#pining idiots

Bakugo Katsuki x fem! reader

slow-burn, friend! katsuki, mutual pining, tension, mature content

The low thrum of the city at the late hour buzzed in Bakugo's ears. He was perched on a railing on the top of a random building in downtown Musutafu, still clad in full hero gear. His eyes drifted from the flickering city lights to his phone, lit up on a specific contact.

Yours.

Are you done patrolling? Come over.

And God did he want to. He read the text 5, 10, 30 times before it entirely registered in his brain. Bakugo and you had done this before, late-night hangouts at one of your apartments. Take out ordered and a movie in the back neither of you really pay attention to, too engrossed in conversation.

The only problem was that every time he went back home, he had the worst feeling in his chest. He'd run a scorching hot shower, blast music into his earbuds, scroll aimlessly, just to get you out of his head.

What you and Bakugo had was so very complicated. Being friends since his UA days, as he matured, you and him only got closer, both bringing out the best in each other.

Now, both of you, at the discovery age of 22, were walking a line between friends and more, too afraid to say something to mess it up.

Bakugo finally replied, be there in 20, and headed towards the agency to sign out for the day.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

You were lying sideways on your bed, aimlessly scrolling on your phone, when Bakugo texted you back.

Finally, you thought. He always took a while to respond.

You got up to make yourself look slightly more presentable. Not like it mattered. Bakugo had seen you at your absolute worst. Late-night study sessions at your university, where he'd pick you up at 10 pm to get you food. Early mornings where he'd force you to go to the gym with him, your face still fresh with sleep. He'd seen you cry, snot coming down your nose, eyes red and puffy. He'd held your hair back a few months ago when you were throwing up in the toilet from a stomach flu.

You really didn't have to try for him, but you still did. You combed your hair and applied some lip gloss for shine. You were clad in loose sweatspants and a simple fitted t-shirt, nothing too fancy. You looked into the mirror one last time. Good enough.

Then exactly 20 minutes after his text, there was a knock on your apartment door. Why were you nervous? Bakugo had come over countless times before, so what was so different about tonight?

You opened the door and smiled when you saw him, his usual gruff face more relaxed. He was clad in loose grey sweats and a black hoodie, classic Bakugo. And he still managed to make the simple outfit, somehow, look hot.

"Traffic was shitty," was the first thing he said when he strode in, shaking his shoes off.

"You were right on time, though," you commented, following him into your kitchen.

He grunted and opened your fridge to pour himself some water as you sat up on the kitchen counter. It was unsettlingly domestic.

"Long day?" you asked, swinging your legs.

He turned around, back against the fridge, "Meh. Like usual, nothing intersting happen though. Dumb agency keeps putting me on the boring shifts."

"At least you're not in life-threatening danger," you say.

"Would rather be, this shit is boring," he says as he starts to wash the glass of water.

You two talk about mundane things for the next 15 minutes, catching each other up since the last time you saw each other, which was only 5 days ago.

Somehow, in those 15 minutes, Bakugo moved right in front of you, your knees almost brushing his thighs from your spot on the counter. Neither of you really registered this; you always ended up getting in each other's personal space. It wasn't until you continued your story about the iced coffee you spilled in your morning lecture, your legs aimlessly swinging, that you brushed his leg with your foot. You stopped mid-sentence, both of you realizing the short distance between you two.

"And then..." you cleared your throat, face heating up and unable to look up at him, "I just left the class."

He was staring at you way too intently for such a simple story. His right hand came to settle beside you on the counter, mere millimeters from your hip.

"Tell me another one," he said, voice low.

You looked at him, dumbfounded, "Huh?"

"A story, about your day, about anything, just keep talking."

You swallowed as you struggled to keep eye contact with him.

"Uhm, that was all I had..." you mumbled, playing with the hem of your shirt.

This wasn't the first time this had happened. Multiple times before, you and Bakugo had ended up in a high-tension situation, bodies way too close, hearts beating way too fast. But before anything big ever happened, one of you, or both of you, pulled away, creating distance, dissolving the moment.

This time felt different, though.

"Y/N," he said, voice low, shooting a weird feeling straight to your lower stomach.

"What," you said, voice barely getting out.

"Why'd you invite me over tonight?"

You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him, "Uhm, because I wanted company and food?"

He inhaled and looked down, slightly shaking his head, "You could have invited Mina, or anyone else, why me?"

He got you there.

"I- I don't know," you muttered, "because I knew you'd be free?"

His other hand came to rest on the other side of you, entirely trapping you. Your chest was slightly heaving, and you saw his eyes quickly flick there and back to your face.

