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snorlaxlovesme · 6 years

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hearts that burn

did someone order a Super Sappy Kacchako fic, with a side of douchey Endeavor? bc boy do I have the fic for you!!

(ao3 link)

The fight ends almost as quickly as it began.

The villain crashes to the ground, only managing to take out an entire four-way intersection, streetlights and all. There’s glass and metal and live wires sparking everywhere, along with Endeavor standing in the middle of an impressive crater, the villain lying unconscious beneath the pro hero’s gigantic boot.

“See, Young Bakugo? No help required.”

He hates that Endeavor still calls him that. He’s 21 for fuck’s sake. The fact that pro heroes still feel the need to treat him like a child is laughable, especially when Endeavor actually did need his help. The controlled explosions that Bakugo let off kept the villain heading in the right direction for Endeavor to messily intercept him. Bakugo lets out a scornful “tch” as he surveys the damage of the intersection, as well as the flames roaring from the nearby building that the villain initially attacked. Aizawa-sensei would have flunked the hell out of Endeavor if he was in Eraser’s class. This much damage should be a crime in and of itself.

Bakugo can’t help but wonder how the rest of the fight is going. This villain had comrades at other locations in the city. Two other hero agencies had already been dispatched to take care of them, but no one has radioed with a confirmed take-down yet. He heard that Uraraka was with them, following Gunhead into the fray to probably help with rescues. Bakugo hasn’t seen her since yesterday, when she left his apartment for night patrol with Gunhead’s agency. Her curry is still sitting on his kitchen counter, half eaten.

He watches as the police and medics rush in to intercept the villain still held captive under Endeavor’s heavy boot. Bakugo’s mouth sets into a hard line as he watches them cart the villain away. He should be happy, they took the villain down, but the smarmy look on Endeavor’s face has Bakugo’s hands clenching into fists. Endeavor is an adult, he shouldn’t look so much like the cat that got the cream for taking down one villain before a rookie could. When Bakugo starts to smell nitroglycerin again he squeezes his eyes shut. He won’t let his blood boil for something this stupid.

A familiar shout from down the road has him looking up. Amongst the roaring flames of the burning building and the civilians screaming, Uraraka’s voice rises above the noise.

“Bakugo!”

He sees her running towards him, blood dripping in between her eyes from her own battle somewhere else in the city, but there’s a grin spreading across her face that makes Bakugo’s day a little less shitty just from seeing it. His shoulder is still aching from using his grenades so many times in one fight, but that doesn’t stop him from holding his arms out for her as she leaps toward him. He wasn’t worried about her—Uraraka’s a badass who’s totally capable of protecting herself and others— but it’s clear from the way she wraps her arms around his middle and buries her face in his shoulder that she might have been worried about him.

Back when he was a teenager that thought would have made him irate, but now he keeps his irritation at a healthy simmer. It still grates his nerves, her concern for him. He’s never liked attention like that. It always felt inherently negative to have someone worry about you, to be scared on your behalf. It’s taken him a long time to realize that little wrinkle in her brow isn’t because she doubts his capabilities, it’s because the world is filled with countless dangers and absolutely no guarantees, especially in their line of work. She worries because she cares, and sometimes that’s kinda nice.

Uraraka pulls back to look up at him. “You’re fine? You’re not hurt?”

His response is gruff. “It ended quickly. Endeavor was already here when I showed up.”

That doesn’t stop Uraraka from scanning him up and down for injuries, taking specific note of a burn on his forearm that wasn’t hurting before she started poking it.

“Ochako.”

She stops her prodding and looks back up suddenly.

“I’m fine. Swear.”

God, she must have been really worried. Uraraka tugs on the front of his costume to pull him in for a kiss, one that says everything he knows she wants to say out loud to him but won’t in front of all these people. A kiss that says I’m glad you’re safe and we both survived another day and I love you. She won’t embarrass him in front of all the pro heroes with sentimentality, she knows better than that, and frankly he’d prefer kissing to talking in almost all situations anyway. He holds her close as her hands cup his face, knowing that when she gets like this she sometimes activates her quirk without thinking. The first time she kissed him after a battle had left him floating a few feet off the ground with his legs bicycling clumsily as he tried to find firm footing. He’s learned since then, and now as he feels himself starting to hover he keeps his body straight and pinches her arm.

