nervously brushing through his hair. “Well,” he admitted, his eyes darting to the side, “I guess it couldn’t hurt... to be more prepared. In case we see her again.” He paused before adding quickly, “Or anyone else who signs, of course.”

Alex chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Of course,” she said, still signing. “Alright, let's practice then. I could use the refresher myself.” She gestured for him to sit, setting aside her work, clearly delighted by this turn of events.

Spencer let out a small sigh of relief, and as he pulled up a chair beside her, he opened the book to the first page they would go over together. And as they began signing basic greetings back and forth, Spencer felt the nerves start to melt away, replaced by a renewed excitement. He knew that with every word he learned, he was one step closer to being able to speak directly to you, without stumbling or awkwardness—just him, hoping to meet you at your level.

—

It was a normal Wednesday morning, and as always, you found yourself waiting in line at your favorite coffee shop. This midweek pick-me-up was one of your cherished routines—a small way to break up the workweek and treat yourself before the daily grind. You'd been coming here for years, long enough that the staff knew your face and your order by heart, and they had long since adapted to your way of communicating. It always made the mornings smooth, familiar, and comforting.

When it was finally your turn, you stepped up to the counter, ready to place your usual order. The person in front of you had just moved to the side, waiting for their name to be called, and you reached into your bag to grab your wallet. But before you could even open it, you felt a gentle touch on your arm—enough to make you pause but soft enough not to startle. Confused, you turned around, and a smile broke across your face when you saw who it was.

There, standing right behind you, was the tall, familiar figure of Dr. Spencer Reid. His expression was open, friendly, his eyes crinkling slightly as he waved hello. You gave a small wave back, surprised and happy to see him again. But before you could say anything, his hands moved up, and he began signing, a little slowly but clearly: “I will pay.”

Your eyes widened in delighted surprise, and you couldn’t help the massive, toothy grin that spread across your face. You nodded, not even trying to hide your happiness, and as Spencer pulled out his billfold, you watched him confidently step up to the counter, ordering another drink for himself. 

As the barista rang up the total and handed back his change, you both made your way to the other side of the counter, where the barista would place your drinks once they were ready. Your smile was still stretched ear to ear, and as soon as you were both settled, you signed enthusiastically, “Thank you.” You put your whole heart into the sign, hoping to convey just how much you appreciated the gesture.

Spencer’s eyes lit up at your reaction, and though he was still learning, he carefully signed back, “You’re welcome.” He felt a swell of pride, not just because he'd gotten the sign right, but because it had earned him that big, radiant smile from you again—the one that made him feel like he'd just done something really, really right.

As you both waited for your drinks to be called, you found yourself eager to know more about him, about why he was here, and whether this coffee outing was as coincidental as it seemed.

With coffees in hand, Spencer gestured toward an open two-person table, and you both made your way over. The café was abuzz with the usual mid-morning activity—baristas calling out names, the hiss of espresso machines, and the chatter of other customers—but right now, your focus was entirely on the man sitting across from you. 

Once you were both seated, you set down your coffee and looked at him with a smile, your hands moving slowly, deliberately, as you signed, “How are you?”

Spencer's eyes lit up as he caught every sign. He felt a wave of excitement that he actually understood, and you could see how grateful he was that you had signed clearly and at a pace he could follow. He straightened up slightly, lifting his hands to respond, his movements a bit stiff but determined. “Good,” he signed, and then quickly followed up with, “And you?”

Your smile softened as you signed back, “Better now.” You made sure to sign gently, your hands moving with an easy grace, knowing that he was still learning. But Spencer’s expression immediately changed—he was concentrating, trying to decipher the exact meaning behind your words, a look of curiosity and a touch of self-doubt clouding his eyes. It was clear he was trying to figure out if you meant "better now" as in "better today" or "better in this moment."

The slight frustration on his face was endearing, and you watched as he quickly pulled out a pen and notebook from his bag, his fingers fumbling slightly in his hurry to communicate clearly. He scribbled a quick note, and then turned it to you, the question neatly written out in his careful handwriting: 

“Do you mean ‘now’ or ‘today’?”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped you. It was a fair question—ASL could be nuanced, and for a new learner, the subtle differences in meaning could be confusing. You reached out to take the pen from his hand, your fingers brushing against his briefly, causing a light jolt of surprise for both of you. Spencer’s eyes flickered to your hand before looking back up at you, his cheeks tinged pink. 

You wrote carefully, making sure the message was clear: “Now :)”

When you passed the notebook back to him, Spencer read the word with a growing smile, feeling a sense of relief and happiness that you were, in fact, "better now"—because of this moment you were sharing together. He looked up at you with an almost shy grin, his eyes meeting yours with that same bright sincerity. And as you both sat there, sipping your coffee and smiling across the table, it felt like you had all the time in the world to learn each other's languages, one small step at a time.

Spencer set his coffee cup down on the table with a look of pure determination etched on his face. He met your eyes with an earnestness that made your heart skip a beat, and he began to stumble through a series of signs, his fingers moving with deliberate care. You could see how hard he was concentrating, his brow furrowed slightly as he tried to recall everything he'd studied, but it was clear that while his mind might know the signs, his hands were having a little more trouble putting them together smoothly.

His first sign came out awkwardly—he intended to sign "will," but you understood it as "future." You tilted your head slightly, a puzzled smile tugging at your lips as you tried to understand. Spencer, not realizing the mistake, nervously pressed on, clearly determined to get his message across. He paused for a moment, gathering his courage, and then signed "you," mouthing the word as he did. 

Your grin widened as you watched him, still a little confused by the context but so endeared by his effort. His eyes flickered up to yours, gauging your reaction, and you nodded in encouragement, waiting to see what he'd say next.

Spencer's fingers moved again, a little clumsier this time. "Go," he signed, and then followed it with "date." He paused, took a deep breath, and then finally added, “with me,” his eyes never leaving yours, as if afraid to miss your reaction. It was such a sweet attempt that you couldn’t help but smile brightly, warmth blooming in your chest as you realized what he was asking.

You quickly pieced together his intended message: he wanted to know if you would go on a date with him. Technically, Spencer should have signed "will" at the end, to clarify the question—since in ASL, that would have helped avoid any confusion about tense—but you didn’t care about the technicality. The effort he’d put into learning, and his shy, hopeful expression, meant so much more than getting the grammar perfect.

Nodding eagerly, you signed back “Yes” with enthusiasm, your hand moving quickly and brightly as your eyes locked with his. Spencer’s face broke into a relieved, overjoyed smile, his entire expression lighting up in a way that made you want to laugh with delight. 

And just like that, over two cups of coffee and a few imperfect signs, you found yourself agreeing to a date with Dr. Spencer Reid—the handsome, sweet, determined FBI agent who was willing to learn an entirely new language just to speak with you.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[doumadono]

Hi, sweets 🍭 I'd like to request deaf Bakugo headcanons - just him interacting with his little girl that demands his attention as she wants him to play with her (she is aware dad is a little off because he can't hear)

MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST

As Bakugo's hearing begins to fade periodically with time, his little girl starts noticing the subtle changes.

The little girl, at the age of 5, struggles to understand why her dad doesn't always respond the way others do. When you, her mom, gently explains Bakugo's hearing challenges, the girl takes it all in, absorbing the information.

To bridge the gap, the little girl asks you to teach her some basic signs. With wide-eyed enthusiasm, she practices and learns the signs, eager to communicate better with her dad.

She comes up with creative ways to catch Bakugo's attention - a gentle tap on his lap, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, or sometimes just grabbing one of the merchandise plushies you collect at home and presenting it to him.

deaf!Bakugo, in turn, has developed a keen sense of visual awareness to understand all of his little girl's signals.

Despite being aware that her dad is a bit different, she continues to demand his attention for playtime! deaf!Bakugo, unaware that his daughter is learning sign language, is pleasantly surprised one day when she excitedly signs to him, asking him to play with her. His heart brims with love and pride, witnessing the earnest effort she's making to connect with him, and he finds it challenging to hold back tears in the middle of the living room.

deaf!Bakugo often engages in games that don't rely heavily on sound but thrive on shared moments. Building intricate block towers, drawing colorful masterpieces, and playing with dolls become their cherished activities!

When it's playtime, Bakugo's face lights up with a soft smile as he watches his daughter's enthusiasm. He might not hear her words and laughter, but he feels the warmth of her joy radiating through the room.

deaf!Bakugo has developed a set of creative signals and cues to respond to his daughter's requests. Whether it's a gentle tap on the shoulder or a specific hand gesture, they have established their own silent language.

As deaf!Bakugo gradually loses his hearing completely, his daughter's ability to communicate with him through signs becomes an invaluable bridge that allows them to share laughter, love, and a world of understanding.

