#bakugo katsuki x y/n

[tired-teacher-blog]

Let's talk about you teasing Bakugou in the presence of his oblivious assistant, shall we?

A soft knock is heard on Bakugou's office door, prompting his head to snap up in surprise as he groans the usual "come in" that signals his assistant to do just that.

_ "I'm sorry to bother you sir, but I have the documents you asked for, also, your three o'clock meeting is pushed to four as you requested." the soft spoken young lady expresses with a smile.

_ "Ugh, okay yeah thanks, just put'em there." he motions for her to place the pile of paperwork on his desk as he replies with obvious agitation that does not escape his assistant's attention.

_ "Right away," and she does as asked before turning on her heel and proceeding to leave, only to come to a sudden halt a moment later, "but sir, is everything alright? You look a bit unwell."

_ "What? I'm fine what the hell? Just get back to your work please." he rasps out with a mixture of frustration and distress towards the poor woman whose only concern was her boss's wellbeing.

Her worries are valid though— no matter how hard the pro hero is trying to dismiss them, because his gritted teeth and shallow breaths, the sheen of sweat covering his flushed skin, his shaky hands balled up tensely, and his unfocused eyes roaming all around the fancy office, are all signs of something that the young woman cannot comprehend nor has the audacity to pry into.

_ "Then I'll return to my desk sir, please let me know if you need anything." and with that, she finally leaves.

_ "Ah fuck.. that was close." he leans back on his chair and chuckles hazily whilst peering down through blazing eyes.

_ "You held out well though." and there you are, in all your glory, concealed under his desk while kneeling between his legs and smiling innocently as you swallowed his pearly seeds and licked your lips hungrily.

Even with his assistant in the same space as you moments ago, your friskiness and mischief coaxed you to keep on bobbing your head eagerly on your boyfriend's throbbing cock as he struggled to communicate with the woman.

_ "You're a bad girl aren't ya?" his voice turns dark and menacing, and his smirk sends shivers throughout your whole being as he admires the way his thumb glides along your reddened lips, pushing the remnants of his cum into your awaiting mouth, "c'mere."

You yelp with surprise as he pulls you up effortlessly and places you on his thick leg, his mouth instantly latching on to yours and it feels as if he's trying to eat you whole.

_ "You should pay me more surprise visits hun." he mouthes into the kiss as his hand travels up your skirt to fondle the lace hem of your panties.

_ "What are you doing? You should get back to work now! We'll continue this at home." you try squirming your way out of his clutches but he's way stronger than you are.

_ "Weren't ya paying attention just now? The meeting is pushed to four, so we have enough time to kill until then." and he means it, you know he does, because if his words aren't enough persuasion for you, then the growing stiffness nudging your thigh definitely is.

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#bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki headcanons #bakugo katsuki smut #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo smut #bakugo imagine #bakugo headcanons #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo smut #katsuki bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou headcanons #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo headcanons #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou smut

[irisintheafterglow]

don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you. 

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking. 

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–” 

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit. 

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?” 

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”  

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered. 

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye. 

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light. 

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.” 

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?” 

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.” 

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked. 

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.” 

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.” 

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha fluff #bnha fluff

[sei-rq]

Headcannons on Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki

(suggestive but mainly fluff)

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki, who would wait for you to finish packing after class so you both can grab lunch together (he will always pay and if you dare take out your wallet you're dead)

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki , who would kill anyone if they eye you the wrong way even once

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki, who would stop you midway while you're both walking, so he can bend down and tie your shoelaces

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who always pays for whatever you buy whenever he's with you, even if you try to refuse his only excuse is "Shut up extra, The future number 1 pro hero is paying for that! you should feel honored"

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who leans down to listen to you better when in crowded places

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who is madly in love with you and is trying to get out the friendzone so bad

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki, who wants you to notice that you're better than everyone else that he treats you differently than everyone else and yet you still act oblivious to everything

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who lets you borrow his clothes just because he's a "nice friend" but God! do you look cute in his black skull t-shirt

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who gets jealous whenever you hangout with anyone other than him and Kirishima

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who lets you hug him, you're the only person who gets to have a bakuhug? his hugs are soft and he holds you so gently, it comforts both you and him, he feels safe whenever he is with you and he also wants to keep you safe from harm

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who buys you snacks and throws them at you with a flushed face (tsundere behavior)

Best friend!Bakugou Katsuki who would properly kneel down, hold your hand and ask you out while his ears are red , he could pull you into a kiss when he hears you answer "yes" (don't worry bb asked for consent first :)) )

#bakugou smut #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x you #bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo imagine #bakugo headcanons #mha x you #mha smut #mha headcanons #mha x reader #mha fluff #mha x plus sized reader #mha x poc!reader #mha x gender neutral reader #mha x oc #mha bakugo katsuki #mei<3

[uravichii]

bakugo katsuki vs physical intimacy

genre: fluFFFF and a tad angst (it's literally just katsuki being scared of accidentally blowing you up when he initiates physical affection 🗿)

notes: kind of hate this but hey i finally remembered the headcanon 🧍‍♀️ also is it rly a fic in bakugo's pov if he's not randomly bashing kaminari's whole existence 🤩⁉️⁉️

my number 1 headcanon for bakugo katsuki is that, no matter how amazing and invincible he claims himself to be, is a total loser against physical intimacy.

i mean we've all seen him literally kick the soul out of jirou to protect her when he could literally just,, maybe shove her out of the way? 😭

it's even worse when it's with you, the person who matters the most to him.

he doesn't know how your friends find it so easy to latch onto you like it's nothing. he'd find tsuyu and uraraka linking arms with you in the hallway, ashido draping her arms around you and sweetly resting her chin on your shoulderー god, he wishes he could do the same, and then he sees kaminari shamelessly resting his elbow on your head with that stupid, cocky grin on his face as if he's not in contact with only the most beautiful, godsent being that is you.

meanwhile, bakugo katsuki, your boyfriend, jolts back when your pinky grazes the back of his hand. he retracts it, puts his hand in his pocket and doesn't say a word despite the sharp twist in his chest when he catches the despondent look on your face.

katsuki doesn't let you clasp your hand around his arm like other couples doー he gets way too flustered and has no idea how to hide that. so when you start getting tired of walking and need some kind of a leverage in case your legs give out, he tells you, "don't fall, dumbass. just grab onto my shirt" you comply with a smile.

occasionally, he'd feel the slight tug of his shirt when his pace gets too fast. he looks back, "oi, everything okay?" the whole time there's not a single contact where skin meets skin, and yet inside it makes him giddy all the same.

katsuki can't place a hand on your shoulder and smoothly bring you over to the safer side of the sidewalk. instead, he yanks the strap of your bag until you stumble over to the other side, quickly grabbing your elbow so you don't collapse and end up breaking a bone or two. (he doesn't shy away from touching you if it's to protect you.)

"thanks?" you say, genuinely confused by the chivalrous (?) gesture that literally could've knocked you down on the rough asphalt if it weren't for his quick reflexes.

"you're welcome." he shrugs.

bakugo katsuki finds hugging and hand-holding the scariest.

he tries though, but it's less like holding your hand and more like hovering it over yours. katsuki doesn't underestimate his strength and in turn, his potential to hurt you somehowー that he is deathly afraid of.

a single brush of your skin against his sends a spark across his whole body and has his stupid heart pounding hard in his chest until it hurtsー what more if he has to cradle your perfect, soft and supple hand with his rough and constantly sweaty ones, calloused and marred with scars. do they gross you out? what if he accidentally blows up your hand?

what more if you so badly want to be held by him, and he can't bring himself to refuse you? he has to embrace your smaller frame, press his body onto yoursー fuck, can you feel his heart racing? did you catch the hitch in his breath when you buried your face into his chest? where does he place his hands? is he squeezing your waist too much? is he hurting you?

how does he train himself to be soft and hold you delicately with vile hands that were carved only to be brandished and a body that has only known how to struggle and strike, to launch an attack and then brace for one?

don't get him wrong though, he bakugo katsuki wants to hold you, and he most certainly wants to be held by you.

you slowly loll your head to the side until it comes in contact with katsuki's shoulder, the static rumble of the bus slowly coaxing you to sleep.

he doesn't retract nor pushes your head off (thankfully), but he does flinch a little and completely tenses up.

"sorry. i know you hate this, but the window hurts my head." you mutter sleepily. "i like your shoulder much better."

he clenches his jaw. he hates that you have to be sorry for touching your boyfriend.

"idiot. i don't hate it." he grumbles.

you raise your head to look at him, dumbfounded.

"you don't have to look so shocked." he pushes your face away from him, as gently as he can, careful not to actually hurt you. he's relieved when you only chuckle in response.

"all that touching stuffー" he continues, "'m just not good at all that shit."

you squeeze his hand and smile softly. "well i am." you press a chaste kiss on the back of his hand before settling your cheek in his palm. as always, his chest starts to acheー in a good way at least, he thinks. you're the only thing in this world he'll allow his heart to be battered by.

"oi, do you want your face to explode or something?"

you close your eyes and nuzzle your nose into his palm. "you'll patch me up afterwards, won't you?"

katsuki, trying his absolute hardest to get over his nerves, shifts his large hand until it wraps itself around the side of your neck, now caressing your jaw. he pulls you closer until his forehead touches on yours.

"you're fucking insane." he whispers.

when he kisses you, it's nothing like what you'd expect from the bakugo katsuki. it's delicate, agonizingly slow and almost unsure, as if he's asking for permission, and of course you permit him. you lock your lips with his, press them deeper until it earns a low hum from katsuki, and you let your lips say, 'yes, yes, yes. you absolutely can.'

"see? it's not so bad." you grin.

no, it's not. it never was.

when you settle your head back on his shoulder, he watches furtively as sleep washes over you. the adorable contentment in your face, the slight part of your lips, the way your head would repeatedly slide off and he has to gently prop it back on his shoulder every time, all the while he stifles a smile of adorationー bakugo katsuki realizes that there are much scarier things in the world than this, and he swears to shield you from every one of them.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo fluff #bnha fluff #bnha drabbles #mha drabbles #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons #bnha x you #mha x you #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #i hate bakugo

[i-literally-cant-with-this]

A/N ::: Roommate!Kats is on the brain who tells you he can hear you getting off to him in your room when you're so sure you're being quiet. He wants to show you how good he can fuck you and makes a bet with you that you're probably going to lose. Get your checkbook ready.

C/W ::: A bit of misrepresentation of the situation (but god who cares), Unprotected sex P->V, sex bet. *aged up Kats*

Bakugo shrugs. "I don't care if you agree with me or not. I see how you look at me. I hear you at night sometimes. Bah! Who'm I kiddin'. I hear you a lot. 'Oh, oh god ... Kats ... fuck yes. Right - oh fuck - right there!' 'M not stupid." He realized what he'd just said and how he'd just said it. But he wanted to prove a point to you: That he knows you're solely after his cock.

You think it would be in your best interest not to argue with him. But he was being so presumptuous right now.

"How can someone who thinks so little of himself have such an ego, huh, super star? Jesus. I'm not saying 'Kats', I'm ... I'm saying ..." You squinted your eyes at him and pursed your lips. "... um, I'm saying 'THAT'S'. Not your stupid name. Arrogant much. Fuckin' hell." Your face was turning a few shades pinker the more your arousal puddled out of your cunt. Even looking at him while he has that angry snarl on his face. All you can think about is pulling his pants down and taking his cock all the way down your throat and sucking on him until his balls are so empty that he can't possibly squeeze out one more little microscopic particle of cum.

The thought made you shake your head and roll your eyes.

He stood there with his eyes trained on your little nervous tics in reaction to his comments. And to your filthy thoughts, that luckily, he wasn't privy to.

Yet.

He knows he has you cornered. Worse yet, you know he has you cornered.

You avoid his gaze and try to step around his large body. He's almost completely blocking the hallway of your small, shared apartment. "Goin' somewhere, puddin'?" Your body stiffens at the name he calls you. He pushes himself off of the wall so that he's standing directly in the middle of the way now. "Tell ya what, if you can get by me or somehow manage to move me, I'll shut up about this and we'll never speak of it again.

"You're full of shit, Kats. There's no way I could ever get passed you. You're practically taking up the whole damn area as it is and you're not even huffin' and puffin' yet. Look, I'm telling you, I'm not fucking myself and thinking about you. Just get over yourself. Now move, I want to go lay down."

He smirked. "Lay down." He said with air quotes. "Is that code for fuck yourself stupid while you're thinking of me? You know, I could just fuck you, roomie. You've been lookin' at me extra close these last few months. And what long months they've been. Huh?"

You hated him. The second the words 'I could just fuck you' left his mouth, your cunt clenched around nothing. You swear you felt a tear run down your leg from how sad and lonely the poor thing was. "You couldn't make me cum if I told you how to do it. Just ..." You pushed on his stomach trying to get him to budge. But you were only met with resistance. You weren't prepared for how hard his body was. Like, you'd seen it plenty of times when he's running around shirtless. Those damn sweats hanging off of his hips.

"Hnno-gaw." You made a noise that resembled something along the lines of "No" and "Oh my god." Neither of you knew what it was supposed to be. What you did know, is how fucking tempting his offer to fuck you and get it out of the way was. "NO! Goddamn it, Kats. M-move. Now!"

"I'm not goin' anywhere until you admit that you stuff that little cunt of yours full of your fingers and say my name. I'm off for the rest of the holiday, so I got nothin' but time. Balls in your court, loser.

You stood there glaring at him. Trying to come up with a rational reason why you shouldn't let him rail you. But you couldn't think of one. And that made you even more angry. "Fine." You said, throwing your arms up and then placing your hands on your hips. "I'll play your fucking game, Kats. I do masturbate. I say your name ... sometimes. But ... ugh. Are you happy?"

He had the most devilish shit-eating grin on his face. "Mmm, not ... not yet. I wanna hear all about what you do with your fingers."

You put one hand on each shoulder and got on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear. "I ... have ... toys for that." The way he gasped at your admission you'd think he'd never even heard of such a blasphemous thing in his life.

But it wasn't that.

No.

It was how he grabbed you and hoisted you up onto his hips and held you there by the fat of your ass. It was the way he kissed your neck and lips so hungrily like you were the first breath of fresh air he'd had in months. It was how he slammed you against the wall and smashed his groin against yours. And how you groaned into his mouth when you realized he was already hard.

You could feel his cock throbbing against your stomach, begging for release. "Shit." You whispered, breaking the kiss. "Katsuki, I - uh - I ... fuck. I've been thinking about this for a while. Oh god. I can't ... fuck. Ok? Yes! Yes I think about you when I'm stuffing my cunt full of toys! When I'm playing with my clit in the shower!"

He bit your neck and moaned. "So, so dirty. I ... I fucking love it. You have no idea how hot it is to know you get off to me."

You pulled back from the his lips, "Wait, I ... I thought you already ... knew?" He closed his mouth and wouldn't look you in the eye. "You little fuck! You didn't know?"

"What's it matter now! I mean, I was just giving you shit. But it is, y/n. Shit. It's so fuckin' hot." He slid his hand down to your cunt and felt how wet you already were. "Fuck. So wet. You want my cock yeah, huh?"

"Yes, Kats." You glared at him playfully and slid down the front of his body and followed him to his room.

As soon as you walked in to his space you were met with a wall of his smell. It was so warm and sexy; Sandlewood and Cedar. It felt strange to be in there with him. Almost like a dream.

But it was real.

You watched him strip down and get completely naked. His cock was ... really, really nice, to say the least. The head was so plump and swollen, you almost didn't want to take your eyes off of it. "Kats."

"What the hell are you lookin' at, dumbass?" He got on the bed and laid down. "Come over here and ride me. Let me see those tits bouncing while you fuck yourself on my cock."

You took your clothes off and crawled on top of him. He ran his hands up and down your sides, feeling your curves and how hot your skin was. "I'm gonna make you cum so hard, roomie."

You sank down onto his cock and gasped. "Holy ... Kats! ... o- oh, fuck ... oh god, Kats. You're so fucking big." He moaned into your neck and let his hands roam all over your body.

"Let's make a bet?" He ran his tongue over your nipples and then continued his proposal. "I make you cum 3 times in 30 minutes and you pay my share of rent next month. I don't, I pay your half and electricity."

You were well on your way to having your first orgasm and he wasn't even doing anything special. "Mhm, mhm ... fuckfuckfuck ..."

He looked up at you and smiled. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Just - oh goddd, oh fuck, Kats - just shut the fuck up. I'll pay. I'll pay it anyway." You said as he flipped you over and showed you why it was worth your time (and money) to give him a chance.

Taglist ::: @millennialmagicalgirl @callm3senpaii @darkstarlight82

#katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #katsuki bakugo mha #mha katsuki bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #mha smut #katsuki smut #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #roommate au #roommate bakugo #roommate katsuki #bnha smut #kats would be the best damn roommate #try to change my mind #aged up character

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden: Part I

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: 21.5k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) part warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34) note: this is the first part of my submission to the @mybigbangacademia big bang! this was an incredible opportunity, absolutely full to the brim with such talented writers and authors, and i for one can’t wait to check them all out! i’d also like to give a quick thanks to @phen0l​ and @sipsteainanxiety​ for their incredible beta work ♥️ this fic is a real work from the heart, something i’ve been working on for over a year now, so i hope you all enjoy!

masterlist || part ii ⟹

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

Your next door neighbor is the number two pro hero.

It’s a nice neighborhood—admittedly most of the inhabitants are getting on in years, and at times can be unbearably wealthy, but you’re not about to complain when you inherited your half of the duplex already paid off by your grandparents. It’s an unusual western-style house, connected on one side to a reflected twin, with three floors, three bedrooms (though you’ve converted one into an office), two (and a half) baths, and a shared rooftop terrace with the remains of planter boxes and a run-down little greenhouse that your grandfather once used to grow food; a nice place, something you’d never have been able to afford if you hadn’t come into it by luck.

The leftmost wall is shared with none other than the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, though contrary to what the name might suggest he’s actually a pretty okay neighbor. That is to say: an almost entirely absent one.

You don’t see the man very much. Hero work, you presume, keeps him more than busy; when he’s home there’s always a shiny, clearly expensive sports car in the driveway (you have no clue what kind but it looks like something a car nut would drool over) and you definitely see it gone more than not. The older ladies like to coo at him when he shows up—sometimes with another tall, built hero in tow, often with groceries in arm. You’ve only talked to him a few times but he remembers your name, and he gives a brusque little nod of acknowledgement whenever you wave at him in greeting. He’s not exactly known in the news as the friendliest type but you’re never felt entirely unwelcome when you’ve gone over to let him know that you’ll be on vacation for a week, or that you’re expecting a handyman to stop by to fix your sink. And that’s just about all the friendliness one inherently needs from a neighbor, so you’re content with the whole relationship.

That kind of goes out the window when the girls show up, because you’re too meddling for your own good and nobody, not even (or perhaps especially) an incredibly busy top hero, is prepared to suddenly take on two children without warning.

You’re not one to keep up with hero gossip—not one to pour through those magazines filled with blurry photos taken from a distance, speculating about which pros are dating which models and how long they last in bed—but since you’ve moved in next door to Mister Number Two you’ve kept half an ear out for stories involving him.

It’s not as if you’re prying, really, because the whole damn country has been unable to shut up about it since the day Dynamight went into a hospital and came out with an elementary schooler in arm and a teenager trailing behind. Your own grandmother called you a day afterwards to ask if you’d met them. And more importantly you’re there—you work from home and you share an entire wall (and a porch and a roof) with them, so it’s really only natural for you to take notice.

It’s only been two weeks, and things are showing no sign of dying down. You don’t know their names or their ages or even how Dynamight is really related to them—it’s all been conjecture, from what you can tell, and either way you figure it’s none of your business—but it’s impossible not to have noticed the younger’s red eyes. They’re stark in contrast to the other’s dark brown, and they match perfectly with those of the very man they’re living with. The conclusion is less of a jump and more of a modest step.

Today, when you lock up your door behind you with Tadeo on his leash for his afternoon walk, you find that they’re standing at the top of Bakugo’s front stoop. The younger sits pouting on the top step with her head propped in her hands and the elder leans back against the railing with an angry expression, phone held up to her ear as she speaks rapidly into it. You don’t entirely want to impose or assume, nor do you want to seem unapproachable, so as you pass the pair of them you give a little smile and a friendly bow of the head in greeting.

The little one perks up slightly, responding in kind. The older one glances at you, but is solidly preoccupied.

“I’m Riko!” says the girl. “Your dog is cute!”

You give her your own name. “I live next door. It’s nice to meet you. Tadeo is cute, isn’t he?”

Riko nods excitedly. When she opens her mouth to speak again, however, the older girl behind her lets out a huff that startles her into turning around. At the same time, Tadeo yanks you along, eager to continue his walk; and while Riko looks disappointed to see you go, her companion distracts her quickly by bending down to hand her the phone and, you’re fairly sure, giving her some kind of order for what to say into it.

You pay it little mind. In fact it’s dashed from your thoughts quickly as you allow your dog—surprisingly strong for how little and old he is—to lead you down the road, determined to sniff at a fire hydrant and then a telephone pole and then a mailbox. The neighborhood streets are familiar. It’s the very start of spring so the early flowers are beginning to break through the soil and the weather is nicely brisk but not too cold, and you let Tadeo dictate your route according to his own graying canine whims.

Soon enough, though, you’re approaching your house the way you’d left. Thirty minutes have passed—a longer walk than typical, but it seemed Tadeo needed it and it was a pleasant enough day that you hadn’t minded—and that’s why you’re mildly concerned when you come up to the building to find Dynamight’s two mystery wards still hovering on his front porch. Riko perks up once again at your reappearance, pulling her head out of her hands.

“Ayame,” you hear her hiss, turning around to tug at the other girl’s pleated skirt, “Ayame she’s back.”

Ayame looks up from her phone, looking terse and annoyed, and glances down at Riko before zeroing in on you.

“Hey!” she calls out. “Can my sister pet your dog?”

You smile, pausing right in front of the stairs. “Yeah, sure thing. He’s friendly. And old, so don’t let his excitement fool you—he’s about to go in and take a nap until dinner.”

The girl races down the steps like a bullet, falling to her knees on the sidewalk right in front of your dog and reaching out to pet his face. Tadeo responds in kind, hindquarters swaying frantically to keep up with his tail and barking excitedly as he puts his front paws up on her knees to get closer.