“Ochako,” he murmurs again against her mouth.

She only separates from him a little bit, pulling her hands from his jaw to press her fingertips together. “Sorry.” His boots make contact with the ground again.

Sometimes he wonders what it might be like, to say those things out loud to her. To let her know how happy she makes him, how her presence fills him with a sense of serenity he never thought he’d be capable of feeling. After all these years of knowing her it should be easy to look into her eyes and tell her. But the rough timbre of his voice, the scowl etched into his expression, the way his palms constantly smell of explosive chemicals make him think better of it. It wouldn’t come out right, coming from him.

But it’s that look she gives him, that look she’s giving him right now, the one that’s filled with warmth and safety and even underneath all that, happiness, that makes him reconsider letting her know how he feels.

She’s letting go now, looking off at the wreckage around them and the civilians that still need to be accounted for, and his fingers are grasping onto her hand before she can turn away.

“Hey,” he says, low. “I just—I want you to know—”

She looks up at him patiently. He wants to, he wants to—

“I’m just—I’m glad you’re safe, too.”

Coward.

Even so, she lets out a breathless little laugh like he really did just confess his undying love for her, looking a little shocked but mostly pleased. “Thanks, Katsuki.”

“Hey LOVEBIRDS!”

The booming voice of Endeavor has Bakugo separating from Uraraka, turning back to the scene with a scowl.

“Save the public displays of affection for when you’re alone.” Bakugo doesn’t have the time or energy to explain how stupid of a statement that is. He let’s go of Uraraka and shoulders past Endeavor, not waiting for more instruction that the pro hero would surely try to dole out to his dutiful apprentices. The flames from Bakugo and Endeavor’s attacks are finally starting to die down, leaving nothing but a smoldering glow in their wake that can be easily put out by someone with a water quirk.

Bakugo heads toward the rubble he knows he has to clear away, only pausing briefly to look back at Uraraka, who’s still talking to Endeavor. Something about her—the determination in her eyes, the blood and soot smeared across her face that she still hasn’t wiped away, the way the light of the leftover flames dances across her skin—hardens his resolve. He’s going to find a way to tell her. And soon.

He loves her so damn much.

But until then, he has a mangled street light to dispose of, and sweaty palms from holding his girlfriend’s hand to help him with just that.

#kacchako #kacchaco #bakugo #uraraka #bnha #my writing #bnha fic #what shitty title lololololol sorry i sat there thinking of clever fire titles for like 5 minutes and i got NOTHING #my creativity is spent goodnight

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thedoodlezoo · 7 years

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Would You Be So Kind (Con x Reader)

Requested: Artsy!Con drawing his muse in the library bc you're just so dayum beautiful to him

W/C: 1176

Warnings: Cursing, bad writing, Connor is so OOC im so sorry u gh

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"Jesus, how are you okay right now? We just...we just ran a fucking mile..." you panted, leaning against the gym wall. Connor raised an eyebrow, glancing behind him to confirm that you were, in fact, speaking to him.

"Well, I mean," he shrugged, trying to scrape up an answer. He didn't really know why he wasn't a hyperventilating mess, truly. He was sweating, but he looked like a desert compared to how the rest of you were soaking. "I liked to run when I was younger, I guess. People always told me I should put these long things to use," Connor looked down at his legs, and you could have sworn you saw him smile just a little. If it were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have given the time of day. You were different, though. He'd catch you staring when he would draw, and you worked on partner work with him when everyone else was paired off, and you greeted him when he passed you in the hall. You made him feel like his presence was special, and his life felt less shitty when you were in it

"Oh, thank God," Connor sighed with relief as the whistle shrieked to signal the end of class. He turned on his heel with a gentle wave, ponytail bouncing as he walked toward the boy's locker room. Lord, he was pretty.

Even when he was drenched in sweat, you found him intriguing. He'd be walking laps in the gym, or whatever it took to look like he was participating in class, and it never failed to make you smile. He'd have doodles of cubes on his arm or paint-stained hands most days, and it acted as something you'd laugh about as you did sit-ups or stretched.

People talked about Connor Murphy sketching by himself under the bleachers as he smoked, or behind the school at ungodly hours. While you'd never seen him in the act, the rumors made your heart flutter. The passion he had for his art always had you in awe, and you'd always wished for the day that he showed such passion for you.