Despite being a hero and handling the challenges of his job, there are moments when deaf!Bakugo, alone in his office while working from home, breaks down. The silence around him reminds him of the laughter of his beloved little girl he can't hear anymore, and it hits him emotionally.

The very first time they finish playing with his daughter's dolls and plushies, Bakugo's heart melts and he can't hold back tears as his little girl approaches him, using sign language to say, "Thank you for playing with me. I love you, Daddy."

The girl is a little scared seeing her dad crying as it is an extremely rare sight. So, she climbs onto his lap, strokes his rough cheeks marked by many scars from the battles he fought, and signs at him, "Daddy, don't cry, I love you. I'll hug you, and it will be okay."

[tttabii]

— 심재윤 PUPPLY LOVE JAKE SIM X READER

note: slightly inspired by the kdrama twinkling watermelon. deaf!reader x band!jaeyun. word count: 6989

YOU NEVER REALLY ENJOYED THE SILENCE.

It was not like the romanticized kind of peace and quiet that people post to social media about—the kind that makes mornings sacred, the bookstore magical, and so on. Yours was a silence of absence. Of being out of the conversation. Out of the laughter. And perhaps out of safety, too.

You wore your wired earphones all the time, plugged in or not, as if to pretend you were wearing headphones. A barrier. A disguise. If they don't know, maybe they won't treat you differently. Maybe they won't feel sorry for you—or even worse, take advantage.

Like today.

The station buzzed with the evening rush hour, people moving in concert. You dropped your Mofusand keychain without noticing it, your little plush figure falling silently to the ground behind you while you swept away to the exit. You didn't hear the boy calling your name behind you.

Jake Sim bent down to pick up the keychain, only halfway smiling. He always noticed you—your neat little bun, the way your bangs framed your face, somehow, as always, looking calm. But when you didn't turn around, and he kept calling, his smile dropped entirely.

You were already gone.

He got off at the same stop. He always did. His house was near yours, and he'd long memorized the timing of your routine—not in a creepy way, but in that soft, teenage "I-like-you-so-I-notice-everything" kind of way.

But today was different. You weren't just walking ahead of him like usual. You'd vanished.

Then he heard it—laughter, too loud and too cruel—coming from an alley just a little ways off the main road. Jake's steps slowed. Something twisted in his stomach.

And then he saw you.

Your tote bag lay discarded on the pavement. Your damaged earphones dangled from it, useless. One girl held your arms back while a few boys circled, sneering and taunting. One of them reached for your skirt.

You screamed, but no one heard. Or at least, they pretended not to.

Jake did.

He didn't think twice. He was screaming before he even landed on the ground. "Hey! Get away from her!"

The group jumped at his voice, turning to see him shove the guy who was closest to you. He didn't look intimidating, but he had fire in his eyes—rage, protective and desperate.

"You think this is funny?!" he yelled, fists clenched. "She can't hear you, you assholes."

The girl was startled and released her hold on you. You stumbled forward, unconsciously falling into Jake's arms before even registering who he was. "It's okay, I got you," he said softly, wrapping his arms around you. "You're safe now."

You blinked up at him feeling a little disoriented, as tears streamed down your face. He made sure you were looking at his face, looking at the way his mouth moved. You're safe. Over and over, he said it, huge exaggerated mouth movements for you to see.

You nodded your head.

He pulled off his jacket and put it around your shoulders, very gingerly picked up your bag, and then the keychain he never got the chance to give back to you.

He held your hand in his, and walked the rest of the way to the café, not letting go.

Jake didn't lose his grip on you, not once—certainly not when you turned the corner toward the café, and not when you paused at the door, nor when you let your gaze fall in embarrassment, as if what had transpired earlier was somehow your fault.

He saw it all: the way you scrunched your shoulders inward; how your other hand trembled just enough for your fingers to twitch as if they were still recalling someone else's grip. He felt his heart ache.

The café door opened with a gentle ring.

"She's here," Jake said, quietly addressing the owner, an older, kind-faced man who had been washing mugs at the counter, who quickly emerged looking worried. "Something happened."

Jake described what he had seen, in low but steady tones, noting how he saw everything happen at once, but wanting to reassure you that you hadn't done anything wrong. The man's jaw clenched, briefly, and without a moment of thought he encircled you into a fathering hug. You didn't cry (perhaps because you were numb, or maybe you didn't want to collapse toward the ground in public), but you did keep your hand at the back of the owner's apron a touch longer than you might normally.

"She's off the clock today," the owner said with a determined nod.

"No—hold on," Jake interrupted, gently laying your backpack down. "Let her rest. I'll do her job today. I know how she makes the drinks—I've watched her for weeks." He smiled faintly, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just until she's feeling okay. She can still get paid, right?"

The owner of the shop blinked, and then slowly broke into a chuckle. "You're her boyfriend?"

Jake's ears turned bright pink. "N-No—! I mean—not yet. I just... I like her. A lot."

The owner smiled and slapped him on the back. "You should be. She could really use someone like you. Her parents... they try. They're overseas, doing everything they can to try to get her hearing or at least set her up for a future. But, it's hard. She has always been alone."

That truth settled hard in Jake's chest like lead.

You were now sitting quietly at one of the tables near the window, an iced tea in front of you. Your fingers were twisted around the straw, and you were biting gently at the end—not even drinking it, just grounding yourself. Jake could not take his eyes off you.

"Can you help me talk to her?" He asked the owner.

The owner nodded, walking over and motioning to you in sign. You looked up slowly.

He wants to talk to you, the owner signed. He wants to ask if you're sure you're okay.

Jake stepped forward, gingerly placing your keychain on the table in front of you. "You dropped this," he said softly, hoping his eyes said what his words might not yet.

Your gaze fell to the little Mofusand plush, and for a moment, your lip trembled. You reached out, brushing your fingers over it before finally looking up at him, your eyes glassy with unspoken emotion.

Jake knelt down a little so he was at your level, then he looked at the owner to assist him. The owner translated again when Jake spoke:

"I'm sorry. I didn't understand what you were going through. But I understand now. And it won't ever happen again. Ever."

You stared at him for a moment, taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. And then you nodded slowly. Just once. A small, trembling movement—but Jake saw it. And that meant everything.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Teach me?" he said. "Sign language."

You blinked. And for the first time all day, the corners of your lips turned up into a tiny smile.

That was the day Jake Sim became your safe place.

The next day, the air was cool but soft, and the sun bathed the quiet streets in gold patch after gold patch. You had your tote bag slung across your shoulder again, earbuds tucked in—not that they worked anymore, but they were still your shield from the world.

Then you felt a tap on your shoulder that was gentle. You turned to find Jake there, smiling like he'd been waiting for you. He offered up a small notepad filled with floating letters and words, neatly written: "Can I walk with you to school and the train? My school is nearby too."

You blinked with a warm heart at his kind day one open act of friendship. You nodded, one of those slow nods. He smiled like you had just agreed to jump out of an airplane.  

As the two of you strolled toward the train station, your steps side by side, students passing by whispered. Most of them were from his school, and they gawked quietly, muttering things like:

"Isn't that Jake Sim? The golden retriever from photography club?"

"He is walking her to school!"

"She's...the deaf girl, right?"

"She's really pretty though...I've never seen him with anyone before."

Jake didn't flinch. He didn't even glance their way. He was too focused on walking at your pace, occasionally scribbling things in his notepad to make you laugh or smile. You didn't need to hear it—his energy alone made you feel it. Safe. Seen.

At school, you waved goodbye, not expecting anything more. But Jake lingered, watching you disappear through the school gates, heart fluttering just like it did the first time he saw you—sitting in that café, headphones in, quietly brewing drinks with a focus and grace that pulled him in completely.

That afternoon Jake went back to his school, completed some light club duties, but mostly just carried around his camera for no real reason. Something felt off. Maybe it was you. He realized you hadn't yet shown up to the station.

Curious—and maybe a tiny bit worried—he decided he would check up on you. It wasn't as if he hadn't done it before. The front desk lady at your school blinked at him when he said: "I'm her friend. I came to take her home. I think she has after school activities?"

She nodded, "Art club today. Top floor."

So he went up the stairs, camera bouncing against his chest as he went, to peek into the art room. The door creaked gently as he walked in—and there you were. The room was filled with the smells of acrylic paint and pencil shavings, and late sunlight poured in across rows of stools and canvases.

You were at your usual spot, back to the door, anxiously brushing color onto a canvas.

And then he saw it. Jake almost gasped. 

It was him. Your painting—there was no doubt about it—you had painted him. His hair, his smile, even the soft blur of light behind him as if caught in one of his own photos. You were painting him from memory.

