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Dragon! Sylus with a deaf S/O who met him when she was foraging deep in the forest, too focused on gathering herbs that her other senses did not pick up the warning clicks a dragon makes when a stranger is trespassing.

So, your nonchalance initially confused him when you did not run with your tail between your legs and continued to go about your day.

Hissing.

Growling.

Snarling.

All of it, he did from the shadows every time you end up here in his side of the forest and it is only when he stepped out from the darkness to finally confront you that he realized you aren’t ignoring him but rather-

-You aren’t able to hear him all this time.

“Pathetic,” that’s the first word that came to his mind when he saw you frozen in your place as he stood in front of you, tall, looming, the mythical monster the hunters had asked you about when they passed by your lone hut.

Maybe that’s why he let you go, because why would he eat a small mouse such as you?

(A small mouse who did not even point the knife she was carrying at him but instead laid the herbs she picked up on his feet, apologizing in that garbled voice.)

Maybe that’s also why he ended up following you from a distance after that as you return home empty-handed, wondering why the humans at the town nearby lets you venture out alone when they oh-so-love going in groups.

So, he had decided.

Someone has to look after a pathetic, little mouse such as you from actual predators of the forest.

That someone is no other than him.

(Or maybe, the young and lonely dragon is still hopeful he will finally find his place among the humans, even if if is just beside you.)

Author's Notes: Tagging you again here @blessdunrest 👀 My mind is running with ideas between Sylus and Dragon! Sylus and how would they react with a deaf S/O this week.

More Dragon! Sylus x Deaf Reader drabbles (+ my other works) here: Bork's Works

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus #qin che x you #lads qin che #qin che x reader #qin che #deaf reader #dragon sylus #dragon sylus x deaf reader

Catch Me (Yunho)

content warning: partially deaf reader; soft smut; yunho is an EATER

Masterlist

Minors DNI🔞

word count: 2328

May I please request the Huntrix girls (separate) with a deaf s/o?

Scenario: S/O is a regular person, not an idol. They met in public when they tried getting their attention and got mad when they thought s/o was ignoring them lol.

Huntrix x Deaf!GN!Reader Headcanons

gonna be a 100 words drabble for each of them!

— 🪻

Rumi

She is the sweetest thing ever. Rumi grows a smile upon seeing you and makes it her life goal to let her presence be known immediately.

#kdph x reader #kpop demon hunters x reader #huntrix x reader #x reader #rumi kdph x reader #zoey kdph x reader #mira kdph x reader #deaf reader

So you gotta hear me out on this one well all love sub men ofc but I love sub caretaker type men okay so stay with me here

Maybe a deaf or blind reader being taken care off by a caretaker or nurse Yandere.

Hiiii!!!

Sub caretakers are actually a good idea!!

Like they're subby, super adorable and caring at the same time!

For deaf! Reader, you've been deaf your whole life. But when your parents gifted you a "caretaker" when you're 20, you're very puzzled as to why. You've lived for two decades safely already, but appreciated the effort since the guy is fairly enthusiastic. You can read his lips though he always used sign language for you too, you appreciated the effort. But he tends to be very protective if anyone comments on your disability without your knowledge. Your neighbour who trash talks you for no reason? Now she's always smiling nervously and greeting you every morning. Yan! Caretaker on the other hand, is just smiling back and helping you do house chores. He'd like to think you two are getting closer and more domestic than ever. He could only wait until you're more comfortable before asking you on a date. He'll be the best boyfriend/hubby ever.

Now with blind! Reader, you just got into a car accident that leaves you broken and wrecked physically and mentally. Having your sight stripped away does a lot to your mental health, so your therapist suggested the hospital to look for a caretaker for you. Thankfully this caretaker is also very determined in his job (and his favourite patient). He's just a licensed nurse who's always been looking out for you, even when he's not your caretaker. Once you're healed and allowed to leave the hospital, he's the one accompanying you 24/7. You may feel sad, disgusted and useless, but yan! Caretaker will always be by your side listening to your sadness. He'll help you, no matter what. He'll cook, clean while helping you walk again (like leading you to the kitchen, bed or bathroom). He'll baby you like hell at first, but will trust you the more you feel confident on yourself. He'll be moving your furnitures a lot to make it safer though (he'll tell you everything about it).

And they wouldn't do anything weird to you, ofc! No noncons here, we love an obsessive yet healthy relationship hehe.

Thank you for the ask, anon!

#yandere caretaker #sub yandere #yandere oc #blind reader #deaf reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere male

Pretty please with a cherry on top could you write omni-mark and viltrumite mark (separate) x blind or deaf reader (your choice because I cant decide)

Of course! I decided to do both, Omni Mark x blind! Reader and Viltrumite Mark x deaf! Reader, I hope you like my headcanons!

