#dynamight x reader

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

Everyone kinda laughs when they see you and Bakugou together.

Not because you don’t look good together, but because they’ve never seen him like that.

He’s full of soft kisses, an arm protectively around your waist or shoulders when you stand and talk, or firmly holding your own when you walk along side him.

He’s always holding doors open for you, always pressing a coffee into your hand if he’s passing you at his agency between meetings, letting his fingers brush over yours.

At evening events, paparazzi has had an easy time catching the two of you in quiet moments, his lips pressed to your collarbone, mouthing sweet words into your skin. The headlines are always stupid and suggestive, and Bakugou snorts whenever he sees them, mutters about how they’d explode if they knew what you two did in private.

His friends give him a hard time about how whipped he is, laughing over a drink about how they never thought they’d see him buying flowers for anything but a funeral. How all they had to do to get him to smile more was get him a girlfriend. They’ve never seen Bakugou yield to a single soul and there he is, worshipping the ground you walk on.

They don’t realize that up until he met you, Bakugou had been convinced he just wasn’t meant to be in love.

#mha #cowboy anon writes #thecowboyanon writes #t writes #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #Bakugou blurb #bakugou katsuki fanfic #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo #pro hero dynamight #pro hero bakugou #Dynamight x reader

[hoezhatelola]

bakugou was the type of boyfriend who always put you first. any lingering eyes that explored your form in their minds were set straight, to say the least. your favorite moments with him were the ones that just had the two of you.

yes, you loved that late nights he’d spend rubbing gentle circles on your clit in the darkness of your room whilst whispering dirty words into your ear. you lived for his hands squeezing your hips and his tongue digging deep into your cunt.

you also loved the nights where you’d pass out on the couch waiting for him to come home from hero work, and you’d wake up around 1 a.m. to him lifting you up like his sweet, precious doll, and bringing you to your shared bed. he’d always take care to wrap you up first and adjusting your pillows how he knows you like them.

after he’d make sure you were good and comfortable, he’d gently get into bed right next to you and wrap an arm around your waist, spooning you from behind.

your eyes fluttered open for a moment, and we’re met with the complete darkness of the room. you could faintly smell bakugou’s cologne and you could feel his breath on your neck.

“kats?” you muttered tiredly, backing up further into his chest. his hand caressed your head and brushed a few strands of hair behind your ear. you melted into his touch as tired butterflies erupted in your chest.

“i’m here, baby. go to sleep, my love.” he said in your ear, planting a few kisses on your neck, jaw, and cheek. he squeezed you into him even closer, and you giggled.

“can you even breathe, kats?” you asked, turning around slightly to only see the outline of his face from within the darkness.

“mhm,” he muffled a reply with a low chuckle.

you pulled your head away in attempt to help him breathe, but he took a large hand and pulled you closer once more. “stop moving awayyy,” he hummed.

“kats, i know you can’t breathe with my hair all in ya face stop lying,” you laughed, still sleepy. he shook his head and breathed in the scent of your fresh shampoo.

he lived for moments like this, and so did you. his heart was now beating at 90 mph in his chest, the sound of your gentle laughter filling him with a rush of serotonin. he loved you more than the world, but his job as a pro-hero was time consuming. he wished he could spend more time with you, but there’s not much he can do to change his random schedules.

“i’m fine.. now sleep baby,” he muttered into your head, getting sleepy himself.

you hummed in response, drifting away once more into his arms.

“but wait,” he said after a moment, “i love you,” he added. a smile appeared on your tired expression. you looked back and planted a droopy kiss onto his lips.

“i love you more… and back up because i know you can’t breathe you liar.” you joked more. he ignored your protests and nuzzled further into your warmth.

“who says i need to breathe to live? as long as i have you i’m fine.”

quick lil bakugou fluff 💕 i’m obsessed w this man.

#mha #mha smut #bakugou #mha bakugou #mha x reader #anime #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #dynamight #dynamight x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsukibakugou #katsuki x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugo mha #katsuki bakugo oneshot #katsuki bakugou x reader #i love him i love him i love him i love him #bakugou imagine #katsuki imagine #mha fluff #mha headcanons #mha fanfiction #mha spoilers #bnha smut #bnha fluff #bnha fanfiction

[joy-laufeyson]

Bakugo Katsuki fic recommendations

(Reader inserts) Recommendations of my favorite headcanons/imagines/fics/scenarios (I don’t own any)

・・・・・・

@ adoringmha's masterlist @ andypantsx's masterlist @ angelshimaa's masterlist @ bkgml's masterlist @ cinnamonreccs' masterlist @ moominsuki's masterlist

・・・・・・

fluff / fever talk

sfw / the jealousy type

sfw / lucid dreaming

fluff / freckles

sfw / number neighbor (smau, masterlist)

sfw / “shut up and heal me”

fluff / apologizing

fluff / be my (fake) girlfriend

angst fluff / mean it

sfw fluff / truth or dare

fluff / falling in love with you

fluff / he hasn’t told his friends about you

angst fluff / petting his hair

fluff/ you fell asleep on him

fluff / helping him with his tie

nsfw ish / lends you a shirt

angst fluff / seeing you cry

angst fluff / he wakes up

time-skip (aged up)

sfw / drunk-dazed

fluff / as the sun goes down

fluff / permanent ink

angst fluff / kiss me!

fluff / runaway party

fluff nsfw / birthday

fluff / valentines day (part 1, part 2)

fluff / ...but I don't like a gold rush

angst fluff / “do you think i’m a good person?”

fluff / Hero Awards

sfw / going to bed upset

fluff / most beautiful woman

fluff / late night confessions

fluff / anyone would be silly not to love you

angst fluff / tears

fluff / interviews (masterlist)

fluff / skincare

fluff / he only likes real kisses

fluff / hot cocoa

fluff / scars

fluff / 4:29

fluff / secret santa

angst fluff / you remind him that he is a person

fluff / baby

fluff / "go back to sleep"

fluff / a lot better now

fluff / can’t sleep until you’re home

fluff / the stages of me and you

sfw / you get dumped twenty seconds before meeting your boss

angst fluff / emotionally constipated

fluff/ he doesn't want to go

fluff / eating your leftovers

sfw / drunk

angst fluff / when you have a bad day

nsfw ish / victoria secret set

nsfw ish / nails

angst fluff / charred dreams

・・・・・・

Updated:27-March-2024

Other BNHA fics

#bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x you #dynamight x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #my hero academia headcanons #my hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia imagines #boku no hero academia headcanons

[izvmimi]

cw: longer drabble but no title because i suck at titles. you are bakugou's photographer. mostly sfw.

“Mr. Dynamight,” you start, sweet as can be while erring close to the side of professionalism in present company, “would you please humor us with a smile?”

Katsuki, hounded by his personal assistant amongst a horde of personal assistants rearranging the lapel of his slightly open white shirt, adjusting his cuff links, dabbing one cheek with powder and blotting excess product off the other, arranging the spikes of his hair, grimaces at you in response. Yet by the time you have settled back behind your camera and adjust your lenses to snap your next photo, his displeased look is replaced with a smirk that is cheeky yet suits his handsome face well, and you are satisfied. 

“Great!” you reply cheerfully. The shutters close, then open, then close again and Katsuki moves surprisingly gracefully with the camera, a naturally adept subject, and grins, smirks, jeers even, all manner of looks to satisfy the demands of the shoot. 

You, on the other hand, are having a blast. 

It’s your biggest gig so far, being an up-and-coming photographer, and the chance to do a celebrity profile for a rising star as Dynamight is one in a lifetime. You still wonder how you managed to get so lucky anyway - even your first meeting was a stroke of serendipity - but you are good at capitalizing on any opportunities once presented to you. 

You reach the end of the shoot and the crew offered to you by Katsuki’s team sets up around you. You stand there behind the tripod, still watching as his personal assistant, well paid but heavily burdened, begins to recite the remainder of your friend’s schedule to him, and he rolls his eyes dismissively at something she says, something that nearly causes a vein to pop on her forehead.

“Listen, I already accommodate so much of your nonsense, so the least you can do is fix that attitude,” she hisses. You wonder if he’ll yell back, but instead his eyes shift to you, and he grins. His assistant watches his attention shift, and she groans then shakes her head before reminding him he has somewhere to be in exactly two hours, and she storms past you, giving you only a millisecond of a glance as her heels click rapidly down the hall. 