Although a voice next to him startled him. "She only draws real people when they make her feel safe," your art teacher said, smiling knowingly. "Or when they have made contact with her heart."

Jake couldn't move for a second, his eyes glued on your concentrated state, brow slightly scrunched as you made soft strokes of light across the painting's cheek bones. You hadn't noticed him yet. But his heart was already full.

Jake's cheeks burned the split second your teacher asked, "Are you her boyfriend?"

He blinked, eyes wide, mouth slightly ajar as he clearly had not processed the question. His ears turned a deep pink, then red. He looked every bit the golden retriever boy everyone called him—loyal, soft-hearted, but now flustered beyond belief.

Your teacher beamed with understanding, as if she already seen through him. "You're someone she needs in her life" she said gently, watching the way his eyes never left your body. "A puppy always following her trail. I'm sure she'll accept you as her boyfriend if she decides to give in. It's hard for a deaf person to open up—they often think they're a burden." 

The words echoed in Jake's mind.

Is that why... she always keeps to herself? Is that why she hides so much of her pain?

Suddenly, everything clicked. The reason why your earphones were always in. The reason why you trembled a little whenever they got torn. The reason why you looked away whenever people stared too long. And maybe the reason why he felt the urge to protect you.

Your teacher smiled at him one last time before walking toward you, softly signing that Jake was here to pick you up. You blinked, surprised, instinctively turning around—and immediately tried to cover your painting with a cloth. Jake's heart leaped when your eyes met his, so wide with embarrassment.

The painting was covered, but the color in your cheeks said enough.

Across the room, a couple of girls not in the deaf program whispered just loud enough for Jake to hear as he approached. "She probably blackmailed him or something. No way Jake Sim's into her."

"Yeah, she can't even talk to him. Poor guy's probably just being nice."

Jake stopped in his tracks, turning to them. The smile faded from his face. His usual soft features sharpened, eyes narrowing, jaw tight. "Do you talk about everyone like this, or just girls who are better than you?"

The girls flinched, going quiet immediately.

He didn't say anything more, just turned his back to them and walked towards you, softly touching your arm. You looked up, blinked several times, and still holding the bag with shy fingers.

And then Jake smiled, and all the warmth came back to his smile. He pulled out his notepad and wrote, "You don't need to hide the painting. I'm really honored, you know."

You flushed deeper and looked away, biting your lip before grabbing your bag and following him out. You didn't sign anything, but he didn't mind. Your presence was enough.

The train ride to the coffee shop was quiet but not uncomfortable. Jake stood beside you, and every time the train shifted, his fingers brushed against yours. You seemed far away, a little off, fidgeting with your mad respect—twisting your sleeves, adjusting the strap of your tote, nibbling at your bottom lip.

Jake could tell your head was spinning; probably about the painting and probably about him. So, he wrote on his notepad again, folding the edge of the page and tearing it off; then, when you both were standing, waiting for the train at the platform, he slowly slipped the note into your palm.

You opened it slowly.  

"I like you. I really, really like you. You're not a burden. You're the most peaceful part of my day."

You stared at the words, unmoving.

And when you looked up—he was already smiling at you, waiting patiently.

Jake wasn't in a hurry. He let you lower your walls slowly inch by inch—in the right way, and never pushed and always patient.

The first time you took his pen and wrote:"But I only met you two days ago."

He just smiled and ruffled your hair a bit, and then wrote,"I've been watching you for months. I just never had the guts."

Your cheeks were hot and you just nodded, speechless and your words gotten stuck somewhere in your throat. But Jake could see from your eyes that you were curious, maybe even hopeful.

But you were scared too.  

Jake understood. Maybe you wanted him to court you. Maybe you just needed more time. Maybe both.

At the coffee shop, and on your break, you sat across from him and taught him one word at a time in sign language—your fingers moving slow and patient, your lips formed the words even though sounds did not come out. You wrote each of these on to his note pad, carefully.

He continued to clap along and began to nod his head, with his golden retriever grin.You handed him your personal sign language book—its pages creased and full of your tiny notes. It was your most treasured learning tool, and you were giving it to him. His heart soared.

He kept it close, even brought it to school.

The next day, he was surrounded by his rowdy friend group.

"Why're you reading that?" Heeseung asked, eyes wide.

Jay snatched the book before Jake could answer, flipping through. "Is this sign language?"

Sunghoon raised a brow. "Wait—you're learning for her?"

Jake just nodded. Calm and proud, "Yeah. I'm learning for her."

The teasing came immediately, all of it lighthearted.

"Jake's whipped."

"Our golden retriever's got a muse!"

"Is this why you skipped violin club?"

He only smiled, never denying it. He was smitten.

So when people said rude stuff about you—he would not stand for it. His regular soft energy evaporated in minutes, mass cold stares, tight jaws, eyes sharp. Even when girls tried to flirt with him, he just waved them off and said coolly, "I'm busy studying."   Outside of that, Jake's world exploded with new creative energy.He was in a band with Heeseung, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, Sunoo, and their junior, Nishimura Riki—a dreamy transfer prodigy guy from Japan with the softest smile and killer dance skills.

Jake played bass, rapped, danced—and was now writing a song.

About you. 

A soft acoustic ballad done with warmth and tenderness. He practiced alone in his room, kind of singing quietly and strumming, he practiced the sign language version in front of him mirror.He had some day to play it for you, in your language.

Meanwhile in your world, you also seemed to be sketching Jake in your notebook more often than not. His profile face, his smile, and the way he tucked his hair behind his ears when he really concentrated. You wrote about him too—his gentleness, his presence.

You would wander the city on your walks, peering into hole-in-the-wall shops, hunting for something that would make you think of him. Something like a keychain. Or a pin that looked like a camera. It could be anything small—but meaningful.

You wanted to give him something. Not because he was your boyfriend—but because he was your safe place. Your one person who made you feel seen.

One day, while you were both taking your break, he started to sign. Not perfectly—but enough to get it. You were stunned.

He signed, "I want to learn more. From you."

You smiled. Softly. Slowly. It was shy. And when he lifted his camera to take a picture of you sipping your iced tea, you did not look away this time. You let him take that picture. He already knew how you despised coffee—it upset your stomach.

You loved tea. It calmed you down.

He knew you loved hotteok and cherries. Especially cherries. The way the red stained your lips made him feel like he was losing his mind—but he behaved himself every time he came over to your house. It was so big and empty—but your room? It was cozy, warm, and you. Hello Kitty plushies, small pop mart figurines, your favorite pieces of art and prints. 

He belonged there, in your quiet world. He just didn't know yet—you were slowly, silently drawing him into it.

────୨ৎ────

Jake was down bad. Whipped. Head over heels. The whole damn fairy-tale-boyfriend-package without the title. He found out about the talent show—basically an annual spring festival for his school, where everyone else can come too including students from other campuses.

Perfect timing.

Time to make a move.

He would ask you to come the day before the concert. Right after exams. Right when you needed a break, and when he was finally ready to show you the song that he had put his entire heart into, in your language.

But in the meantime?Jake was going through it.He brought you iced tea every morning, sliding it across your desk without a word with a shy grin and a wink, and it still felt cold from the little cooler bag he would carry it in.

He literally walked into your school to do this, even when people would stare. Even when whispers would start.His friends, of course, never let him forget it.

"You're joking."

"I cannot believe you are rejecting girls who are literally goddess tier, for a girl that hasn't even kissed you yet."

"Jake. You're gone. So gone."

"She didn't even look at you today and you are still simping."

Jake? Unfazed. Loyal. Whipped. "She's worth it." was all he said. 

There were times during the midterms that you hardly glanced at him, eyes glued to the drowning darkness of your books with highlighters smudged across your fingers, your sketchpad nowhere near you. Jake sat beside you, bravely not taking it personally.

You were stressed out. You needed your space, he got it.

But he couldn't help but wonder— Did you even like him back, or was he just your sweet loyal friend?

He didn't know that you sketched him. That your journal had pages and pages all about him. That you were just too shy—too much of a jumble of feelings and everything you wanted to say but couldn't find the words if you tried.

Sometimes he'd talk to you softly next to you while you worked, knowing you would never hear it, but needed to say it anyway.

"I like you so much, it hurts."

"I want to kiss you but I know you're not ready."

"You make me want to be soft forever."

You never noticed. But it was okay, because it made him feel better. Like saying it out loud, meant it wasn't just sitting there bottled up inside him.

One day, you were outside and saw a cat on the street, and you got all sparkly-eyed, and you crouched down and reached your hand out. 

Jake panicked.