Genre: Romantic relationship headcanons (x gn! reader) 💕, NSFW (only bonus, the rest is kinda SFW) 🌶

Warnings: mention of sex, second person pov

Request rules here

How would Omni Mark and Viltrumite Mark behave with a blind! / deaf! Reader?

Omni Mark (x blind! Reader)

Omni Mark would always be willing to help you whenever you need to go somewhere or fetch something. He knows how dangerous it can be for you to walk outside on your own, so he prefers not to take any risks.

Thanks to his powers, you’re practically never in danger: up in the sky there are no obstacles or traffic, which makes traveling with him the safest and easiest option.

#invincible #invincible season 3 #invincible x reader #invincible variant x reader #omni mark #viltrumite mark #omni mark x reader #viltrumite mark x reader #x gn reader #deaf reader #blind reader #mark grayson headcanons #romantic relationship headcanons #character headcanons #headcanons #lumineya invincible hcs

— 심재윤 PUPPLY LOVE JAKE SIM X READER

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

The Golden Thread

(Yandere!) True form! Sukuna x Deaf! Fem! Reader x Former! Lover

wc: 6.2k

warnings: religious themes, mention of made-up god(esses), cannibalism, Sukuna (as a warning in itself haha), murder, mass-murder, mutilation, loss of body part(s), blood, graphic descriptions of gore, mistreatment, drugging, hallucinations, symptoms of mental unrest/psychosis, themes of doomed yuri, lesbian themes, reader is bisexual, hints of depression, suicidal thoughts, kidnapping, ambiguous reader(as in morally grey), not proofread (excuse my horrid spelling mistakes), non-con kissing, dead dove do not read

the image, however, does not belong to me; When My World Burns, by artist Leoncio Harmr

note: I reworked my original fic after finishing reading 'A Certain Hunger' from Chelsea G. Summers, a great read, one which heavily influenced my writing for this, so it strayed quite far from the rather innocent pov reader into.. let's say something else, I'll probably write more about reader and sukuna because this does not completely encompass their relationship to its fullest and provide more information on their world, anyways.. enjoy! :)

Torn from the overripened flesh of the same apple—born from one and the same seedling; was a love so great that it would ruin the world for centuries to come with its weight. It crushed the old foundations of mother earth, rearranged the spirit realm to its delight and wrecked havoc upon the universe’s delicate tapestry. And the gods, watching aghast destruction unfold and lay its heavy paw on their creations were forced to spin new rules—to create a new testatement to build upon a structure that could uphold the force of a love so acidic that it disinegrated all former bounds.

Now one might question, what kind of love could be so vicious as so leave even the Gods at their wits end—Well, it is a tale birthed from the warm rays of sunshine gracing hillsides, the tender whispers of forest moss and the pecks left by the sea foam on wet, glistening rocks. Isolde and Samuel were their names—two strangers’, different as one can only be, tongues twisting funny and with hearts already set out for others. And yet those same set of hearts felt the call to lands beyond the horizon, beyond the reachable. Both turned their world upside down, claimed to hear the others whispers, “A stranger’s voice, but a lovers words.” they said in union.

So they travelled both far and wide, left hearts broken in their wake—mothers in tears and fathers seething with anger, for Isolde was a king’s child and Samuel a priester in the making. They abandoned all for their love. Searched all their lifetime for their missing half—only to find each other at their very last breath. Reunited only in death. With their corpses embracing the other, as their souls descended down the lain to the underworld hand in hand.

And so to prevent the same tragedy from ever reoccurring, the gods created bonds. Golden threads of destiny connecting a pair—or multiple, creating pairs and circles of love. Bands which were made visible to each and all when reached a certain age—maturity. When the first buddling sprouted into a delicate bundle of blossoms and nectar in the first year of adulthood—then your bonds were bared, sight granted to the breathtaking view of gold jutting out of your vein and into another’s. Into your other half.

It was the first warm day of the year.

When dew would glisten atop the overgrown fields, when birds would sing of their adventures in the winter times (or so you’re told) and when you finally could walk barefoot across the gardens of the temple—free from the chilling frost of winter’s breath.

Someone taps you on the shoulder, your book nearly drops onto the wet grass. You look up.

Through Every Storm

Alexia Putellas x Y/N (80% deaf reader) best friends to lover story This is a story of…. - how Alexia found her way back to Y/N after breaking her heart and almost losing her. - a story of love, healing, forgiveness, and redemption Author's Note: - English and Spanish are both not my first language...I'm trying so please be kind :)) - Comments/suggestions are welcome!

Masterlist Part 1 - Before the Storm – Chapter 1

The first time Alexia Putellas held my hand, we were six years old, and I was crying in the middle of the schoolyard.