You quickly avert your eyes, pretending you didn’t see that altercation, then look down at your camera to review the photos. Katsuki is quick to find his way around you, leaning in close enough that you can smell the cologne for which he is now spokesperson for, his chin nearly rested on your shoulder. You find your body stiffening slightly, but rather than let yourself be quasi-intimidated, you decide to assert yourself in return.

“You should be nicer to her, you know,” you remind him, as you click through to return to the first of the set of pictures to show him.

“I am nice,” he answers quickly.

“Just a little bit more effort,” you suggest, turning slightly so that he can see the way your eyes crinkle when you tease him. He huffs, but his lips turn upward.

“Instead of worrying about my personality, we should focus on how good I look.” You move out of the way, hands behind your back, as he peruses through the stack, one after the other. His brow furrows as he looks, back hunched, and suddenly he is so focused you find it entertaining. 

“Anything not to your liking?” you ask. He doesn’t answer immediately, and that does actually concern you a bit. What if he doesn’t like the pictures? 

You move in a bit closer to look, aiming to catch any mistakes before he does, but he places his elbow on your shoulder which makes your heart skip a beat.

“Perfect.”

You look up at him and feel the apples of your cheek warm ever so slightly. Just before you can say anything else, you hear the door down the hall close loudly. You both turn, remembering that the studio is closing. Katsuki shoves his hands in his pockets.

“I’ll let you know if I need any more pictures taken,” he offers. You nod quickly, then berate yourself for looking a little too eager. But the extra cash can help, and he’s aware of it. He’s aware of a little too much.

He waits as you pack up your own equipment, the most expensive thing you own at the very moment. 

“Do you need a ride home?” he asks. He always does. 

You shake your head.

“I have to make a few stops anyway, and I know Suzume will get irritated if you’re late again to a program.”

“Suzume gets irritated regardless,” he replies, as he follows you out of the studio, trailing close behind. 

“It’s nice to see that you found your match,” you retort. He snorts, but doesn’t respond to that directly, making sure to let the door open for you to go through.

—

You met Katsuki in the wintertime, in the last place you’d expect the star rookie Pro Hero to be. He was the second student in an intimate pottery class of just four, and you had hardly recognized him in a large orange hoodie and khaki pants, the hood he’d been reluctant to take down the course of the entire lesson. You’d gently advised him to at least roll up his sleeves just to keep the clay away and he’d tutted at you, annoyed by the intrusion, but he’d taken the whole hoodie off anyway, and the large scar along the left side of his face, trailing down into the collar of his T-shirt had surprised the instructor and the group of students but it was the awe of recognition.

“I didn’t come here to sign autographs, I came here to make some pots,” he quickly redirected the group. You’d heard that Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was a bit of an asshole, but somehow you’d spared the arrogant nature of his words in favor of the plea in his voice to just treat him normally. No one asked him for an autograph or really asked him any questions further, although you could see the two young women who shared the class with you eye him quite ravenously in between focused spins of the pottery wheel, paying particularly close attention to his fingers as they curved and shaped the clay. 

He didn’t say anything to you or any others after that for the first two lessons.

By the third however, as you washed your hands clear of glorified mud, he took the sink next to you and asked you why you’d come. 

You turned and looked at him, startled by the question.

“To learn how to make pottery,” you answered. Why else does anyone show up to a pottery class if not to learn?

His eyes softened at the sound of your voice, adjusting his tone as he asked the question, and something in that action, the soft warmth of the red of his eyes, disarmed you and put you at unease at the same time.

“No, why are you here really?”

You can barely remember why you answered what you did at that moment, but you remember thinking about that question all night.

“To do something with my hands.”

The faucet turned off and you bowed politely before leaving quickly, unsure of where the conversation might lead you if you managed to continue. 

Things had been particularly hard then. A slew of unfortunate circumstances, then outright tragedies had seemed to sap your energy into nothing, until you were no longer sure of what your raison d’etre was anymore. But learning to do something with your hands, the slip of clay through your fingertips, an oven to refine your work, the precision of colored glaze and something to finally sip warm tea in and hope that it not only fills your belly but your heart - that was promising. 

The next day Katsuki told you he came for the same reason, and a small friendship, perhaps out of guilt that you’d treated him coldly, bloomed. 

Once Katsuki learned about a few of your troubles, the search for a new job being one of them, he’d honed in on your skill in photography, offering you to be his personal photographer for any shoots coming up. You’d asked him why he immediately trusted you with the job, and he shrugged.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he replied over a plain cup of coffee. 

You blinked, your half-eaten crepe seeming to be as shocked as you were from the smiley face made of syrup on your plate.

“That’s it?”

“If you’re bad at it, I’ll fire you. Deal?”

His directness made you laugh.

“Deal.”

So here you were, editing pictures of Katsuki, a man you know called friend, who’d learned a few more of your secrets than you truly needed to offer him, in the dead of night. Picking up on every detail, there were very few things to retouch; a man as naturally handsome as him is blessed by the camera, after all. 

A message from him on your home screen tells you to sleep and not worry. The pictures are already great as is.

He’s right. He’s always right.

—

The next time he hires you, it’s for a family magazine, and you tease him endlessly for it. He reminds you that he’s argued for hours to insist you get this paycheck and it only slows down your banter for a moment, until you say,

“What does an unmarried, only child, have to contribute to this shoot?”

He blinks and you wonder for a moment if you’ve gone too far. Then he smiles. 

“Are you trying to change that for me?”

Your cheeks warm, yet again, like soft clay unmolded, but he turns to leave and take position, and you are left to ponder on what he meant, thoughts formless.

—

Months later, Katsuki asks you if you’d like to come to a shoot again, but not as a photographer. 

“What’s the theme?” you ask. Katsuki’s half-sitting, half-laying on your couch, having decided not to go to his own apartment to shower, but borrowing yours. Something about renovations. You’re not sure you believe him, and public baths are a dime a dozen, even if he’s possibly too famous to end up at one.

“Heroes and their loved ones.”

You nearly choke on your popcorn, but he seems unfazed by what he said, more concerned about whether or not you’ll need a Heimlich maneuver in the next few moments.

“You couldn’t bring your parents or something?” you ask.

“My mom’s annoying, and Deku is already bringing his mom. Shoto brought a partner, so I think it’s fair to bring a friend.”

A friend. Something washes over your body and you’re unsure if it’s relief or disappointment. 

“Okay.”

—

You should have asked why Katsuki doesn’t have other friends, people he’s known longer and better, but the interview goes well. Shoto and Deku seem very pleased to meet you, Deku asking a million questions, and Shoto asking next to none, but telling you that you seem very nice and that they’re surprised Katsuki could make friends in such a setting. 

“We make art together, I suppose,” you suggest. “That probably makes it easier to connect.”

Deku nods affirmatively. Shoto watches you carefully as though he’s trying to parse out the nuance in your words.

Art. Art is what you make together.

—

The number of selfies in your phone with Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight increase dramatically. It starts off with a few candid pictures taken of him in the background of your selfies, then slowly becomes intentional.

Katsuki offers you a trip that you only realize when meeting downtown will be the next island over. He asks you to bring your camera, and you take pictures together. It’s a week before your birthday, but when he unwraps a box to hand you a pair of bowls he made in secret as a birthday gift, you find your eyes welling with tears.

“Does that mean you like them?” he asks. He carefully allows a finger to wipe away one that escapes and runs down your cheek.

“I love them more than anything in the world.”

—

“These pictures need you in them.”

His head lays in your lap as he leaves through the latest edition of Heroes Weekly. He looks great as usual - you made sure of that - but he’s lamenting the fact that there are still questions on tabloids and forums of where his romantic feelings lie. You let your fingers run through his hair, and he reaches out to grip you gently by the chin and pull you closer into a kiss. 

“We should go public,” he says, as your lips part. 

Yes, but you’re not ready yet. A year has passed and things have settled into place but part of you wants to keep this, whatever you and Katsuki are creating in your hearts, the art of your relationship, to yourself first. 

“Soon.”

He pouts which makes you smile, and then his hand catches yours in his hair then pulls it to his mouth, pressing his lips to the back of your hand. 

“Okay.” He won’t press you on it, and you’re thankful for that. 

“Suzume told me to remind you, you have another program tomorrow at 4.”

He grimaces again and you gently tap his forehead.

“She only messages me because you don’t text back,” you add. He sighs.