"No—no no no—don't touch it! It's probably dirty, baby—like...not safe!"

You blinked, lips slightly pursed in a pout.

He cracked instantly.

The next day he brought you to a cat café instead. Reserved a table and everything. Bought you a slice of strawberry shortcake too. You left with cat fur on your clothes and the softest smile he'd ever seen.

He was awkward with cats, being a dog lover instead but he wanted to see your cute little smile when you cradle the cat close to your chest as if it was your own child.

But now? During midterms? You barely had time to breathe. Jake didn't blame you. But the distance... it scared him. Had he moved too fast? Were you pulling away?

He had no idea.

You were just trying to get through the week—exams, art deadlines, pressure. What you did know, though, was that Jake still showed up with iced tea. That he still waited outside your school gate after your last class. That he still sat beside you, head tilted, watching you with soft eyes even when you didn't say much.

And that meant everything.

────୨ৎ────

Jake was losing it. Exams were finally over.

The festival was days away. He had been looking forward to asking you to come and see him perform his song—a song about you, for you.

Now? You were fawning all over Woo Do-hwan on the screen. Jake was standing behind the couch, arms crossed but one arm inconveniently draping over your shoulder as if he were laying claim to it (not that he would ever say that).

You, on the other hand, were way too busy staring at the TV, all curled up in an oversized shirt that, in Jake's opinion, practically slid off your shoulder leaving just enough for your bra strap to be visible that was slowly driving him crazy.

You were eating cherries. The juice had once again stained your lips and Jake was sweating his pants off, he knew he was going to lose his mind.Then it got worse.

A scene came on—the scene—where the male lead pulled the girl into his lap and kissed her like the world was ending.(His world was in-fact ending.)  You were biting your lip, staring with your big, dreamy eyes, and Jake? Jake couldn't move. He was going back and forth between the screen and you.

Your shirt falling off. Your lips bright red. Your eyes sparkling. Your soft little sigh. That lip nibble.

With every breath in his chest, Jake leaned just a little, the front of his t-shirt brushed softly over the back of your head. He whispered, "Do you want that too?"

You didn't respond because you clearly couldn't hear him. You were still watching, unaware of how tense he'd gone behind you, his jaw clenched, his breath shaky. He looked like he was thinking—deeply. The kind of thinking that could make or break everything.

You turned your head a little, craning your neck to look at him, lips parted in curiosity. He immediately collected himself and smiled, signing something with his free hand as the other rested on your shoulder. "You really like him that much?"

You grinned, shy but excited, and nodded.

He rolled his eyes and gave you an incredulous look before signing: "He's not real. I am."

You blinked. A little caught off guard.

And then he signed again.

"Come to the festival."

You tilted your head, confused.

He picked up the pen and notepad from the coffee table—thankfully still nearby—and scribbled it down.

Come to my school's festival next weekend. Please? I want to show you something. Something just for you.

You read it. Looked at him. Then nodded slowly, chewing on a cherry while giving him that small, sweet smile that made him feel like his ribs might crack open from the pressure of loving you so much.

He smiled back and signed softly: "Good. It's a date."

Your eyes widened. He winked. Then he went to finish folding your laundry—like the golden retriever boyfriend-in-waiting he was—while trying very hard not to think about you in that oversized shirt... or Woo Do-hwan stealing your attention.

It was supposed to be the perfect day. Jake had left early that morning, and kissed your forehead with the softest kiss, and quickly signed to you with that big goofy grin of his.

"Wear something pretty. I'll be waiting."

He was so excited. The band was excited. All his friends, hyping him up to no end, joking about how happy he looked.

Jake, the cool, charming, calm one who never looked sad, couldn't stop smiling. He had practiced and practiced the song.

He had perfected every single chord. He had memorized every single sign. But more importantly, he had practiced how he was going to express that.

This song was for you. You were the girl he adored. The one who changed his outlook on the world. But you never showed up.

Your outfit was ready. Hair brushed, makeup done with care, your fingers trembling slightly in excitement. You clutched the cherry blossom pin he gave you once—nervous but happy.

Until it came.

A folded note slipped into your bag, probably by one of those girls. Written in harsh, angry ink.

"Isn't it a shame that he's basically using you for pity points? Everybody's going to crack up when they see you sitting there and watching him put on a fake show about being sad over some love song just to get attention. You're deaf, sweetie. He doesn't want you. He only wants the applause."

You looked at it for what felt like hours, then reread it. The lights inside your chest went out. You flickered the last little bit of hope away. You stood alone in your hallway with a promise you dressed up as a dream and felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

Jake walked out onto the stage, guitar in hand, the other boys were setting up beside him. His heart rate was out of control—not from nerves, but from hope. He looked at your seat.

Front row. Reserved with your name written in pink cursive and a little cat sticker.

Empty.

And the spotlight was focused right there. Still empty.

He blinked once. Hard. Maybe you were just late? He cleared his throat and lifted the microphone to his mouth. "I... um," he started, letting out an nervous chuckle. "This song is really personal. I wrote it... for someone really special to me."

The crowd cooed. A few phones went up. 

"She's not here yet, but I really hope she shows up. She's the reason I learned to hear.... even if it's silence."

He stopped. Then added, softly, hands shaking just a bit— "And if you are watching this later... well, I want you to know that I meant every part of this. This is for you."

Then, the music started, and he sang and signed—at once.

You didn't see it.

You were standing out in the rain, your cute outfit wet and clinging to your body, cuddled up in front of that little flower shop you both went to once.

The shop with the baby's breath and the soft pink carnations he helped you pick. You stood blankly looking at the window, tears pouring and blending in nicely with the rain rolling off your cheeks.

From inside, the florist, who could easily recognize your face gave you a concerned look but didn't interrupt you. It was clear you looked heartbroken, lost, and distressing.

Back at the school, Jake finally came off stage, fingers shaking, took his guitar off his well-worn shoulders, and his heart sank deep into his chest.

Then he heard it.

The girls. Laughing behind the bleachers.

"She really believed it, huh? Like he would actually be into her."

"Oh my god, did you see how serious he was? That's so embarrassing-"

"Do you think she's crying right now?"

Jake turned immediately, eyes dark, jaw set. "What did you say?" His voice was low. Dangerous.

They blinked. "It's just a joke-"

"No," he said, stepping forward. "You think humiliating someone is funny?"

The rage in his chest ignited. "You're the reason she's not here?"

They tried to brush it off—but he was already pulling out his phone. Texting his friends. Telling them to help pack up. He was going to find you.

Rain or not.

Jake had been running through about half of the city. The rain had been falling, drenched through his hoodie though he didn't care.

He checked the café, your bus stop, even the small bookstore at the corner whose front window you liked to slow down and look at.

Nothing.

His heart pounded like it was going to snap a rib. Then, he turned around the corner past the florist shop—the place where you both argued over whether it was daisies or carnations that looked better in the kitchen window, and...well, there you were.

There you were. Standing in front of the window with your head down, that pretty outfit emerging from the downpour, make up smeared, mascara swirling down your cheeks, fingers clenching that cherry blossom pin.

You looked like you were sitting there waiting. For something. For someone.

His stomach curled up. You got all dressed up for him.He called your name. Once. Wobbly and breathless. You didn't even flinch. He stepped a bit closer.

Forward, careful, in front of you. You finally looked up, eyes wide open red and furious. The florist inside noticed him immediately, clutching her mug like she was watching the climax of a drama unfold right outside her store window.

Your hands moved fast. Angry. Sharp. Your pout was trembling, but your signs were loud. "Don't talk to me. Don't look at me."

You signed again, more forcefully. "You think it's funny? Did they dare you? Was it some kind of game?" He couldn't keep up with how fast your fingers were going, but he saw the pain. The betrayal.

His heart ached.

Jake shook his head immediately, rain pooling in the bottom of his lashes, and signed, "No. No. That's not what happened." You scoffed and turned away, but he stepped in front of you again, desperate. "Please, just watch this."

He struggled to pull out his phone, his fingers fumbling with the cold, and there it was; his friend had sent him the video link—a recording of the performance, uploaded to the school's blog. It was shaky; it was the whole thing. He tapped play and turned the screen toward you.

Not the sound. Only the subtitles. The image.

It was him. On stage. Nervous. Eyes filled with hope.

You watched with your arms crossed and jaw clenched, unsure.Then, you saw him sign it. Each word."This is for her. The girl I love. She taught me to listen, even when there is silence. She's strong, and funny, and smart, and beautiful."

Your eyes widened. The way he gazed at the empty chair. Your chair. The way he bent his neck to gaze and search for you in the audience. The footage showed him signing the lyrics of his song, each movement full of heart, no hesitation. Not a trace of mockery. He meant every word, and he meant them for you.