“Riko!” Ayame scolds immediately. She puts away her phone and comes down the steps herself to stand over her sister with hands on her hips. “Don’t just sit on the ground like that, you’ll get dirty.”

Riko only laughs as your dog licks at her face. Ayame’s nose wrinkles in distaste. You can’t help but smile at the pair.

“He’s so cute,” Riko coos. She looks up at you with a grin—there’s a gap where she’s missing a tooth in the bottom row. “My dad says dogs are messy and too much work and so we’re not allowed to get one unless we’ll be taking care of it.”

“That’s a reasonable rule to set.”

“My dad’s a hero so he’s really busy.” Her attention is back on Tadeo. “But I think he’d like a dog anyway.”

“You think?”

“Mhm.” She nods. Her hair is pulled up into a pair of pigtails, tied by two sparkly pink bows, and it sways back and forth with the motion of her head. “He always goes on runs and he keeps asking Ayame if she wants to join him. I think he gets lonely.”

“He is not asking me to come with him because he’s lonely,” Ayame mutters.

“But if we get a dog he’ll just take it and you can stay behind!”

“Yeah, maybe.” It’s absent-minded, a little dismissive; she’s returned her attention back to her phone, clearly wanting to drop the topic and equally clearly disagreeing though she doesn’t outright say so.

“I don’t think staring at your phone is going to make daddy come home any sooner,” Riko says matter-of-factly. Then she leans forward to whisper to you, in that loud way little kids do when they don’t understand how to be quiet yet, “Ayame forgot her key.”

“Which wouldn’t be a problem,” Ayame snaps, “if he would answer his phone! Or act like the guardian he’s supposed to be!”

Her tapping is furious as her thumbs fly in a flurry across her screen. When she puts the phone to her ear, she shoves her free hand in her pocket and glares off in the distance as she waits.

“He’s just—ugh.” She huffs and shoves the phone into her pocket; you’re pretty sure it had immediately gone to voicemail. “He turns off his phone when he’s on patrol so the only way to contact him is his earpiece and his secretary says this isn’t an emergency.”

“Well, it’s not!” chirps Riko. You’re pretty sure it wouldn’t be received well if you agreed.

Ayame just huffs again, this one a bit more growled. She bites her cheek, glaring off at the distance for a moment—surely cursing Bakugo out in her head silently—before letting her eyes roll back, heaving a big sigh, and then turning her attention to you curiously.

“You live next door, right?”

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to come introduce myself, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m glad to have the chance today—even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

“That’s an understatement,” Ayame grumbles under her breath, but she holds back the eye roll that you can tell has been building up and instead gives you a short bow of introduction, stating her name.

You give her your own in turn. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Now we don’t have to keep calling you Miss Sunny.” She snickers a little, not entirely cruelly but certainly with the kind of vaguely derisive tone only a teenager can manage. You don’t take it to heart.

“Miss Sunny?”

“‘cause of the sunflowers!” Riko pipes up from where she’s still doting upon Tadeo. He’s relishing the attention, rolling around on the street with his tail valiantly putting up an effort to keep wagging despite being pressed into the pavement. Looking up at you and beaming, she points over at the meticulously kept flower boxes you’ve managed to fit along your stoop and down the sides of the stairs, filling up every available space in front of your house. And the balcony above, the leaves lush and full and spilling out down the railing.

The boxes are painted with bright, pretty sunflowers. You can see how they made the connection.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Sunflowers are one of my favorites, actually,” you tell them. “I can’t grow them year-round but when they’re in season I keep as much as I can. And when they’re not, well. I supplement.”

“Did you paint them?” Riko asks in awe.

“My mother did, actually, when I first put them in.”

“She’s a really good painter.”

“They’re just sunflowers, Riko,” Ayame says.

Riko pouts at her. “But they’re nice.”

“Anyone could do it.”

“No, I bet you couldn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, I could.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Then do it.” Riko finally stands from where she’s been petting Tadeo to fix her sister with a baby-cheeked glare and put her hands on her hips.

“We can’t get inside our house, Riko. Where are you expecting me to find paints?”

As if on cue, before you can decide whether to intervene or not, Ayame’s phone begins to ring again from her back pocket. She answers with such speed you might think it was her quirk. The conversation is short, barely a few sentences exchanged, and when she hangs back up she’s somehow notably more agitated.

“He has to stay out longer,” she says, now so angry she’s moved past shouting and turned monotonous. Or, perhaps, moved past the anger stage of grief and launched straight to depression. “It’ll be another hour and a half, Riko, I dunno what to do.”

The statement gives way to another huff. She glares down at her phone like that’ll somehow make it light up with a response saying he’s five minutes away.

“Ayame,” you say kindly, and her head snaps up immediately to look at you. “Do you want to wait for your father at my house?”

For a moment, more anger flashes across her face. She blinks it away, frowning, then glancing over at Riko not for advice but rather to check-in. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’d be irresponsible of me to let you two stay out here when I live right next door and can let you in. C’mon, or Tadeo will get impatient.”

She nods. Riko jumps up, following you closely as you lead them both up the front stoop. Tadeo leads the charge, excited to return and have his dinner. He scratches at the base of the door as you pull out your key to open it, and he sprints in with you tripping behind him the moment it opens; Ayame and Riko follow after you. You find your large guest slippers easily, and your smaller guest slippers with much more difficulty—you don’t have children over particularly often, admittedly—but soon enough you’ve pulled off Tadeo’s harness and leash to hang up and are leading them further into the house.

“Here, make yourselves comfortable.” You gesture to your dining room table. “I’m sure you both have work to do, I can help if you need. Do you want any food?”

They both shake their heads, though Riko hesitates and waits for Ayame to respond first. You choose not to check a second time with her.

Soon enough the girls are sitting around your dining table. Riko has her homework pulled out, and so does Ayame, but Ayame’s work is long forgotten as she’s sidled over next to her younger sister and is bent over the younger’s work, helping her. From your kitchen, where you’re fetching yourself a glass of water, it makes a sweet sight.

“Ayame,” you realize suddenly, “you should text your father and let him know you’re here.”

She glances up at you. Again that anger passes across her face like a shadow, but when she speaks it’s calm. “Oh. Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You watch as she slides herself back over to where her things are, including her phone. Her work is organized cleanly, papers and notebooks stacked by subject with only a few on the table while most remain in her bag. In contrast, Riko’s side is a mess; she has fewer papers but despite that has more supplies. Three pencil cases, all different shades of light pink with varying baby animals on them, have been opened and half their contents strewn about the table and even the floor. Despite this, she’s dutifully working on a writing assignment, face scrunched up and tongue poking out the corner of her mouth in concentration.

You sit at your kitchen counter to do your work. It’s not exactly ideal; you can’t see them, and you’re certain your back will ache in the morning as punishment for using the tall bar chair for an hour and a half, but you make it work. The minutes pass, the girls continue to work on their assignments and help each other out when needed. It isn’t until a text chime blares out that you turn around and realize how long it’s been.

Ayame is looking down at her phone, reading the text with her arms still preoccupied with academics.

“Did your father get back to you?” you ask.

“He’s not my father,” Ayame snaps immediately, head snapping over to fix you with a fierce glare. “Despite what he and everyone else thinks, he is not my dad, so don’t call him that.”

You raise your hands in surrender, palms out. “Peace. Understood. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”

She seems to startle at that—her glare doesn’t pause but her brow furrows further in confusion and when she speaks it’s muttered more than angry. “Yeah. You shouldn’t’ve.”

“But I need to know he knows where you are.”

“He does,” she grumbles. “He’s stuck in traffic, he’ll be here soon.”

“Thank you! Okay,” you nod, making up your mind about how to proceed. “Okay, let’s pack up now so you’re both ready to head out when he arrives. We can watch some TV or something.”

Riko perks up at the mention of TV. She’s already packing up her things before Ayame can agree; it takes them both little time at all to gather everything and fit it all back into their school bags. Soon enough they’re both seated on the couch with a brightly colored hero cartoon playing on the screen.

Ayame is on her phone; Riko is enraptured by the television. You have work to do still, so you sit at the table facing the kids with your laptop before you.

Soon enough Ayame is standing, announcing that “Uncle’s home!” mere moments before a harsh knock raps on your door. Both the girls follow you as you head to the door and open.

Bakugo is there. He’s scowling—though admittedly, you’ve often wondered if that’s the only facial expression he’s capable of. He’s gruff when he greets you, gruff when he greets the girls, and gruff when he tells them it’s time to go.

“Y’have fun?” he asks, seemingly to Riko, though his eyes end up on Ayame as he says it.

“Yeah!” Riko bounds up to him, already in her outdoor shoes. “Miss Sunny’s great!”

The grunt he gives in return is pleased. “Good. Comin’ home with me, though, right? No fuss?”

She shakes her head, pigtails flying across her face with the notion. “Nuh-uh!”

He nods at the bright pink bag in her hand. “Y’want me to carry that, kid?”

Her expression falls. She clutches it closer, face scrunching up, and stares up at him with a look that isn’t quite suspicious or accusatory but certainly doesn’t seem inclined to take his offer.

The low puff of air he lets out is something like a sigh, perhaps disappointed, though you don’t think it’s quite at her. He lowers himself to her height—lower, crouched down with arms braced on his knees to look her in the eye. When he speaks it’s startlingly placating.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes. Was just tryin’ to be nice, yeah? C’mon. I’ll walk you in. You can carry it.”

Then he rises to his feet, and holds out his hand, and Riko’s hesitance disappears as she takes it. In fact she’s beaming. She doesn’t look back as she follows him over to his door.

Ayame hovers in the entryway, leaning through the open door watching Bakugo lead Riko into his house. Once they’re out of sight, she turns to you.

Her eyes are cast downward, a little to the side. She seems to rock on the balls of her feet slightly, almost as a comfort, and is clearly working up the nerve to say something. You wait, letting her take her time.

“I, uh. Earlier, when you called Uncle my dad…”

“No worries,” you assure her. “I shouldn’t have assumed, and I’m sure you get it a lot and I know it’s been a stressful day, so really. It’s fine. If anything, I’m sorry.”

“Nobody’s ever… apologized before,” she mutters. “Not for real, anyway. It’s always—like, they all start saying uncle all rude and condescending like I’m not well aware they’re still calling him my father in their heads. But you apologized and you haven’t called him that since, so… I dunno. I ‘preciate it, I guess. It feels like you’re the first person who’s really listened to me in a while.”

You give her a quiet smile. “I’m sorry, that sounds difficult to have to go through.”

“I just said you were the best one to respond, y’don’t gotta apologize more…”

“But I upset you,” you counter. “I do regret it.”

“Right.” Her shoulders heave, not really a shrug. “Well. I better go off then. Thank you for helping us.”

“You’re always welcome.”

She turns and heads to her own door. You wait for her to get inside, too, before you shut your own and make your way back to your office. You have a little more work to get done before you can start making dinner.

Not five minutes later, however, you hear a knock on your door again.

Bakugo is standing there when you open it, fist raised to knock a second time. He lowers it immediately, letting it fall to his side aimlessly.

“Did Riko forget something?” you ask, thinking back to the messy array of writing implements and assorted school supplies—all glittery or pink or shimmering—that she’d strewn about your living room, certain she must have misplaced one or two beneath a pillow or a rug.

“Hah?” His brow furrows at the question. “No. What, did you find somethin’?”

“No.” You snort a laugh. “Why’d you come back, then?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

It’s gruff, low, said without meeting your eye.

“For letting them in? No worries. I couldn’t just let them wait around out there for you.”

His eyes narrow. When he speaks the tone is defensive, the words slightly growling. “We‘ve been looking for some new sidekicks to pick up the slack so I won’t be working so late anymore, but it’s a process ‘n we’ve only just started.”

“Whoa, hey, I’m not judging you here. You’re a busy man. I get it,” you rush to say. He’s still glaring at you a little, and admittedly it’s probably one of the most intimidating glares you’ve ever been on the receiving end of. “I get it, really. It’s been sudden. They’re great kids, I was happy to have them over for an hour or two. The company was nice, actually. It’s usually just me and the dog during the week.”

The words soothe him. Or maybe he realizes he’d been overreacting—either way, his shoulders relax and the tension eases. Though he doesn’t quite seem like he’s no longer glaring, you’re coming to realize that perhaps he never does look very relaxed. At least you’re no longer feeling like he’s attempting to send you flying back into your home with a single, very intense glare.

“They’re welcome any time,” you continue. Steer away from need and help, you decide. And anything too critical. “If they want.”

He grunts in what you decide is appreciation. Better, then, than the other attempt. Could be even more coherent, if you tried at it a bit—but you’ve already made the appeal to Ayame, so you suppose she can pass along what you told her. In the meantime you choose to change the subject.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask… why’d Riko respond like that when you offered to carry her things?”

You’re not sure he’ll tell you, really. But he surprises you. He sighs, long-suffering and annoyed, and says, “Ayame told her I’d take all their things when they moved in with me. She hasn’t quite stopped believing it.”

There’s an attempt made at biting back your laughter. It’s a failed attempt, but an attempt nonetheless. Your stifled giggles earn you another glare, but this one seems less serious.

“Don’t fuckin’ laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” you lie through stuttered puffs.

“It ain’t funny.”

“It’s kinda funny.”

He rolls his eyes. “You ‘n fuckin’ soy sauce face…” he mutters, and you don’t know who soy sauce face might be but he sounds like he has a good sense of humor. “Don’t go laughin’ in front of Ayame, it’ll only encourage her.”

“I promise I won’t laugh in front of Ayame.” You do mean that—you really don’t want to encourage her.

“Good,” he grunts, then pauses momentarily. “You said it was just you and the mutt during the week?”

“Over the work week I don’t get many visitors—I mean, I’m single, no roommate. My family lives about an hour away by train, not a trip anyone’d wanna make on a work day. My friends have careers.” You pause after that spiel, realizing finally what he likely meant by the question. “I work from home. Have an office here.”

His brow furrows. “The fuck do you do, then? As a career”

“I’m an accountant,” you reply easily, getting used to his mannerisms. “Freelance. Clients are mostly small businesses, a few tiny companies. Most of my work’s done in my office. So, yeah, here pretty much all day, save for the occasional in-person meeting. Those only happen a few times a year.”

“So, what, just some fuckin’ hermit?” It’s not entirely derisive, the way he says it. More just surprise, a little curiosity.

“I have friends, Bakugo. I go out for drinks, the occasional girls’ trip. I visit my family and they visit me. Perfectly healthy, I promise. Not a hermit.”

He grumbles at that, but clearly you’ve convinced him that you’re annoyed by the implication, because he mumbles out a, “sorry,” afterwards and sounds genuinely apologetic.

“It’s fine. Nothing wrong with making sure. I’m just offering for if you need it. I’m sure you have plenty of options, but. If you think of me. I gave Ayame my phone number; you should have it already, from when I first moved in, yeah?”

Nodding at first, he pauses, and then frowns. “Actually…”

“What, you lost it?”

He looks a little sheepish, somehow. Still surly and cross, but apologetic. “I got a new phone. Lost all my contacts. Was about a month ago. If you’d’ve texted me I’d’a figured it out, but…”

“No worries.” You reach into your pocket and take out your phone. It takes a moment to find his contact—the pair of you really haven’t spoken beyond the initial exchanging of numbers and one incident where Tadeo had gotten loose and Bakugo had found him for you—but you send off a quick text once you do, and are filled with amusement when his own back pocket immediately plays the sound of an explosion.

He doesn’t acknowledge it, so you don’t either. You wonder if he even knows how funny that is (endearing, even, if you were to be bold) or if he thinks it’s completely normal. What he does is pull out that phone (which looks downright tiny in those huge hands… it’s the same model as your own, your mind is left spinning a little) and, clearly, add you to his contacts once more.

“Perfect. We’re all set, then? Just text me if you need me. Yeah?”

A nod, a low grunt of approval; his phone is back in his pocket quickly, and then he’s turning to go. You shut your door right as he opens his own.

The next time you see him afterwards is a week later; he’s locking his door on his way out of his house, you’re on your way in from your morning walk with Tadeo.

“Bakugo!” you call out as you make your way up the front stoop.

He turns to you as he pockets his keys, gives a curt nod and a low rumble of your own name. “Mornin’.”

“This is great timing, actually. I needed to talk to you.” Pausing, you take a moment to take in his attire and recall that it’s a Tuesday and he’s almost certainly headed off to work. “I promise it won’t take long.”

He raises an eyebrow, not exactly kindly but not altogether brushing you off. “Spit it out.”

You shift the leash in your hand to the other one. The process tugs Tadeo over to your other side, crossing in between you and Bakugo, and it draws Bakugo’s attention to your dog, who pauses briefly to sit and beg at his feet. To your surprise it works—your neighbor squats down, raising a hand to scratch at Tadeo’s ears. He looks at him for a moment, and that stern look softens just a bit.

Then you remember what he’d just said. “I was thinking about starting a garden,” you say quickly.

Bakugo pauses, looking up at you and then rising to his feet to regard you fully. “A garden?”

He seems to be sneering, and you bristle.

“Yeah, my grandfather had one back when he and my grandmother lived here—”

“The fuck’re you telling me for?” he interrupts. This time you recoil, pursing your lips.

“It’d be up on the roof, which we share,” you say slowly. “Wouldn’t it be rude of me not to check with you first?”

You might add that you hadn’t bothered to ask when you’d made your little flower garden in the front—it’s on your side entirely—so you haven’t exactly made a habit of asking him about unimportant things, but that scowl softens a little, replaced by a slightly furrowed brow and a seemingly sheepish breaking of eye contact as his eyes dart to the side.

“Do what’cha want. I don’t care.”

You nod. “Okay. Thank you. And if Ayame and Riko—or you, I suppose—want to help out at all, I’m sure I’ll need it.”

At mention of the girls, he finally seems to register exactly what you’re saying. He nods finally, expression relaxing, and though you almost feel it’s too little too late you’re pleasantly surprised—and appreciative—when he apologizes.

“Sorry. That’d be good for ‘em. Real good for ‘em. Thanks for reachin’ out.” He pauses, seems to hesitate, then clears his throat and tells you, “Their mom had a gardening quirk, y’know. They’ve both got ‘em too. I dunno if they told you.”

You blink. “No… I didn’t know. It’ll be a team project, then. If they’re interested, anyway.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll let ‘em know.” He’s nodding, clearly having convinced himself. “When’re you gonna start?”

“Mmm, next week. It’s still a little early to start planting but I’ll probably head up to clear out the space and make planter boxes this weekend. You’re welcome to join for that but it’ll be tedious stuff. Next week I’ll start planting, though.” You purse your lips. “The greenhouse is too broken down, I’ll have to completely remake it, but we shouldn’t need it for a while yet so I suppose I can put that off…”

You trail off, realizing that you’re thinking aloud and rambling at Bakugo far more than he cares about. But when you turn your attention back to him, from where you’d been staring absently off to the distance, you find that he’s regarding you with an amused look.

“That what that mess up there is? A greenhouse?”

Frowning, your response is indignant. “My grandfather built that ‘mess’ himself, I’ll have you know.”

“Not very well, clearly, seein’ as it collapsed like that.”

Your jaw drops. Coming from someone else, you might interpret his words as teasing—but he’s so blunt, and gruff, and his expression hardly shifts to indicate that he’s anything but serious, so you blink at him in almost shock.

That makes him tense. “What?”

“Was that a joke? I didn’t know you were capable of humor.”

“Hah? I’m funny as fuck.”

“Mmm. Very.” You purse your lips, playing at disinterest, but the smile tugging at them does you no favors. “Making fun of something my grandfather poured his heart and soul into… very funny. You’re a real upstanding hero.”

“That damn greenhouse fell down weeks after he made it, ‘n when I offered to fix it up he refused every time. Stubborn old man insisted he’d get ‘round to it. Never did. Obviously.”

“You offered to help?” you ask in shock.

He raises an eyebrow at you, clearly indignant. “I worked on that garden for months after his back gave out. Your grandmother wouldn’t stop nagging me when I missed too many days, said he got restless and wouldn’t leave ‘er alone. ‘course he only ever watched me by then, but I get it. ‘n she fed me in return, always reminded me of that when I slacked off.”

Bakugo had moved into the house next door during the five year stint between graduating university and your grandparents moving out that you spent living in an ever-changing series of small apartments further in the city. You’ve known that he’d had a good relationship with them, but you hadn’t known that he’d helped with the garden at all.

They ask you about him, fairly often in fact, though you’ve never been able to give them the detailed report of his current status that they always want. You’ve always thought that at least part of them giving you the house had been some convoluted attempt at setting the pair of you up together. Perhaps that’s why he’s always kept his distance. Perhaps it’s your other theory—that he just likes old folks. Or maybe he just makes more of an effort to be there for them. Considering his heroic choice of career, it’d make sense if he felt obligated. But it’s undeniable that he’s always reached out more to the elderly in the neighborhood over the younger corporate executives and trust fund kids who otherwise populate it—understandable, frankly, considering how unbearable the latter kind of person tends to be even in the best of circumstances.

Though, you admit, you’ve also lucked into your own property through inheritance. Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick to separate yourself.

“They ask after you, you know,” you tell him in an effort to break the silence that’s fallen over the pair of you as you’d ruminated.

“Don’t s’ppose you had much to tell ‘em.” He chuckles, then pauses. “‘til Riko ‘n Ayame showed up, anyway.”

“Trust me, I didn’t have to tell them about the girls. Grandma called me the moment she saw them on the news.”

Anger crosses his face when you say that. You tense when you see it, wracking your mind in an attempt to figure out why he might be suddenly pissed at you, but when he growls out, “fuckin’ paparazzi, damn shitty gossip magazines, waste of fuckin’ space,” you realize it’s about the fact that you mentioned the news.

“Oh. That’s… an understandable response. To that photo.” You hadn’t quite put that together, but it does make sense. Dynamight has always been known to be especially private regarding his personal life and even antagonistic towards the press; he has an infamously bad attitude towards reporters out in the field and is rarely interviewed, and when he bothers it’s always abundantly clear that his manager has forced him to. “Really intrusive, actually.”

“No fuckin’ right to take photos of my fuckin’ kids when their damn mother just fuckin’ died.” The scowl on his face is heavy, and you’re very happy that it’s not directed at you. “Wish I could blow up every damn copy of it.”

“Yeah… yeah, I get that. I guess it’s lucky that others haven’t been spread around…” Or their names, you think. Names and ages and life stories—none of that is out there, which is frankly surprising, but good.

“Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. My team knows how to stop that shit before it spreads.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt to have the threat of number two hero Dynamight coming after you to stop it, too.” You shoot him a grin.

He doesn’t return it. The topic at hand, you think, bothers him far more than he’s even letting on; now he’s silent, and you hover awkwardly, not entirely sure how to continue the conversation. It isn’t unbearable exactly, but considering you’re holding him up from going to work you decide the silence is better off broken.

“Hey,” you say, “I’ve been meaning to ask, actually, and because you mentioned them earlier I might as well. What are their quirks?”

“The girls’?”

“Yeah. They haven’t told me—well, I never asked them, anyway. You said they were related to gardening?”

“Riko’s is called Boom Bloom. She can speed up the growth of flowering plants ‘n when they bloom they’ll explode. Ayame’s is similar—’s called Bloominescence, hers glow. Takes a lot out of ‘em, though. Can’t do it often.” He pauses for a moment. Then he adds, “I expected ‘em to be real filthy tree-hugger types when I learned. Figured there’d be fuckin’ flowers everywhere. Thought the petals ‘n leaves’d get all over the damn place. Thank fuck they ain’t like that, think I’d go insane.”

You bite your lip. “Sounds like something you’d hate.”

He snorts. “Let that be a warning, then, yeah? Don’t go trackin’ dirt around my place. If ya turn ‘em into that shit I’ll never let ‘em visit you again, y’hear?”

“Loud and clear, Dynamight, sir!”

You get another snort of laughter for the dig. But then he falls silent, looking at you pensively. That crimson stare regards you as you twist the leash in your hand a few times, a nervous tick. The way he’s looking makes you feel a little raw—like he’s taking you in, pulling you apart, seeing what makes you tick. And the silence is heavy, palpable.

“What about you?” he breaks it suddenly.

“Hm?” You know, and you stiffen despite yourself. You know what he’s asking, and you only have two options: the truth, or evasion. You’re giving him one last chance not to ask. He doesn’t take it.

“Your quirk. You haven’t told me what it is.”

It’s not an altogether unexpected question, not when you’ve just asked about the girls’ quirks, but it’s one that you hesitate answering nonetheless. And you could refuse to—it’s personal, though not technically rude most people understand when you choose not to say.

But you don’t really want to, not the least because the man before you is a pro hero who could most certainly look it up on his own time; if he’s going to cut whatever this relationship is brewing into short because of your answer here, then you’d rather know now than months down the line.

So you roll your shoulders back, look him in the eye, and tell him you’re quirkless.

Dynamight isn’t known for being the most understanding of pro heroes. In fact what he’s known for is a certain level of ruthlessness; a resolve to win fights while on duty and a lack of patience for anyone who he butts heads with, professionally or otherwise. Where no.1 hero Deku is considered the modern Symbol of Peace—all charismatic smiles and diplomacy, having learned well from his late mentor the great All Might—the man you’ve just informed of your quirklessness is colloquially called the Symbol of Victory, and weakness is hardly something you’d assume him to be particularly accepting of. Despite your logic telling you it’s ridiculous to be concerned, there’s a little nagging worry in your mind that he’ll turn away, get in his car, and drive to his agency and you’ll never talk to him or his girls again.

But Bakugo doesn’t do that. He hardly reacts at all, in fact. Instead he nods, purses his lips as if in thought, and grunts out, “a’ight. Good to know.”

Somehow he’s managed to give the best possible response. You have to give him credit; you never would have assumed that from the interactions you’ve been having with him all week.

“I can garden despite that, though,” you assure him with a smile. “In fact I can’t say it has a single effect on my gardening ability whatsoever.”

“Mmm.” He grunts. “And carpentry? Can you rebuild that fuckin’ mess of a greenhouse up on that roof?”

“Well, I’ll have you know it isn’t my quirklessness that makes my carpentry skills suck. It’s a lack of practice. And there’s no better time to start than the present.”

Bakugo wrinkles his nose, brow furrowing in tandem. “Don’t fuckin’ think I want you to practice with a big ass structure made of glass that my girls’re gonna be goin’ into.”

“Mmm that’s understandable, I suppose. Maybe you should find me a good carpenter to help me out, hm? Since you’re so—”

Before you can finish the sentence, Tadeo begins to bark frenziedly, lunging at the end of his leash and tugging you towards your front door. You stumble that way for half a step, unprepared for the sudden attack, before you manage to steel yourself and brace against his forceful jerking.

Bakugo, however, takes that as his cue to leave.

“‘m runnin’ late already,” he tells you. “Don’t build that greenhouse without supervision, I won’t have it collapsin’ on my fuckin’ girls.”

Then he nods in farewell and then turns to walk away, off towards that sleek, flashy car sitting parked waiting to take him into the city where his countless sidekicks and managing staffers and support technicians await his return to work.

You turn back to your front door and let Tadeo drag you inside.

The roof, when you first go up, is a mess.

You’d expected it. You’d experienced it first-hand before, even; you’ve often gone up with intent to clean it since you’d inherited the home and moved in, yet it’s always been too looming of a task to tackle on a whim and a mere weekend of time.

But there’s nothing quite like outside pressure to make you buckle down and take on such a challenge, and doing something for other people is precisely the pressure you apparently needed. It takes you a little longer than a weekend—in fact, in the week between you beginning the project and the roof being ready for planting, you spend most of your long, agonizing meetings with your laptop set carelessly on the concrete floor amongst the dirt and rotting wood, and a bluetooth headset in your ear as you advise your various clients about their finances.

It’s a good process. Mind and body moving, allowing for each to operate at a better capacity. You barely realize that you’re making progress on the roof until your daily alarm goes off alerting you of Riko and Ayame’s potential arrival, and then it’s a mad dash to get down to your house and shower off all the dirt and grime accumulated by your efforts. You often return up there the following morning, when the wind is biting cold and nipping at your cheeks and ears, to admire your handiwork with a new eye.

There’s an end in sight, eventually; by the time most of the old planter boxes are gone and you’ve reclaimed what you can of the greenhouse Bakugo had once called a mess to pile up in the corner for what will eventually become your own, it’s Friday, and you’re ready to start making new ones.

You’d created a plan weeks ago, complete with growth times and when to plant so that you’ll be able to harvest throughout the spring and summer and on into autumn. Now you take the time to design the layout, easy to see now that the space has been cleared out, and spend a day assembling salvaged wood and new supplies—helpfully brought up for you the evening before by, you’re informed but not present to witness, a small team of Bakugo’s pro hero friends—into the calculated sizes, shoving them into the designated spots, then filling them with soil.

The plants you choose to take on for the first year are simple, relatively easy to care for; carrots and zucchini, tomatoes and chard, cucumbers and potatoes. You’ll add more as time goes on, expanding and improving, especially if Ayame or Riko (or, ideally, both) take to it enough to reliably help you.

They both certainly enjoy it enough that first weekend to show up the second day early in the morning. Ayame has more of an attention span than Riko, naturally; Riko will help for a good fifteen or so minutes at a time, then wander off to do her own thing. That’s solid, you think, for a seven year old.

They help you out more than you anticipated; a few hours every weekend, in Ayame’s case at least, and in Riko’s often passing the time with you after school when she’s done with homework. For the first couple weeks after your initial meeting, they’re around more often than you entirely expect (though you’re happy about it, to be honest).

Ayame has her key past that first day. You doubt she’ll make that mistake again. But it’s hardly fair, in your opinion, to expect her to take care of Riko in Bakugo’s absence—especially when you’re around and more than capable. So they both spend much of their time at your place during the hours before dinner that he isn’t around.

He hadn’t been lying that first day. Once the new sidekicks are hired, he’s back long before dinner, often right when they’re getting home from school, far more consistently, and it becomes less frequent for the girls to stop by out of need for an adult; Ayame is more than capable of being in charge for the hour or so between their arrival home and Bakugo’s, but you always keep an ear out and often end up answering the door to one or both of the girls at some point during the day.

Riko takes, almost immediately, to paying visits to your door and no further just to stand outside and talk to you; Ayame stops by as well, though she’s far more abashed and taciturn about it, and tends to come in entirely with the excuse that she wants a quiet place to study. You enjoy both forms of visitation. There’s no shortage of occasions where Bakugo is unexpectedly required to stay later or go back in after returning home, however. You’ll get yourself a text on those days, curt and straight to the point and a bit crass—though you wouldn’t expect anything else—asking you to let them in, though more often than not the knock comes before the request and they’re already settled.

Ayame soon joins an after-school club, however. She’s cagey about what it’s for but it has her staying later at her high school three days a week, which leaves Riko with nobody to watch her on the occasions her father cannot.

You’re the natural pick to fill that role. And you like it. What you’d said that day still stands, the break from your typical workday is appreciated. Riko is good company for the hour or two she tends to spend with you. You’ll make her something light to eat and help with her schoolwork for much of it, then take a break and do something else for the rest of the time. Sometimes she wants to watch TV—there’s a show she adores, a cartoon called Twinklestar after the titular character who is, naturally, a pro hero and princess of a deserted human colony on Mars—but sometimes you can get her to garden with you, or help out with things around the house.

That’s what you’re doing now.

Ayame is still at school, at her mystery club. Riko has been with you for nearly an hour now. After an episode of Twinklestar, you’d convinced her to come join you outside while you hang up a suncatcher that a friend had sent you while overseas, and she’s been entertaining herself with a little keyring game that she’d found squirreled away in some drawer in your house. You’re not really sure where you got it, or when—it’s probably a holdover from your uni days, there’d been times when you’d hoarded such little pockets of joy and played them under your desk during lulls in lectures; low on brain power and high on dopamine—but it’s age appropriate and she’s been well absorbed while you work, so you’re not going to complain.

Your biggest worry now, frankly, is the very real chance that Bakugo will arrive home and witness you in your currently failing attempts to set up the suncatcher. You’ve brought out a step stool, and you’re perched at the top of it, hammer in hand as you stand on your tiptoes to put the nail in place and pound it in as a peg to hang the decoration. You’re just barely too short. Really what you ought to do is go back in and retrieve the taller step stool from the kitchen, or the ladder that you keep folded up under your stairs, but somehow that feels like admitting defeat.

Instead you balance precariously atop the one you first brought out, tapping at the nail far too lightly so as not to knock yourself off balance and hoping to whatever might be listening that your dour, captious neighbor doesn’t arrive home to lecture you about setting a good example for his daughter and not doing something so needlessly dangerous. He’d probably startle you—for how big the man is, he’s annoyingly quiet when he wants to be. Then it’d be his fault if you fell, really. For scaring you. Some hero he’d be.

Of course that’s when your foot slips. It’s only fair. Punishment from the universe for getting angry at something Bakugo hadn’t even done yet, a swat on the back of the hand.

And it’s your fault, really; hardly even a slip so much as your ankle rolling and your legs being thrown from under you. Though the stepstool you’re perched upon is small, your life flashes before your eyes; you imagine dashing your head on the concrete steps, breaking an arm or a leg at the very least, already trying to figure out how you’ll call an ambulance and what you’ll do with Riko—send her across the way to stay with Ms. Rose or Ms. Tulip for the remaining few minutes before Bakugo comes home? You certainly wouldn’t bring her to the hospital—when, rather than slamming into the hard ground, you’re suddenly caught by a pair of big arms.

It’s effortless. They hold your weight without struggle, having found purchase on your form with practiced ease. You’re left reeling, wide-eyed, and unable to do much beyond staying limp within them in an attempt to reorient yourself.

“Whoa, there!” your savior says good-naturedly. He doesn’t hold you any longer than necessary, placing you down on your own two feet before you can even fully register what had happened. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” Still a little dazed—understandably so, you should think—you shake your head in an attempt to clear it as you regard him.

The man who’d caught you is someone you really ought to recognize immediately, though in your defense you’re a little too busy thanking everything that you haven’t fallen and busted your head open (or at least broken a limb) to register his face until he sets you down.

He’s absolutely massive, towering well over you and boasting an equally impressive width, with a mane of bright red hair and a warm grin exposing a mouthful of sharp teeth. Another point in your defense for not recognizing him: he’s out of uniform, dressed in casual clothes, and you are not nearly versed enough in pro heroes to recognize even the top ten without those brightly colored and intricately decorated hero costumes.

It’s Red Riot, sturdy and robust, not even batting an eye as he subtly inspects you for injury. You brush yourself off a little self-consciously.

Up where she’s been hovering near the door, Riko squeals in excitement. Your attentions are both pulled to her as she darts down the stoop and flies past you, making a beeline for Riot. His face lights up as she approaches.

The moment she’s close enough, he grabs her from the ground and swings her up, pulling excited giggles from her lips as he sets her up on his shoulders. “How’s it going, kiddo? Being good for your sister?”

“Ayame isn’t here,” Riko whines a little, pouting, and though he can’t possibly hear her at all the evidence is plain in her voice. “She’s joined a club after school.”

“Really, now?” Riot is even better than you, you realize; he sounds even more interested than you do without even a hint of condescension. He’s always been known for how well he works with kids—even you’ve heard that—and it’s evident in full force as he interacts with Riko. “What club?”

Riko wrinkles her nose. You watch as she rests her elbow on his head and braces her chin in the palm of that hand, pouting, in a pose reminiscent of a grouchy adult lost in thought.

“She won’t tell me.”

“Oh?” Riot laughs good-naturedly. “Well, everyone gets to have their secrets. I’m sure you have yours.”

“I don’t,” Riko says flatly, in a tone so confident and annoyed that it makes both you and Riot burst into laughter. Luckily she takes it as a compliment; grinning wide, even joining in on the laughter though you doubt she quite knows what’s amusing.

“You must be the neighbor, yeah?” Turning his attention to you, Riot says your name, and at your nod, he gives a quick bow, Riko still perched on his shoulders and giggling wildly as she holds onto his neck. He does most of the work, keeping a hand on her legs to ensure she won’t fall even as his head bears most of her weight. “Kirishima Eijirou. Red Riot.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Bakugo had to stay behind at work, something came up. He asked me to come relieve you of duty.”

“How valiant of you.”

“Just doin’ my job as a hero, ma’am. And, uh, hey.” He gives you a warm smile now, softer than the victorious smirks after won fights and beaming grins during awards ceremonies that you’ve always seen in the press. You think you might be a little flattered to be receiving it. “In case he hasn’t said it himself, thank you for helping Bakugo out. You’ve been a lifesaver more than you know. He really appreciates it, though I’m sure it might be hard to tell.”

You snort. Clearly he knows his friend well. “He’s said it, actually, but I’ll say again that it’s no problem. We have fun. Right, Riko?”

“Yeah!” Riko cheers with hands thrown up in the air carelessly, prompting Kirishima to again grab her legs to keep her stable before she can fall the impressive distance to the ground.

“Good to hear it!” he gives back the same energy, even uses his hands to kick her feet against his chest, drawing out more giggles from her. When he says more, though, it’s aimed directly at you, voice amiable. “What were you doing up on that death trap, anyway?”

“It’s just a step stool…”

“How can I help?” he clarifies. The corners of his eyes wrinkle a little as he smiles at you.

You gesture back at the mess behind you. You’re not even sure where the hammer went, you’ll have to go searching before you go back in, but it’s okay; you’d managed to get the nail in deep enough that it’s in no danger of falling, so it’s mostly the unhung suncatcher lying in a heap on the stoop that draw Kirishima’s eye.

He whistles at the sight. “Pretty.”

It does look pretty lying there, crystalline prisms tied together with fishing line. It’ll look even nicer hanging up where the morning sun will catch it and cast rainbows across your front doorway. You think that’ll be a nice way to start the day, out on your porch after you’ve walked the dog, laptop in hand to begin working.

“It’s a Prism Prison.” Riko bends down and leans over so that her mouth is right near Kirishima’s head, and speaks in a stage whisper, eyes wide like she’s telling him a secret.

“Like from Twinklestar?” he asks without missing a beat, and with just the right amount of awe in his tone.

“Uh-huh!”

“Does it have any villains in it?”

“Yeah, yeah! Miss Serpent and Gunk Guy and Novagleam!”

“Novagleam?” Twinklestar’s greatest nemesis—her evil clone, created by a mad scientist, determined to hunt her down and steal her quirk for herself. It’s wildly endearing that Red Riot recognizes the character immediately. “Well, then, we’d better set it up, huh? Otherwise the villains might escape!”

Riko gives a horrified gasp. “Oh, no! We gotta, we gotta!”

She starts squirming around from her perch; Kirishima’s grip tightens on her legs as he chuckles and approaches. A nod from you to the suncatcher takes you a moment to decipher, but as he gets to the first step you realize he intends to help Riko put it up herself and is asking you to hand it up. You dart up ahead of him and by the time you’ve retrieved it he’s moved the step stool and had his hand held out.

Handing it over, you watch as he passes it up to Riko, and with how tall he is—and, therefore, how high up she is on his shoulders—it’s no struggle for her to hook it onto the nail you’d put in mere minutes ago.

She cheers when it settles, and Kirishima whoops in turn, stepping back enough to make sure she won’t hit the very thing they’ve just hung up as he finally sets her down.

“There,” he says. “Now we’re all safe, yeah?”

He casts his gaze over to you, and gives a subtle nod at the step stool to let you know exactly what he’s really saying. It makes your face heat up a little—embarrassed, but only slightly, at the mess of an introduction and his apparent self-assigned duty to make sure it won’t happen again. Maybe you shouldn’t befriend any more pro heroes.

“All right,” he says assuredly, turning over to Bakugo’s door and fiddling with the knob, clearly to open it. “Riko, Daddy wants me to bring ya back to his work to have dinner in the city, we’ll stop by on the way and pick up Ayame from school. Why don’t’cha head on inside and grab somethin’ to play with for the ride? I’ll be right with you to help you pick.”

Riko, like all little kids, jumps at the prospect of visiting her father’s workplace. Squealing, she bursts into the house just as Kirishima pushes the door open and you hear the sound of her footsteps as she sprints up the stairs to her room. You stifle a laugh. She’s probably already dumped all her toys out of her toy chest and is sifting through all the options on the floor.

“Bakugo’ll have your head if he comes home and her room’s a disaster,” you tell him when he turns back to you.

“Ah, but he’ll clean it up anyway, and he likes taking care of things. I’ll be doing him a favor if I leave him a mess.”

You recall, distantly, what you’ve heard of their history together; that they’d been in the same class at UA along with a record-breaking number of other top heroes. Unprecedented, you remember all the reporters saying, even back when they were all first breaking out onto the scene at eighteen and nineteen and twenty. A monster generation of pros, all coming off a war in their first year, trained by All Might himself.

Living right next to you. Helping you put up your suncatcher. Dropping little bombs about the quiet interworkings of their friends’ minds, learned from years of camaraderie.

Best not to ruminate on that too much.

“Don’t think he’d take too kindly to you spilling his secrets, either,” you tease.

“He’ll forgive me.” Kirishima waves it off. He leans against the frame of Bakugo’s front door, one big hand around the edge of the door and swinging it absent-mindedly. “We should exchange numbers, by the way. Odds of this happening again are pretty high, would be good to be able to text you so you can tell Riko what’s happening.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure.”

“Gimme your phone, I’ll call myself.”

You reach into your back pocket to retrieve it and unlock it to hand it over without question. That hand that’d been swinging the door around abandons it, letting it close on him without so much as a jolt to his body, and reaches out to take the device from your outstretched grasp. He looks down at it, finding the phone app easily.

“How’s the garden treating you, by the way?” he asks conversationally as he types in his number.

“Hm?”

“The garden,” he repeats, glancing up. His thumb presses the call button and you hear his back pocket begin to chime with a ringtone. “I helped bring up supplies a few weeks ago, how’s it going?”

“Oh! Thank you! I would’ve struggled getting all that up there without you guys, you helped a lot. It’s going well! Things’ve been sprouting and some are beginning to blossom, we’re gonna plant for the summer sometime soon. I could probably give you some if you want. You like zucchini?”

“I will adore any homegrown vegetables, dead serious.”

He certainly sounds dead serious. You smile. “Perfect answer. I’ll have Bakugo bring you some of the next harvest.”

Grinning, those sharp teeth on full display, he hands back your phone and you take it. “I look forward to it.”

Where Riko’s visits tend to be requested by Bakugo and done mostly out of necessity (no less welcome, though, of course), Ayame’s occur during much the opposite times. Often she’ll stay behind after he comes and picks up Riko, claiming that she works better at your place. She’ll also show up at your front door later in the afternoon, backpack slung over her shoulder, complaining about her house being too loud with Riko watching shows or Bakugo helping with her homework. You invite her in every time.

Then she joins that club, and for three days a week she doesn’t come home until after Bakugo has. Her visits drop in frequency at first. Then after the first two weeks they increase; she’s compensating, you think. If you didn’t know any better you’d say she missed you. She’d never tell you that, though.

There’s a concept known as parallel play—two toddlers playing adjacent to each other, not quite interacting with one another but undeniably playing together. Ayame’s visits remind you of it. She’ll unpack her bag onto your dining room table and set to work silently while you do your own work, typically on your laptop sitting at the couch or across the table from her or up at the counter bar in your kitchen. You’ll venture into your office to take phone calls, or excuse yourself to the back terrace, but you tend to stay on the main floor with her.

At first she rarely holds more than a few conversations with you, and they’re often little more than you offering food or help with schoolwork and her turning you down. By the time she joins her club she becomes a little more talkative—often about her work, sometimes about her day. The latter you tend to have to probe for.

You ask if she wants to stay for dinner every time. She’s yet to accept. As the weeks go by, however, she grows more hesitant to reject the offer; soon enough, you think, she might just do it.

Today she’s been particularly quiet. It’s been three weeks since she joined the club; even you can’t tell how much she’s enjoying it and how much she’s merely done it to get the adults in her life off her back. You’re pretty sure she likes it okay.

Her teachers, you know, had been pressuring her to join an extracurricular. There’d been leniency for the first few months of the semester, a general understanding of and sympathy for her situation (it’s hardly easy to transfer to a new school so suddenly, let alone as a result of one’s mother passing and being forced to move away from one’s childhood home to live with a man you’ve never met before) allowing her some time to breathe, but life doesn’t stand still no matter how much one feels it ought to. Teenagers might be distinctly lacking in forethought, but Ayame has enough sense to give in on certain matters.

You haven’t pushed her to tell you about what she’s doing. You know she’s wary of you, worried you’ll go running to Bakugo immediately, and you can respect that. Frankly you’re also just not as interested as he and Riko are—you figure if it’s something embarrassing then you’d just feel bad if you wheedled it out of her, and it isn’t as if you think she’s doing something wrong.