Bakugo had always been a gentleman, never making you uncomfortable, never staring hard or touching you. Right now, however, you wanted just that, for him to stare, to touch you, anything but this excruciating distance that felt too close and too far, like the edge of a cliff right before a plunge into a deep ocean.

"Kastuki..." the use of his first name caused him to clench his jaw and exhale, "what answer are you looking for?"

"Just-", he stopped and rolled his shoulders, "Fuck, it's getting hot."

He moved to remove his hoodie, but you were quick, pulling him by the neckline, "Don't leave."

Now it was his turn to be shocked, emotion flashing through his eyes as he stared at you, pupils blown wider than when he came in.

"I just wanted to watch a movie and eat food with you tonight," you started, and then you boldly wrapped your legs around his to pull him in. His eye widened as a sound akin to a grunt lef this throat. His hands found balance by your hips on the counter again. "But if you want me to give you more, just say the word, Katsuki."

The use of his name for the second time that night really lit the spark in him, tiny explosions leaving his hands, just loud enough to hear. His hands moved to settle on your waist, pulling you in even further, your feet hooking the back of his knees.

"I really don't wanna fuck anything up, Y/N, just please tell me what to do," he was basically mumbling, eyes low and searing.

"The only thing we'll mess up is if neither of us does anything. I'm so tired of this back and forth. I need to know if you feel something more."

His face contorted to an almost pained expression. You knew this was hard for him, feelings and words, expressing how he truly felt.

Your hands moved to the back of his neck, slightly running a hand through his hair; you could have sworn he shuddered.

"We can go slow, we can do this however you want, but I'm tired of pretending I haven't wanted more for the past 7 years," you said softly.

One of his hands came up to gently carress you cheek, his voice caught in his throat, cheeks flushed.

"Y/N."

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you?"

The way he said it was so soft, like a whisper against silk, and yet laced with so much intensity you felt those four words inside your entire body.

Your answer was the movement of your head, connecting your lips with his. It took both of you a moment to register what had happened, and then in just an instant, it became more. His grip on your waist tightened, and you pulled him closer by the neck, legs bringing his body nearer.

You have no idea how long it lasted, but when you broke apart, you were both flushed, chests heaving, staring at each other directly.

"I'll try and give you everything you need Y/N, but I-", he stopped, inhaling, "I can't promise I'll be perfect 100% of the time."

You smiled and caressed his arm, running your hand up and down, "I don't need you to be perfect, Katsuki, I need you to be you, that's it."

He smiled softly and pulled you in for another kiss.

"You have no fucking idea how long I've waited to do that," he said.

You laughed, "No, I could tell alright."

He laughed and pulled your head towards his chest, kissing the top of your head.

"Are you really willing to give me a try?" he said, and you could hear insecurity and fear creeping into his voice.

You looked up at him, "I'm willing to give us a try."

At that, he smiled again, wrapping his arms around you tighter.

Neither of you were perfect, but you were willing to try this, even if it was slowly.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

I hope you enjoyed!!!!!

synopsis: After months of job searching, you clicked on a position for an overnight custodial position in the Emergency Room at the Pittsburgh Medical Treatment Center. It paid more than any other job that you had seen thus far and it came with a retirement plan.

chapter 1: the roof.

chapter two: the ride - All you wanted to do was go home after the world's longest shift and your bus had left you in the dust. Jack comes to help you out.

There was always the same overwhelming sounds and smells that you always had when you entered back into the ER.

Bright fluorescent lights. You could feel the sizzle of the lights in the back of your brain.

The tapping of keys.

The plastic smell of nitrile gloves.

Hand sanitizer.

The odd combination of clean and dirty. Nothing felt all the way clean here.

All you had to do was get through the last 30 minutes of your shift.

"Are you okay?" Amy said as she was tying the trash bag up. It felt like you could see through the bag to see the torn up shirts and bloody wipes.

You swallowed bile in your throat, "I am. Thanks for finishing that room for me. I'm sorry for freaking out and leaving that for you to finish up for me."

I've recently circled back to my Teen Wolf obsession, and i was wondering if you could write something (whatever format you prefer!) about a Liam Dunbar x Stilinski!reader where she's Stiles' younger sister and best friend with Liam, and he doesn't know about the supernatural (she does ofc) and when he gets bitten she becomes his anchor right away? like maybe the two have been pining on eachother for years not realizing each others feelings and this whole new werewolf thing just brings them all up? thanks in advance!🤍

It's been a while since I've watched Teen Wolf so it was hard to remember parts, if any of this isn't actually correct to the storyline of how I'm remembering it then I'm sorry... I need to rewatch it haha.