Your fingers trembled as you put down the phone.Jake stepped closer, covering your hands with his own.

"I didn't know," he signed slowly. "I swear. I didn't know what they told you." His jaw was clenched in a way that made it seem like he was holding back tears of his own.

"I wrote that song for you," he continued. "Not anyone else. Just you."

You blinked, stunned, your lips parted but no signs were coming out yet. The weight of your misunderstanding and the pain you had been carrying all day cracked just a little under that look.

Then finally your hands moved, more slowly this time. Hesitantly. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Jake gave you a sad, almost helpless smile as he stepped closer, gently tucking your wet hair behind your ear. His hands moved with purpose, signing carefully but with a tremble in his fingers.

"I wanted to see your smile when I signed the song live. That was all I could think about." He paused, brows furrowed as his hands hovered midair. "I'm sorry I didn't explain sooner. I'm sorry I wasn't there when they hurt you."

Your bottom lip quivered again, more tears slipping silently down your cheeks. You didn't move, didn't sign back right away. Just stood there—heart heavy, soaking wet, eyes searching his.

Jake didn't wait for a reply. He reached for you, pulling you gently into a tight, rain-soaked hug, holding you like he'd never let go again. 

Then came the kiss.

Jake looked at you—rain dripping from his lashes, eyes filled with something warm and intense. He cupped your cheeks with both hands, gentle but certain, thumbs brushing over your skin as if anchoring himself.

You barely had time to process before his lips met yours—soft, careful, like a question he was too afraid to speak aloud. Your eyes widened at first, startled, but slowly fluttered shut as you kissed him back.

You tasted like your cherry lip gloss.

Sweet. Familiar. All his.

Behind the glass, the florist gasped audibly, scrambling to put together a bouquet with ribbon and free stems, already deciding she'd gift it to Jake to give to you. Romance deserved flowers—and this was the kind that made her believe in love again.

The next morning, the sun was back out. The sun had dried the streets, but for Jake it did nothing to cool him down.He strolled beside you holding your hand, with his backpack over one shoulder and yours hanging from your arm.

But he couldn't keep his lips off your face: your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Jake was just rambling about how much he loved you, how you were his future wife (he repeated this part over and over, loud enough for anyone walking behind you or to the side of you to hear).

It didn't matter that you didn't hear what he was saying. He wanted the world to know. Specifically, he wanted those who were trying to belittle you to see it.

Jake's friends standing across the street saw you together and immediately got rowdy, cheering out loud things like:

"Jake's plotting plan is working!"

"She's got him whipped!"

"He is so down bad it's embarrassing!"

Jake only beamed, shamelessly proud.

When you got to the gates of the school, and there were a bunch of girls from the other school walking by, Jake caught a glimpse of them.

You don't even know what happened, so fast he turned to you and said goodbye with the most extended goodbye kiss —right on the lips, long and intended. 

Your eyes went wide, and you swatted at him, trying to pry him off with flustered hands.

He giggled and quickly signed, "I'll pick you up after school. Don't miss me too much, darling."

Your ears were burning.

He noticed.

And loved it.

────୨ৎ────

You had graduated, and Jake had finally debuted. Three long months apart, during which he fought his way through the rigorous survival show, I-LAND.

It had been three months of hell for both of you—too many nights of loneliness and longing, missing each other. But through all the trials, he made it!

He was finally here, taking his first steps as a member of the idol group Enhypen, the moment he had been waiting for. But the second he could, he ran right to you; he didn't even greet his fans at first.

The instant he laid eyes on you, he pulled your body into his arms; didn't care that the cameras and the fans were around, he just needed to feel you close to him again.

He buried his face in the hoody, holding you like he had never planned on letting go and whispering repeatedly in shaky signs and soft words how he missed you. He had been away from you for too long, but he was never letting you go again. 

Though Jake adored his fans, he couldn't shake the feeling that none of them could ever compare to you.

No one knew and understood him like you did, no one supported him like you did, no one made him feel so so seen like you did.

He had such gratitude for his fans despite there not being a proper quarterback, but they would never take your place, you were the one who he thought about every day when he was away.

He wanted to show them there was someone who had always stuck by him, someone who saw him for him. He had been through so much, but it was worthwhile because he did it all for you.

You were his grounding point, his thought process, he wanted everyone to know that.

Several months later, Jake asked you to come and see Enhypen for their first big concert. You hesitated, thinking about if you wanted to go or not, especially since you could not hear any music.

Jake didn't care. He remained positive, looking right at you with a bright smile, "I hired a sign language translator. They are going to be on stage, right in front of you."

He would find a way to bring you as close as possible to this concert experience he wanted you to experience.

You were important to him, and he figured no one would understand music better than you, even if you couldn't hear it. He's not asking you to be a fan, he needed you to be the person who always believed in him.  

The night of the concert arrived, and the venue was filled with energy and excitement.

The lights flashed brightly across the stage as Enhypen began their performance. You were in the front row, your seat specially reserved for you, and the translator stood beside you, making sure you understood every single moment.

Despite the loud crowd, your attention was entirely on Jake. You couldn't hear the music, but you could feel it—feel the passion and energy that radiated off him.

Every time he glanced your way, a soft smile would tug at your lips. And then, in the midst of the performance, Jake did something just for you: he pointed directly at you during one of his fanservice moments.

You blushed, feeling the heat in your cheeks as you realized that, even in front of thousands, he was teasing you with a wink. He was having fun, but he was making sure that you knew he was thinking about you.

But it wasn't just the fan service. When Jake lifted up his shirt during the concert to flash his abs—they were a sight, very sculpted work of art, all glistening—you knew it was not for the fans.

It wasn't meant for the camera at all. You knew he was teasing you and wanted you to stop looking at Woo Do-hwan, and instead wanted you to look directly back at him.

It felt like a special moment just between the two of you, but still, you had to look away, embarrassed covering your face but your heart racing. The way Jake would cheekily tease you was what he loved to do, always eager to make you flustered. 

A year passed since our last interaction, and things had changed in a drastic way. Jake was continuing to work hard and be a member of Enhypen, but he was holding a secret deep within for one long year.

Jake had been practically begging his company for an entire year to allow him to tell all of you about me at a live concert.

He couldn't hide me anymore. He wanted everyone to know who I was to him and why he had a translator on stage with him at every single concert.

And finally, his company said yes.

Jake stood on that stage, illuminated by that bright light, with all those fans watching him, and breathed out deeply before he spoke.

He signed for the translator to share with the audience, but you could still feel the weight of his feelings in his signs.  

"Why do you see a translator at every show? I bet you've all wondered that." Jake said with a steady voice full of meaning.

"It's not just because accessibility is important. While that is a very important reason, it's because there is a person very special to me, who is always here supporting me, even when she can't hear the music."

The crowd went quiet because they seemed to understand the depth of his statement. Jake looked directly at you without wavering in his gaze.

"Even when she can't hear the music, she can feel the music. She feels the love, the passion, everything I put into it. She understands me more deeply and better than anyone else." He paused again and his gaze softened looking at you. 

"She is my muse, my reason for writing, my reason for singing, my reason for standing here today." It was so quiet in the room you could hear a pin drop. "Her name is Y/n. She's the most important person in my life."  

The fans were in shock, some even crying, while others cheered loudly. The translator was smiling as they relayed Jake's words, and you felt your heart swell.

Jake wasn't just sharing his story with the crowd; he was sharing you—the person who meant everything to him. As the crowd erupted in applause, you stood there, overwhelmed by the love Jake had just poured out for you. You didn't even have words to express it.

[dollyfetti]

"we should have brought bread," your boyfriend signs to you with a frown, his eyes on the ducks waddling just a few feet away. you and katsuki had left the house just before sunset to relax by the lake on a wooden bench and enjoy the view as the ducks ran around.

you hum, latching onto his arm. "next time." you mouth to him, pecking his chin.

katsuki exhales, nodding lightly. he wraps his beefy arm around you, pulling you into his warm figure. he feels the breeze whisper against you both, some of your hair blowing into his face. he scrunches up his nose at the ticklish sensation, pushing your hair back down as you grin up at him.

you readjust yourself a bit so you can raise both hands. "the ducks are loud." you tell him, mouthing the words as you sign.

he rolls his eyes, actually thankful he's unable to hear. he knows he can speak to you verbally, he doesn't have to stay quiet. it's an odd thing though... he prefers to not say anything. he's comfortable the way everything is. especially in moments like these, where words aren't even enough to describe what he's feeling.

katsuki turns his head to look back at you, not even a bit surprised that you're already staring at him intently. he can't even fight the little grin that makes its way onto his face. he brings up his fingers, doing the "cmere" movement as you lean forward and he grabs your chin, pulling you into a gentle kiss.