“Annoying.”

“All you have to do is listen,” you reply. He shrugs, then rises to a sitting position. You lay against his back for a moment before he turns and adjusts you so that you rest on his shoulder.

“Everything okay?” he asks. The gentleness in his voice soothes you, draws you into slumber. It’s late.

“We should take a painting class,” you suggest as he picks up on your cue and carries you to your bed.

“I’ll fit it into my schedule,” he offers, laying you down. You wrap your arms around his shoulders before he can escape, pulling him back into a kiss.

His eyelids lower, and both of you continue to do something with your hands - rather, your whole bodies.

#bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #dynamight x reader #daydreams: bnha #mimi's notes

[keulixeutin]

Lovelorn & Laughable

a/n: tried something more casual and shorter.

summary: it’s laughable that your friends think that bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you. bakugou x gn!reader.

cw: fluff. established relationship. mentions of drunkenness and alcohol. mentions of friends being afraid that reader is in an abusive relationship (they're not).  gender neutral pronouns used.

wc: 986.

You’ve been dating Bakugou for eight months, and your relationship with the infamous explosive hero is a confusing case among your friends.

However, you don’t know how confused they are until Uraraka pulls you aside one day to ask if you’re okay—read: to ask if you’re safe.

You almost laugh in her face, but you’re able to keep it together in front of her honest expression.  It’s surprising how little they know, and it’s hilarious how wrong they are (which is wild to you, because aren’t they close with Midoriya who considers him one of his closest friends?).

It’s laughable that they think Bakugou, of all people, is dangerous to you.

Bakugou, who gives you his credit card three months into the relationship.

Bakugou, who changes his phone background weekly because he can’t decide on one favorite picture of you.

Bakugou, who searches for your hand to hold even in his sleep, who jerks awake whenever he feels you shift too far away in bed, whose frantic fingers search the sheets for you in his half-sleep.

That Bakugou.  Right.

Though you have enough self control to not laugh, you do let out a wicked snort.  You tell her to watch carefully next time you’re all together, and even when she tries to tell you that she has been, you shake your head and repeat it—watch carefully.

At the next group outing at a pop-up carnival, you arrive arm-in-arm with Ashido, Bakugou following close behind.  Midoriya’s the only one who eagerly greets your boyfriend, though you wouldn’t say the others give an unkind welcome.  You grin at the ones you know are worried—Asui, Iida, and Uraraka—though they don’t find this as funny as you do.

Watch close, you mouth to them.

And they do.

At first, they think you’ve got some mild form of Stockholm Syndrome; they think that you must be used to trauma and that you can’t tell your relationship is a bomb ready to go off.  All they can see are his scowls and shouts.  All they can see is the angry child who grew bigger, stronger, and more powerful than he was a decade ago, a man who must be utilizing all of his strength and anger to keep you trapped.

Watch, you tell them again when they try to pull at you for a quick intervention.

They’re still doubtful, but for you, they try again. 

This time, they see things—they see Bakugou, maybe not the way you do, but different than how they used to.

They see how his shoulders always touch yours when he’s seated, how he accompanies you to the food stall so he can pull his wallet out, how he always glances back to see where you’re at as you linger at each stand.  They see him scowl with cheeks colored pink as you fix his hair in the whipping wind.  They see him lean into your ear and whisper something that makes you laugh as he points to an ugly pig plush prize.  They seem him pull you away from the group and sneak off into the crowd when he thinks no one’s watching.

Still not fully convinced, they finally approach Ashido about your relationship, about whether or not you’re truly safe and loved.  She’s first taken aback because she thinks they’re making a dumb joke.  Then, when she sees that they’re genuinely concerned, she doubles over in laughter, cackling so hard and so loud that there are hot tears in her eyes and painful cramps in her stomach.  She gasps out in between giggling and snorting about how incredible it is that they could believe something so obviously impossible, ignoring their expressions of irritation and shame.

Well, Bakugou doesn’t drink around you guys, so that’d probably help, huh, she says when she’s finally calmed down, wiping at her eyes.  At their confusion, she explains that he’s needy when he’s drunk.  I’ll give you a sneak peek, she smiles conspiratorially.

Pulling out her phone, she opens up the folder created specifically for sentimental Bakugou photos.  Ashido shows them a picture of him passed out on the couch, face resting against your lap with a firm grip on your calf (This was last week when he was plastered after four drinks!), another of him with you up on his shoulders in the pool, fiery smirks on both your faces (They beat me and Denki in Chicken, ugh!), and finally, a picture of him kissing you around a corner, which was immediately followed by a blurry photo of Bakugou swinging at the camera  (I don’t remember this one, actually, but this happens pretty frequently!).

Perhaps they hadn’t been watching closely after all, they think.

Ashido shows them several more photos, each with Bakugou sappier than the last, and she ends it by cooing about how cute the both of you are.  She says she’s surprised that neither you nor Midoriya have shown them anything, and Midoriya stammers out something about privacy, and they mention that they hadn’t expressed their horror in full until recently.

Horror, Ashido repeats, and then it turns into another full-blown cackle in public.

When you and Bakugou make it back to the group, you take one look at your friends and grin, seemingly aware of their newfound understanding.  They look back at you, abashed, but you’re too preoccupied with your bag of souvenirs and the ugly pig plush in your arms to be mad about their misconceptions.  Anyways, the pig was bought, not won, and you’re excited to share the story with the others.  Bakugou is on his phone again, subtly leaning against you; when Uraraka passes by behind him, she sees that he’s not scrolling through his apps but deciding a new background photo, stuck between one of you throwing the camera a kiss or laughing in the sunlight.  She watches him pick one and then favorite the other one.

#╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 gender neutral 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 lovelorn & laughable 」 #╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #mha x reader #bnha fanfics #mha fanfics #reader inserts #dynamight x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bnha fluff #bakugou fluff

[luminetti]

Dressed to Kill

༘⋆ Summary: In which, you, a professional cosplayer, mistake Bakugou’s hero outfit for a really good Halloween costume. ༘⋆ Pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader ༘⋆Warnings: n/a, reader is just the biggest dumbass (lovingly) also, i cannot stress this enough. they are NOT CHILDREN in this. they’re both at least the age of college seniors  ༘⋆Notes: huge thanks to one of my biggest inspirations for writing in general: @andypantsx3 ! this fic is lightly inspired by—and lowkey a lovechild of—her pieces, baby are you playing tricks and unconventional, so if you somehow haven’t read those yet, i strongly recommend doing so!  also now that i actually have more than one piece of writing, id love for some writer/fandom moots! im very new to tumblr and would love friends :’)  ao3 release

Halloween was by far your favorite holiday. 

As a child, you were always drawn to Halloween, not just for the candy, but for the extravagant costumes and house decorations. Nearly every year, you stayed up late with your father, hand-sewing various details onto your costume. Finally, for your eighteenth birthday, you were gifted your very own sewing machine which officially kickstarted your interest in cosplay.

Throughout your first couple years of college, you worked on your Twitter account, posting quick mirror selfies of your various cosplay projects. Only during senior year did you finally feel comfortable enough to go out in public for your first official photoshoot.

‘Comfortable’ was a bit of a stretch. Very seldom does one feel truly comfortable when posing in front of a grandiose fountain in the middle of a public garden, fully clad in foam armor. What made it significantly worse was when the aforementioned armor looked more like a metal bikini than an actual chest plate worn into battle.

Poor character design choices aside, you loved Halloween for that very reason. With everyone dressed up–or down, for some–there was no reason to feel self-conscious during your monthly photoshoots. Sure, there was the occasional snide remark, but the number of supportive comments from passersby was enough to quiet your uncertainty.

This year you had stayed up late for the past month putting the final touches on your purple staff, even attempting an LED system that allowed parts of it to glow. It had taken two weeks to get the prototype of the dress situated since you weren’t used to sewing such a large amount of detail into your fabrics. Unfortunately, this also meant it took significantly longer to finish the outfit than expected, leaving almost no time to do your wig. But, in true cosplayer fashion, you managed to whip something together with an older purple wig, just in time for tonight.

You did, however, only realize the character also had a sword occasionally, but there was no way you were going to make that in time so the staff would have to suffice.

