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#deku nearly has a heart attack seeing you outside with a lawn mower
ihatebnha · 2 years
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sigh I’m in a soft mood n just wanna be cuddled n babied by deku :(( is that too much to ask for??
Yes, because universe decided to be a bicth (in that order) and not to make him real </3
But... being cuddled and babied by deku.... babied and cuddled... i am HGNNNN...........
(warning: i talk about hair brushing and i tried to make it neutral but i am a white person so...l)
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He feels bad, you know? For being kinda... overbearing about things he later realizes you can probably, most definitely handle.
He gasps when he notices you trying to re-light the burner on your gas stove, or nudges you aside with his hip and a nervous frown when the frying oil looks too hot and has already popped... twice.
He gets nervous watching you decorate your apartment; pestering you about letting him do the work of hammer-and-nailing, even while he's got you steadied with firms hands on the chair—or your waist.
And he always tries to pull the mop out of your hands, or the windex from your determined grip, voice tight and raw when he asks, "baby, are you sure you wanna handle that? I know you got a headache last time.”
He's honestly kind of a baby like that, hopping around on his feet watching you... which is funny when you consider that he only becomes that way in trying to treat you like a baby. But what are boyfriends for if not looking out for their partners? Much less one who it supposed to be a hero at his day job.
So he feels bad, yeah... and tries to make up for it, too.
He always notices on the days when you struggle to brush your hair. Maybe you woke up wrong or maybe you're just tired... but he's happy to push you down between his thighs to do the work of detangling by himself. He may have large hands, but they're always so gentle: knuckles soft on the knots, brush slow on the carefully sectioned curls.
When he’s busy, he makes time for you. Sitting you on his lap in the office, he will type up reports to the soft sound of your phone keyboard clicking, the rhythmic pants of your breath on his neck. He can’t focus entirely on you, but he’ll do what he can in the form of a reminder: I want you here. You make things better. Stay.
And he cuddles you... spending a good, long half hour making the bed nice for you by fluffing up your pillows and tucking you in real tight. He lays next to you, his expression hesitant, apologetic... and rubs his fingers across your belly, or smooths down the wisps of hair on your forehead.
He whispers. "Sorry. Sorry for being so... such a pain. You must be so sick of me, huh?"
Yet you’ve never felt more cared for.
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