So you haven’t so much as mentioned that Riko keeps asking you about it, even if you find it amusing. Ayame, however, is notably more suspicious than thankful.

“You haven’t asked me about my club,” she says as you sit down across from her after making yourself tea. She’s been working for nearly two hours with you; you’d just had to step out to take a call. “Why not?”

You shrug. “If you wanna keep something a secret that’s your right, I’m not gonna try to pry it out of you.”

“Oh…” The tension in her shoulders eases a little, defensive posture loosening as she sits up straighter. “Thank you. I thought for sure you’d be curious.”

“Well, I’m not not curious,” you clarify. “But my curiosity doesn’t trump your comfort. I’m okay never knowing if you never want me to.”

She doesn’t seem to know how to respond to that. She stares at you, mouth slightly agape, but doesn’t say anything; instead, after a few moments and with a light dusting of pink across the bridge of her nose, her head snaps downward and she returns her attention to the papers before her.

You do the same. It’s silent for some time, a few minutes, as the pair of you work sitting across the table from each other. But then Ayame speaks, suddenly, voice wavering a little with hesitance and bashfulness and unable to meet your eye fully.

“It’s cooking,” she says. You look up from your laptop and raise a brow, silently asking her to clarify. She does. “The club I joined. I wanted to join the cooking club at my old school but… I never had the chance to. I always had to watch Riko.”

“Ah.” You nod in understanding. “I’m glad you have the chance now. It’s an important skill to learn.”

“Don’t tell Uncle,” she demands curtly. “Or Riko, because she’ll tell Uncle.”

Now you lower your laptop, just slightly. Her shoulders tense from the motion. You ask anyway, though you know it’s at the prospect of the question you’re about to pose.

“I won’t, I promise. But… can I ask why not?”

For a moment, you wonder if she’ll answer at all, or if she’ll stubbornly ignore the question and remain silent for the rest of the visit as she has so many of the other times you’ve pushed for explanations like this. She surprises you instead by sighing, and tapping her pencil rapidly against the table, and then answering.

“Because he’ll get pissy.” It’s sullen, and she obstinately refuses to look up from her work, but she responds. You give a warm smile of encouragement, and she sighs again. “He’s, like, really particular about cooking, okay? But if he knew I wanted to learn from someone else he’d get all… y’know. Pissy. ‘Cause he cares or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you repeat, not entirely mocking but rather in agreement. “Is he bad?”

“At cooking? No. He’s good. Really good.”

“So..?”

“So that’s the problem. It’s intimidating being in the kitchen with him and not knowing, like, how to cut things or what temperature to cook at. He’s always judging, and yelling at me when I mess up.” She hunkers down where she’s seated, crossing her arms. Her next words are quieter, and you might call them petulant if they weren’t clearly laced with hurt. “He never yells at Riko when she makes a mess…”

You wish you could comfort her more. Maybe Bakugo does yell at her, and maybe he doesn’t yell at Riko, but in your experience even his normal voice sounds irritated and you’d probably wager a guess that she’s misinterpreting, and whether or not that’s the case it certainly doesn’t help the way she feels about it. So you take a different approach.

“It’s very mature of you to find an alternative way to learn, then. You must care about this a lot.”

It works. She perks up at the praise.

“Mom was always busy… she never had the time to help me learn. Or cook much at all, anyway. But I’ve always wanted to know.” It’s the first time you’ve heard her talk about her mother, you realize. Her tone is melancholy, a little wistful. She swallows, shakes her head, and adds, “And—and when I go visit Grandmother, I’d like to have some skills beforehand, so that I can focus on learning the recipes and not the basics.”

“Well, your secret’s safe with me. And…” you hesitate, not entirely sure how she’ll take it, but say it anyway. “I’m willing to teach you some things, too, if you want.”

Her head snaps up to you, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome, and I’m always making something.”

“Thank you!”

“In fact,” you start, “do you wanna help me cut strawberries?”

“Like… right now?’

“Yeah. I’m making a strawberry shortcake later this afternoon.” You look down at where she still has schoolwork scattered across the table. “Oh, if you have to keep working that’s okay. We can do it another time, too—”

“No!” she exclaims, already jumping to her feet. “I’m okay. I wanna help! But I do have to go back soon, Uncle’s gonna be making dinner soon and he’ll probably want me home so I can make sure Riko doesn’t interrupt him.”

Nodding, you stand up after her. “Understood. We’ll be quick, then. But not too quick, because we’ll be cutting things, and I’m pretty sure if I send you back to Bakugo with fewer fingers than you had when you showed up then I’ll get arrested or something.”

The joke gets you a little laugh. You think it might be pity, but you don’t really mind.

The strawberries are in the fridge. You direct Ayame to get out two cutting boards as you rinse them, dropping them into a paper towel lined bowl and setting them down in between the two cutting boards she’s laid out on the counter.

“Knives are in the knife block next to the sink,” you command her next. “You want a small one, a paring knife, not a really big one.”

She nods. It’s not until she’s pulled out an older one that you realize the one she ought to be using isn’t in the block at all—you’d used it this morning and cleaned it by hand, so it’s on the drying rack where you’d put it to let it air dry,

“Mmm, sorry, not that one.” You reach over to take the knife from the drying rack and slide it over on the counter for her to use. “This one’s sharper. Safer.”

Ayame’s brow furrows. “Wouldn’t that be more dangerous?”

“The opposite, actually. A dull knife can still cut you easily, but you’ll struggle more with cutting what you want to cut, so accidents are more likely. A sharp knife, however, will cut things far easier, and do what you want it to do with less force.”

“I see…”

“Now. Let me cut one.” You pull out a strawberry, one big enough for her to see what you do with it. “Pull off the leaves, throw those out. Then we cut it in half, put the flat side on the board, and cut out the center white part with the stem. Other half, and now we’re done.”

You hold up the cutting board to show her more clearly what you’ve done. Then you pick up both pieces and drop them into the bowl you’ve set up in between the pair of you.

“Now you try.”

“Okay,” Ayame says, clearly more to herself than to you. She pulls the leaves off, then holds out her knife and begins to follow your lead, cutting the fruit in half before setting the flat side down. “Cut out the center.”

“Careful, don’t point the blade at your fingers like that. You could slip really easily and chop off part of them instead of the strawberry.” You reach out slowly, trying hard not to startle her, and move the knife and her fingers into a far more safe position. “There, see how your fingers’ll be out of the way even if the knife slips?”

She nods. “Yeah… Okay, yeah. Lemme try again.”

She does it perfectly the second time around. You tell her as much, watching as she swells up with pride, and then turn to your own cutting board to take your half of the strawberries and start hacking through them. She doesn’t need any more help past what you give to her at the start; you’re still faster by leagues, certainly, but it’s to be expected. You’ve had far more practice.

Soon enough you’re finishing not just your own portion, but half of Ayame’s that you stole as well. She’s nearing the end of what’s left in her bowl; in fact, just as she finishes the last one, her phone lights up. You pause in your own work, glancing over as she checks the message.

“It’s from Uncle,” she says, attention fixated on the phone screen. “He wants me to go help Riko with her homework while he works on dinner.”

“Then you’d better head back over.”

She looks up to meet your eye. She seems hesitant—a little dejected. “Yeah. I’ll, uh… I’ll help clean up? I’m sure it can wait a few minutes…”

“No need, you were already helping me by cutting. I’ll bring over some of the shortcake when I’m done with it, sounds good?” You wink at her. “The best part of cooking is getting to eat the fruit of your labor, we wouldn’t want you to miss out.”

“Okay.” She’s smiling now, nodding at you, clearly excited by the prospect.

“And if you like it, I could send you the recipe. It’s fairly easy, good for beginners.”

“Yeah! Definitely! See you after dinner, then.”

With that promise, she’s heading for the door, pausing only momentarily to nab a cut strawberry to pop in her mouth as she’s leaving.

Spring gives way to summer. Your days are occupied with the garden and with work; the end of the semester draws near for the girls, Ayame is busy preparing for exams which, ironically, means you’re seeing more of her. She studies late with you now, staying for dinner on occasion, and she even helps you make it sometimes, finally confident enough after weeks attending her cooking club to allow herself more freedom in the kitchen.

You find it surprisingly nice. There’s a certain kind of pride that comes with aiding her, helping her along and cheering alongside her when she does it properly for the first time. And with seeing her become more and more comfortable cooking, and by extension with you.

That isn’t to say she’s entirely open. She still locks up sometimes, goes quiet when you say something that reminds her of her mother or pry a little too hard. On very sparse occasions she’s had to leave and go back home—you look on the bright side when that happens, that she’s comfortable enough at Bakugo’s (or, perhaps more accurately, with Riko) that it’s a place she can go to calm down when she’s feeling too much.

Riko, meanwhile, eagerly awaits summer break. She’s made countless friends at her new school, and she talks at length about every one, excitedly telling you about how they’ll see each other every day while school’s out and play when they don’t have to do schoolwork. She’s expressing a bit more interest in the garden, too, after a day where her teachers explained how good for the environment household gardens are.

In the last remaining weeks of the first semester, a large plant appears in a pot in the corner of the roof.

You certainly didn’t plant it, nor did you bring up the pot or the soil or anything else. But it’s meticulously cared for, large and thriving, and though you don’t mess with it too much you do pay enough attention to notice when it begins to flower and then, slowly, bear fruit.

It’s a pepper plant. Not a bell pepper, certainly—hot peppers. Thai chili peppers, you’re fairly certain; they’re the right size and, as they continue to grow, your little inspections begin to leave your fingers feeling itchy with the telltale sensation of capsaicin.

Where before you thought it might have been Ayame’s pet project, the realization of what they are has you assuming a new culprit. And that assumption is proven correct a few days into the girls’ summer break.

Now that the weather is sweltering, and the midday sun is borderline unbearable, you shift your gardening time to after dinner when the sun is lowering. Of course that does very little for the bugs, and it leaves you with fading light, but you prefer it over the heat.

Bakugo apparently does too. Or perhaps he just doesn’t have the time otherwise. Either way, when you climb up the metal steps to access the roof, you find him crouched over the mysterious pepper plant.

For a moment, you watch. He’s solidly occupied by it, with his own set of supplies at his feet and his attention solely on the plant. You can’t quite see what he’s doing, but he’s definitely looking at the peppers; you get small glimpses of his face and he looks, you think, strikingly serene.

The missing scowl almost throws you for a loop. You’d have thought it’d be permanent by now, but clearly it isn’t.

And you’ve had enough of your creeping. You clear your throat, walking up onto the roof to catch his attention. “Lovely evening for gardening, huh?”

He looks up. The serene expression is gone; you almost wish you could bring it back yourself.

“I was wondering what that plant was,” you say, undeterred by his silence. “Should’ve figured it was yours. Dunno why Ayame would be growing chili peppers.”

“I’ve had it for years, actually.”

His voice, when he finally speaks, is nice to hear, even if it’s gravelly and curtt. You cock your head at the admission.

“Really? Kept it indoors?”

“Balconies, mostly. The terrace for a bit. Too shady, though. Full sun up here’s better.”

“It seems to like it.”

“Yeah…” Bakugo looks back down at it, clearly proud. “Been usin’ this plant forever. You like spice?”

You shrug. “Normal amount.” Then your eyes narrow as you give him a side-eye. “Something tells me my normal is different from your normal, though.”

He snorts. “Probably. S’okay, just means we won’t be competin’ too bad for these things.”

“True enough, I suppose. How long have you had it?”

“‘bout a year. Give or take. Longer than I’ve had this house, that’s for damn sure. Lugged it all the way to the back terrace when I first showed up, dirt ‘n all.”

“You take good care of it.”

He puffs at the compliment, just slightly. Not much.

“‘Course I fuckin’ do.” He stands, rolling out his shoulders and loosening himself up from squatting for what you’re sure is a long while. Meanwhile you pick a spot and kneel next to it, pulling out tools and other supplies from the tote you use to bring it all up. “I better head back down before the girls drive each other insane. Enjoy your gardening.”

“Mmm. I will.”

He goes to head down the stairs, but pauses, turning back momentarily to look at you. “Oh, one more thing.”

“Yeah?” You lean back to look at him, just in time to see his eyes jump up from what you’re pretty sure is the spot under your legs. You look down, where your thighs are taut from your position and bulging where the tiny shorts you have on are pressing into the skin, and move them to check beneath. “What were you looking at?”

When you find nothing, you return your gaze to him, and he’s pointedly looking away; it’s difficult to tell in the fading light but you think he might be a bit pink.

“Nothin’,” he mutters, barely audible from how far away you are.

“But—”

“Nothin’!” he says again, louder, as he raises a hand to rub down his face in exasperation. “Just—forget it. Didn’t see shit. Wasn’t even what I wanted to tell ya.”

“Okay…” you draw out the word in confusion. “What did you want to tell me?”

“We’ll, uh. We’ll be taking a trip to see my parents next weekend.” He’s flustered, you realize; voice gruff as always but less assured than normal, stumbling over his words just slightly. It’s endearing, though you’re still perplexed by what brought it on. He clears his throat. “Just… y’know, figured you should know.”

“Oh? Have fun.”

“We’ll be back ‘round Tuesday.” His attention snaps over to the pepper plant. “Peppers should be ready to harvest ‘round then… ‘ll be able to grab the early ones ‘n the late ones, but go ‘head ‘n nab the rest if I’m gone.”

“Sure thing.”

“Don’t let ‘em go to waste.”

“I make no promises except that I’ll try.”

“‘kay, y’got me there. Night, then.” He pauses, a little frown, eyes off in the distance as, despite saying goodnight, he still hovers. That red gaze darts back to you. “Don’t stay up too long.”

“I won’t.” You raise an eyebrow. “Don’t fall on your way down.”

This time he huffs out a bit of laughter. And rolls his eyes, taking the hint as he turns to really leave. “Fuckin’ won’t. No nagging needed.”

Before you can retort that he’d nagged you first, he’s gone, and you stare a little dazedly at the place he’d just disappeared. Had he been dawdling to keep talking to you? You couldn’t tell.

Shaking your head, you turn back to your plants. No use lingering on it.

Ayame shows up at your door unannounced one Tuesday morning directly after they return from their trip to Bakugo’s parents’. You find her leaning up against the side of your house, right next to the door, as you return from your walk with Tadeo’s leash in hand.

She greets Tadeo eagerly, though that’s easily overshadowed by his own frenzy. His tail wags so enthusiastically that his whole butt shakes, and he attempts to jump on her once—she puts a stop to that by pushing his paws off her thighs and giving him a stern “no” before bending down to his height to pat his head.

“Good boy,” she coos to him, then looks up at you without letting up from her affection. “Morning.”

“Morning! You’re here early.”

She’s dressed fashionably, in distressed jean shorts with fishnets beneath and a ripped-up black t-shirt with a skull on it. The bright pink band on her wrist might ruin the aesthetic, but she makes it work; Riko gave it to her. At your words she stands to look at you fully.

“I know, I…” She frowns, looking away and shoving her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I dunno. I needed to talk, I guess? And you were… my first thought? So here I am?”

“Here you are,” you repeat. “You’re always welcome to talk with me, whenever you want to. Come inside, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks.” The tension in her shoulders eases at your words. She follows you quietly when you open your door and gesture for her to join you. You haven’t set out your guest slippers for her—this visit, after all, is unexpected—but she’s seen you take them out enough times that she finds them with little prompt before you can finish taking Tadeo’s harness off. He sprints off to wait by his food bowl the moment he’s free.

“Have you had breakfast?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen. “I usually make mine now.”

“Um… no, but I’ll be making breakfast with everyone this morning. Uncle’s up but we’re waiting on Riko, she’ll probably wake up in an hour or so. Thanks, though.”

You nod in acceptance. “Let’s just have some tea, then. Let me know if you change your mind, though; we have time and I have plenty of food.”

The first thing to do is feed Tadeo—you direct Ayame to do that, turning your own attention to brewing a pot of green tea for both of you as she scoops kibble into his bowl. Predictably, he sets about devouring it as soon as it hits the metal, and without you asking her to, Ayame has already removed the water bowl from the raised tray to dump and refill it.

It’s quiet as you prepare the tea. You decide that if she wanted to talk now, she’d have initiated it; instead she leans herself back against the countertop and watches as you pad about the kitchen. She might not be eating with you but you take the chance to start the rice for your own breakfast, rinsing it and turning the cooker on while the water comes to temperature.

Once the tea is steeping, however, you send her to sit at your dining table; she seems a little stiff still, but better. Hopefully even more so as she gets more comfortable. You join her quickly.

Sliding her cup of tea over the table and hugging your own as you sit down, you give her a warm smile. “All right, what’s up? Is this about your trip?”

She’s been stressing about it, you know. Worried that Bakugo’s parents will reject her.

“No. It’s—” Ayame cuts herself off with a sigh. Shoulders tense, she stares down at the steaming cup in her hands with a strange look on her face. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh?”

Her nose wrinkles. “If you’re gonna be weird I’m not gonna talk to you.”

“I won’t be weird, promise. You sound like you’re very conflicted.”

“Hayao’s his name. He’s the first guy who’s ever been interested in me and he’s, like… I dunno. One of the cutest guys at school. All my friends were so jealous when he asked for my phone number.”

“Yeah? Sounds flattering that he was interested.”

“It was. Is! I mean, he really is cute… They say he was on the hero track in junior high, but his parents refused to let him do something that dangerous. And he’s pretty smart. He asked me to help him study for our literature exam at the end of the semester, which is how I knew he was, like, into me? Because he didn’t really need the help, yanno? Which was cute. And—yeah, flattering. He asked me out on the last day of the semester, right before break. I thought it’d be nice, getting to go on dates and stuff when school’s out. But…” She trails off. Her gaze falls to her tea before her, and she traces the rim dejectedly with the pad of a finger.

“But?”

“But, I dunno. It’s just not really working? He kinda ignores me whenever we hang out as a group and his friends kinda laugh when I try to talk to him. And he lets other girls hang around him all the time—people don’t really know we’re, like, together, so I don’t blame them but I mean he should tell them right? I dunno. I feel kinda sick when I see him now, or when I might see him, or when he texts me. Like my stomach drops and I almost wanna throw up? My friends say it’s probably butterflies but I really don’t think it is. I think it’s anxiety? I dunno.”

“I see.” You nod sagely. “We do not like this boy. Message received.”

“No, it’s—” She cuts herself off with a huff and her eyes cut to the side. Still cradling her teacup, her knuckles go white with a self-soothing grip. “The truth is I don’t think he really likes me.”

“Oh.”

“Like…” Ayame’s shoulders slump. “My friends are like ‘just go along with it, you’ve never been asked out before’ but I’m miserable. All he wants to do is talk about school and Dynamight.”

That makes you pause. You hadn’t quite thought about it, but it makes sense in hindsight—people wanting to get to know her and Riko because of their connection to the number two hero. Especially stupid, shallow teenage boys with no understanding of how much that might sting.

“Well… okay. Firstly, I have to say I disagree with your friends here. No guy is worth feeling miserable for.” You pause, and she snorts, but doesn’t disagree. So you continue. “Do you wanna work out what you think you should do? Or just vent, because I’m here either way.”

“I… dunno what I can do.”

“Well, you could always break up with him, no shame in that. Or,” you add quickly when she opens her mouth, “you could talk to him about it, communicate what’s wrong. If he’s the kind of boy you should stick it out for, he’ll be receptive to that.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring dejectedly into her tea before her. You let her think, process your words, while you sip on your own and watch as Tadeo, done with his breakfast, waddles over to his favorite armchair and hauls himself up to settle in for the morning.

Then you turn your attention back to your visitor.

“What’re you thinking?”

“I…” She sighs. “I don’t know if he’ll be receptive.”

“You never will unless you try.” You take a sip of your tea and give yourself a moment to arrange your thoughts. When you can order them into the right sentences to get across what you want to say, you lean in, lacing your fingers together on the table in front of you. “Look, Ayame, relationships are hard. They take work, even when it’s the right person. I’m not going to tell you if this boy is right or wrong, you’re the only person who can decide that. But no matter what, none of your choices here are going to be easy.”

Ayame squirms in her seat. That, clearly, had been the wrong way to go about it. You can practically see her shutting down at the prospect. A new approach, then—you lean back instead, bracing yourself on the floor with your arms and looking across the table at her.

“You know, the first guy who ever expressed interest in me was the school delinquent when I was a second year. Real cute—though he’d take issue with that description—very charming, got in a fight for me. I liked him a lot, I really did. But..” You let it linger, hoping to create intrigue.

It works; she looks up at you, tilting her head in question. “But?”

“I wasn’t ready.”

She ruminates on that for a moment. Her face is pensive, her gaze unfocused. “How’d you figure that out?”

“I melted down two days after he first asked me out and my mom had to break up with him for me on my phone while I was crying my eyes out on our living room floor.”

Ayame gives a burst of laughter, then covers her mouth. You shake your head and laugh, too.

“It’s okay to laugh, it’s funny. Really!” you insist when she shakes her head in disbelief. “She read the text out loud and I was wailing, absolutely bawling, rolling around on the floor begging her not to and then begging her to just send the message. I swear, that woman had so much patience for me…”

“How’d your dad react?”

The question, admittedly, takes you aback. You tilt your head, trying to gauge Ayame’s intent—it’s an odd jump to make, you think, but she’s looking a little expectant and you realize she’s fishing. You haven’t talked to her about your father before. So you decide to be candid.

“I don’t have one, actually. Had a stepdad for a bit when I was really young but he left… when I was about Riko’s age, maybe a bit younger. Then it was just me and my mom—at least, until I got accepted to university and my grandparents offered to put me through it.” You smile softly, hoping to get across your affection instead of letting Ayame feel awkward or ashamed for asking. It only kind of works.

“Oh.” She deflates a bit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize…”

“It’s okay, it’s not something I try to hide. And you didn’t know either way. Besides,” you gesture between the two of you, “we gotta stick together, yeah?”

If you weren’t looking for it, you might have missed the way her lips quirk up slightly at your declaration. “Yeah.”

“Good. So I wasn’t ready—that was my point. Who knows what would’ve happened if I’d tried to force it; maybe I would’ve been miserable and come to resent him, and he didn’t deserve that. The way it worked out was better for both of us.”

“How?” She sounds a little desperate. You think you understand. It must be hard to believe that her situation can work out. Maybe that’s right—maybe this specific boy really can’t—but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.