The night had already been proving to be one of the best so far. Starting around eight in the evening, you and some of your closest friends had gotten together for a costume party, a series of shitty horror movies, and a plethora of even shittier cheap cocktails. Despite not being much of a drinker yourself, you always participated in the annual spooky-themed cocktail charcuterie. This year you weren’t holding back. Your pride and joy charcuterie consisted of nine drinks including, but not limited to ghost-themed Aperol Spiritz–nicknamed Spirit Spiritz, Bloody Marys, and your personal favorite, Bonejitos. They even had little skeleton dudes sitting on the rim of the glass.

Unfortunately, your friends weren’t very amused by your festive drinks, even going as far to say your ingenious Bonejitos were a stretch. So, clearly they didn’t see the vision. Eventually, the party events died down as the guests began to go home, allowing the night to evolve into just drinking.

“Did you get a photo of your costume yet?” Himari, your friend from freshman year, questioned.

You shook your head, absently watching as the rest of your friends downed your masterly made Bonejitos. Liars, all of them. “‘A stretch’ my ass,” you scoffed.

Himari dug around in her bag, retrieving her camera. “Halloween photoshoot? Your fit is cute and I’m getting bored here.”

You did like the idea of photography-major level photos with none of the price involved. “I love you, Mari.”

She stuffed your spear under her arm and with that, the two of you stepped out into the cold and crisp autumn air, the breeze running over your bare shoulders and thighs. You shivered lightly, pulling up your thigh-highs and hugging the excess fabric close to your body.

Himari glanced at you in concern. “Does the Raiden Shogun not wear a jacket?”

“Unfortunately, she doesn’t.” You chuckled, rubbing your arms. “You can’t be sexy and wear a jacket,” you joked.

She hummed in sympathy, looking around for a good place to set up. The park was a particularly popular spot during Halloween, specifically known for its comforting lighting and ambience.

 “What about there?” Himari pointed to a small gazebo surrounded by violets, lit up by a string of fairy lights. There were a couple groups nearby, but otherwise it was pretty much empty.

You nodded, excited. “Good eye as always, Mari.”

She handed over your spear and offered an arm,helping you step up onto the platform and underneath the gazebo. While she adjusted the lights to her liking, you took a moment to adjust your skirt and sleeves.

“Do you think it’s too short?” you asked, tugging on the cloth. Thankfully the character wore a pair of shorts underneath, but the dress was barely miniskirt length.

Himari looked over briefly before turning back to the lights. “No, not really. Why? Are you uncomfortable?”

Before you could answer, a group of college-aged girls passed by the gazebo, clearly a bit drunk. As they left, one of the girls that was hanging onto her friend’s arm looked over. “Don’t be, girlie! You look hot as fuck!” she shouted out, words slightly slurred.

You flustered, blabbering out a quick thanks in surprise. There’s nothing like a friendly drunk girl to get your confidence up.

From behind the camera, Himari gave you a thumbs up. “Give me one of these.” She mimed leaning against the wooden banister. “Yeah like that, but with your leg more out.”

The shutter clicked several times as you did your best to recreate her gestures.

Himari proceeded to guide you through a series of poses, occasionally having you incorporate your staff or the gazebo. Eventually you got used to the flashing camera and allowed yourself to melt into the character, embodying her essence as best as you could.

Time flew and before you knew it, Himari was calling you down from the gazebo to look over the photos. You hovered over her shoulder as she flipped through each one, pausing at her favorites.

“I’ll import these onto my laptop and send them back edited sometime this week,” she told you, removing her glasses and wiping them off with her sleeve.

You nodded. “Thanks for doing this, you really didn’t have to.” You rummaged through your bag, hoping to find at least a little money for her efforts. Feeling a couple bills between your fingers, you held them out to her.

Himari’s eyes squinted and you realized she was staring over your shoulder. “I think that guy in costume was looking at you,” she said, still cleaning off the lenses.

You turned to see a tall man across the park, large grenade shaped gauntlets resting on both his arms. He quickly looked away once he saw your head turn. Looking closer, you realized he was dressed in a dark black sleeveless jumpsuit with orange and green straps along his body.

He was clearly a Dynamight cosplayer. And by the looks of it, a really talented one at that.

You were almost convinced that he had real hero equipment on. His armor pieces were strikingly accurate, and you made a mental note to look for more realistic prop materials.

“He probably spent a lot of time on that,” you mused to Himari, who had already gone back to inspecting the photos.

“You should go ask him about it.” she suggested, collecting the rest of her things and zipping her bag. “I’ve gotta catch an Uber soon.”

Maybe it was the lingering confidence gifted by the girl from earlier, but you managed to muster up enough self-assurance to wave goodbye to Himari and stride right up to the cosplayer.

As you got closer, you realized just how much work must have gone into all the details. The gauntlets–a very convincing metal–had several dents and scratches, giving it a worn down look, as if it had been used frequently.

His hair looked far too real to be a wig, likely just being his natural hair with lots of product in it. The most impressive detail by far was his physique. Had he trained specifically for this? The closer you got the more you noticed. If you were lucky, maybe he’d give you the name of his supplier.

“I love your outfit!” You smiled cheerily at him.

He turned to look at you, slightly taken aback. “Thanks?” he replied, folding his arms as he looked you over, eyes lingering on your cosplay.

You felt a twinge of anxiety as he inspected your outfit. He probably just didn’t recognize the character, you convinced yourself.

“I’m a cosplayer too,” you clarified, gesturing to your dress. “But clearly not as dedicated as you.”

You watched as his chest puffed lightly at the compliment, though he titled his head, a bit puzzled.

Clearing your throat awkwardly, you tried a different method. “How long did it take to make?”

He blinked at you and shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe a couple of months? I just told them what I wanted.”

Oh, you got it now. He’s just a model. It wasn’t uncommon for people to collaborate on cosplays, especially ones where one person either commissions or buys a cosplay from an artist, and then models it themself. Either way, he was still one of the best you’ve seen.

You nodded in understanding. “Do you have social media? I’d love to see what else you’ve done.” Pulling out your phone, you loaded up your Twitter, preparing to enter his tag.

“Dynamight Official. All one word,” he replied hesitantly, looking you up and down as if he was scanning for signs of sickness.

You chuckled faintly. He was really dedicated to his role. “Well, what's your name? I follow a lot of cosplayers already. Maybe I’ve seen you?” You pulled up your profile and turned the screen around to show him in case he recognized your tag.

His arms unfolded and his face slowly morphed from confused to exceptionally amused. “Bakugou Katsuki. I am Dynamight.”

Waving him off absently, you nodded as you scrolled through your followed accounts. You swear you’ve seen him online before. “Sorry, I’m not really good at roleplay. But you’re pretty convincing.”

He leaned against the cold metal lamppost, watching you sift through various Twitter accounts. You sneaked a glance to check his facial features again, but he was already staring straight back at you.

In such close capacity, his striking crimson eyes stood out to you. Even his contacts were high quality… Fighting back the warmth that threatened your cheeks and ears, you averted your gaze downwards.

Your eyes flicked to his waist. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a thick black bomber jacket was tied tightly around his torso, unlike the real hero’s costume. Well, you stand corrected. You certainly can be sexy with a jacket.

Speaking of jackets, you had been so caught up in conversation you hadn’t realized how cold it had gotten. The soft breeze from earlier had picked up into chilly wind, rustling the fabric of your dress as it blew by.

Bakufaux–haha–seemed to notice your interest in his jacket, untying it and tossing it over your shoulders. “Bit cold for you, Princess?” he drawled. “D’nno how you’ve managed in that outfit.” He gestured to your short dress and tall socks.

You couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered on you for a half second longer than normal. Not that you would’ve said anything. Thanks to his jacket, you were enveloped with warm and musky scents of charcoal and sandalwood. Though, being honest with yourself, you’ve been distracted ever since you walked over.

You snapped out of your trance when he pushed himself off the lamppost and leaned over you. It could’ve been twenty degrees out and you’d still swear you were overheating.

“Ever considered cosplaying in my costume?” He asked, watching your darkening cheeks closely.

Maybe it was the shit eating grin he wore proudly on his face, or the sneaking suspicion in your gut, but you had an inkling of a feeling he knew something you didn’t. In a surge of confidence and curiosity, or perhaps just pure adrenaline, you took a step forward.

“And if I have?”

Something snapped behind his eyes and you could’ve sworn his gaze dropped to your lips. He might’ve actually kissed you if you weren’t interrupted by the sound of glass shattering and the screams of customers inside a late night coffee shop.