I don’t remember exactly what the boy had called me—something cruel about how I never answered fast enough when people spoke—but I do remember the heat in my cheeks, the blur of mouths moving too quickly for me to catch. I hated how laughter always seemed louder than words, like it pressed against my skin, even when I couldn’t hear every sound.

Then, out of nowhere, Alexia was there. Tiny for her age, but standing like a shield, chin tilted up, brown eyes blazing at the three boys who thought mocking the “deaf girl” was entertainment.

“Say it again,” she dared them, her voice steady in a way most kids couldn’t manage. “And I’ll make sure you never touch a football again.”

The boys scattered. They always did when Alexia got that look in her eye.

I looked up at her, bracing for pity, but she only shrugged and offered me her hand. “Come on,” she said. “They’re not worth it.”

That was the beginning.

From that day on, Alexia and I were inseparable. She was the wild one—scabby knees, ponytail flying as she chased a ball across the dusty playground, never afraid to take up space. I was the quiet shadow with notebooks full of doodles and equations, perfectly happy under a tree with a book until Alexia dragged me out to the pitch.

“Just stand here,” she would say, thrusting me into goal. “I don’t like sports.” “It’s not sports,” she grinned, eyes sparkling. “It’s me winning.”

Her family treated me like I belonged from the very start. Every time I walked into the Putellas house, her mother pressed a plate of food into my hands before I could sit down, and her little sister tugged at my sleeve to show off her toys. I think they understood, without words, that my grandad was all I had. He loved me fiercely, but his silence filled our apartment in a different way—steady, dependable, but lonely too.

So when I sat at Alexia’s kitchen table, listening to her chatter about football practice while her mother teased her about muddy socks, I let myself believe, just for a moment, that I could have two families.

Alexia hated homework as much as I hated running laps, so we traded. She’d frown over math problems, tongue poking out in concentration, while I whispered hints until her face lit up in triumph. In return, I let her drag me outside to “practice” penalty kicks, which usually ended with me sprawled in the dirt while she celebrated like she’d won the World Cup.

Looking back, maybe we were always teaching each other. She taught me how to stand tall when the world felt cruel, how to laugh even when my chest was heavy. And I taught her that sometimes strength meant letting someone help you.

At six, at ten, at fifteen—we were halves of the same whole. And maybe, even then, I loved her for it. I just didn’t know how much that love would cost me one day.

Holidays were always the hardest.

Grandad tried, he really did. He’d scrape together a few coins from his pension for a slightly stale cake from the bakery, or wrap a secondhand trinket in yesterday’s newspaper and beam like it was treasure. And I loved him for it.

But when December came, with lights twinkling in every window, loneliness pressed closer.

The Putellas family never let it last.

“Come, cariño,” Mrs. Putellas said one Christmas Eve, waving us into their warm living room. The smell of roasted lamb filled the air, laughter spilling from every corner. “You’re family. Sit, eat.”

Grandad tried to protest, said he didn’t want to impose. But Alexia was already tugging me toward the table, hair neatly combed for once, a mischievous grin on her face. “Sit next to me,” she whispered.

It was the first time I’d seen a Christmas tree that tall, glittering with ornaments like stars. My grandad’s eyes softened, and I knew he was grateful even if he didn’t say it.

That was the moment I realized: Alexia’s family wasn’t just kind. They were home.

School was its own battlefield.

Teachers didn’t always know what to do with me. Some spoke too quickly, backs turned as their voices bounced off the chalkboard. Others tried too hard, their pity sharper than cruelty.

Alexia had her own method.

She planted herself in the seat next to mine every year without fail—front row, always—and made it her mission to make sure I caught everything. If the teacher wrote something important, she nudged my elbow and tilted her notebook just enough for me to copy. If I got lost, she’d lean in, lips brushing my ear as she repeated the words slowly, carefully.

It should have embarrassed me. It didn’t.

I liked it—too much. The warmth of her breath, the patience in her tone, the way the chaos of the classroom dimmed when her voice filled my world. If she noticed how I lingered sometimes, how my shoulders loosened when she leaned in, she never said a word.

And I never asked for a hearing aid. Not because Grandad couldn’t afford one—though he couldn’t—but because I didn’t feel like I needed one. Not when Alexia was there.

Alexia, of course, lived for the playground.

“Fútbol,” she declared at recess, as if it were the only possible choice.

I groaned every time. “Why can’t we just sit under the tree? I have a new book.” “Books are boring.” “They’re not boring.” “They don’t score goals.”

So I’d stand in goal, awkward and stiff, while Alexia fired shot after shot with her scuffed sneakers. Half the time I dodged instead of blocking, flinching when the ball flew at my head. She’d laugh, collapsing on the grass, hair sticking to her forehead with sweat.