“How’d it work out? Kenzou and I stayed friends—well,” you hold up your hands to do air quotes, “‘friends,’ because admittedly we were both still pining—until graduation when I kissed him and we started going out for real. And that lasted a good long while the second time around. I don’t regret taking a little longer to date him, because it meant that when I was ready it was a much more successful experience. And trust me, if a boy really likes you, he won’t care.”

“You mean he’ll wait for me?”

You tilt your head. It’s more difficult than you anticipated, walking the line between encouragement and setting her expectations too high.

“If he likes you,” you settle upon saying, because it’s safe. Safer than telling her this boy will wait for her; you honestly doubt that, from what she’s been telling you. “And if he’s the kind of person who’s satisfied with that. But if he doesn’t, it’s not your fault. There’ll be other boys who do like you and who are the kind of person who’ll wait for you, if needed.”

“I guess.”

“Just trust me on this. It’s true.”

“I… okay.”

She doesn’t believe you, that much is obvious. It’s never going to be easy to convince a teenager that life continues after high school—never going to be easy to convince them that what’s before them right now might not be the ultimate happiness they think it is. Maybe you should have just told her that he’s a jerk and she shouldn’t waste her time.

But no, it means more if she comes to that conclusion herself. All you can do is finish your cup of tea and hope she takes what you’ve said to heart.

“How’d he get in a fight for you,” Ayame asks suddenly.

“Who, Kenzou? My high school boyfriend?” You chuckle. “Teenagers tend to be a lot more subtle than younger kids, but I still got picked on a lot for being quirkless. He caught some boys stealing my stuff—one of them was levitating it up above me so I couldn’t reach it—and stepped in.”

“And beat them up?” She’s excited now, a little starry-eyed at the concept.

“Oh, soundly. Used his quirk to overpower them—he was a hero prospect, too, once upon a time, though he’s always been too critical of the hero system to become one, even back then. ‘Course quirk usage got him in a world of trouble with administration, but… he always said it was worth it to meet me. I learned later on that he’d liked me for a while, actually, just didn’t know how to approach me.”

“Wow, that’s… so romantic. I wish a guy would do something like that for me…” A sigh, wistful, and you’re reminded that the girl before you has never had a relationship before. She deserves a first boyfriend like your own, you think. “I can’t believe you’re not still together.”

You snort. “Well, our lives just diverged. We’re still friends! He visits me whenever he’s back in Japan.”

“Back in Japan?” The awestruck tone has returned tenfold. “Where does he go?”

“Oh, all over the place. To tell you the truth I hardly know what he does. Something about quirk research, it’s all a little over my head honestly. But he comes back about twice a year to see his family and stops by when he has the chance. I’m sure you’ll see him someday.”

Just as you finish the sentence, in the kitchen behind you, your rice maker gives a little chime to indicate it’s done. You pause to look back at it, and—prompted by the music—Ayame glances at the clock on your wall.

Her eyes widen as she takes in the time. “Oh! I should probably go back, Riko should be up now.”

She jumps up from her seated position, careful not to rattle the teacups on the table. You follow after her, albeit more slowly, as she removes the house slippers (you should get a pair just for her, you think; Riko, too) to change back into her shoes.

“Thank you!” she says as she opens the door to go, turning back to give you a small bow that makes you grin from where you hover just inside. “I don’t know if I’ll break up with him… but your advice helped. I’ll see you this weekend? For the garden?”

“This weekend,” you assure her, and with that she runs off to catch her train.

The following morning, as you return from your daily walk with Tadeo, you find your neighbors (plus one) gathered at the front stoop.

The addition is a teenage boy. A little taller than Ayame, dressed in the most unremarkable teenage boy outfit you think you’ve ever seen, he hovers near her and seemingly refuses to take his attention away from Bakugo, who he’s intently talking to. Riko stands at her father’s side, hand in his, while Ayame is turned away with her arms crossed over her chest and a frown gracing her lips.

Riko is the one who notices you, turning and waving with her free hand as she tugs at the other one to get Bakugo’s attention.

“Miss Sunny! Miss Sunny!”

You give a little wave, gesturing for her to return her attention to her father, and intend to pass on by without issue. Unfortunately Tadeo has different plans.

He goes certifiably insane as you try to pass, barking up a storm and managing to tug so hard against his leash that you stumble (a true feat of strength, considering how small and how old he is) towards the group of four at the front of the steps. You do your best to reel him in but he’s making a beeline straight for Ayame’s visitor and before you can manage to pull him back towards you to pick him up, he reaches the boy’s legs.

The kid (what was his name? Hayato?) yelps, leaping back and almost cowering behind Ayame. She seems unimpressed—the whole family does, and you almost feel sorry for him considering he now has the number two pro hero, a seven year old, and his own high school sweetheart staring at him in varying levels of disdain. You hadn’t even known Riko could look that bored.

Tadeo seems largely unfazed by the sudden movement. He attempts to out-maneuver and bypass Ayame’s body but she’s faster, head whipping down from where she’d been staring down her nose at her friend to bend over and snatch up your dog swiftly and gently.

He’s still yapping up a storm when she hands him off to you with a troubled expression.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily. “He’s usually so chill. Dunno what’s up with him today.”

The kid (Hayao, you remember suddenly. You’d been close enough) side-eyes Bakugo, stepping forward slightly and opening his mouth to speak when your neighbor beats him to it.

“Nah, s’fine.” He gives a dismissing wave of his hand. “Mutt’s so old I doubt he even has teeth left to bite with.”

“Yeah,” Hayao rushes to agree. “It’s okay.”

“Yeah?” Tadeo makes a particularly valiant struggle in your arms, wiggling around. You might be playing up how hard it is to keep hold of him, if only to watch the boy’s eyes land on your dog and widen as he hesitantly takes a step back. “Don’t worry, I got him.”

“Well it doesn’t matter,” Ayame cuts in, “because we gotta go or we’ll be late.”

Hayao’s attention is pulled from the dog as she grabs him by the wrist and begins tugging him away down the road. He stumbles after her; before they can get far, however, Riko darts forward to intercept.

She gives the teen a hug, wrapping arms around his waist and looking up with a bright grin to say, “Bye-bye!”

He seems to startle from it. He’s stiff as he stares down at her with wide, baffled eyes and clearly has no clue what to do with his hands as he holds them both out wildly. “Uh, yeah, bye.” Then he looks up at her father with a strikingly nervous expression. “Good to—to meet you, Mr. Bakugo—Mr. Dynamight, sir.”

Ayame pulls her sister off him, hissing something like stop being weird before grabbing Hayao’s hand again and pulling him down the road all the more insistently. Riko is entirely unaffected as she stands with suspiciously innocent posture and waves as they head off.

She comes bounding up to where you’re hovering next to Bakugo with Tadeo still in your arms. You set the dog down as Ayame and Hayao disappear over the hill, and Riko sidles up next to her father.

“Did he notice?” he asks, still looking down the road.

“No, daddy,” she says sweetly, giggling like it’s the funniest joke she’s ever made. You glance down at her to find that she’s not-so-subtly trying to shove something into Bakugo’s hand.

“Nothing less from my best fuckin’ sidekick,” he responds gruffly as he takes whatever she’s trying to give him. You can only gape as he turns to you—no, your dog—and bends down to offer Tadeo the mystery item.

It’s a dog treat. You remember a jar full of them always on the kitchen counter back when your grandparents still lived in your current home. You’d asked them where they bought the things, because they looked fancy as hell and Tadeo always seemed to adore them—still does, clearly, judging by the way he barks and his whole lower half shakes with the force of his tail wagging—but you’d never gotten a straight answer. Now you think you might have found it.

“Played your part well, too, mutt.” It’s surprisingly affectionate—for Bakugo, anyway. He gives Tadeo a pat on the head as the dog snarfs down the gift; you haven’t yet overcome your shock when he stands.

“What the fuck,” you’re saying before you can stop yourself. “Is that why he was being weird?”

“Used to love those things. Made ‘em for him all the time.” Bakugo stands to his full height before turning to his daughter. “Ready to go, bug?”

“Whoa, whoa, no you can’t just leave after that, I need an explanation.”

Bakugo doesn’t answer you at first; he lifts Riko with ease, resting her on his hip. She’s still acting incredibly self-satisfied.

“My dad asked me to put a dog treat in Hayao’s pocket,” she tells you smugly.

Her father frowns, turning to her and raising his free hand to press a finger to his lips and shush her playfully. “We agreed not to tell anyone. Secret mission, yeah?”

She pouts at the reprimand. You interrupt, slightly annoyed.

“Why, exactly?”

“He’s not really interested in Ayame,” he tells you hotly, though you get the feeling the anger isn’t directed at you. “Punk’s just some fuckin’ hero fan. Wanted to meet me, weasel his way into my good graces or some shit. If I told Ayame directly she’d just get pissed off at me. Trusts the mutt, though, so figured I’d use that.”

The explanation surprises you, just a little. Frankly you hadn’t thought he’d paid enough attention—not to Ayame’s emotional state but to her boyfriend himself and his unsaid intentions behind asking her out—to have come to such a conclusion. Ayame almost certainly hadn’t told him as she’d told you, so it had to have been his own observations and his own conclusion from them. You wonder, briefly, if you ought to tell him about the conversation yesterday morning, but decide not to. It feels like a breach of trust somehow, and even if she doesn’t feel comfortable talking to her guardian about things you’d rather not make her feel like she can’t trust you, either.

Riko, however, has a different plan. Perched against Bakugo’s hip, she squirms, calling for the attention of both of you.

“Ayame told me Miss Sunny told her to break up with him,” she informs the both of you proudly.

Bakugo’s head snaps back to you. You shrug. “She came to ask for my advice yesterday morning.”

“That’s why she was stompin’ around so early? Thought she had a school thing.”

“Don’t you get up that early?”

“I don’t stomp.”

Biting your lip, you meet Riko’s eye and widen your own comically until she giggles. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“I don’t,” he insists, sounding indignant.

“He does!” Riko interjects. “He stomps all around and wakes us up when we’re sleeping even though we’re all the way upstairs.”

You raise an eyebrow and meet Bakugo’s gaze. It doesn’t even require words—he narrows his eyes in response and turns Riko away from you.

“Don’t manipulate my daughter. She’s only sayin’ that ‘cause you laughed.”

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Playin’ dumb doesn’t suit you.” You watch his jaw tighten with his words, and it makes a smile pull at your lips. It’s never less than amusing, the way he takes things so seriously.

“Still in the dark here,” you respond, voice sing-songing. “I’ve thought up my fine, by the way.”

“Your fine?”

“Yes. My fine. Well, Tadeo’s, I suppose.”

“For what?” Bakugo sounds incredulous.

“For his participation in your plan,” you chirp in response. “You used my dog, you have to give him something in return.”

“We gave him a treat!” Riko pipes up helpfully in response.

“Ah, true, but he played a vital role, no? Wouldn’t you say he ought to get more?”

“Hmmm…” she purses her lips, mimicking someone thinking hard, before nodding enthusiastically. “Yeah! He should get all the treats he can have!”

“I agree.” You nod with her before returning your attention to her father. “So, in order to provide him with as many treats as he deserves, the fine is you telling me where to get those, because I could never get a straight answer out of my grandparents…”

His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, and you can tell already that he’s going to brush you off. Sorry, bud, you’re already telling Tadeo in your head, because you’re never going to learn where his favorite treats come from.

Riko, however, has different intentions.

“Oh! Oh! I know!”

“Riko—” Bakugo starts, but she’s already saying it.

“Daddy makes them! He makes them from scratch! I helped him yesterday, he asked me to help knead the dough, but I wasn’t allowed to help put them in the oven because the pans are too heavy and it’s too hot and I might burn myself.”

Against your will, your jaw drops a little. When, you wonder, will this man stop surprising you—making dog treats from scratch for your grandparents’ elderly dog? You’d never have guessed. Your mind recalls the jar of them from a year ago, full to the brim every time you’d stop by, and wonder how much baking he’d had to do to keep it that way.

“Oh,” is all you can say in response. “So it’s not some… crazy expensive boutique.”

Standing before you, he looks embarrassed; a little sheepish. “Nah. Was gonna give you the rest of the batch tonight, actually. Wouldn’t want ‘em to go to waste.”

“How much?”

He shrugs. Riko bobs with the motion, giggling excitedly. “‘bout thirty. Not a ton.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, how’s this. If Tadeo did his job properly, and Ayame comes back single… you’ll take a day and make five batches. If he didn’t, we just get the leftovers.”

“Deal,” he barks. Riko cheers. Tadeo, not to be outdone, barks as well.

That afternoon you don’t see them—you have a call with a client that lasts well into the afternoon, and on Fridays Bakugo always makes sure to come home early to make and eat dinner as a family. It’s sweet, you think; your mother used to do the same, though on a less consistent schedule. The perks of owning one’s own agency and being one’s own boss, and not having to be subject to the ever-changing requirements of the service industry as your mother had been.

In the evening, however, Ayame and Riko wander up while you’re working on the garden. It’s been thriving; you’ve had to wage a small war with blossom end rot on your beefsteak tomatoes lately, but other than that you haven’t had any pressing issues, and everything else you’ve harvested has been on time and good quality. With summer coming to a close, and the weather beginning to cool, you’ve begun the process of planting for autumn and winter harvests.

Riko finds a spot near the stairs and sits herself down on the concrete before one of the dilapidated flower boxes you’ve yet to clean up, filled with overflowing weeds and stubborn herbs. Her hair is plaited now, two long braids down her back tied with little pink bows at the end—it had been down this morning, and you get the feeling her sister might be behind the style change.

“Uncle’s finishing up dinner,” Ayame tells you as she approaches, and you nod.

“Well, you two are more than welcome out here while you wait, if he says it’s okay.”

“My dad’s a really good cook,” Riko says from behind you.

“Is he now?”

You can’t see, but you can hear how vigorously she’s nodding from the sound of her voice. “Yeah, yeah! He says his daddy taught him.”

“Your grandpa?”

“Yeah! He’s a really good cook, too. He made us food when we went to visit him last weekend.”

“Really? What’d he make?”

Riko regales you with all the food Bakugo’s father made the three of them over the two days of their visit. She lists off all the dishes, then starts on the ingredients—with extensive help from her sister, who corrects her when she mispronounces things or gets lost in her train of thought.

“I got to practice cooking a little,” Ayame adds to you quietly while Riko is talking, smiling excitedly. “Uncle’s mother didn’t let him in the kitchen while I was there, so his father helped me, and let me help him some.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yeah. It was.”

“Did you learn some stuff?”

“He showed me how to make tonkatsu. Said I was a natural, actually.” She sounds proud as she tells you, perhaps a little bashful. “I wanna visit again soon. Uncle said we might go back for a weekend when school starts back up, I think I’d actually be really excited for it.”

It’s then that you realize Riko has stopped talking. You raise a finger to quiet Ayame, who pauses immediately.

“Riko? You wanna keep talking?”

She doesn’t answer. You turn around, only slightly concerned, but find her attention completely gone. She’s turned away from you, having scooted even closer to the busted flower box, and she’s put herself to work on her own form of unstructured gardening as she pulls up weeds and pushes the dirt around into piles. It isn’t impossible to get her to focus and do real gardening with you, but it’s hardly worth it for the minor upkeep you’re doing tonight, so you turn back around and drop the conversation to let her play.

With Riko solidly lost to the infinite possibilities of her imagination and the planter box, you’re left with Ayame, who stands across from you. Beckoning her down to join you in your work is easy; a quiet gesture with your head and she’s kneeling with you, pulling from her pockets gloves that she’d taken from the pile near the stairs.

You hardly have to direct her on what to do. She’s already weeding with you, meticulously plucking unknown stems from amongst the shoots of your late-blooming carrots and radishes and onions.

“It sounds like it was a productive trip for you, too, then,” you tell her.

She nods. “Yeah. It was really nice. Uncle’s parents are great, they were real nice to me. I appreciated it. His mom took me to her work on Monday, actually. She’s a fashion designer. She took me to lunch, too, and we talked. It was… fun.”

“That’s great!” Not that you’d thought it likely for Bakugo’s parents to react poorly, it’s still good to hear that they’d welcomed Ayame readily.

She doesn’t seem to want to keep talking, though. She lets the conversation die down, and you let her, the pair of you focusing on the work before you in silence. Though there’s a more pressing discussion to be had.

Once the pair of you seem to get into a groove, you broach the topic. “So did you do it?”

“Do what?” Ayame blinks at you, and you push down the urge to tell her that she’s not nearly good enough at lying to convince you.

“Break up with him,” you decide to say instead.

“Oh… yeah. I wasn’t really sure this morning—I mean, I wanted to but I didn’t want to? So I wasn’t going to? But…” She moves to kneel next to you, not even bothering with gloves as she digs her hands into the dirt. “Tadeo’s freakout this morning made me change my mind.”

That throws you for a loop. Somehow you hadn’t been expecting it—somehow you’d thought it’d have been your talk with her, if anything. Maybe you should give Bakugo more credit.

“Your talk helped a lot too!” Ayame rushes to add. “I just… well, you told me to choose and I was still unsure. But, like, dogs are really good judges of character, you know? And Hayao… really didn’t like Tadeo, either. He kept talking about him on our way to school. And I don’t wanna be with a guy like that. So I told him we were through when we showed up. Which was probably not a good plan, I probably should have done it after school so he could have the weekend to, like, process or whatever. But I can’t take it back now, I guess.”

“Hey, look at it this way: if you’d waited then you’d have spent the day fretting, and that’s worse than what he got. Plus you might’ve overthought things and not gone through with it. Good on you for getting it over with.”

She doesn’t seem like she believes you; she nods absently, keeps her attention fixed on the work before her. You decide to go for a different approach.

“How’d he take it?”

Ayame makes a face.

You chuckle quietly. “That bad, huh?”

“He was awful. Told me I was a bad girlfriend anyway. Said I was all distant, I guess? Like, we were dating for two weeks. He really can’t judge that. And—and if I was that bad, why didn’t he break up with me first? Would’ve saved me the trouble…”

“How’re you feeling, though?”

“Uh, good, honestly?” She shoves her hands in her pockets, then seems to realize just how dirty they are and removes them, instead moving to brush them off over the seeds she’d just planted. “I mean, all things considered. Also I’m not supposed to know but Riko told me Uncle got me purin from my favorite bistro to cheer me up, so. Great? I guess?”

“Food solves all of life’s woes,” you tell her sagely, and she huffs a laugh. “Really, though, I’m proud of you. Breakups are hard on everyone involved, including the one who does it. It’s a difficult decision to make, but I think you made the right one.”

Again she makes a face, this one even more exaggerated. “Don’t be weird.”

“I’m not being weird! I just think you made a mature choice and I’m proud of you!”

“Yeah, okay.” Despite the dismissive tone, her next words are clearly genuine as she sidles up next to you. “Thanks for the advice, weirdo.”

“You’re always welcome.” You nudge her softly, drawing a smile from her surly face with ease. “I’m just glad it helped.”

She nods. The pair of you fall silent for a moment, you returning your attention to the seeds you’ve just planted and her simply squatting next to you watching you work.

Then a voice calls out her name.

“Ayame!”

You both startle, whipping about to find Bakugo standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed. Though his face is stern, he doesn’t seem angry—no more so than typical, anyway—and the call of her name hadn’t been particularly irate either.

“Set the table,” he orders, then turns to go back down before Ayame has even acknowledged him.

She huffs audibly, and mumbles a snippy response under her breath even as she stands to do as he asked. “Couldn’t even say please? Like living with a drill sergeant.”

Despite yourself, and the knowledge that laughing will only encourage her, you snort in amusement. Luckily he couldn’t have heard either her comment or your reaction—Ayame does, though, and you catch a hint of a smile as she walks over to the stairs where Bakugo waits.

He lets her go down first, then follows, though not before locking eyes with Riko and telling her to behave for you—and then giving you a curt nod before ducking down.

Riko is entirely occupied with her broken-down planter box. It’s funny, you think (adorable, even) how much she enjoys the dirt, when her other primary loves have always been pastel pink and sparkles. Considering her quirk, though—and her mother’s—it makes sense. You suppose you ought to be happy she’s not using it to explode half your garden. Instead, she’s tearing up the weeds from the dirt and using them to make what you’re fairly certain are dolls; little stick figures with arms and legs made of stems and flowers as heads, which she’s moving around in piles of dirt. If you asked, you’re certain each pile would have a convoluted, highly detailed story behind it, explanations for what structures they are and what the different dolls are doing within them. You choose to leave her alone.

Instead you focus your attention back on gardening. While the conversation with Ayame had, obviously, been important to have, you hadn’t actually gotten much work done during it; too busy talking.

So you take the time now to actually garden. There’s mulch to be added, leaves to trim back, plants to water. You tentatively have hope that you’ve fixed the blossom end rot that had been plaguing your tomatoes, though it’s a bit too early to be fully certain of it.

You get to the eggplant, however, and realize that while you hadn’t anticipated it, it’s ready for harvest. You’d brought up the right tools to do it, a pair of shears, but they’re not on your person—they’re over in the pile of supplies you’ve left near the top of the stairs.

Now, you could go get them yourself. But there’s a certain child in the vicinity that you’d like to get to help out at least a little.

“Riko, sweetie,” you call out, “there’s a pair of shears over there that I need. Could you hand them to me? The orange ones?” You reach out your palm and wait for her.

But it’s not an eight year old’s hand that gives you the shears. The hand that reaches out is far too large—larger than your own, even, hardened with rough work and attached to a massive forearm that also couldn’t belong to a little girl. You yelp in shock, yanking your hand back and dropping the tool in the process.

Bakugo grumbles as he stoops to pick it up and you’re left reeling with your hand pressed flush against your chest where your heart hammers rapidly beneath your ribs.

“It’s just me, dumbass.” He holds the packet of seeds out for you again, scowling all the while.

“I didn’t know you were still up here, prick.” There’s a number of more obscene insults you might have employed if not for Riko still hovering in the vicinity, but unlike her father you refuse to encourage that kind of language from her. It doesn’t escape him; his eyes crinkle and his mouth twitches in what must be him holding back laughter. Your own eyes narrow as you stare at him. There are more pressing matters either way—such as how he in all his pro hero muscle managed to climb back up the metal staircase to the roof without making a sound. It’s worth asking. “How are you so quiet when you’re that big?”

“Trade secret.”