You felt your heart rate increase as he swore under his breath, whatever smug expression he previously had was replaced by something far more intense and serious.

‘“I’m not leaving you out here alone, stay close to me,” he urged, taking one last look at you before turning and running towards the sound.

It took you a second to realize you were running behind him as fast as possible.

As the two of you neared the coffee shop, you noticed numerous shards of glass laid out on the concrete. On a second glance, you noticed some of the smaller shards were beginning to melt, turning the ground slightly slick.

You halted to a stop, almost crashing into your new friend. You felt a warm hand snake around your waist, lifting your body off the ground and onto a nearby bench.

“Don’t touch the ground, and stay right here,” he told you sternly, before turning and rushing straight into the cafe.

You watched, frozen in astonishment, only able to hear the horrific sounds of glass and… explosions? Occasionally you caught a glimpse of blonde hair, dropping off a poor customer caught in the crossfire, before dashing straight back inside. In what felt like seconds, he had already retrieved nearly every patron from the cafe, all while the villain was still inside.

Quickening footsteps approached from behind your place on the bench. You barely had a chance to comprehend the noises when a flash of red zipped past you, making a beeline straight for the cafe. Only after several trips in and out of the building did you finally recognize the eccentric costume of Pro-Hero Red Riot as he gathered the remainder of the victims outside.

Through the ringing in your ears you could only vaguely make out shouting between Red Riot and someone else still inside the building. It was all intelligible until he turned to you and the victims. The last words you heard was look away, or at least you assumed.

You weren’t interested in waiting around to find out so you shut your eyes tight and turned away from the scene as best as you could.

At first nothing happened. But after a beat, you felt your eyes burn behind your eyelids as a blistering wave of heat surrounded you. You think you screamed, but you weren’t entirely sure. Every muscle in your body tensed as the bench shook underneath you, threatening to break.

But as quickly as it came, it passed. You couldn’t tell how long you had been trapped in that position, clutching your knees to your chest with your eyes sealed shut. A warm hand shook you out of position, jostling your eyes open.

When your eyes finally adjusted, blocking your vision of the cafe was none other than a tall silhouette, and familiar red eyes.

“Hey, stay with me, Princess. You hurt?”

You felt calloused hands hastily press against your body, examining you for injury. He took a hold of your ankle, easing you into extending. “Anything?”

Shaking your head, you gripped onto him as he lifted you from the bench to your feet, steadying you with strong arms.

“Happy Halloween,” you managed to mutter meekly into his chest.

You felt him shudder beneath your head as he laughed, surprisingly heartily.

“Certainly one you’ll remember.” His low voice resonated in your brain, calming whatever nerves were remaining. “Let’s get you home, m’kay?”

You let him navigate you back to your apartment surprisingly deftly given your shaky directions, until finally you found yourself thanking him at your doorstep and shutting the door behind you.

Now that you were home and given a chance to breathe, you weren’t sure what was real. Everything mixed together in a blur and you couldn’t tell if it was all a dream or not.

As you groggily slumped against your bed, you felt something soft bundle against your back. Sitting up, you reached behind your back to feel the cool fabric of the black jacket you had been holding tightly against yourself. Embroidered on the sleeve were a pair of initials you hadn’t noticed before.

B.K.

With a strange pounding in your chest, you pulled out your phone.

Sure enough, you had one new notification.

@DynamightOfficial followed you back

The device buzzed in your hand with a second notification. A direct message request alongside an image. Swiping to your messages, you opened the text from your new follower.

Front and center was a quick photo of Bakugou’s hero costume, laid out neatly on his bed. Directly underneath the image were two small text bubbles.

u take commissions?

ive got something in mind for ya

#bakugou katsuki #mha #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou #dynamight #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #dynamight x reader

[frickingnerd]

bakugou crushing on a mindreader

pairing: katsuki bakugou x gn!reader

tags: fluff, katsuki is in denial, mean katsuki, katsuki calling you names

katsuki seemed like the type of guy who would just say out loud what he thinks, but only you knew that this wasn't the case

he would often deny he had feelings for you, even call you names to let people think he hated you

but you could read his mind – something he wasn't aware of when he first fell in love with you – and you knew the truth

you knew that everytime katsuki pinched your cheeks and called you an ugly hamster, he was only thinking about how cute you looked up close

he was melting just by touching your soft cheek and being this close to you

you didn't tell him about your quirk for the longest time, always waiting for the right moment to reveal to him that you had been able to read his mind all along

and when mina invited you one day to hang out with her, katsuki and the other boys, it seemed like the day of the reveal had come

mina was the one who let it slip what your quirk was, when denki asked her about it

and katsuki of course overheard it, given he stood right next to the two of them

immediately, he started to panic! 

all those times he thought about how cute you looked, how nervous he was about being close to you, how in love he was with you – you knew about them!

when his head whiped to the side, staring at you in shock, he found you already looking at him, with a sly smirk on your lips

you knew! you were reading his thoughts in this very moment and he was trying so hard to think of anything except you! 

it didn't take long for the boys to notice the panicking katsuki, his face red as his bit down on his bottom lip frustrated

sero was the one who put the pieces together first, turning to you and grinning amused

"was bakugou thinking of anything embarrassing right now, y/n~?" he asked

you just locked eyes with katsuki, grinning at the boy before turning back to sero

"something like that, yeah"

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #katsuki #bakugou #bakugo #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #dynamight x reader #dynamite x reader #x reader #x you #x gn reader #x y/n #fluff #headcanons #drabble #oneshot #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha #my hero academia x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no hero academia x reader #bakugo x reader

[quitesins]

𝐃𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭’𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

Masterlist | Ao3

Bakugou x fem!reader

Tags: 18+, NSFW, Smut, Oneshot, pwp lol, aged up bakugou, pro hero bakugou, established-but-early-relationship, soft dom katsuki, soft fic in general, reader wears Dynamight themed lingerie

“Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours.”

Your relationship is by no means a secret, but it’s in it’s earlier stages, so the sudden pda surprises him. He welcomes it, a little flustered, and brings himself close to let you whisper.

“I have something to show you.” 

His eyes lift in amusement and curiosity. Then he nods and turns to you. 

Bakugou pays no mind to the eye rolls of his friends, the childish ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ from Kaminari, all he can focus is on you. The dim lights look good on your skin, illuminating you, pretty like a picture. 

His eyes flick to your hair, there’s two mimic explosions clipped in, like his own uniform’s. Cute , he thinks, before finally taking your hand and letting you lead the way. 

He ruffles your hair as the two of you walk, smirking to himself. “What’s this?” 

You simply shrug with your own subtle smirk. “You’ll see.”

You don’t give away a thing as he drives to your flat. Even when his free hand dances over your thighs, you keep them closed with a mischievous smile. 

Tugging him along, with his hand in yours, you push him gently into your room. You tell him to sit. He raises an eyebrow at your command but listens. 

You don’t sit with him, which he finds a little odd. Oftentime he’s in your bed- it’s beside you, despite the space seeming too tiny for a man like him. But he waits patiently anyways. While you skip around, looking for something. 

When you do find the object of your searches, it’s a little remote. One for your lights, he notes. With a few clicks, the room suddenly becomes dark, fluorescent in its glow. He huffs a small laugh, seeing where this is going.

“Ok now watch me.” He thinks the way you speak is almost innocently eager. Although he understands the intent, he can’t help but find it sweet. “Don’t laugh!”

“M’not!” Katsuki raises his hands in jest, letting you continue.

As you begin to strip, he watches with a knowing grin. 

“You wanted to fuck?” He muses playfully. “Is that it?”

Your eyes roll. “Just wait for it.”

Soon he sees the expanse of your skin, covered in something- oh.

It isn’t often Katsuki is rendered speechless, even through fear and defeat, it tends to come with a million curses. But there he sits, mouth agape, in utter silence.

It’s like you’re draped in him. Black lace coats your breasts, with orange criss-crossed atop. As your trousers slip, he nearly groans when he sees the garters on your thighs, fashioned like his own. Have you been wearing this the entire time? 

“F-fuck.” He finally lets out, breathy, probably not even realising he has. His eyes glow in genuine awe.

“Like it?” Your words are playful as you give a quick twirl. Posing even, making your skin crease against itself, looking so soft and pliable. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. He doesn’t say anything either, too mesmerised by the sight.