Liam Dunbar x Stilinski!Reader Headcanons

You’ve always been close to Liam. As Stiles’ younger sister, you were used to chaos — but somehow, Liam felt like the eye of your storm. Even when he was spiraling, you always saw the good in him.

He was your best friend. Constant sleepovers (innocent, though you both definitely blushed when your hands brushed), late-night texts about random thoughts, and the way he always made sure you got home safe from school — it was obvious to everyone but you two that the feelings ran deeper.

You knew about the supernatural long before Liam did. Being a Stilinski, there was no avoiding it — especially when your brother is Stiles. He tried to keep you out of it, but eventually you became part of the inner circle.

When Liam transferred to Beacon Hills High, you could already feel things changing. He was keeping his anger more in check, trying hard to stay out of trouble. You were proud of him — though he didn’t realize how often you went to bat for him behind the scenes (and maybe threatened a lacrosse player or two on his behalf).

The Bite — Everything Changes

When you saw Liam dangling from the hospital roof, your heart stopped. The scream that left your throat made Scott freeze before jumping in — and biting him — to save his life. You saw it happen. You knew what it meant.

He didn’t understand what was happening to him — the strength, the rage, the anger but you didn’t let him face any of it alone. “Liam, I know you’re scared. But you’re not crazy. You’re not a monster. And you’re not alone.”

Scott and Stiles weren’t sure if it was too soon to tell him everything, but Liam gazed at you wide-eyed, vulnerable and you just nodded. “I’ll explain it all. But you have to trust me.”

The Aftermath

The first full moon came fast. Liam’s panic rose like a wave every time he felt the shift start. He snapped at everyone — except you.

You became his anchor before he even knew what the term meant. “Think of something that makes you feel human,” Scott said. Without hesitation, Liam looked at you.

He told you later that it wasn’t even a choice. “It’s you. It’s always been you.” And you blinked, shocked, because you had spent years loving him in silence.

You touched his cheek, gently. “Then hold onto me, Liam. I’m not going anywhere.”

When he finally shifted fully for the first time, he was shaking and feral — but your voice cut through the haze. You whispered memories back to him: the time you stayed up all night watching cheesy horror movies, the way he always waited for you after practice, the way he once called you the only person who made him feel normal.

And when he finally collapsed exhausted, back to normal again he wrapped his arms around you like a lifeline.

In the aftermath, the two of you sat together on the floor of Scott’s house. His breathing was still ragged, and yours wasn’t much better.

“I thought I lost you,” you whispered. “You didn’t,” he said, voice low. “You never will.” There was a pause. A long one. And then, finally: “I love you,” he admitted. “I think I’ve loved you since the day I moved here.” You smiled, eyes brimming. “You’re lucky. I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.”

rating: teen & up

word count: 25.3k

“Mel,” he said again, softer this time. She looked up. “I could go with you.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I could go with you,” he repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “To the wedding.”

Her brain stalled out completely. “… Why?”

He huffed out a quiet laugh, pushing himself off the counter. “Because you clearly don’t want to go alone.”

“No, I - I mean, yeah, obviously, but that doesn’t mean you have to - you don’t even know these people, and it’s my dad’s whole thing, and that’s a lot to just -” she gestured vaguely between them, “- insert yourself into.”

“I’m not doing anything that dramatic,” he said, stepping a little closer. “I’d just be there. With you.”

She stared at him. “That’s it?”

He tilted his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I mean, I can also glare at anyone who makes you uncomfortable, if that helps.”

A surprised laugh slipped out of her before she could stop it.

intense pining ensues

Michael Bluth x Reader tags: Slow burn, Office tension, Jealousy, Angst with a hint of fluff POV: Your perspective Rating: 🔥 (18+) Summary: We’re switching things up—this chapter is told from your POV and the next chapter will be from Michaels POV. The night at the office takes on a whole new light as the HR email stirs up more than just laughter, and suddenly the boundaries between reality and imagination start to blur. 👀 Next up, we’ll see the same events again through Michael’s eyes… and let’s just say his perspective is a little different.

The night started like most others: fluorescent lights humming, a vending machine buzzing like it had a personal grudge, and me cradling a cup of reheated coffee that technically qualified as food if you didn’t think about it too hard. Michael and I had found ourselves in that strange rhythm we’d been keeping since the elevator incident—closer, but pretending not to be. Pretending not to notice each other had become our unofficial side hustle.