“You’re hopeless,” she teased once. “I told you I don’t like sports.” “You like me, though,” she grinned, nudging my shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. But I didn’t deny it.

By middle school, things shifted.

The boys who used to tease me now teased Alexia instead—saying football was for men, saying she was too serious, too bossy. She ignored them, but I saw the way her jaw clenched, the way her knuckles tightened on her backpack straps.

One afternoon, I found her sitting alone on the bleachers, soccer ball resting against her shin. “You’re going to let them win if you stop playing,” I said, sitting beside her. Her eyes flicked to me, searching. “You really think I’m good?” “I know you are.”

She leaned back, staring at the sky, then turned toward me, studying my face so intently it made me squirm. “What?” I asked. “Nothing,” she muttered quickly, looking away. But I noticed the faint flush creeping up her neck.

I didn’t realize it then, but that was when Alexia started seeing me differently. Maybe she didn’t understand it yet—maybe neither of us did—but something shifted between us that day. And if I’m honest, I felt it too.

The Putellas’ house always smelled like home.

It was so different from our apartment—small, drafty in winter, full of secondhand furniture that creaked when you sat down. Grandad did his best, kept it tidy, whistled while he cooked so the rooms didn’t feel too quiet. But stepping into Alexia’s house was like entering another world.

Her mom’s sing-song Catalan filled every corner. Alba giggled down the hall, always in motion. There was always food, always laughter, always someone tugging you into the warmth.

Grandad and Mr. Putellas would talk for hours over glasses of wine, their laughter growing louder with each pour. And me? I sat with Alexia, shoulder to shoulder, as she leaned close to translate jokes I’d missed.

“You hear that?” she whispered. I nodded, smiling. But it wasn’t the jokes that made me happiest—it was her closeness.

I remember one Easter when her mom insisted Grandad and I join their trip to the coast.

“Come,” she said. “You can’t sit in that apartment when the sea is waiting.”

So we went. Alexia and I spent the afternoon building a crooked sandcastle, Alba gleefully stomping it flat over and over. Alexia chased her down the beach, hair flying, while I traced patterns in the sand with a stick.

When the sun dipped low, we sat on a blanket eating bocadillos as the waves crashed. Grandad leaned back against the sand, eyes closed, more at peace than I’d ever seen him.

“You okay?” Alexia asked softly, bumping her knee against mine.

I looked at her freckles, her sunburnt nose, her restless energy that belonged to the pitch. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m okay.”

And I meant it. Because when Alexia was there, I always was.

The truth is, I knew Alexia had a crush on me before she did.

It was in the little things: how she hovered close when other kids talked to me, how she always seemed too eager to walk me home, how her gaze lingered longer than friends’ usually did.

I never teased her. Maybe because I secretly liked the attention. Maybe because I wasn’t ready to admit I felt something too.

Middle school was when I started to notice: the flutter in my chest when she leaned in during class, the tingling in my hand after hers brushed mine, the way “friend” suddenly felt too small for us.

I didn’t have the words for it then. But I had the feeling. And it was enough.

The first time I saw Alexia on a real pitch, under the glow of stadium lights, I understood—football wasn’t just a game for her. It was destiny.

She had begged me for weeks to come. “You have to be there,” she insisted, bouncing on her toes. “I don’t even like football.” “You like me, though.”

So that Friday night, Grandad walked me to the youth ground with a thermos of tea. The air was chilly, the stands half-full, but when Alexia’s team ran onto the field in red-and-blue kits, my heart swelled. She looked so small compared to the others—skinny legs, messy ponytail—but her eyes burned like the floodlights themselves.

From the whistle, she was everywhere. Running, tackling, passing, shouting orders like she’d been born to command the game. And when the ball landed at her feet near the edge of the box, I held my breath.

One touch. A swing of her left boot.

The net rippled.

The crowd erupted—parents clapping, kids cheering—but Alexia’s eyes went straight to me. And when she found me in the stands, bundled in Grandad’s oversized scarf, clapping like a fool, her smile split the night open.

I’d never been so proud.

Grandad leaned over. “She’s going to be someone, that one.” I nodded, throat tight. “She already is.”

After the match, she came running over, sweat dripping, cheeks flushed with victory. She grabbed my hand and pressed it to her chest, right over her racing heart. “Did you see?” she asked breathlessly. “I saw everything,” I whispered.

And maybe I wasn’t talking about the goal.

That night, walking home under the streetlamps, her fingers brushed mine again and again. Neither of us said anything. But both of us felt it—the unspoken something buzzing in the space between us.

Long before the storm, there was this: two girls on the cusp of everything, dreaming under the same sky.

And though I didn’t know it yet, my heart had already chosen her.

#woso #woso fanfics #fc barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #aleixa putellas x reader #fluff #deaf reader