Your expression falters for a moment in hesitation but he doesn’t let it simmer, raising his arms and beckoning you to the bed. 

“Come here, pretty girl.” 

And you do, sultry as you walk to take seat, in his lap.  

The weight of you on top of him is familiar, yet it feels so new. Actually, he feels like a fucking virgin again. He doesn’t know where to touch first. So used to having you all for his taking, now wanting to savour each inch of you wrapped in his colours. 

His eyes latch onto your breasts, how they fill out your bra so perfectly, stretching the orange X across your chest. By now, he’d already have a tit in his mouth, sucking harsh to satiate his growing oral fixation. However this time, he lets his fingers run across the lace. He feels you shiver when he goes over the slight bump where your nipple hardens, and groans. 

“I guess you do like it?” You ask impishly, knowing you don’t need an answer. 

“Of course I fuckin’ like it,” he huffs, bringing himself to kiss you.

The kiss is strangely gentle, a little calculated even. He can taste the cold of the gum you had been chewing, while his hands work carefully to tug your bra down. He could easily unclip it, having done so many times before, but he wants to see it on you. So he pulls it down, stifling another groan when he watches your breasts spill out. He creates a trail with his kisses, past your neck, to your collar, and then to where he wishes to be most.

It’s with a tentative lick, does he let himself taste you. He rolls your nipple around in his mouth, lightly, but tugging here and there. You react so prettily for him, taking sharp breaths that edge close to whines. You even start to subtly push yourself down onto him, whether you realise it or not, aching for any friction. He wants to stop you, to savour you, but it’s difficult when you look so needy.

“Relax for me sweetheart,” he whispers against your skin. “Let’s take it slow.”

Katsuki doesn’t have to look up to know you’re a flustered mess. 

You listen, as you always do. Even when your brain starts to melt, you always listen. And that shoots another wave of heat through him. How can he be in control of himself with a girl as gorgeous as you so ready, so pliant, so obedient. 

“Shit,” he hisses. “Get on the bed for me?”

With you splayed out against your sheets, his eyes aren’t even sure where to look. The cute face that stares back at him. The tits that look too perfect to be real. Or the dampening spot between your thighs, that he can practically taste from where he sits.

“You’re too…” Unsure of how to even word himself, his voice trails off. Instead he opts in showing you. 

Using his hands to caress you, his lips settle on yours again. This time, when he paints his kisses down your neck, he doesn’t stop to where your breasts still call for him. Rather, he keeps going, passing where his hands hold your waist. The sensation is strange, you jostle- feeling ticklish, and he continues to mouth against the bare skin. 

When he reaches the green strap that digs into your hip, he’s tempted to lift it, just to watch it snap. And he does. He’s slave to his desires after all. When he looks up, you pout indignantly, but he can see how your pout holds back a smile. 

“Had to.” He shrugs smugly and continues.

Soon his tongue is slipping over the fabric itself, soothing where it snapped. His breath is so warm and it’s hard for you to stay still. So he holds you a little firmer.

It’s especially hard when he gets to your thighs. His fingers sink into them so tenderly, circling the skin where your garters lay. For a moment he wonders where you even found such a thing, of course not complaining.

“Can’t believe you’d do all this for me.” Humming, he slinks up and down your legs, making sure no part of you is left untouched.

“Wanted-” You breathe. “Wanted to look pretty for you.”

He stills as he reaches your hip, frowning. “Always look pretty to me.”

Through kisses he speaks, so earnest. “Always-” Kiss. “So-” Kiss. “Perfect-” Kiss. “For me.”

You can’t even reply with your own fluster, Katsuki catching you off guard as he parts your thighs.

He looks at where the fabric of your underwear clings to you, stickied by your own lust. He gulps. It’s pure sin. Pure fucking sin. And he hasn’t even seen you yet. 

A wiggle of your hips breaks him from his stupor. When you look at him, you expect eyes of ravenous hunger and dangerous desire, but instead you are gifted with the view of a man so innocent in his awe.

“Something else.” He shakes his head, like he can’t fathom the sight. “You’re something else.”

When he does go to rid you of your underwear, he’s a little stuttered with his undressing. He pulls them down slowly, getting caught onto the garter. Then, frustrated, tears through them. Finally, you’re free, all for him to see.

His touch is timid. Again, like it’s his first time. He feels he should just give you what your body begs for, but he can’t. His own shyness too much to push through. 

“Want me to open you up?” 

The shake of your head widens his eyes.

“No, I want you, even if it hurts.” 

The words should be filthy, should give him perfect avenue to taunt and tease. Yet all it does is make him swallow his moan, cock aching terribly at the thought of sinking into you, so raw and untouched. 

Although he knows it’s best to give you the warm up, he can’t deny your request.

“If that’s what my girl wants.”

He’s quick to take his shirt off, and then his trousers. Probably looking like an eager fool but he didn’t care. He just needed to be inside of you. 

His cock springs up as soon as it is freed from his boxers. Choosing to ignore the wet patch where his tip leaked, he palms himself slightly. There’s no reason to, he’s already harder than he’s ever been.

Katsuki gulps when he brings himself to you, taking in the sight one last time. He looks at how your breasts, covered in his marks, are cupped by the bra of his colours. He watches as your chest rises and falls, comfortingly. He even takes a second glance at the clips, messy, but still stuck into your hair cutely. 

“Katsuki please.” 

He nods. And finally pushes in.

The feeling is devastating .

You’re soft, and tight, and the further he sinks in, the more his head starts to spin. So devilishly wet, so angelically warm. He feels a little debauched in how much pleasure he takes from the simple act of being sheathed by you. He hasn’t even had the thought to move. 

He feels as you hold your breath. It makes a part of him twinge in sympathy, but he knows if he stops- you’d hate it even more.

“Breathe for me sweetheart.”

With a few heavy but needed breaths, he lets himself pull out, hissing as he does. That slight friction is enough to have him almost keeling, but he continues. You’re no better, looking up at him with eyes so full of desire. 

He pushes back in, hearing the noises of your bodies intertwined. Your heat is engulfing. So much so, the thought of pulling out pains him. 

When he does pull out once more, it’s slow but he’s quick to find a rhythm that works. 

It’s a sweet and slow back and fourth, an ebb and flow of the two of you tangled as one. Synchronised in the same pleasure. There are words unsaid. Thoughts unspoken. Yet nothing is hidden. Nothing is not shared. 

When you whine, he already knows what you want. He’s heard the same sound a million times before but it never fails to leave him dizzy.

“I know baby, I know.” He comforts, still not giving into your pleads. You were too good to rush. He wanted to relish every second.

Responding by wrapping your arms around him, he smiles. Still so compliant. He lets your nails dig into his skin, then hisses because he likes it. In turn his thrusts become deeper, and you seem to like that.

You clench around him too many times to count, his own growing tightness following to bring him close. The room fills with the sounds of touching skin and lusty moans. It’d be a miracle if no one could hear, if no one could tell what was happening behind the thin walls of your apartment. 

Katsuki grits his teeth when you nuzzle into his neck, you always get so clingy when you’re about to come. He isn’t any better, pushing himself closer and closer. 

The tightness in his abdomen starts to get too much. He even struggles to keep up with his own thrusts, growing erratic with each push. Your body doesn’t help either, moulding so perfectly around him, squeezing each time he presses against that spot he knows all too well. 

“Come with me baby- fuck-“ The words tumble out of Katsuki. “Come with me Angel.”

You reply only with the frantic nods of your head, arms wrapping tighter around him, legs doing the same. Not only does your heat embrace him, but your entire form does too. It’s too much. 

The two of you break.  

With skin pressed so close, unable to tell where he ends and you start, you both come with shattering pleasure. It ripples between you, like a pebble dropped in water, stretching out your orgasms till you shake and cry.  

His arms wrap around you, comforting, protective. You shiver in his hold, body jellied from everything, and he strokes your hair out your face, soothing with each touch. 

“You okay-” he croaks, throat groggy. “Baby, talk to me?”

You only nod, but he wants to hear you so he pulls himself off and switches your positions. Rested on his chest, he cups your chin and forces you to look at him. Your eyes are watery and your smile is shaky, but he knows as much as you, you’re in nothing but bliss. 

“I’m okay,” you mumble into his chest. “Liked it… a lot.”

“So, the gentle stuff huh?” He speaks, a little guiltily. If he knew how good it would be to take his time with you, he’d have done it a million times before.