The only response you have to give to that answer is a low hum—not quite dismissive, but certainly unamused. You make an attempt to turn your attention back to the box before you, seeds in hand, but Bakugo doesn’t stay quiet for long.

“Riko,” he says suddenly, drawing the girl’s attention from her little floral dolls. “Go help your sister set the table.”

She pouts a little, but with a stern look from her father she’s quickly tossing the handmade doll in her hand to the side, rising to her feet, and darting off back towards the top of the stairs where, you realize, Ayame hovers and is clearly waiting for her—she must have come back up with Bakugo, you think. On her way over, Riko pauses briefly near Bakugo to stand up on her tip-toes and pull him down so that she can press a kiss to his cheek. You smile a little at the sight, at how he caves to her tugging so easily, and at how Ayame beckons her to lead her down the stairs—they’re steep, a little rickety, and you’re glad that Ayame is making Riko go first to ensure she stays safe. They disappear down, the metallic sound of their feet tapping on the iron rungs fading as they descend.

And then you realize that Bakugo is still standing before you, watching you as if waiting for something.

“Is there… a reason you’ve stayed? Need to tell me something?” you ask, but he remains stubbornly silent, still scowling, not quite meeting your eye. You sigh quietly, this time turning away from him entirely to focus on the dirt before you, and mutter under your breath, “Okay. Nice chat.”

There’s a kind of tension in the air. You can’t quite place what it is, but you can feel his stare on your back like the midday sun, and you have a funny feeling that if you were to turn around he’d be wearing an expression on his face like he’d smelled something funny. The only thing you can do, you decide, is continue until he eventually says what he wants to say or gives up and leaves. Luckily you don’t have to wait nearly as long as you feared.

“Was wonderin’ if you wanted to join us for dinner,” he says after a few minutes. You pause in your work.

“Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeats. “You got plans or d’you wanna eat with us?”

Now you stand fully, staring at him with your mouth a little slack. “Oh! I’d, uh—I’d love to! I was hoping to finish planting tonight, though.”

“How much?”

“What?”

He rolls his eyes at you. “How much planting, dumbass. How much time.”

“Um, well, like half an hour if I’m doing it—”

“Then I’ll help.” Bakugo nods decisively. “Food can wait ten minutes.”

Arrogant—for reducing the time to one third by virtue of his help—you might say teasingly if you weren’t half in shock. Instead you nod silently, mouth a little slack, and gesture towards the pile of supplies at the edge of your planter boxes before lowering yourself again to return to your previous task. In your peripheral, you can see him retrieve what you can only assume is gloves and perhaps a trowel before he returns to your position.

Crouching down next to you, he sets to work by your side.

It’s silent for a while. He doesn’t seek direction nearly as much as you had expected; that’s a pleasant surprise, not needing to handhold him through helping you. The other pleasant surprise is that the quiet between you two isn’t awkward. It’s comfortable, easy. There’s no air of awkwardness lingering, or any hovering inability to speak. That’s proven, if anything, by Bakugo breaking it quite suddenly halfway through the work.

“She broke up with him.”

You pause. Ayame, surely, hadn’t informed him; that leaves only one option. “Riko told you?”

He grumbles inaudibly towards the dirt in front of him, and you suppress a laugh. It doesn’t work; he shoots you a glare that has no heat.

“Shaddup,” he barks at you with a scoff. “Ayame told you herself, then?”

“I think she likes me more than you,” you tell him smugly, earning yourself a second scoff, this one louder.

“Y’don’t gotta rub it in. Riko tells me everything, anyway.”

“Mmm. Smart, getting the little one in your pocket. They do teach you some good tricks at those hero schools, huh?”

The huff you get this time is certainly laughter. He nudges you with his shoulder—just like Ayame had done, you note with silent amusement and perhaps an equal amount of affection, though admittedly this one leaves an ache beneath your skin that she certainly hadn’t managed—and doesn’t budge a millimeter when you return the gesture.

“You still owe Tadeo a month’s worth of those treats, though.”

“Hah?”

“Your little scheme worked, that was what finally convinced her. I can’t take all the credit. Though,” you add, pretending to think carefully, “he is my dog, so I think I get half credit for that trick anyway—”

“Absolutely fuckin’ not,” he interrupts. “Riko was my assistant, if anyone gets half credit it’s her.”

That gets you to burst into laughter. He says it so seriously; as if he were genuinely offended you hadn’t given his daughter the recognition she deserved.

“Okay,” you say through your peals of laughter, “okay, that’s true. But I really do have to hand it to you. It was smart. Maybe smarter than my own approach.”

“Nah, you told ‘er what she needed to learn. She needed that, too. And she ain’t gonna fuckin’ hear it from me, even if I’m right.” He pauses, then rolls his eyes and huffs angrily. “Scratch that, ‘specially if I’m right. She listens to you more.”

It isn’t as if you can refute that. Though, to be fair to him, his ability to bond with Ayame is weighed down to an extent you’ll never have. Even if you don’t know every detail, that much is abundantly clear.

“She’ll come around,” you say finally, and though you can’t possibly guarantee it you’re pretty sure it’s the truth. “Eventually.”

And he grunts, a tentative agreement. You both fall back into that comfortable silence.

Ayame and Riko have to venture back up to fetch the pair of you, lost as the pair of you become in working together. You haven’t become so absorbed in gardening with another person, you realize, since your grandfather’s health had grown so poor he’d been unable to maintain the prosperous garden you’d been accustomed to while attending university. It isn’t until Ayame’s voice calls your name, and Riko calls for her father, that you realize how dark it’s become.

The feeling that blooms in your chest as you watch Bakugo pluck Riko from the roof and swing her into his arms to carry her inside, as you gesture for Ayame to go down ahead of you and follow behind as she tells you what they made for dinner, is a little odd but warm. You think maybe you’d like for this to be your new normal.

#mybigbangacademia #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugo imagine #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki imagine #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #dynamight x reader #dynamight imagines #dynamight x you #dynamight x y/n #mine.🌧 #char.🌧 bakugou #fic.🌧 sleeping in the garden

[writermask-0807]

bakugo katsuki x reader

A/N: omg this took way too long 😭😭 but-

for my loyal follower, nunezs-stuff!! sorry for the delay, and I hope that I've done your request justice. Also, once again, I might not have all of your oc's personality quirks, but i did try. Thank you for requesting, Hope you enjoy!

Warnings:

wayyy too long for some hcs, ooc bakugo, lowkey aggressive bakugo (he should be a warning himself lol), swearing (cus it's bakugo, duh), I wrote kianna using ‘you’ since it wasn’t specified. kianna's eating disorder is also included, and im not sure if i depicted it correctly, but i tried my best!! hope not to offend anyone, haha uhh that's pretty much it, ig. Oh, and this one is for bakugo only, sorry, but I'm currently working on the others- they'll be out in a while. Lmk if I missed anything else!!

bakugo katsuki, who meets you at the entrance exams, and, initially, regards your existence with indifference, since he’s already fuming, hands sparking with flames - all he’s thinking about is the sheer audacity of that bastard deku to even think about coming here, and how he’s gonna pummel him into the ground!!

*ehem*

so he’s honestly taken aback by your display of strength in the exams; he hadn’t paid much attention to you, yeah, but you sure didn’t look strong from how much he knew

either way, he’s intrigued - and almost immediately regards you as a new rival, and he expresses it in the only way he knows how to

“oi ya damn nerd! you must think highly of yourself, flexing your quirk like that!”

cue you turning to him with blank eyes

you shake his hand off your shoulder, looking unimpressed, even - bored

and almost immediately you piss him off with that - that expression of yours

there’s just something about it - something about that eerie emptiness in your eyes that sets him off, but bakugo’s determined and he isn’t going to let you off the hook so easily

so the both of you form a weird kind of rivalry/friendship into the first year of u.a that he definitely won’t admit is kind of nice

because with you, even with your blunt words and sharp eyes, you stick around when so many others have left him behind

and he can’t entirely blame them, selfish as he is

and it’s hard at first, because he’s more prone to blasting you with his quirk than ever having a *cough* normal *cough* conversation with you, but you’re just as stubborn as him, if not more

and you don’t take his shit either - returning his sneers and snide remarks with leers and barbs of your own

and you’re annoying, sure, always so goddamn blunt and straightforward, constantly on his heels like some kind of damn insect he can’t get rid of, but your company is nice from time to time (though he’ll never tell that straight to your face in a thousand years)

and bakugo just doesn’t get it at first

he knows he’s not the ideal friend (are you even… ‘friends’?); he’ll say shit that hits right where it hurts, does stupid shit that he doesn’t actually really mean

but you stick around and he learns to tolerate you and despite your arguments that are really just banter at this point, you look out for him and so does he, and… that’s kind of it, he supposes

and he doesn’t know how it has evolved to this - but he quickly learns to read between your insults and find the grudging compliment, he learns to see the embarrassed red in the tips of your ears when your face remains blank

he begrudgingly learns your likes and dislikes (though not on his own will), and so whenever he visits a store, he finds his eyes catching over the things you’d like, and for some godforsaken reason, ends up buying them for you

shoves it in your arms with a furious flush on his face and some lame excuse that you probably don’t believe but have the good graces not to point out

he learns that you can cook, and that it’s surprisingly good (again, he’ll never, ever admit it)

which is in anomaly in itself, and when he finds out, demands that you cook for him, claiming that he needs to taste how ‘bad’ his rival’s cooking is

you respond to this with a fond eye roll, and inform him that it’s definitely better than his, which riles him up, but then you end up cooking for him anyway

and, on a more intimate occasion, he learns that you can’t quite stomach the food you so meticulously make, and it pisses him off

of course, he knows it’s a disorder and that it can’t tackled by his sheer brashness alone

so he takes a more ‘subtler’ approach, if you can even call it that lol

ends up doing a ton of research; he starts with the little things, a slice of fruit here, a piece of fruit there- bakugo makes sure to periodically feed you small amounts of food because he takes notice that you can never really finish big meals

piles more food on your plate when he thinks you’re not looking

threatens you with smoking hands and an angry scowl (but he’s not angry, not really) to “eat more, damnit!” claiming that “you’ll be a scrawny little bastard forever so eat before i make you!”

(but thankfully, you don’t mind half as much as you’re amused)

comes ‘round to your room with tubs of your favorite foods that he claims he ‘accidentally’ made too much of (it’s a literal feast, btw)

watches you intently to make sure you’re actually eating, and when you tell him, quite bluntly, that he looks like a creep with a weird fetish of watching ppl eat, he tells you to “fuck off!” in no less indignant terms

continues to watch you like a hawk anyway lmao

(he catches you smiling, makes a whole fuss about it, and the both of you end up brawling it out, food promptly forgotten)

and so in the midst of this grudging rivalry-that’s-actually-really-friendship, it takes bakugo a painfully, painfully long time to realize

he likes you

no, no, no- he actually, really really really likes you

and it hits him like a ton of bricks after kamino

he’d came back as haunted and withdrawn as a ghost, and he’d pushed everyone away, all angry sneers and bared teeth and growling voice

but you’d stayed

you didn’t flinch away from his fury and his hurt and his screaming anguish - you’d welcomed it with open arms, quite literally

you’d forced his thrashing body into a tight hug, clamped your arms around until he’d stopped protesting and just collapsed onto you, sobbing his heart out, a crying, shaking mess

you were uncharacteristically gentle, soothing his cries with a hand carding through his damp hair and lips pressed his temple, his forehead, his cheeks, his fluttering eyelids

and it’s there, slumped boneless in your arms, voice hoarse from screaming himself raw and eyes red and puffy, too tired for his pride to protest, that bakugo - finally, after a stupidly long time - realizes

oh shit. i’m in love.

and he’s pretty sure you know, too

and so there’s no confessions, no fireworks or the sudden coming of spring to mark the start of something wonderful (but it is wonderful); it just sort of… happens

and so nothing changes- not really

you still argue over every little thing, and he still brings food ‘round to your room and you still spend time together doing study sessions;

except nowadays whenever you reach out to tug

at his hair out of eventual annoyance whenever you fight, a stupid lovesick blush rushes to his cheeks, no matter how hard he tries to snuff it out

and you accept his dishes with a faint smile that definitely doesn’t make him swoon

and the study sessions have turned to study dates that he really just spends admiring every flutter of your lashes and the light to your eyes whenever you get an equation right; wondering at the soft round of your cheeks that crinkle with your smiling dimples (that rarely stay long enough for him to catch), and the sweet curve of your mouth that lifts, just barely, into a gentle smile

and so with you and bakugo, it’s a learning kind of love; the kind that teaches you the ups and downs of life, the kind that hurts in the best sort of way

because it’s with you that bakugo learns how to trust and be trusted

(because what else was it when he showed him all your scars and your bruises, what else was it when you bared yourself inside out for him, the good and the bad, the flaws and perfection, and he for you?)

and it’s with you that bakugo learns to love and be loved, the soft gentle kind he’d thought to be so weak before, but - well

it’s not so bad after all. is it now?

#answered request!! #thank you for requesting!!! #bakugo katsuki x reader #reader x bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #hcs #bakugo x you #mha #bnha #mha x you #bnha x you #mha x reader #bnha x reader

[nc-vb]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐬 & 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐬

i don’t even like s’mores so i hope y’all do. also… me jumping on the “bkg smells like caramel” train when i know full well 1) it ain’t true and 2) real nitroglycerin smells like ass… let me be delulu. double also… idk how fires work ok, i’ve never even started one???? 👀

summary → subconsciously, and in your boyfriend’s absence, you crave some caramel. and so, you make some. kind of.

pairing -> katsuki bakugo x gn!reader

warnings -> sfw, apartment fire, injuries (heat burns, heat blisters, threat of asphyxiation from smoke inhalation), injury care.

wc -> 3k

The smell alerts you first, and harshly stirs you from one of the deepest of sleeps you’ve ever had. No, it wasn’t the splintering of wood echoing through the halls from all the fixings and furniture within your home, nor the crackling of flames, and not even the intense heat that’d been swirling within the four walls of your bedroom. Not even the blaring of the fire alarms of your building had been enough to wake you.

The scent of fire was a comfort to you, or at least, it used to be. Memories of taking summer trips past the outskirts of Musutafu with loved ones that had the nights ending with you preparing a western camping treat for everyone— s’mores, you’d tell them they were called. You knew little else of them besides what they were made of, and when they would ask, you’d only say the exact same thing. Graham cookies, marshmallows, and chocolate! Delicious, isn’t it? you’d asked. And there hadn’t been a head shake of disagreement from a single one of them.

You ended up becoming fond of putting caramel inside yours. The first time you did, you made a mess, and ended up burning the pads of your fingers from a lack of care— grabbing onto the handle of your bedroom door managed to remind yourself of the pain from that time. Gasping sharply, dryly, you recoil, hand retracted into your aching chest to comfort it.

Careful, a chiding voice echoes in your head. You flinch, temple pulsing with aggravation as you back away toward the window.

“Careful.” Turning toward the source of the warning, you found Bakugo leaning toward the supplies bag to grab a wet nap. “You’re gonna burn your fingers off with that stuff.”

You didn’t even realize he’d been sitting beside you. Either you’d gone delirious from sitting so close to the campfire, or you’d drank too much of whatever liquor it was that Denki poured into your juice a half an hour ago, but besides the s’mores making, the entire night passed in a blur. You suspected it to be a combination of both, considering you hadn’t noticed who took up sitting next to you on your chosen log (though it might’ve been the other way around— had he been sitting here before you?)

You stared back at him as intently as your focus would allow — it’s definitely a mix of flame and fuel, you subconsciously decided — and Bakugo stared right back.

“Here,” he said, a moment after you heard the tearing of paper. “Before it leaves a mark on you.”

“… uh-huh.” You knew you were staring dumbly at him; as it turns out, your focus didn’t allow you to do much at all, let alone raise a hand to take the packaged wipe from him. He groaned, a loud affair that briefly had some of the eyes of the others glancing his way before returning to their own s’mores and conversations, before forsaking his own treat to the grate above the fire. This, you somehow noticed. “Katsuki, your—”

“Gimme your hands, already,” he interrupted. Reaching forward, he grabbed one of your wrists and tugged it into his lap— napkin blanketing his index finger and thumb, he begins to pick the caramel off of your skin, relieving you of the heat it contained beneath it.

They’re soft. Big, and most certainly scarred, but most importantly, soft. You couldn’t tell if you were surprised to learn this or not; you had your speculations, after all. In the sense of him having such a strong hygienic routine, Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t necessarily like the other boys of your group of friends. In bed by the most reasonably earliest time, teeth brush two to three times a day, faced washed at the end of the day and a shower each morning— in your exhaustion, somedays, this was more than you could say you did for yourself. More than likely, this also accounted for some kind of skin care routine, as to why they were so soft.

Dazed from the smoke of the fire — and from the strong scent of Bakugo’s s’more burning (that Midoriya thankfully had the tact to remove off the grate for him before it was too late) — you watched with a lidded gaze as he pried the final piece of cooled caramel from your last finger. It’d been done so gently, too. The warning, the insistence of caring for you when you’d been too incognizant to care for yourself— even in the days before this, he’d always been quick to assure your well-being, and in a funnily zero-to-a-hundred way.

You hummed, and watched Bakugo discard the damp tissue.

If this is what he’s like to his friends, he’d probably be a good boyfriend, too, huh? Gaze wide and pointed, Bakugo’s head snapped back toward you with such zeal that it made you flinch.

“Then date me.”

With how accidentally loud his response had been to you accidentally speaking your thoughts aloud, the entire camp had gone quiet, and all that was heard was the crackling of the fire.

It’d been no different than now, really, except for the fact that there aren’t any graham cookies, or chocolate, or marshmallows, or that caramel drizzle you’d use that reminded you of Bakugo and how naturally sweet you’d learnt his skin smelled; no different, despite the fact that none of your friends are present.

It’s no different, except that Bakugo isn’t at your side to take care of your burnt fingers again.

It’s no different, but at least you hadn’t been about to die back then.

You act quickly, though in your panic, you fumble over each step, nerves eating away at what strength your fingers and knees had left. First is the call to emergency services, one that you put on speaker phone while you roll up your bath towel, swiped off its hook to put at the base of your door. They ask your name as you dump the remainder of your drinking water on it, and watch it seep through while you give them your address and your prefecture. They tell you not to open any windows in your room, not until help can arrive. They tell you they’ve contacted your emergency contact for you, too, and only because your emergency contact is a pro hero.

In your one bedroom apartment, your room sat in the middle of the three rooms within it, and to the right of the kitchen. And from where you stood, it’d become easy to tell where the fire had started; you could feel the heat stronger to your left side. The fire would have already traveled the path of least resistance and crawled down the hallway, while spreading through the wall between your room and the kitchen.

The operator said not to open the window, you remind yourself, as you’d instinctively gone to unlatch the lock. The heat would just be pulled through, and the more oxygen, the faster it would move. You scoff, hands pressed to the warm panes. It doesn’t even matter. It’s too high up to get anywhere. My Quirk won’t help me here, either. I… I’m really trapped.

Another building stood across from yours, a good thirty feet away. Too far to jump, obviously. And being on the tenth floor, too high to drop. In the far distance, to the left of the building opposite you, you spot several sets of emergency lights moving quickly in your direction. Katsuki would’ve gotten the call by now. Knowing him, he’s… probably on his way here.

You cough. Despite having blocked the bottom of the door, the smoke still seeps through other cracks in your rooms’ minimal defence.

He… probably won’t make it in time. You press your face against the window and peer down, in time to watch dozens of your buildings’ residents spill into the street below. Faintly, over the blaring alarm, the fire, and the emergency sirens that have only just pooled into the area before the porte-cochère below. They spill out of the vehicles, some ushering the residents away to the other side of the street, the others putting on their leatherheads and zipping up their turnouts—

You drop to the floor, legs folded under you, and wheeze.

Could it have been an electrical malfunction? Did you somehow turn the stovetop on and leave it on? You didn’t make any food tonight for a lack of time and then energy; the many reports from your office you’d had to complete by morning made sure of that—

And it clicked, in your sleep-riddled, smoked-out brain, what the cause of the fire was. Why you’d recalled that camping memory from nearly four years ago. You were making something. Caramel. Albeit burnt and turned into a fiery mess, you can faintly smell it. You were going to dip apple slices into it.

All those hero courses, the safety training we’d gone through, and all because I wanted some damn caramel! And I fell asleep and left it there! You cough again. Not even safety training, just some damn common sense would’ve been good to have!

You shouldn’t have sat down, shouldn’t have yawned and leaned further into the comfort of your bed when you did sit down, shouldn’t have slept through the timer’s alarm, shouldn’t have craved junk food at all, should have eaten just that apple or something else just as simple—

You sob, a dry, choked sound that burns your chest. Tears barely spill, though your eyes had already been watering from inhaling so much smoke; you can’t even bring yourself to look outside your window again from a lack of strength.

There’s nothing I can do but wait, you tell yourself. And if that doesn’t work out, t-then, I guess… I…

A loud boom stirs you from finishing your thought. It doesn’t come from inside the apartment, nor from within the building. Boom. Another. Boom-boom. It seems to be getting louder and louder, like it’s moving closer. From outside…?

You steady yourself when you move onto your knees. Hands shaky from nerves and lung damage from the smoke, you at least manage to get one last look out the window, and in time to move out of the way of it by throwing your body as far as possible from it.

Clattering of brick, splintering of wood, shattering of glass— arms thrown over your head, you cry out as your body shifts from the pressure of the explosion. In front of you, there’s a rush of heat, and from behind, the cool night air licks at your bare feet. As the debris falls from the top of your head, eyes protected, you look toward your window-turned-wall and find a panting figure half-hanging from the opening, and half bent at their knees with a gloved hand extended to you.

“Quit staring! Take my hand and let’s move!”

“I’m not staring,” you grumbled, burning under his knowing stare. “But clearly you were to be watching and waiting to see if I was.”

“Was not.” A bemused silence fell between the two of you, the only sound being that what swirled around your cafeteria table. Taking a swig of his water, “Do I have something on my face or something?”

“No,” you answered. “You just—” You hold in your breath, lips pressed into a firm line.

“Just?”

You cleared your throat, shaking your head at him. You shrug.

“You just… smell…” Chopsticks clatter, against the ceramic of his bowl and onto the table, flicking spicy peanut sauce onto it.

“Hah?!”

“Good!” you shouted, at the appalled look on his face. “You smell good!”