۪ ݁ 𓈒♡ㅤthinking about him rn what if i sob

[catsoupki]

The world quiets for Bakugou.

The cacophony of whistles and clapping fade below him and beneath the stage as the head of the Justice Tribunal —his very own high school teacher— greets him. Aizawa grips his hand tightly, he doesn’t bother looking at the engraved words, but he feels the cold metal burning his palm anyway.

A medal of honour: to commemorate the lives he took in the Great War, to celebrate him for the death he was willing to greet. His high school teacher stares at him with something akin to understanding —suddenly he’s 16 again, standing in Ground Zero, his fingers wrapped tightly around Izuku’s wrinkled shirt— understanding that it is a medal of mockery.

He faces the crowd nonetheless, their praise, worship, and idolisation. The beams of stage light, the reward for his work and sacrifice, they’re bright on his face, burning— like salvation. The metal is cold when it edges along his skin, cutting until blood spools. He hears the screams, but he doesn’t really hear the screams.

The rays of sunlight, evidence of life, they’re bright on his face, burning— like salvation. He feels Edgeshot weaving metal and thread through his flesh, albeit dulled. Blood pools and pools but he doesn’t feel the cold.

The world is quiet for Bakugou.

[ashwhowrites]

Would it be okay if you could write deaf!reader x Eddie where she’s new at school and meets Eddie. The rest can be up to you. Thank you xxx

I have never written a deaf character before so the representation might be off, but I gave it a shot! I know in movies and shows, sometimes they can talk and sometimes it is just sign language, but I went with writing notes to make it romantic. I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

I wrote a scene with a guitar amp and it was so hard to keep this story sweet and fluff and not turn it into smut

No words

It didn't take long for the new girl to catch Eddie's eyes. She was cute and seemed to be in her own little world. Eddie admired that she never seemed to care what happened around her.

He wanted to talk to her, but he wasn't the best at making a first impression. He wasn't the best at saying what he meant out loud. He was a writer. He wrote countless songs because he knew how to write down his feelings, not say them.

She was in a few of his classes, and he sat behind her. He watched as she walked into class, admiring her style. He assumed she was shy since she never spoke. She sat silently in class and kept to herself.

Eddie ripped out a piece of paper from a notebook he never touched. He scrambled down a message, then folded it. He took a deep breath and reached forward to tap her on the shoulder.

She turned around confused. She looked as the boy handed her something. She grabbed the note as she examined him.

He was mad cute. He had dark curly long hair, warm brown eyes, and pink lips. He wore a red and black flannel with dark jeans and dirty sneakers. She wished she could just stare but she didn't want to be creepy. She turned around and unfolded the paper.

"I'm Eddie, what's your name?"

She smiled to herself as she wrote her name underneath his. With a smile. She turned around and handed it back to him.

Eddie was shocked she wrote back to him. Before he could stare at her any longer, she turned around. Finally being that close to her face he realized she was prettier than ever.

His stomach fluttered as he saw her name and a tiny smile. Pleased that she didn't ignore him or write a mean message back.

"Well Y/N welcome to Hawkins High School. It sucks ass. The town is a little better, if you want a tour or anything I'm available."

She smiled as she felt a tap on her shoulder again, the teacher focused on the board as she turned. Her face burned as her fingers touched his as she took the note.

Eddie watched as her body moved up and down as she shook her head. He smiled as it seemed like she was laughing to herself. She felt nervous about saying yes, but she also didn't want to say no.

"Only if you promise to show me a great burger place ;)"

She waited until the teacher wasn't paying attention as she turned around and gave him the note. She turned around fast and Eddie opened it. He smiled and patted himself on the back.

The bell rang and she began to pack up. Eddie took a deep breath and walked in front of her desk.

"Hey Y/N," she looked up as she felt his presence. She focused on his lips. "Want to go after school today?"

She smiled and nodded

"Sweet, I'll meet you at the front?" he asked, he felt his face burn as she leaned close and stared at his lips. Her eyes squinted as she fully focused.

She nodded and smiled again. Waving goodbye as she walked to her next class.

~

Eddie waited outside the front door. He was nervous but excited. Befriending the new kid wasn't something Eddie ever did, but there was something about her that he wanted to know.

He smiled as she came into view, she waved as she got closer.

They didn't talk as they headed to his van. A couple students whispered as the two passed. And some students began to yell "FREAK!"

He felt comforted by the fact she didn't seem to notice it. And if she did, she ignored it.

Eddie started the van and turned down his radio, he remembered how loud he had it blaring this morning. He smiled over at her and she smiled back.

~

It didn't take long to make it to the burger place. The ride was a tad awkward as she didn't really talk, it more was of Eddie talking to himself.

They got seated in a booth, Eddie sat across from her as he nervously flipped through the menu.

He felt a soft tap on his menu, and he looked up.

Y/N smiled as she handed him a piece of paper.

He took the paper and read it, his eyebrows scrunched.

"I should probably tell you that I am deaf, so I'll be staring at your lips to communicate with you. Also, can you order for me?"

Eddie smiled and nodded. He snatched her pen and quickly wrote his own message.

She happily read it as he wrote

"No problem, I've been told I talk too much so maybe you not hearing me talk is a win. I will order for you, what would you like?"

Her heart raced as he moved on from the topic like it didn't change anything.

"Bacon cheeseburger, fries, and chocolate shake. Thank you for this, I'm excited to get to know you better and would love to watch you talk for hours :)"

~~~

The first date went amazing in Eddie's eyes. He didn't mind writing down his words, he enjoyed watching her reactions as she read the words. They ate, and he made her laugh over and over.

He knew he wanted to ask her on another date, he wanted to ask her out every night of the week.

She waved as she walked into class, Eddie gave her a flirty nod that made her dash for her seat faster.

He grabbed a piece of paper and began writing but she slid a note right on top of his.

He looked up as she turned around.

He opened it as the teacher wasn't looking

"Date #2? I saw an ice cream place on our tour yesterday."

~

Eddie came prepared for this date, he had a notebook and all different kinds of pens.

She waited on a bench outside as he ordered their ice cream. He prayed he'd make it to her before dropping any on the ground.

She smiled as he sat down next to her and handed her the ice cream. The first few minutes were silent as they tried to eat the ice cream before it began to melt.

They asked many questions about each other yesterday, so Eddie tried to think of new things to talk about.

"You look beautiful"

She felt her cheeks warm as she read his handwriting, she wrote just below his message. He watched as she wrote,

"Thank you. You are pretty cute too"

"You have a little something on your cheek,"

She read the note and was confused. She looked up at Eddie and she felt a cold glob on her cheek.

She watched as Eddie's face morphed into a smile as he laughed behind his hand. She smiled and grabbed a chunk of her ice cream, she watched as Eddie's smile dropped.

"No no, I'm sorry!" he said as she read his lips. He got up to run but she was fast behind him. He didn't make it far before she jumped on his back, his arms catching her legs as she smeared her ice cream right on his nose.

He let her down as he laughed, then she joined in.

"Uncool," he teased once he faced her. She just smiled and shrugged.

He smiled as he leaned in, his hand on her cheek as he wiped off the ice cream with his thumb.

Her breathing got faster as he looked into her eyes, his soft touch on her cheek made her heart race.

"Can I kiss you?"

He felt his stomach turn with nerves as he waited for her to read his lips. He got even more nervous when she blinked but didn't say anything.

He wanted to kiss her? She had never kissed anyone before and she wanted to tell him how nervous she was but she couldn't walk away.

She grabbed his hand and softly used her finger to write letters. He concentrated as he watched her fingers spell something out.

"N.E.R.V.O.U.S"

"Ner-nervous? You are nervous?" he asked, she watched his lips and then nodded. He cupped her jaw with his free hand, watching as she took a deep breath.

"Me too," he whispered, she read his lips and then saw his lips moving closer to her.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers. It took a few seconds for her to shake off the nerves and kiss him back. She wasn't sure where to put her hands so she softly placed them on his chest.

He tasted of chocolate chip ice cream. And his lips felt amazing against hers. The kiss got better as they grew both confident.

He pulled away with a beaming smile, the ice cream on his nose transferred to her face.

"Let's get cleaned up," he laughed, she nodded and followed behind. Butterflies in her stomach as she felt her lips.

~~~

After many more dates, they became an official couple. Eddie's friends made sure she was comfortable and talked slowly so she could read their lips. They didn't mind reading and writing to communicate. It was clear that there was a connection between her and Eddie.

Eddie adjusted and took a beginner class in sign language. He was proud to show what he learned after every class. Sometimes he taught her new words.