You breathe out a little laugh. “I like anything.” He can feel your smile against his skin. “As long as it’s you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” huffing, he turns, unable to keep the sickly smile off his face. “So fucking sappy.”

“I love you.” You’re unrestrained with your words, too sleepy to care. 

Katsuki softens, then presses a kiss to your forehead. He whispers his own confessions and closes his eyes. 

He knows soon you’ll feel too sticky to stay comfortable, to hot to be in bed- but for now, with you on his chest, he lets himself rest.

This is my third time posting, if it don’t work I’m exploding myself into a billion pieces.

#mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki x reader #fanfic #bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #dynamight x reader #female reader #bakugou x fem!reader #mha fic #bakugou fanfiction #bakugou fic #fanfiction #mha smut #bakugou smut #anime smut #quite sinner #quitesins bkg

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 9 - A bubbly experience 🫧

Summary: Katsuki acts like a good fucking husband. That’s the summary.

Warnings: swear words, Reader and Katsuki are sharing a bath naked, mentions of being aroused but no smut at all. They only kiss. Pinky promise.

16+ but let’s make it 18+ for safety.

First Chapter Master List

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Ahh. The sun is up already. You really fucking hate existing right now. Being in this condition is already bad enough, but the mornings are the worst of it all; waking up feels like coming back from hell after going through 300 different kinds of torture.

“Just end my suffering.” You mumble to yourself, completely forgetting that you are not alone.

“It’s five fucking AM, shut the fuck up.” Comes the sweet answer from your side; Katsuki’s hair tickles the back of your neck as he snuggles into you as much as he can, probably trying to cancel out the light and the noise at the same time. His arms tighten around your middle possessively, pulling you as close as humanly possible, absolutely ignoring the fact that there are some parts of him that you weren’t completely ready to feel at “five fucking AM” in the morning as Katsuki would say. “You need somethin’? Water? Toilet? Anythin’?” He mumbles after his mind caught up with the situation. People can say whatever they want about Katsuki being a terrible boyfriend material, but those people don’t fucking see him all soft and mushy and caring and affectionate….

“Nah, I have everything I need right here.” You stroke his hands sitting on your belly with a lovesick smile on your face.

“That was so fucking cheesy.” Katsuki GIGGLES and takes a deep breath, his nose deep in your hair. “You smell like shit.” He snorts, but you can feel that he’s still smiling.

“Stop smelling me then, weirdo.”

“Nah, I love it.” Katsuki grins. Your heart skips a beat.

Honestly. This man is something else. You kinda want to go on a gossip site and leave an anonymous message about Dynamight’s soft side. The fan girls would eat that shit up for sure.

“You will be the death of me.” You mumble into your sheets with a red face.

“I’m literally keeping you alive right now.” Katsuki retorts proudly. “Now shut up and sleep, I’m not ready for this shit.”

“What shit?” You ask, confused.

“Living.”

Fair deal.

Early morning conversations with Katsuki are certainly your new favorite things in the whole world.

~•💥•~

“Wake up, you lazy shit.” Katsuki grumbles, clearly annoyed. The lovely scent of freshly brewed coffee hits your nose and that’s enough for you to have the energy to open your eyes and lean towards the lovely scent; you kinda resemble those dogs smelling bacon while they sleep in those funny videos on YouTube but you can’t be bothered to be ashamed of yourself right now; being in this condition is already enough of an embarrassment anyway. “I brought your breakfast in today but I hate when people eat in bed so this is the last time, got it?”

“Yes, boss!” You take the coffee from Katsuki’s hands automatically, but he takes it away with a disappointed look on his face.

“Did you really forget why I’m bringing you breakfast to bed?”

“Because you love me?” You answer self-deprecatingly.

Katsuki only sighs.

“What’s the time?” He mumbles. Well, that’s a really stupid question to ask right now, but okay; you reach towards the nightstand to check your phone. Surprisingly, the device stays in your hand for quite a long time before your arms give in and the phone falls into your lap.

“Oh. Yeah. I forgot about that for a second.”

You are such an idiot sometimes, honestly. Being in love really makes you stupid.

“How are you feelin’?” Katsuki mumbles as he slowly sits down next to you with the tray of food. It looks phenomenal, just like everything Katsuki makes.

“You worry too much, Kats.” You smile at the hero but he only rolls his eyes at that.

“I ain’t worried, you would even survive the fucking plague. I just don’t want a coffee stain on my mattress, that’s all.”

“Sure.” You giggle to yourself while Katsuki slowly feeds you the pancakes even thought you are quite sure your arms work just enough to take the fork and feed yourself, even if it would be a bit slow.

For some weird reason, Katsuki looks content. He cuts the pancake into small pieces, prolonging the whole thing like he wants to enjoy this for longer than it’s needed, he tilts the coffee mug gently and slowly as he lets you drink the super sweet caramel coffee he made just for you and when the food is gone he makes sure there isn’t a single stain on your face by wiping your lips with a napkin but the touch feels so gentle, it feels like a caress; Katsuki acts the opposite of his usual self but somehow, it feels more genuine than his angry grumbles. After breakfast, Katsuki asks you to stay in bed while cleans up the mess; he comes back a few minutes later, his face determined; whatever he’s about to say the only acceptable answer is YES.

To be fair, that’s fine. It’s not like there is anything you wouldn’t do for this man…

“Your smelly ass is gonna have a bath and I’ll help.”

… Nevermind. Scratch that.

“Fuck no.”

Wait, wait, wait. You haven’t even seen each other naked yet. You haven’t even… well… you haven’t done the deed or anything like that, the most intimate thing between you two was when you touched the hem of his boxers at his parent’s house and he absolutely hated it. You are still not completely over the fact that he hated it, by the way. You understand why, but it still hurts like a bitch! There is no way you can get naked in front of him and…

“Fuck yes.” Katsuki retorts. “The bath is ready and it’s super bubbly, so I won’t see shit. Come on.”

The blonde acts like a stubborn dad, his arms already under your armpits to pull you up.

“Katsuki, put me down, I need a moment.” You yelp as he puts you on his shoulders like a sack of potatoes, barely listening to your anxious retorts.

“The more you think about it the worst it’s gonna be. Let’s get over with this. You trust me, don’t you?”

That was a fucking low-blow. Emotional manipulation, that is. Fuck’s sake.

You know you are freaking out over nothing; you are both adults and both heroes, full of scars that will never fade. He knows how you look like under all the oversized clothing; fuck, Katsuki have kissed most of your scars in his room right before you two made your way to meet Katsuki’s parents. It’s just…

This is not how you wanted him to see you for the first time. You are not a romantic person and you definitely had a hunch Katsuki isn’t either so you kinda imagined your first time to happen out of the blue, hands wondering a bit too far, unable to stop and then things just happen… you thought the first time he sees you naked will be the time you two decide to take the next step; when you are too busy and too excited to really take in the sight. Somehow, this whole situation makes you feel so fragile and insecure, it actually clouds your mind enough you almost make the blonde stumble as you reach out for the door frame to make him stop.

Coming here was a mistake. A big fucking one at that.

Katsuki sighs but he doesn’t let go yet; he strokes your back soothingly, silent for a moment then slowly takes a step forward until your arms give in and hands falls, your whole body giving in to the fatigue. A sweet scent fills your lungs when you take a deep breath; cinnamon, caramelized sugar with a citrusy undertone; it smells like Katsuki but not really; the scent is more fresh than Katsuki’s usual scent and it’s much stronger.

“If you really don’t want to, I’ll put you back to bed.” Katsuki’s confidence clearly wavers as he puts you down on the toilet seat. He hands you your toothbrush, not even trying to force you to do anything anymore; the guy looks heartbroken to be honest, and you absolutely hate seeing him like this and you hate the fact that YOU made him feel like this even more. You quickly wash your teeth while Katsuki stands by the door, clearly in his own little world, probably deciding between leaving or staying. He takes one step forward and one step back, just how he did yesterday when he wasn’t sure if sleeping together was okay or not.

For you, it was so obvious that it’s okay yet he still managed to waver and overthink the whole situation; Bakugou Katsuki might look like an over-confident asshole but deep inside he’s just as uncertain as you are.

You spit out the toothpaste and Katsuki appears by your side right away; he takes the toothbrush from you, cleans your mess up without a single retort and he’s just about to leave the room when your mind finally clears out enough to see how stupid you are being right now.