If only.

"Fuck," Connor mumbled, stopping abruptly and spinning on his heel. He scanned the gym for you and half-jogged back, glad to see that you hadn't moved. "Hey, uh, are you doing anything after school?" He was looking at his feet, gently kicking the gym floor with his worn out Nikes. "I'm, uh, trying not to completely flunk out of senior year, I guess, and I have a trig test tomorrow," Connor lowered his voice, even though there wasn't anyone around to hear his request. "If not, it's whatever, you're just one of the only people I know who isn't a complete imbecile or asshole or-"

"I'm free after school. Meet me in the library?" You chuckle in disbelief. Connor Murphy was asking for help. Connor Murphy was asking you for help. He nodded slowly.

"Library. After school. Can do." He repeated, backing off toward the locker room again. "Thanks." he gave a thumbs up before scurrying off again.

Things were looking up, it seemed.

---------

The library usually had a calming effect on you. The air conditioning, smell of books, and utter silence made for a usually serene environment. However, you could feel your heart practically jumping out of your chest as you waited for your (hella cute) acquaintance to arrive.

Fumbling with various papers, you looked up as the boy came through the door. He looked exhausted, and maybe a little stoned, but you could never really tell with Connor Murphy. He plopped across from you at your little table, barely looking up to acknowledge you as he began digging through loose papers in his bag.

"Right," Connor exhaled, tossing a black notebook onto the table with a nod. "Hey there," he waved his hand a bit, meeting your eyes.

"Hey there," you shot finger guns, trying to move on to math to hide your awkward tendencies. "So, trig," you pulled out a sheet of paper and sketched a circle. "This is the unit circle, and it basically shows different- Con, are you listening?" He looked up from his notebook, which he was now writing in.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Keep going," he nodded.

"So you can split it into four quarters, and this here can stand for values in degrees, decimals, fractions and- Connor?" you stopped again, raising an eyebrow. You could tell he was sketching furiously, despite his protests.

"I'm listening, chill," he insisted. It was obvious that trigonometry was the last thing on his mind as he made bold strokes across his lined paper. Rolling your eyes, you reached out to grab it.

"What could you possibly be drawing that can't wait for later?"

He leans back, holding it to his chest. "It isn't finished yet, he mumbled with a frown. "Just keep talking. I'll, uh, try harder to pay attention," Connor said with a solemn tone. Maybe it was his weary mood, or weed, or the environment, but you'd never seen him quite like this. He was calm, almost raw as he sat across from you. His body was now still as he listened, void of the usual leg shaking or idle tapping on the table. The only movement you'd see was when he would nod or shake his head, hair bouncing. It made you giggle, which made him smile.

- - - - -- - --

"So, I can just plug in these formulas and I'll be fine?" Connor asked in disbelief.

"Yup. Foolproof. Almost." You shrug, but Connor was already back to drawing whatever it was. Were you boring him that much?

"Good to know." He glanced up quickly before going back to his sketch. "Er, thanks again. math doesn't suck ass all that much when it makes an ounce of sense." he sighed, now inspecting his work.

"How does it look?" You smile. He was taken aback, like he didn't expect you to ask.

"Beautiful. Stunning even." Connor slid his notebook across the table. You took it in your hands, fingers brushing over the cheap lined paper. It was you, thoroughly explaining something Connor had probably already managed to forget.

"Wow.." you felt your face heat up as a grin spread across your face. "Connor, you've got serious talent," you gape in awe, too stunned to be flattered. "Like, I knew you were good, but...wow," you melted a little.

"Well, I had a gorgeous subject. It helps when what you're drawing is nice to look at," he chuckled with a shrug. "and you're not so bad," he admitted.

"Do you wanna do something soon?" you twiddled with your thumbs under the table as he took back his sketch.

"That doesn't sound horrible. I'll see you around, [name]," he stood, slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder with a grin.

He was head over heels for you, the one kind enough to fall for him. It just hadn't totally hit him yet.

#connor x reader #connor murphy #connor murphy imagine #deh #dear evan hansen #dear evan hansen imagine #deh imagine #deh x reader #dear evan hansen x reader #slushh stuff

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