One thing Y/N hated was that she couldn't share music with Eddie. She learned that was a huge part of his life from the beginning, and it made her sad that she could never hear him sing or play.

That doesn't mean Eddie ever excluded her. He'd have her sit next to his guitar amp, hook it all up, and let her feel the music as it played through. He'll never forget how excited she was when she could feel the music against her hand.

And that's what she did at his shows. She sat front row and placed her hands on the speakers.

He did it all because he loved her...he just hasn't said it yet.

Tags!

@bmunson86 @mxcheese @ladymunson @michaelfuckinglangdon @z0mbie-blah @biittersweet @mirrorsstuff @somethingvicked @micheledawn1975 @ago-godance @magnificantmermaid @tlclick73 @hargrovesswifee @cityofidek @silky-luxe @lokiofasgard616 @loving-and-dreaming @eddiemunsonsbitch69 @thegemaqua @ashlynnkennedy @strangerthingsstories5255 @harringt8ns @pleasinghellfire @whoscamila @stusdollface93 @gretavankleep37 @bellaisswagger @arlxt

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

[big-poppa23]

Echoes of Silence

synapse: born deaf, y/n enters the squid game, relying on sharp observation to survive. Isolated by silence, she catches the attention of a kind-hearted player who’s drawn to her resilience. together, they defy the chaos, proving that even in the harshest games, connection needs no words.

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: kang dae-ho x reader, blood, death (it is squid game after all), fluff, angst, deaf reader

part two

. . .

She stood alone in the crowded room, the hum of anxious conversations buzzing around her like static. She watched the other players huddle into groups—some friends from the outside, others thrown together by desperation and luck. Her chest tightened. Get into groups of five, they had said. A team game.

Her mind flashed back to Red Light, Green Light. The memory of bodies dropping around her still clung to her skin like cold sweat. She had survived by watching—the flicker of the doll’s head, the ripple of panic before each shot. Where others froze in fear at the shout of “Red Light,” she had kept her eyes sharp, catching the shift in posture, the tension in shoulders, the stillness that swept through the crowd. Her silence had saved her.

But here, it was different. Survival wasn’t a solitary act this time. She needed others. She tried stepping forward, her eyes scanning for someone—anyone—who wasn’t already locked in tight circles. Her hand moved to wave, to gesture, or even to scribble down the question she tried to ask but the looks she received were blank, uncomprehending. One guy squinted at her hands, then turned away, whispering to his group. She bit the inside of her cheek, frustration clawing its way up her throat.

Finally, her eyes settled on a group of five huddled near the corner, their voices low and urgent. Her heart sank—five was the limit. But it was the only group she hadn’t approached, the only chance she hadn’t taken. Her fingers tightened around the notepad she held, edges creased from use.

Swallowing her nerves, she moved forward, weaving through tense bodies until she reached them. She tapped Player 388 on the shoulder, gentle but firm enough to pull his attention—and the attention of the rest of the group. They turned to face her, expressions guarded and uncertain.

Without hesitation, Y/N flipped open her notepad, revealing the words she had written neatly in black ink: May I please join you?

For a moment, there was silence. Her eyes darted between their faces, searching for any flicker of understanding or kindness. Just one glimmer of hope.

“Sorry, we’ve already got five people,” Player 390 said.

She didn’t hear the words, but she caught the shape of his mouth—clear and final. Her heart sank, panic flaring in her chest. She fumbled with her notepad, pen shaking slightly as she tried to form the right words, anything to convince them to make an exception.

But before she could finish, a gentle hand rested on her notebook, stopping her scribbling. She looked up, startled. It was Player 001. His eyes were soft but sharp with understanding. Slowly, his hands moved—deliberate, practiced. ‘Are you deaf?’

Her eyes widened with shock, then filled with relief so raw it almost hurt. Her head bobbed up and down, quick and certain. For the first time since stepping into this nightmare, she didn’t feel invisible.

001 or In-ho only nodded gently. He had seen her during Red Light, Green Light—how she had never moved at the doll’s audio warnings, only its and other players’ movements. Now it all made sense. And luckily, with his background as previous officer in his old life, he learned and knew sign language and sometimes occasionally used it to communicate with guards.

“What’s happening?” Player 390 asked, his brows knitting together in confusion as he glanced between she and In-ho.

“She’s deaf,” In-ho replied calmly, his hands dropping back to his sides. Understanding washed over the group’s faces, the tension in their shoulders easing.

Player 095, who had been standing near the edge of the circle, watched her with a hint of sympathy. He looked back at In-ho, then at her. Slowly, he nodded. “You can have my spot,” he said, his voice steady and kind. “I’ll find somewhere else.” Without waiting for protest, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Her eyes followed him, surprise and gratitude swirling within them. She turned back to In-ho, her hands moving carefully in response. ‘Sorry for breaking up your group,’ she signed, her expression earnest.

In-ho shook his head, offering a small smile. ‘It’s okay,’ he signed back smoothly. ‘We just met him. He wasn’t really part of our group.’

The loud beep alarm signaled the end of the five-minute countdown, and the scattered chaos of desperate whispers and hurried alliances settled into tense silence. Every group was seated now, clustered together with wary eyes fixed on the masked guards lining the perimeter. She sat alongside Player 390 and the rest of her newfound team, her hands gripping the edges of her notepad tightly.

A booming voice filled the room, announcing the next game. She couldn’t hear it, but she didn’t need to. Her eyes tracked the motion of the guards setting up the arena, and she could see it clearly from where she sat: two teams, ankles chained together in groups of five, shuffling forward awkwardly but in sync.

A six-legged pentathlon. Her eyes scanned the arena—five separate sections, each one marked with a different challenge: Ddakji, The Flying Stone, Gong-gi, Spinning Top, and a final five kicks of Jegi. It was a gauntlet of teamwork and precision, where one misstep could cost them everything.

Her gaze flickered back to her team, tension knotting in her stomach. Communication would be key, and she couldn’t just shout instructions or warnings. She swallowed hard but took a deep breath, determination hardening her expression. They weren’t first, which meant they had time—time to watch, to strategize, and maybe, just maybe, to survive.

“It’s good we got a woman,” Player 390 remarked, his eyes flicking toward Y/N. He leaned over, tapping her shoulder gently to catch her attention. She turned to him, brows raised in curiosity. “You can play Gong-gi, right?” he asked, enunciating each word carefully.

Her gaze dropped for a moment before she met his eyes again, shaking her head slowly. Her lips moved silently, forming the word, ‘sorry’.

Player 388, who had been sitting quietly beside her, cleared his throat. “Actually, I can play Gong-gi,” he offered, his voice soft but sure. “I grew up with four older sisters. I used to play it with them from time to time.”

Player 456 nodded, the gears already turning in his head. “Alright… everyone else, what game are you confident playing?” he asked, scanning their faces with sharp intent.

Her hands moved quickly before her, signing in short, fluid motions. In-ho’s eyes followed her hands, his expression sharpening with understanding. He looked back at the group. “She’ll do Ddakji,” he translated smoothly.

As Players 456, 390, and In-ho huddled together, discussing their strategies for the upcoming game, Player 388’s gaze lingered on her. His brow furrowed with curiosity before he leaned over and gently tapped her shoulder. She turned to face him, her eyes bright and attentive.

“If you’re deaf, how do you understand what we’re all saying?” he asked, his words slow and clear.

Her eyes flicked to his lips, studying the movements before she nodded in understanding. She flipped open her notepad, scribbling quickly before holding it up for him to see: I read lips.

“Oh,” he replied, blinking in surprise. He paused, nodding thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

Her lips curled into a small smile at his reaction, the hint of warmth breaking through the tension. For a moment, the chaos of the room faded, and there was only the simple understanding between them.

Dae-ho hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened with a hint of determination. “I’m Kang Dae-ho,” he said, his voice steady as he made sure to face her directly.

Her eyes brightened, and a brief smile played on her lips. She flipped to a fresh page in her pocket notebook, her pen moving swiftly before she held it up: Means big tiger, right?

Dae-ho read the words, his eyebrows lifting in surprise before he chuckled softly and nodded. “Yeah, that’s right.”

Amused by his reaction, she quickly scribbled beneath her previous message: I’m Y/N, and I don’t know what it means.

Dae-ho chuckled softly, warmth radiating from his expression. He extended his hand toward her, fingers outstretched in a proper greeting. “Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said sincerely.

She blinked in surprise before her smile returned, soft and genuine. She reached out, shaking his hand with a firm but gentle grip.

. . .