Then the ping. HR email. Subject line screaming in bright red:

REMINDER: Misconduct & Office Etiquette.

I perked up immediately. “Well, somebody’s in trouble.”

Michael didn’t even look up. “Do I want to know?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

I read it aloud, milking every word. “Due to a recent incident involving inappropriate conduct between an employee and their administrative assistant…”

He groaned like the weight of the world had just been added to his to-do list. “Great.”

“…the individuals were discovered in the janitor’s closet. During work hours. With clothing partially removed.”

I covered my mouth but couldn’t keep the laughter in. “Oh my God, Michael—there are descriptions.”

He closed his eyes like if he concentrated hard enough, I’d disappear. “Please don’t.”

“…tie left hanging from the cabinet handle…”

He sighed, the most defeated sound in the world. “Of course there was a tie.”

“…filing cabinet used in a manner inconsistent with office safety standards.”

That did it. I broke. Laughing so hard I snorted. Michael gave me a look—the kind you give a toddler about to throw juice on the carpet—which only made me laugh harder.

But under the humor, something shifted. The email wasn’t just absurd. It was… vivid. And once planted, the images had a way of lingering.

––

Filing duty later meant trading the glow of the monitor for a wall of paper, which was both better and worse. Better, because I could take “phone breaks” without Michael’s patented judgey side-eye. Worse, because the quiet left too much space for my brain to circle back to that email.

The idea of two people sneaking around at work should’ve been scandalous. Instead, it was… alluring. Like a spark hidden in the endless monotony of folders and staples.

As if summoned, Michael appeared in the doorway, hands in his pockets, face set in that long-suffering expression. “Seems filing is the only way you actually do any work around here,” he said, tone dry as dust.

I rolled my eyes. “Wow. Incredible material. Did you practice that one in the mirror first?”

He smirked faintly. For him, that was basically stand-up comedy.

I stretched to slot the next folder onto the top shelf and instantly regretted my stubbornness. It was just out of reach. I tried again, tiptoes straining, refusing to ask for help.

Behind me, Michael made a noise—half amusement, half exasperation. “You done yet?”

“Perfectly capable,” I snapped, stretching again.

He chuckled. And then, predictably, he moved in. “Will you just—” He brushed my hand aside, frustration undercut with that gentle restraint he always carried, like he couldn’t bring himself to actually be rough even when he wanted to. “Honestly, you’d rather break your arm than let me grab it?”

The file slid easily into his hand. And I—unfortunately—noticed everything. The muscles in his forearm flexing. The way his shirt stretched across his shoulders. The warmth of him, close enough that the air seemed heavier.

Flash #1 His arm braced beside me. His other hand gripping my hips, thumb pressing in as he leaned down, voice low: “What, no thank you? Bad girl.” His breath hot against my ear, a thrill racing down my spine—

––Reality snapped.

“Hello?” Michael waved a hand in front of my face. “You okay, or did the files put you in a coma?”

“Fine,” I said too quickly, yanking the folder from his hand.

“You sure? You looked spaced out.”

If only he knew he was the center of the trance. My cheeks burned as I ducked back into the paperwork. “Fine,” I repeated, quieter this time, hoping he wouldn’t notice the flush in my face.

But of course he did. Michael always noticed. He just pretended not to.

After what felt like hours, I made my way back into the main office. The hum of the overhead lights mixed with the steady clack of Michael’s typing. He didn’t even acknowledge me—just kept going, shoulders tense, eyes locked on the screen.

“Ava gone?” I finally broke the rhythm of his keyboard.

Michael paused long enough to rub at his eyes, looking exhausted in that way only he could make seem mildly performative. “Yeah. Sent her home early. You seemed to have the filing figured out all on your own.” A smirk tugged at his mouth.

I rolled my eyes, dropping into the chair across from him. “Hilarious. I get it—I’m stubborn. But good call. I don’t think me and Ava can ‘get along’ for long.” I repeated the words, this time serious.

Michael pushed back from his desk and stood, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt lifted just enough to reveal a sliver of skin—soft line of a happy trail, muscles I hadn’t expected from him, a hint of heat under the crisp button-down exterior. My eyes darted there before I could stop myself.

“Well, I never really understood why you don’t like her,” he said, voice casual, but his stretch held my attention hostage.

“She’s… a lot,” I started, but the words thinned out. My brain wasn’t cooperating. Not when all I could think about was how I’d pegged Michael Bluth as the dapper, smug office pain—the boss’s son who lived for one-liners. I hadn’t accounted for him having actual muscle beneath all that irony.