“Finish the sentence faster next time, damn it!” he yelled back, cheeks red from your call out on his apparent poor hygiene. There are multiple snickers and chuckles from the nearby tables, but none sitting there dare to try and look Bakugo’s way.

“Sorry.” You shrink a little in your chair. “I got distracted by it halfway through the thought— you smell really sweet.”

Bakugo stiffens, brows furrowing and pinching toward the bridge of his nose; the tinge in his cheeks don’t disappear quickly.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “So sorry.”

Your body jerks forward, scalded fingers leading the way into his gloved palms, and when he pulls you into him to have you wrap your limbs tight around him, the door to your bedroom bursts open at the seams, giving way to the build-up of flames that would’ve happily greeted you.

Heat licks at your back as Bakugo pushes off of the building, letting the recoiling from his palm’s small-but-quick explosions carry the two of you low and far enough away from the gaping hole in the wall of your tenth story apartment. Audibly, you wince, and in your attempt to keep a tight hold around him, you feel your fingertips pop.

Instinctively and despite only having gotten halfway to the ground, your grip loosens, and you begin to slip.

“Hold on!” Bakugo urges— an arm drops to curl around your waist, hoisting you back up from under your ribcage. You seethe in air through gritted teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the pain of your blistered hand to twist the fabric of his shirt into your fingers.

When your feet finally touch the ground, you crumble onto your knees, clutching your injured hand. Harshly, Bakugo does the same, only to rise back up with you properly in his arms.

“Katsuki,” you call, voice hoarse from the heat.

He doesn’t respond, barely glancing down at you on his way to one of the paramedics; he doesn’t even shout at the residents who stand in his way, his aura apparently doing the speaking for him. They stumble off to the sides, watching him covet you, even when he reaches the ambulance. It takes both you and the paramedics to get him to set you down on the gurney; for them, it’s business as usual when they demand he let them do their job. For you, it takes a placating kiss to his cheek, a promise of your well-being, and you begging him to let go of your hand, him not even realizing that he’d grabbed it until you’d begun tearing up.

If this were a regular rescue mission, with you at his side instead of in front of your where you sit on a medical bed, his behaviour wouldn’t have been so volatile, so… possessed. Focused and driven, he wouldn’t have impeded the paramedics in helping you right away, but he’d been focused on you and only you. He’s not here as a hero, dressed up as one and having been on patrol as he might’ve been before getting the call. He’s here as your partner, your friend, your lover, your next of kin, your emergency contact— “Dynamight,” you call, your uninjured hand raised to touch his face.

“Yeah,” he finally responds— it’s gruff and heavy, like he’d stopped breathing. You can’t help the frown that settles onto your face, and Bakugo begins to spiral again, whispering out your name and simultaneously cursing out of earshot.

“Hey, hey— I’m fine now,” you once more swear to him. Your fingers tense where they pinch his cheeks. “Look at me. I’m alive, right?”

“… yeah,” he repeats, tone hollow.

“Then let them bandage my hands and I’ll be even better.”

“Okay.”

They’re quick to rinse off your hands with cool saline before applying a gentle lotion to them; some kind of antibiotic cream, you’d overheard one of them say. One of them begins to unwrap a fresh packet of bandaging, and at the look on Bakugo’s face, hastily and gently wraps it around your hand. The other, having just finished checking your oxygen levels and having examined the back of your throat, insists on you breathing through an oxygen mask.

Bakugo is the one who places the rubber band around your head and lowers the mask over your face, having snatched it from the innocent paramedic, all so he can press his palms against your cheeks after. They puff up slightly beneath them as you breathe in and out, deeply, your eyes fluttering shut in relief at the soothing sensation that coats your lungs.

Bakugo calls your name less than a second later.

“I’m fine now,” you say to the paramedics you spot standing off to your right. “Please go check if there are others who are injured.”

They exchange looks. “But,” one of them starts, though you’re quick to interrupt.

“I’m a hero, too,” you inform them. “I really am okay now. Please go.”

They do, looking almost grateful for your dismissal and lack of series injuries. If Katsuki was acting normal right now, he probably would’ve been offended by that.

“Katsuki,” you say, and with your good hand, you drag the mask away from your face— or, at least, you’d tried to. His gaze is harsh on you when he forces it back up over your nose; you sigh. “Katsuki.”

“… they said the fire started in the kitchen.” You nod, and let him pick you up again to carry you to the back end of the ambulance; Bakugo sits, and places you into his lap. “The hell were you doin’?”

“I… I wanted to make caramel.”

“At three in the morning? What, did’ya fall asleep?” This, you don’t bother to answer; your silence ends up being enough. “You idiot… Out of all the damn things…”

Bakugo’s groan is one of exasperation when he sets your hand down, of relief when you’re pulled into his chest, and of frustration and when you raise your arms to hug him back. Muffled complaints seep into your clothed shoulder, while your tears seep into his— as much as you can with what strength your throbbing fingers supplied, you pull him further into you, teeth gritted.

“Idiot,” he repeats.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His grip on you tightens, but you don’t say a word. You were almost so close to never feeling it ever again, to never feel from your Katsuki Bakugo, to never breathe him in or hear him chastise you when it’d been deserved, to never hold his hands again. You pull your mask down once more, and press trembling lips up against his jaw. “Thank you for saving me; thank you.”

He nods, a stiff gesture. “… don’t make me have to do it again.”

© nc-vb 2023 please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki fluff #mha x reader #sigh... he's got cute aggression frfr #✦ nc vb.

[mllechartreux]

MDNI!

Imagine calling bf!Bakugo telling him to come to your place and to hurry but to bring candy. So he’s rushing over, gets there in 10 minutes and you run to the door to greet him throwing your arms around him and the tears that have been threatening to fall for the past hour finally stream down your face. He throws the bag full of your fav candy and other snacks on the ground and he’s asking tf is wrong. You can’t get a word out and he says he can’t do shit unless you tell him and then you blubber out that you’re so horny, you haven’t been able to think straight all day. You need him to fuck you nice and deep and then fill you up with his cum. You need him to mark up your body with bite marks and hickies. You need backshots where he grabs your hips and puts a hand on your head to keep you from running because it’s like medicine so you need to lay there and take it. You need him to eat you out like he’s starving and you’re the first meal he’s had in weeks, then use his fingers to stroke that sensitive spot inside you that makes your mind go blank. And when you’ve cum and you’re telling him it’s too much, you’ve had enough, he’s too deep and you can’t handle all the pleasure that’s overriding your body functions, you need him to keep going because you’ve been insatiable all day and your mind has been so foggy that you can’t possibly tell him when you feel properly fucked out, so you tell him you trust that he knows when you’re properly fucked out. And after, you need to lay on top of him, smother him in kisses and cuddles while he feeds you candy.

I’m — uh— I’m in a mood 🥴 no edit just vibes.

#MHA #bnha #my hero academia #boko no hero academia #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #smut #Drabble #imagine #just thought #filth

[averysmolbear]

Home

CW: there’s like one pet name used, some minor cursing and the whole thing insinuates the two are in an established relationship otherwise it’s really just some domestic fluff with Pro Hero!Katsuki Bakugo and the reader (meaning aged up characters! -- probably about early to mid twenties). It hasn't been proofread so if there's any mistakes, they're all mine. And if the characterization is off, well, that's on me too. I tried to keep it gender neutral as well. Hope I succeeded in all my vagueness!

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo/gn!reader

Katsuki Bakugo was exhausted from a long day patrolling the city. There hadn’t been too much for him to do but that just made his day feel that much longer. All he had been thinking about was getting back home to you. Katsuki wanted to stretch out on the couch with his head in your lap while you played with his hair, the two of you watching some mindless television and stuffing your faces with junk food.

He had called you at home a couple of hours before the end of his day, mentioning that you should run to the store for snacks and he would bring home takeout for dinner. He had been halfway home before he remembered the takeout, making a stop at your favorite ramen shop to get both of you something to eat.

Katsuki kicked off his shoes at the door, bag in hand. He could see you sitting on the couch from the door and it brought a lazy smile to his face. It didn’t matter how tired he was, seeing you always brought a genuine smile to his face. Today was no exception.

He had to stifle a yawn as he shuffled his way over to the couch, flopping down next to you. You had been so engrossed in the television that you hadn’t heard Katsuki come in so you jumped a little when you felt him sit down beside you.

“Sorry, doll,” he mumbled softly, his smile slowly turning into a playful smirk.

You took a deep breath, smelling the food in the bag he had placed on the table. You were ready to dig in but you didn’t grab it yet, wanting to give your boyfriend your full attention now that he was home again. “Mm,” you hummed with a soft laugh. “It’s alright. How was your day?”

Katsuki stifled a yawn, laying his head against yours. His eyes slowly closed as he snuggled in next to you and you knew that meant that he was exhausted. While he was cuddly at home when it was just the two of you, Katsuki never relaxed into you this much unless he was absolutely worn out from work.

You nudged him gently with your shoulder. The scowl that Katsuki gave you made you softly laugh. You pressed a gentle kiss to his temple before pushing up from the couch to get up, causing your boyfriend to grumble softly under his breath. You laughed to yourself as you heard him cussing under his breath as he tried to get comfortable without you there.

He leaned back on the couch, arms both resting along the top of it, as he watched you move around the kitchen with an eyebrow slightly raised. “Whatcha doing?” Katsuki asked, a slight frown on his face because he missed having you close but he was too tired to join you in the kitchen.

“You mentioned snacks when you called so I’m getting the snacks. That way we can just pick something to watch and neither of us will have to leave the couch unless we need a bathroom break or we’re ready for bed,” you called over your shoulder as you glanced back at your boyfriend. When you smiled sweetly at him, you were rewarded with a lazy, sleepy smile from Katsuki as he nodded his head.

With a bowl of freshly popped popcorn in one hand and a bag that had various candies and each of your favorite bottled beverages in the other, you made your way back to the living room. Katsuki was on his feet the moment you came into view, hurrying over to take everything from you as you laughed at him for it. He quickly set everything up on the table, including your dinner as you grabbed the remote to start scrolling through one of the streaming services the two of you subscribed to so you could find something to watch.

“You want to watch MasterChef with me?” you asked, turning your head to see Katsuki already devouring the bowl of ramen he had ordered for himself. You giggled at the sight of him slurping up the noodles and shook your head. “You started without me? Now you’re stuck watching MasterChef for sure.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes a bit but his mouth was too full for him to argue. Plus he knew how much you enjoyed watching these reality shows that he didn’t have it in him to say no. In fact, he tended to indulge you often, not denying you most of the things you wanted. He did, however, slow his eating a bit because he knew that you’d soon be scolding him for eating too quickly if he didn’t.

You dug around in the bag to get your food, smiling as you realized that Katsuki had made sure to order your food exactly the way that you liked it. He was always so good about recalling details like that, especially with your food orders. It wasn’t that you were picky but you did have preferences and Katsuki remembered each and every one of them. You settled in as the first episode started, chopsticks in one hand and takeout bowl in the other.

By the time the two of you had made it through about three episodes, you had settled back on the couch and Katsuki had laid across it with his head in your lap. Absent-mindedly, you began to scratch his scalp and play with his hair. Katsuki’s ruby eyes slowly started to close and he let out a contented sigh but even through heavy-lidded eyes, he was watching the show more carefully than you suspected.

“I can’t believe that idiot doesn’t know how to properly dice an onion. How did he even make it on the show?” he murmured in an annoyed tone.

You laughed softly and shrugged your shoulders quickly. “I suppose you think you could do better?” You knew you were goading him on but you couldn’t help it. Katsuki was so competitive about everything and you always ended up amused by his reactions when you watched a competition show with him.

“Of course I could!” he stated a little more loudly. He turned his head in your lap to glare up at you and even though you looked down at him with such soft and loving eyes, Katsuki looked indignant. “You want me to make dinner tomorrow and show you I can do better than this extra?”

It was Katsuki’s day off tomorrow although you still had to work. You knew that he was going to need something to do while he was home alone and he did enjoy cooking. You weren’t sure what that was going to mean for the state of your shared kitchen though but you had to admit that the idea of coming home to a home cooked meal didn’t sound terrible.

“You promise to clean up after yourself while you make dinner?” you asked in a gentle tone, still lazily playing with your boyfriend’s hair.

Katsuki paused for a moment, his expression somewhere in between being completely relaxed by your touch and upset that you would think that he would leave the kitchen a mess. Finally he sighed, his head turning back toward the television. “The kitchen will be spotless,” he said as he nodded his head just slightly. “And you’re going to get the best meal you’ve ever had. Just you wait.”

“You really don’t have to do that,” you said, shaking your head as you looked down at him. You could see how determined he looked, however, and you knew there would be no way for you to change his mind. “But if it keeps you busy tomorrow while I’m at work, I’m all for you making dinner. I’ll even do the dishes after we eat.”

“Bullshit,” Katsuki muttered, shaking his head lazily. The last thing that he wanted was for you to lift a finger tomorrow and if that meant arguing with you over it, so be it. “You’re not doing a damn thing tomorrow but eating what I make for dinner.”

You sighed, knowing there was no way to argue with him once he set his mind to something. “Stubborn ass,” you softly said and you knew Katsuki heard you when the corners of his mouth quirked upward slightly. “Just watch the stupid show.”

Katsuki laughed, the sound somehow lazy and loud all at once, because he knew that he was getting his way for once. Of course it meant that he was, yet again, spoiling you but he didn’t mind. You were the only person he wanted to spoil and he would do it every single day for the rest of your lives if you let him.

Banner by @/saradika

#katsuki fluff #domestic bakugo #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hiro academia #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #tessie writes

[irisintheafterglow]

hello!! I hope you’re having a wonderful day/night ^^ I was wondering if u could write about bakugou x deaf reader? Like bakugou’s mom is HOH (which is why she’s always screaming :0) and bakugou knows sign because of that so he can communicate w deaf reader which surprises them!

simple complication, miscommunication (pro!bakugo x deaf!reader)

wc: 2k

cw/tags: established relationship, story of first meeting, strangers to lovers, implied fem!reader but no specific pronouns used (reader does use makeup), guy being an asshole but it's ok because kats scares him away

note: hi!!!! this is probably one of my favorite (if not THE favorite) prompts i've ever received. i'm actually majoring in deaf studies and focusing on increasing deaf/HOH rep in popular media. SO! i really love this prompt. i'm hearing, so i'm always still learning from the deaf and HOH community and acknowledge that i have a lot more to learn! because of this, this is mainly from kats' perspective because i don't think it's appropriate for me, as a hearing writer, to write from the perspective of a deaf reader. i talked way too much, sorry for the long note, and i hope you like this!!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous to see his own mother. 

For the twentieth time, he confirmed that the windows were clear of smudges, the floorboards were as shiny as his Hero Award trophies on the living room shelves, and the wiring on the doorbell light was functioning correctly. Everything was as it should have been. Still, an anxious churning in his gut tells him something is wrong and he throws the front door open without thinking, determinedly jabbing his thumb against the button next to the doorknob. As usual, the bright orange light by the “FRONT DOOR” sign above the hallway flashes once. Everything was working as it should have been, so he couldn’t pinpoint why he felt so nauseous. He tests the door light several more times and completely forgets that you were getting ready in the bathroom. 

When he spots you, you’re wearing his bathrobe and a makeup brush is tucked behind your ear. Your eyebrows furrow in concern of why the door light started flashing an hour early as you peek out from the hallway. He gives you an apologetic look, the corner of his mouth turning down in clear dissatisfaction. 

Sorry. Testing the door light. Your mouth opens into an oh of understanding and you nod, taking note of the subtle ways your boyfriend was trying to hide his nerves. His head appears around the corner of the door when you knock your knuckles against the wall to get his attention. 

You’re gonna break your jaw if you keep it clenched like that. His frown only deepens and he can tell you’re trying not to laugh from the way your eyes sparkle. It’s nice that you’re excited to see Mrs. Bakugo again, but he’s already anticipating the tidal wave of disapproving comments about the new place you recently moved into together. Shut the door, Katsuki. You’re letting the warm air out. He reluctantly obeys, following you down the hallway to the master bathroom and hopping up onto the counter to watch you finish your makeup. He’s careful to sit in a spot where you can sign without having to turn to face him; you catch his eye in the mirror’s reflection and put your brush down with a sigh, raising your eyebrows expectantly. Food done? You already know all his dishes have been done since this morning, but you’re still trying to help him take inventory of the things he doesn’t need to worry about anymore. 

Just need to throw some extra stuff on the salad. I’ll do it before we eat. You nod, returning to tapping a neutral color onto your eyelids when you catch his shoulders sag as he huffs. The makeup brush is carefully set down again and your eyebrows return to their expectant position. 

Wanna tell me why you look so… Your fingers flutter around absentmindedly for a few seconds while you look for the right word. Dejected? 

I’m not dejected. 

Your pouty lip says otherwise, you respond with a small smirk. I’ve loved you long enough to read your body language, no matter how stiff or angry. You scrunch your face up in mock wrath and that finally makes him break the tiniest ghost of a smile. Tell me, please, so I can help you. He shakes his head and you set your mouth in a thin line in light-hearted irritation.

You don’t need to help with anything. My mom can just be a lot sometimes. You know that. You shrug, fondly remembering the first time Katsuki brought you to meet his mother. To your boyfriend’s horror, his mother got so excited to sign that she knocked over her wine glass on three separate occasions. And she really likes you, so she might end up accidentally revealing some embarrassing shit about me. 

That’s what I’m hoping for. You shoot him a wink and Katsuki can feel his face become a little warmer. I’m praying that the woman brings baby photos. His face turns a deeper shade of red and you burst out laughing, your smile a sight that he’d never get tired of. Hey, you rap your knuckles against the marble again and force him to look at you. We’ve seen scarier stuff than your mom. 

At least in those situations, I can blast my way out. 

Sure. But, if you blast your way out of tonight, you’re paying for property repairs. He sticks his tongue out at you defiantly and you copy the gesture, smiling to yourself when he slides off the counter and wraps his arms around your torso, resting his chin where your neck meets your shoulder. Your fingers gently trace his cheekbones and he meets your eyes through the reflection of the mirror. We’ll be fine tonight, Katsuki. I promise. Can’t be any worse than our first meeting, hmm? You feel his chest rumble against your back as he groans, hiding his face in your skin as it heats up again. 

The first time you met Katsuki was a very abnormal case of wrong place, right time. A high-threat crime boss had swiped a political candidate off the street the night before the most important debate of the season, following him as he went out to pick up snacks for his assistants. The candidate was a passionate supporter of public policy protecting the liberties of Pros, and to lose him right before an election would be catastrophic for agencies across the country. To the rest of the city, it was a public emergency; for Katsuki, it was a Tuesday night. 

“Pro on the scene, clear out!” His boots cross the police tape and the cops part the way for him like he was an activated grenade, avoiding his gaze and conveniently finding new tasks that were out of his firing range. Someone from some federal agency approaches him blabbing nonsense about how disastrous this would be if the press arrived and he all but tunes them out, his focus zeroing in on a scene happening just outside of the barricaded perimeter. 

It wasn’t uncommon for policemen to command passing civilians to keep moving, but something about the confrontation he quietly approached felt different. In any other case, the civilians would ask the police about something they weren’t allowed to disclose and then they would leave, maybe sticking around to get their ten seconds on the nightly new segment. You were clearly not like those civilians.

“Hey! I’ve got a job to do, so you better get the hell out of here or I’m gonna charge you for disturbing a crime scene!” The cop was screaming at you to the point where his voice broke and you didn’t even flinch, continuing to stare daggers into him from pure frustration. He tries to yell again and you cut him off with a series of ridiculously exaggerated gestures, looking at the policeman like he was dumb as rocks. “I don’t have time for this, and I don’t know what the fuck you’re saying!” But Katsuki does. 

“Oi!” The cop doesn’t hear him as he storms across the concrete, palms crackling. 

“Fuckin’ crazy–” You look ready to bite off the accusatory finger the cop points in your face when a strong gloved hand wraps around the asshole’s wrist, unceremoniously shoving him out of the way to listen to you himself. “Who the fuck–”

“Get lost, fuckface, and take the uselessness with you,” Katsuki seethes, putting just enough heat into his hands for the guy to yelp and scurry away. He turns around to find a scowl intense enough to rival his own and he takes a deep breath, wordlessly encouraging you to take one too. You watch with caution as he tugs his gloves off and stuffs them in his belt. Sorry about him, he signs and you blink, taken aback. These kinds of scenes make everyone on edge more on edge. 

You know sign?

My mom, she’s hard of hearing. Growing up, she taught me sign as a second language. You nod, still eyeing him a little suspiciously. I need to get back to work, but I just want to apologize for him again. You look like you’re about to respond but he looks down, fishing through a pouch of his belt and pulling out a crumpled slip of paper. This is some coupon I got a while back from a business we saved. Buy yourself a coffee. You take the ripped rectangle with a look of disgust and shock and he nods politely, turning to leave. Before he’s even one step away, he finds himself being yanked backward by the collar of his shirt, readying his Quirk to fire on pure instinct and whirling to stare you down like a bull facing a matador. His palm is scorching against your skin when he grabs your wrist, but you don’t relent. What the fuck are you doing? 

I know where they took him. Give me a map and a marker. His eyes widen and he loosens his grip but doesn’t let go, gently guiding you around the barricade, through the crowds of cops, and into the detectives’ truck. He pushes past the people surrounding the table and pulls up a digital map of the city on the touchscreen. 

Everything’s electronic now, so use this as your map, he explains and you nod in understanding, hesitantly tapping a finger on the screen and receiving a bombardment of paragraphs about crimes in the area. Dynamight’s hand moves up and down at the edge of your vision and you look up, still unsure how you’re supposed to use such a complicated piece of technology. I know. It’s over-engineered and stupid. Do you know the exact address where they took him? You shake your head and he grimaces, running a hand through his hair.

I don’t know the address, but I know the directions of how to get there. On this map, where’s the convenience store? His pointer and index finger swipe around the screen, spreading out as he zooms in on the 2D representation of the site where the candidate was taken. You copy his actions and zoom out slightly again, making sure to remember which rectangle was the convenience store. Is there a way to draw on this? Dynamight pushes a button on the edge of the table and a marker pops out. Cool.

It’s the only cool function this thing has. Everything else just makes my job harder, he signs and swears he can see the slightest smile on your face while he hands you the marker. Miraculously, you’re able to copy the navigation route you saw on one of the thug’s phones while you waited in line at the convenience store. You circle the building in bright pink and the Pro wastes no time, barking out orders to surrounding cops and re-donning his gauntlets and one glove. His ungloved hand helps you down from the truck and he pulls you aside, away from the commotion of the crime scene. Do you live near here? 