They survived. Barely—but they survived. The tension from the six-legged pentathlon still hung heavy in the air as the surviving players walked back to the dormitory, collapsing onto their mattresses with weary relief. Names were exchanged between the five—cautiously at first, then with a little more trust as the hours dragged on. Gi-hun, or Player 456, suggested they stay together, especially during lights out. He’d been here before, and he knew what the darkness brought.

Mattresses were pulled from their metal frames, tucked carefully beneath the bunk beds to create a small, hidden circle. They took turns keeping watch, eyes scanning the shadows for movement. When Gi-hun’s shift ended, he gently shook Dae-ho awake, nodding toward the edge of their makeshift camp.

Dae-ho sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before settling down, knees pulled to his chest as he kept a vigilant eye on the room.

Nearly hour went by and nothing happened. His gaze drifted to his lap, where a small booklet rested, the corners frayed and soft from wear. He glanced over to where Y/N slept, her breathing steady and calm. He had found it beside her, slipped just beneath her pillow—Korean Sign Language: A Beginner’s Guide.

He wasn’t sure how she’d managed to smuggle it in; all their belongings had been stripped away upon arrival. But she had it. And now, so did he.

Dae-ho flipped the pages slowly, tracing each hand sign with his fingers, mouthing the words to himself in silence. His hands moved in awkward imitation, stiff and unsure, but with each page, his confidence grew. He practiced over and over, determined to remember every gesture, every movement.

For the first time since he’d entered this nightmare, he felt like he was building something—not just surviving. A bridge, perhaps. A way to understand her world.

Y/N jolted awake, her breath catching as remnants of a nightmare clung to her mind. She blinked away the haze, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. With a soft sigh, she rolled out from beneath her bunk, pushing her mattress back into place before sitting up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Dae-ho glanced over his shoulder, catching the movement. His posture relaxed slightly when he saw her, and she managed a tired smile, shuffling over to sit beside him. She pulled out her trusty notebook, scribbling a quick note before handing it to him. Sorry to bother, I couldn’t sleep.

Dae-ho read it, shaking his head almost immediately. “Uh…no…you’re not bothering me at all…” he said, his voice soft but steady. As he spoke, his hands moved awkwardly, fingers twisting and pausing as he signed each word, clumsy but determined.

Her eyes went wide, surprise and delight flooding her expression. Her smile grew, bright and genuine, and she signed back slowly, her movements fluid and graceful. ‘Not bad. You’re using my book?’

Dae-ho flushed slightly, glancing down at the booklet in his lap. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah…I, uh, thought it might help.”

Her grin didn’t falter as she read his lips. If anything, it grew wider. In a place where trust was fragile and kindness rare, it felt like a small miracle. She flipped open her notebook, her pen moving swiftly across the page before she turned it to him. You didn’t have to do that. I was okay writing my words down.

Dae-ho read the message carefully, his brow knitting as he focused. After a pause, his hands moved slowly, each sign deliberate and slightly clumsy. “I…wanted…to learn,” he said aloud, his voice gentle. He hesitated, then added with a small grin, “Plus…I didn’t want to sit in the dark…and stare…at a wall…all…night…”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, her eyes sparkling with genuine appreciation. She took her notebook back and wrote her response carefully, not wanting to overwhelm him with too much signing. I brought that book hoping I could communicate with others faster than writing it out.

He nodded, flipping through the pages of the sign language guide with newfound determination. The edges were dog-eared, a few notes scribbled in the margins—proof that she’d been studying long before this place. His gaze lifted back to her, and he raised his hands again, fingers moving with more confidence this time. “I am…glad you did…I want to make communication…as easy…as possible…for you…”

Her breath caught for a moment, surprise flickering across her face before it melted into something softer. In a world that demanded silence and survival, Dae-ho’s effort to bridge that gap felt like a rare kindness.

Her pen moved swiftly across the page before she turned it toward him. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done. Just beneath it, she added, Thank you.

Dae-ho’s smile softened, his eyes meeting hers with sincerity. He nodded. “You’re welcome…” His gaze flicked back to the booklet, curiosity sparking. “Now…how do I sign my name?” he asked, the words coming out with a hint of excitement.

A laugh escaped her—a genuine, soft chuckle that seemed to light up her whole face. She scooted a little closer, closing the gap between them. Her hands lifted, moving gracefully as she demonstrated each letter, fingerspelling his name. D…A…E…H…O, she signed slowly, her eyes flicking up to his after each letter to make sure he was keeping up.

Dae-ho watched intently, his hands lifting to mirror her movements. His first attempt was clumsy, his fingers fumbling with the shapes, but Y/N only smiled, nodding in encouragement. He tried again, slower this time, and managed to get through it with only a few mistakes.

When he finally spelled out his name correctly, she grinned wide and clapped her hands together silently, nodding with approval. His chest swelled with pride, and for a brief moment, the walls of the Squid Game dormitory seemed to fade away, leaving only the small bubble of connection they had built between them.

. . .

The next morning, she stirred awake to the gentle shake of Dae-ho’s hand on her shoulder. Around them, the blaring classical music filled the room, echoing off the concrete walls as players groaned and stretched awake. She sighed, rubbing her eyes before sliding out from under the bunk bed, blinking away the remnants of sleep. Dae-ho knelt beside her, watching her closely.

She met his gaze and raised her hands, signing smoothly, ‘It’s time for the next game, huh?’

Dae-ho’s eyes lit up with recognition. He nodded, pausing for a moment before his hands began to move—slower than hers but more confident than the night before. ‘I don’t know what the next game is gonna be…’ he signed, his fingers shaping each word carefully. ‘But we should stay together again.’

Her eyebrows shot up, surprised by his progress. A warm smile spread across her face, her eyes softening as she signed back, ‘I’d be happy to.’

Dae-ho’s grin was instant and genuine, the kind that almost made the chaos of the Squid Game seem like a distant echo. For a moment, there was no fear of what lay ahead—just the silent promise that they wouldn’t face it alone.

She stood up, stretching her stiff limbs before reaching for a hair tie resting on the edge of her bunk. With practiced ease, she gathered her hair and tied it back, a few stray strands framing her face. She moved with quiet confidence, rolling her shoulders and shaking out her arms as she paced slowly around their small space, easing the tension from her muscles.

The entire time, Dae-ho’s eyes never left her. He watched the way she moved—graceful and resilient, her expression calm despite the chaos that surrounded them. There was something about her that held his gaze, something unspoken yet powerful. Maybe it was the way she navigated the world with such sharp awareness, or the way her smile managed to break through even in a place built for despair.

He couldn’t quite put it into words, but she was… intriguing. So quietly strong. So beautifully unyielding.

When she caught his eye and offered him a small, gentle smile, his heart stuttered, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his neck. But the smile lingered on his face, a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share.

Jung-bae—Player 390—stirred awake with a groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As his vision cleared, he caught sight of the quiet interaction unfolding just a few feet away: Y/N stretching, her hair tied back neatly, and Dae-ho watching her with a gaze that lingered a little too long to be purely casual.

A grin spread across Jung-bae’s face, and he chuckled under his breath. “You’d never expect to find love in a place like this.”

Dae-ho snapped his head around, eyes wide with surprise before he quickly looked away, cheeks flushing. “It’s not like that, sir,” he insisted, his voice stumbling over the words. “I respect her.”

Jung-bae’s grin only grew wider. He stretched his arms over his head, joints cracking as he settled back against the wall. “Dae-ho, my boy,” he began with a chuckle, “you can respect her and fall in love with her. They’re not mutually exclusive.”

Dae-ho’s eyes flicked back to her, who was still pacing softly, oblivious to the conversation. He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I’ve known her for all of two days, sir. I’m not in love.”

Jung-bae just laughed, a deep, knowing sound. “Keep telling yourself that, kid.”

Dae-ho’s gaze drifted back to Y/N, watching as she finished stretching and began to pull her tracksuit jacket back on. The sudden grinding of metal cut through the room, and the heavy doors to the dormitory slid open with a thunderous echo. Masked guards stood in rigid lines, their silent presence a grim reminder of what came next.

Players began shuffling to their feet, nervous murmurs rippling through the crowd. Dae-ho didn’t hesitate—he stood up quickly, weaving through the shifting bodies until he reached Y/N’s side. She glanced up at him, surprise flickering across her face before softening into a small smile.

Without thinking, he fell into step beside her, his shoulder brushing hers as they moved with the crowd toward the looming doorway. He didn’t want to lose her in the sea of desperate faces—not now, not ever.

She seemed to understand, and as they walked side by side, she lifted her hand just enough for him to see, signing a single word with a knowing grin. ‘Together?’

Dae-ho smiled, his hands moving slowly but surely in response. “Together,” he signed as he said it aloud.