He laughed, disarming me completely, the sound rough and real. “Well, she can be a lot… like someone else I know.” He shot me a glance now that his stretch was finished.

“What?! We’re nothing alike.” I pushed up from my chair, too fast, defensive. His words still landed, though, lodging in my chest. Maybe I was a little like her. Maybe.

“Well,” I admitted, softer. “Maybe just a tiny bit.” The admission loosened something in me. My shoulders sagged with relief—until I realized how close Michael had gotten.

I blinked, startled to find him right there, invading my space. Not in a bad way—never in a bad way. His presence was heat, steady and overwhelming.

Flash #2 He tilts my jaw with his hand, guiding my eyes up to his. They’re blue and intense enough to melt through me, cheeks heating under the weight of it. His thumb brushes across my skin, sweeping a strand of hair from my face. “You may be like her,” he says lowly, “but I like the parts that aren’t like her a lot. And the ones that are, too.” His breath ghosts across my cheek. His touch tightens, promising more—

––Reality snapped.

“Hello? Are you listening?” Michael’s voice pulled me back. He was still across the desk, waving a hand like I’d drifted into space.

My cheeks burned. “Yeah. Sorry. Just… tired.”

“Uh-huh.” He gave me that skeptical look, like he could see through the excuse but wasn’t about to call it out.

I rubbed my eyes and pushed to my feet, grabbing my bag. “I think I need some coffee.”

What I really needed was fresh air. A smoke. Something to shake the haze of fantasies that kept spiraling tighter around him. Because if I didn’t get out soon, I was bound to say something very, very stupid.

The night air would have to beat it out of me. Or at least keep me from blurting out just how much I wanted those fantasies to stop being fantasies.

The air hit me before I even lit up—cool and sharp, wrapping around me like a reminder the city could still breathe even when I felt like I couldn’t. I leaned against the fence, watching headlights dwindle as the streets emptied. The silence was steady, grounding.

Then the rooftop door creaked. The familiar scrape of shoes. Michael.

I smiled without looking. “You really love keeping tabs on me, don’t you?”

It was our routine by now—me sneaking away, him finding me, the banter inevitable. But this time his voice was lower, more deliberate.

“I do,” he said. A pause, heavier than usual. “And I also… love you.”

My breath caught. The joint slipped from my hand, forgotten on the concrete. I turned slowly, disbelief warring with the sudden thrum of my pulse.

“You—you what?”

He stepped closer, closing the space until my back brushed the fence. His arms braced on either side of me, trapping me in a cage of warmth and tension. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, those eyes—burned.

“I love you,” he repeated. Not flippant. Not sarcastic. Just bare.

My throat tightened. “Michael… don’t—don’t joke about that.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” His voice cracked just slightly, soft but firm. He tilted his head, closing the distance. “You drive me insane. You’re stubborn, difficult, you argue just to win. And I…” His eyes flicked to my lips. “…I love all of it. Especially the parts I shouldn’t.”

The words broke something open inside me. My hands clenched in his shirt before I realized they’d moved. “Say it again,” I whispered.

His lips hovered a breath away. “I love you.”

The kiss was inevitable. At first, hesitant—his mouth brushing mine like he wasn’t sure if this was allowed. But the hesitation crumbled. Heat poured in. His hand slid along my jaw, the other gripping my hip, pulling me flush against him.

I gasped into his mouth, and the sound seemed to undo him. The kiss turned hungry, desperate, years of restraint unraveling in seconds. My fingers dug into his shoulders, his teeth grazed my lip, and for one perfect moment the world dissolved into just this. Just him.

When I finally tore away, breathless, I opened my eyes.

No one.

The rooftop was empty. The door hadn’t moved since I’d walked out.

The phantom heat still burned on my lips.

I slapped my cheek, trying to chase the haze. Frustration twisted hot in my chest—why now? Why was this bubbling up like the HR email had flipped some hidden switch?

Bag in hand, I left fast. Down the stairs, into the street, sending a rushed text just to avoid facing Michael. But no matter how quick my steps, the words chased me:

I love you. I love you. I love you.

like sunshine idiot hero + secretly the most emotionally constipated person alive, loves the other one in the most obvious, painfully devoted way but cannot for the life of them say it out loud, dramatic sacrifices. constant pining. mutual “i would die for you” energy, one of them is hiding a massive identity/secret that would change everything, the other is out here trusting them with their entire heart

and they even have the SAME INITIALS???

m & a. m & a.