A few blocks down, yes. He fishes around a pouch on his belt again and retrieves a black ballpoint pen, handing it to you despite your obvious confusion. 

Write down your address, he signs and he holds out the back of his ungloved hand to you. 

Why? 

I’ll come find you after we make the arrests. Maybe you can let me buy you a coffee. A smirk appears on your lips and Katsuki finds his face heating up. 

Is it gonna be with the tattered coupon? He rolls his eyes and you laugh, a sound that he finds he wants to hear again and again. You later explain to Katsuki and the detectives that you were questioning why the guy in front of you had his brightness so high, and the visual eavesdropping was purely by accident. Everything following the investigation felt like happy little accidents, too: Dynamight showing up at your door one night with two coffees and the last muffin the cafe had, Bakugo crashing onto your apartment’s fire escape after a particularly dangerous operation, Katsuki asking you out to dinner officially for the first time, his mother spilling her wine several times the first time she met you. 

You knew you were in for a lifetime of more accidents when Mrs. Bakugo burst through the door fifteen minutes early, excitedly asking what venues you were looking at for your upcoming wedding. 

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#ask iris! #bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo x deaf!reader

[sei-rq]

Idk if u take request. If u don’t ignore this.

Can you do bakugou x reader who has quirk like Inumaki’s (from jjk)?

omfg!! I've been waiting for a request, and yeah sure, but idk if you wanted a one-shot fic or headcannons so I'll be going with the easier one since I'm better at that.

Bakugou Katsuki x Inumaki!reader

When Bakugou Katsuki first saw you, he thought you were beautiful (would never admit though), your eyes especially, because that was the only thing he could see aside from your hair, he didn't get why you wore a mask at all times though

So when Bakugou Katsuki saw you use your quirk for the first time, he was amazed (again he wouldn't admit it) , he thought your quirk was pretty powerful, like come on!! you can make anyone do anything by just speaking and you could make anything happen as well, it was awesome

Then he learned why you never take that mask off, the markings on your face..they were so.. gorgeous he was astonished, were you insecure about them or something? well you shouldn't be after all HE out of all people thinks they are gorgeous.. (later he found out you had one on your tongue as well)

Bakugou Katsuki was so fucking shocked when he found out that you thought your quirk was not that strong, because in fact it so was, possibly the strongest after OFA , you better be joking

He gets concerned about you in the slightest, since he also found out that your quirk being powerful meant it also had strong drawbacks, if you go over your limit, your throat goes sore? or you lose your voice for a while? or even a drawback as strong as to make you cough up blood? who wouldn't be concerned

THE Bakugou Katsuki is nice enough to make you a cup of warm water with honey mixed in it after training, he says it's good for your throat and you will feel better after you drink it (which you do) , imagine everyones shock when they see him being nice and considerate towards someone, which is pretty rare for Katsuki

When you both start dating, it's funny and ironic because you're both complete polar opposites, HE is loud and "threatening", while YOU are quiet and reserved, you barely speak (well you can't for obvious reasons) but Katsuki understands what you need, even if your vocabulary is limited

It's very sweet actually, you don't have to say anything and Bakugou Katsuki will know what you want or need, without words being necessary, he'll help you with your quirk as well and try to make new words for certain things so you don't accidentally end up using it and so that it's easier for the rest of the class to understand you like he does

Overall, he's a 11/10 so sweet and gentle around you, so nice and collected, it's almost unlike him, you could really say it was meant to be, because you both really are a match made in heaven

Oh! oh! and let's not forget to mention that he absolutely adores your voice and finds it so cute, because he almost never gets to hear it, but he'll NEVER admit it, as always that's Bakugou Katsuki for you.

#bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #mha fluff #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bakugou smut #bakugo katuski #bakugo katsuki x y/n #mha bakugou #jjk x reader #jjk x mha #bakugou hcs #mha headcanons #mha smut #mha hcs #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bakugou x poc!reader #bakugou x plus size! reader

[ikarisenpai]

Can ypu do kiribaku x male (if not gn is fine) reader where they all are pro heroes and in on interview?

Ahhh I'm so excited you asked! I love writing requests for people and when I woke from my nap seeing this I had to write it right away (So sorry if there's some miss spellings.) I hope you enjoy!

~~~~~

You stood there anxious.

The building that stood in front of you was the most popular news station and all you could think of was ‘why was I here and not Kirishima or Bakugo?’ The large letters seemed to tower over you as when you pushed past the glass doors you saw what could only be the busiest building in the world, but your loving boyfriends of what felt like ten years but have only actually been dating them for a little of three. Their faces in a scowl that when they looked up from the paperwork that they were filling out smiled and greeted you, happy to see you were here on time and not late for once. Bakugo grunting out a hello and Kirishima smothering you in the affection you desperately needed.

“There you, y/n, was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up! Did you get lost?” Kirishima asked as the three of you walked towards what you assumed was the changing rooms so the three of you could get changed into your hero costumes.

“No, just nervous. I’ve never been on live tv before and being here with you guys makes me a little nervous.” You said as Kirishima awed, smothering you in what felt like a thousand kisses.

“There’s no need to be nervous… you're you and no one can change how awesome you are.” Bakugo said as if you couldn’t tell if he was trying to sike you up and help get rid of the anxiety you were feeling or calling you a cry baby because you were nervous all the time. Either way you took it as a compliment and went into the changing room to change into your hero costume. 

“Awe! Isn’t he just the cutest!” Kirishima said once you stepped out of the changing room and headed over to the makeup department where Ebony helped you with your makeup for the stage.

“The cutest.” Bakugo smirked as it was so weird hearing him compliment in such a way that felt out of character for him.

“You boys got about five to ten minutes then we need you on stage. Think you can do that?” one of the Stagehands spoke as the pit of your stomach seemed to turn and make what little food you eat want to come up. Kirishima being the more comforting boyfriend, placed a loving hand on your knee, squeezed it, and smiled. He knew he couldn’t say much at the moment but with that little squeeze on your knee meant everything you needed to hear.

~~~~~

“And we're live! Hello, and welcome to tonight's news! I’m your host, Taneo Tokuda, and today we have some special guests. Boys, how about you introduce yourself.” Taneo spoke as the camera shifted over and there sat Kirishima (Red Riot), Bakugo (Dynamight), and you (Hero Name). 

“Hi, I’m Red Riot.” Kirishima started as the camera panned over him and showed his bright shark-like teeth.

“I'm the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, but you can just call me Dynamight or whatever.” Bakugo mumbled as he looked just as annoyed as you felt anxious.

“Hi, I’m (Hero Name) pleased to be here!” You smiled hoping your name was just enough to get the ball on the roll.

“And I’m your host once again, Taneo Tokuda, and I’m so excited to be interviewing you three. How are you?” Taneo asked as you felt like you were going to throw up but knew you just had to push past this and then the rest of your day was going to be free to Kirishima cuddles and Bakugo’s cooking.

“Doing pretty well! The drive over here was kind of annoying but in general I think I’m doing pretty well.” Kirishima smiled as he was always the one to usually talk for the three of you.

“Would of gotten here on time just by using my quirk, but whatever….” Bakugo mumbled as the camera moved over to you and then back over to Taneo.

“And you? How are you?” Taneo asked as he leaned forward staring at you trying to get a good reading off of you.

“I’m doing alright. Woke up, got dressed, and now here. Think it's going to be a good day.” You said as you could feel your cheeks redden.

“Well, I’m glad you got here with your pants on, would hate to see you here in your underwear. That would be embarrassing.” Taneo said as he looked down at his cards he brought on stage. He wanted to ask you three some tricky questions but in all honesty he wanted to know what everyone else was wondering, were you three dating and if so for how long??

“So, now that formalities are out of the way. How is life being a hero? I mean with everything that is going on. People are starting to worry if heroes are really the way to go and if they aren't, who will save them in the end?” Taneo asked as that was such a hard question to answer.

“I would say life as a hero is pretty hard.” You started as both boyfriends looked at you a bit nervous as usually you were the one to not answer stuff right away, “Me, personally being a new hero already is taking one day at a time hoping and sorta praying things go smoothly. Yeah, sure, some days on patrol things do get hard, but being a hero is honestly the life goal I have and saving people is totally rewarding if you ask me.”

Taneo raised a brow, “How is it rewarding?”

“Well, the person you saved gets to live another day! They get to celebrate living and sharing what good you did to them that day. Hell it could even inspire them to be a hero some day. It's doing the good to them that could lead to everything being better.” You said as Bakugo started to smirk seeing that maybe that nervous act you had going was washing away and that seeing you passionate about this was what you truly felt.

“Interesting. And you (Hero Name) you moved to Japan not that long ago? Or am I mixing my dates around?” 

“I’ve lived in Japan for about five years now, but didn’t bump into Kiri or Bakugo till about three years ago.” you replied as you felt like you had just set yourself up for some personal questions to come out.

“And moving to Japan was for what reason?” Taneo asked as your cheeks reddened.

“Personal reasons. I don’t feel very comfortable talking about it.” You said as your real reason was that most of the heroes you worked with back in America were rude to you. Made you feel like you couldn’t be the hero you wanted to be and that one of your friends that were staying in Japan told you to come out here and be a hero for a little bit. You took the offer and met Bakugo and Kirishima on some mission you and your friend had to go on and since then the four of you just sorta stayed together and that was when you finally made the decision to move out of your shitty one bedroom apartment in America and move to Japan and live with your friend in their three bedroom house.

“That’s understandable. Most people would have spilled their guts just to be famous and get the crowd to love them, but you I get the feeling I understand. So, good on ya.” Taneo said as he looked over at Kirishima and Bakugo, “How about you two, everyone is dying to know are the two of you together? And if so for how long?” 

“To-together? What gave you the idea we were together?” Kirishima said a bit nervously as you three haven’t really came out publicly yet but with this question on air you felt like maybe it was time for the three of you to come out. So what if you all were in love with each other. It was the year 2023. Gay relationships were normal and if you wanted to be honest with them and the world you wanted to tell them that yes, Kirishima Eijiro and Bakugo Katsuki was off the mark all because you fell in love with them and there was nothing in this world you want to do better than to be them.

“We are.” Bakugo said as Kirishima let out a small whine, “We and (Hero Name) are in a relationship and are super happy to be in one. I don’t care if people tell us otherwise. We're in love and there’s nothing you or the city of Musutafu can stop us from being in love.” 

“Dynamite…” you cooed as his cheeks reddened. You weren’t expecting him to say anything on air but hearing that he loved you and Kiri made your heart swell. This was amazing.

“I see and how long have you and the others been together?” Taneo asked as this was again something the entire city of Musutafu was wondering about.

“About three years.” You answered as Kirishima was in shock that you were riding along with this. Sure it wasn’t a lie, but was broadcasting your relationship on the news really the way to announce your relationship?

“Amazing and you all met through a friend of (Hero Name)?” 

You three nodded your head as you could not wait for this interview to be over with so you could go throw up.

“Interesting. Well, I have to say I wanted to ask you boys some more questions but it looks like my time is up. I hope you all can join us next to hear more about their relationship and what future our lovely heroes have to offer. My name is Taneo Tokuda and this was your daily news at seven.” Taneo said as the camera went dark and your body moved quicker than what the rest of you three could move. Your body rushing you to the bathroom as you grabbed the nearest stall and threw up what little to nothing breakfast you had.

“Hey, y/n, are you okay?” Kirishima asked a few minutes later after he heard you throw up, “I”m sorry if this interview was a bit much. I know it can sometimes lead to other things, but I just wanted to check in and see how you're doing.” your boyfriend sounded so worried it broke your heart.

“Yeah, I’m okay.. I’m a little shocked Katsuki told the world or at least the city of Musutafu that we were all dating. That seemed very uncharacteristic about him and honestly I don’t know how I feel about it.” you said as you stepped out of the stall and headed to the sink to wash your hands and face.

“I know, I’m surprised you answered the questions so honestly… I thought the nervous jitters would have kicked in and scared you away, but you did amazingly out there. I’m so proud of you.” Kirishima said as he kissed you lovingly. The taste of his breath mint was strong, but you would rather focus on that than what just happened on stage.

“Shall we go see where Katsuki is? I’m ready to go home.” 

“Yeah, let's.” And with that you found your other partner and headed home. The interview just a memory as you became the next hero most or almost top ten heroes of Musutafu.

The End.

#x male reader #kirishima eijiro x bakugo katsuki x male reader #kirishima eijiro x bakugo katsuki x y/n #kirishima eijiro x bakugo katsuki x you #kirishima eijiro x bakugo katsuki x reader #kirishima eijiro x bakugo katsuki #eijiro kirishima #bakugo katsuki #kirishima x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #kirishima eijiro x y/n #bakugo katsuki x y/n #kirishima eijiro x you #bakugo katsuki x you #kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku x y/n #kiribaku x you

[kazumiwrites-fanfiction]

Never Leave Me...

SUMMARY: Katsuki had a nightmare involving your death. How will you get him to cheer back up? WORD COUNT: 600+

WARNINGS: Nightmares, Katsuki getting scared, mentions of you dying (in a dream), Katsuki being clingy, Katsuki being somewhat suggestive at the end (but uh nothing happens, I swear-), you comforting Kacchan.

A/N: This is mostly because I had a nightmare that my (online) crushes died- and also stuff happened to them that may trigger some people- but like- two people died and that made me really sad (and I was crying when I woke up too) so uh- yeah- fun- (I blame watching JoJo last night-) A/N PART 2: Originally posted here.

© kazumiwrites - All rights reserved; please do not steal, edit, copy, repost (etc) my work without my express permission.

Katsuki froze slightly, eyes wide, disbelieving. What... He listened to the news, trembling slightly. A villain took revenge on you...? Why... This couldn't be happening. You couldn't be dead, right...? A small noise escaped him as he collapsed on the floor of his and your shared apartment. No... He shook his head slightly, even as a muffled whimper escaped him, whole body shaking now.

He hated this. He hated feeling so weak. Why did you have to die...? He bit his lip lightly, shaking. He felt gentle hands on his shoulder, shaking him, but he ignored it; Soon, his eyes fluttered open to meet your gentle ones.

You were... Anxious, to say the least. Why was Katsuki acting like this, so... Scared, almost? Did he have a bad dream?

You let out a soft gasp as his arms quickly wrapped around you, being pulled in to his chest. You relented, knowing that you weren't strong enough to pull yourself away unless he let you. "Katsuki... What's wrong?" You asked softly, moving to play with a bit of his hair to try to calm him down.

He instantly relaxed at your touch, a small murmur of contentment escaping him. At your words, however, he froze. "...It's nothing..." He mumbled softly, nuzzling in to you a bit.

"It's clearly not nothing. Katsuki, tell me what's wrong." You sighed a little, gently kissing his lips.

He let out a soft grumble as he leaned in to your kiss. "...Fine." He never could stop you from getting what you wanted. "You were the only one who could do this to him, really. "I... Had a bad dream. Nightmare, really."

"Well I can tell that." You let out a gentle laugh. "What happened in your nightmare?"

At your words, he slowly started trembling. "Well... Uh, you got k-killed by some stupid villain who wanted revenge... And, I- I just don't know what I'll do if something like that actually happens to you..." His voice cracked, nuzzling in to your shoulder as he started crying softly.

Your eyes softened ever so slightly as you watched him, gently rubbing his back. "Shh... It's okay, Katsu, I promise. You won't lose me. Remember, you made me take all those self-defense/fighting lessons. I'll be fine." You were touched to see how much he cared about you, and how he was literally crying at the thought of losing you. You had never seen this side of him... You'd seen him when he was being possessive, playful, loving, but never like this, almost broken inside with the pain.

The ash-blonde male looked at you with a shaky sigh. "I- I know that, but still..." He mumbled softly, moving to place a chaste kiss on your lips. "I just don't ever want to lose you. I love you..."

You blinked, surprise clear in your eyes. Yeah, you had always told him that you loved him, but this was the first time that he had actually said it. "I love you too." You smiled a little more, kissing him again as your hands ran through his hair. "Don't worry, Katsuki. I promise you don't have to worry about me dying. And anyways, you're such a good hero... I know you'll be able to save me, whatever happens."

Katsuki smiled a little. "Trying to make my ego higher?" He teased, nudging you gently.

"Mm, maybe... But, it's true, right?" You laughed a little, glad that he was over his bad mood.

He nodded a little with a soft hum, gently pushing you on to the bed and nuzzling in to your shoulder. "If you want, I can show you how much I love you..."

"Katsuki."

"Kidding, kidding."

#kazumiwrites #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x gender neutral reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #clingy bakugo #clingy katsuki #mentions of death #comfort

[pluviophile-imagines]

Sleeping in the Garden Masterlist

in which bakugo katsuki is your next door neighbor, and he’s just gotten custody of two girls he’s far too young and far too inexperienced to be a father for—but he’s bakugo katsuki, so he’s damn well going to do it anyway

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

wc: ~80k genre: pro hero au, neighbor au, single dad au, slow burn, kidfic type: longfic (6 parts) reader: fem (she/her pronouns, fem terms, neutral clothing) fic warnings: children (7&16 years old), parent illness/death, absent fathers, discussions of neglect/abuse (pre-fic), discussions of toxic relationships (pre-fic), discussions of age gap (pre-fic; 20 & 34), underage drinking, eventual smut (optional)

for the @mybigbangacademia​ collab

note: post dates are approximate and subject to change. I will post when I think the chapters are ready to come out.

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi SFW version || NSFW version

read on ao3

#mybigbangacademia #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x you #bnha x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo imagine #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n #mha imagines #mha x reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki imagine #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x y/n #dynamight x reader #dynamight imagines #dynamight x y/n #dynamight x you #mine.🌧 #char.🌧 bakugou #fic.🌧 sleeping in the garden

[cielcius]

CHAPTER THREE next time

SYNOPSIS a second encounter to open the possibility of love.

FROM THE WRITER hello! hope ur having a good day, remember to hydrate :))

NOTES & WARNINGS wedding planner!reader, mentions of food, mentions of weddings & marriage

SERIES the shoe repairman and his lover

“Oh, I hear you’ve met my best friend.”

You pout at the voice over the phone, a sliver of humor entangled in your voice to let Kirishima know that you were simply joking. “You mean, I’m not your best friend?”

The man lets out a laugh, nearly breaking the sound barrier that you have to hold the phone away from your ear before he speaks to explain. “He’s my best friend from high school. We were in a construction course but I didn’t think he’d stray to become a shoe repairer—not that it’s bad. I mean, he’s pretty damn good at it.”

You nod, despite knowing that Kirishima can’t see you. “He is,” You pause, almost appalled that you were about to ask this. “Does he seem like the flirty type to you?”

“Bakugou? Flirty? The only time I’ve heard those two in a sentence together was... well, never. He doesn’t really flirt. To be honest, I feel like he’s not interested in any romance that has to do with him.” You press your lips together, unsure now if you should be taking what had happened yesterday as a sign.

“Oh, interesting.” You intend to pause but you can’t find yourself coming up with anything to follow that topic. “Yeah, why do you ask, if you don’t mind. Did something happen?” Your mind has to quickly scramble to find an answer, taking your attention away from yesterday’s moment.

“No, no. I was just wondering.” You laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as awkward over the phone as it does in your own ears but Kirishima seems to buy it. “No problem. Oh, by the way, when does the wedding start again? I accidentally lost the invitation.”

You can hear Kirishima’s cheeky smile and chuckle. “You don’t have to be there until nine, but if you’re not, I’m gonna spam you cause I don’t want the bride to be freaking out over a missing groomsman.” As the wedding planner, you had the honor of staying overnight to make sure everything was in place and to the satisfaction of the couple.

“You don’t think the groom would freak out over a missing groomsman?” You’re silent for a moment, leaving a pause before you speak. “You think he will?” There’s a pause from Kirishima.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” And he hangs up.

—

You’re sitting on your couch when there’s a grumble from your stomach, the lack of sunlight indicating that it was time for dinner and time to head over to the hotel you would be staying at. You decide to pick up dinner for yourself at the restaurant down the street, tempted to stay and dine in to enjoy the warm atmosphere but you were short on time.

You enter the restaurant, bustling but not busy that it shouldn’t take them long to make your food. You’re dragging your finger lightly across the laminated menu when you hear the door open and feel a gust of wind hit your back before you’re enveloped in warmth again, but suddenly, it also feels as if you’re being watched closely.

You look up from the menu, half of your mind still trying to decide what to order and the other half just plain curious as to whether or not you were being watched, and indeed you were.

Just a few feet away stands Bakugou Katsuki, clad in a grey button-up with a heavy coat pulled over it to protect him from the spring nightly weather. For a moment, your mouth hangs ajar to greet him but a moment later, you realize that you might not be close enough to do so in such a casual manner.

“L/n.” He speaks first, gruff but acknowledgeable as he nods his head to you. “Mr. Bakugou. Hi. Coincidence seeing you here.” At your formality, he lets out a scoff. “You can drop the shitty formalities, sounds weird coming from someone close in age.”

You suppress a grin into a tight-lipped smile, eyes watching him in amusement as he takes a copy of the menu in his hand. “Of course, Bakugou.” As the man busies himself with the menu, you return to your own copy before walking over to the host with your order.

“Make that two. I got it.” Bakugou walks up to the machine, card in hand before you can have the chance to take your wallet out. So you’re left gaping at the man, even as he’s stepped back to let the next person in line order after getting his receipt.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to pay for mine too.” The man shrugs, an impassive look spread across his features as he settles next to where you stand on the sidelines. “Doesn’t mean shit. Just paying to cut the line and get my food made faster.”

In a way, he’s right. While the chef dealt out your order, they’d know there were two portions to be made instead of making one and having to start fresh for the same after that. You give a tight-lipped smile, wanting to laugh but the mood doesn’t feel right to do so.

“Interesting. I’ll use that next time.” There’s a yell and Bakugou leaves to pick up a bag from the counter. You can’t hear what he’s saying over the noise, but you suspect he’s asking for another bag as he separates the orders. As he’s about to walk out, Bakugou hands you your bag.

“Sure, but you’re paying.”

#the rprmn & his lvr 👞🪡🤎 #bnha x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha series #mha series #bakugo katsuki x y/n #bakugo katsuki x reader #tw food #tw food mention #tw marriage #tw wedding