“Can you stay? I want you to stay.” You mumble into the awkward silence; your cheeks feel burning hot so you are quite sure your whole face is as red as a tomato, but it doesn’t really matter right now. “I want to try and get in alone. I feel like I’m not as weak as I thought I’ll be, which is a good sign but I want to be sure. Will you catch me if I fall?”

“Of course, you idiot.” Katsuki mumbles but he doesn’t roll his eyes this time. He turns away and closes his eyes, probably listening to his surroundings so he can catch you without even looking; his face is determined like he’s about to fight the final boss blind and seeing him like this makes you feel so many things at once; adoration, gratitude, pure love and trust towards the person who’s willing to do all of this for his girlfriend of a few weeks without a single nasty retort. Bakugou Katsuki is not a person who wills to shape himself to fit anyone’s expectations, not even All Might’s, yet here he is, soft and pliant, only an arms length away, listening, understating and trying his best to do what makes you feel the most comfortable in this fucked up situation. You are sure this is not how he wanted this to go either; he also had to have his own daydreams about the day you two tear down another wall between you, but he doesn’t complain, doesn’t say a word, just goes with the flow and let’s you take over, even if it kills him inside.

If you didn’t know Katsuki’s words were true before, you definitely know the truth now; he wouldn’t do any of this if he wouldn’t love you as much as you love him. The realization hits you like a truck and butterflies erupt in your chest as you slowly take your shirt off, then your pajama pants until you shakily stand, completely naked, right next to the bath tub. You sit down on the rim, take in the sight of the thick layer of bubbles, one of your hands playing around with them while the other hides your breasts. You take another deep breath and move your leg into the tub, followed by the other; the bath is a little too hot but at least it burns away the remaining of your anxiety.

“Fuck, I made it in. Alone. On the first day.” You mumble excitedly while you try to make a little wall in front you with the bubbles in the bath. “This is huge, Katsuki. I might be able to be a hero again.” You don’t even realize you started crying in the middle of your sentence until Katsuki mumbles “fuck” under his nose and makes his way to sit on the side of the bathtub with you. He leans in to put your foreheads together and takes a deep breath; the action makes you blush like a teenage schoolgirl, way too aware of the fact that you are laying in a massive bathtub, naked.

“I told you, you are a fucking tank. You’ll kick your weakness in the ass and come back twice as strong. I fucking knew it. Fuck, I’m so proud of you.”

There are butterflies everywhere now; in your chest, in your tummy, in your heart, right in the middle; Katsuki’s natural scent fits so perfectly with the scent of the bubble bath, sweet but spicy; you are rendered utterly speechless when Katsuki moves away just so he can look into your eyes, his gaze deep and so-so fond it makes your stomach squirm. You swear your heart explodes under the pressure and puts itself back together at the same time when Katsuki leans back in to leave an agonizingly slow and deep kiss on your lips while he pushes his shirt up and pulls it through his head in one swift move, not even giving you enough time to understand the situation before he barges back in for another one. He still fiddles with something but you are too content to let your mind wander about what the heck is happening; in the next few seconds, something heavy plops into the bath tub, right next to you. You open your eyes and your breath hitches; Katsuki is in his underwear, his legs already in the water, slowly moving towards your other side until he sits down right next to you, skin touching skin when he snakes his arms around your middle. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, leaving a few chaste kisses there, his body tense and anxious but he doesn’t give in to the tension; he takes a deep breath and tries to relax, but he’s clearly not as chill about this as he tries to make it look like.

“I heard that having a bath together helps people who struggle with the whole intimacy thing. I thought I might try it. Should have asked first though.” He mutters into your neck apologetically.

“You don’t need to ask.” You answer with a heavy blush. “Can I put my arm behind you? Is that okay?”

Katsuki squirms for a second but he takes another deep breath to relax himself.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready.” He says and you can’t help but giggle at that.

“Katsuki, you make it sound like I’m asking you to let me pinch your nipples! You are doing okay. You are okay. You can also say no. It’s fine.”

Katsuki’s face contorts into a frown and you start to get a bit anxious about his behavior; maybe this was a bit too much for him, maybe you should just ask him to leave and have a breather… he’s done so well already there is no reason to push himself.

“Can I.. clean you up instead? I want to wash your back. I think.” He mutters shyly. Bakugou Katsuki is being shy. Oh damn, what did you do to deserve this shit?! You nod silently, not wanting to ruin the intimate mood; Katsuki takes a brand new bottle of shower gel in his hand which has his own logo on the front and pours some into a shower puff. “I made this deal with this cool natural cosmetic shop from England. They wanted to do a collab with the top 10 heroes. This is the first prototype.” He mutters under his nose and slowly leans forward with the puff in his hands. “Deku made a bath bomb and the shower gel, they smell like pine and something sweet. It’s quite weird but whatever. Todoroki couldn’t decide what scent to go for so he has two shower gels, one peppermint and one spicy one. The spicy one is really nice.”

You are not sure if you are supposed to say anything or not; it seems like Katsuki is mostly muttering to himself, probably trying to calm down by filling the silence with random words so the situation doesn’t feel that intimate. Katsuki is struggling but the more he moves the puff around, the more content he gets. He stops abruptly when he gets to your breasts; he stops right where the skin starts to bounce and stays there, frozen. Instead of words, you decide to give him consent with an action; your hand comes up to cover his, slowly moving his hands around your chest while you leave tiny kisses on his shoulders to reassure him.

“I… well… My shower gel…” Katsuki stutters, his eyes big as saucers. If this wouldn’t be so hard for him you would definitely make a virgin joke. “Do you remember when you said you like the smell of my pillow?” Katsuki’s hand moves down to your belly.

“Yeah.” You sigh, trying your best not to get too excited from his touches. It’s not going well.

“I told them I want my shower gel to smell like my sweat. It sounds disgusting now that I said it out loud but I wanted to make it… for you… but whatever. It’s not important. Just… fuck off, don’t look at me like that!” Katsuki moves away with a grumpy pout on his face.

Needless to say, you are five seconds away from crying.

“When… when did you start working on this?” You ask, voice wavering. You won’t cry. You will fucking push through this without a single tear drop. You can do this.

“Six… months ago.” Katsuki’s face is the color of Midoriya’s sneakers and so are his ears. You make a tiny little squeaky noise. “Yes, months before we actually… became a thing, shut the fuck up now and gimme your legs.”

“Fucking marry me, Katsuki. Right now.”

Katsuki can make explosions under water. In case you wondered. They also die right away for obvious reasons and something bubbles up to the surface, so it ends up looking like he just farted underwater. It’s quite hilarious.

“We need to live together for at least a few months before we marry to make sure we can share a space without killing each each other.” Katsuki says like he’s reading it from the news paper. He grabs your leg under the water and yanks it up aggressively; you yelp and laugh at the same time when he rubs your skin with the same aggression; finally, Katsuki feels more like himself.

“Did you Google that before?” You giggle as he swaps your legs over. Katsuki only grunts, his cute little ears on fire.

“Fuck off. You look really nice from this point of view by the way.” Katsuki gives you the biggest shit eating grin when his words finally sink in; he clearly enjoys your misery as his grin grows bigger and bigger as he crawls over you, his hands on the rim of the bath tub.

This might be a really inappropriate thought when you can’t even move your arms properly but Bakugou Katsuki is the definition of sexiness as the water drips down on his abs, the droplets cold on your shoulders when they plop on your skin. Hell, you wouldn’t even think twice about pushing him back into the water and crawl all l over him if you wouldn’t be in this condition.

Hm, maybe this water needs to be cooled down a bit. It’s way too hot in here.

You do your best to move your arm and touch his sides at least; you crave the feeling of him, you crave it so much it actually hurts but maybe that’s just the fatigue; your hand finds the hem of his underwear at his back and you decide to try your luck; you slowly pull down the fabric, making sure you don’t touch anything too inappropriate and keep an eye contact the whole time. Katsuki’s eyes darken for a moment, his chest rigid and unmoving as though he forgot how to breathe; he bites his lips and takes another deep breath, his body slowly moving away from you to sit back to his original place. Okay, that was too much. Roger that. Let’s take a deep breath; you definitely need it.

If you thought Katsuki can’t surprise you any more, well… you were wrong; he removes his underwear under the water in one swift move, and throws it on the floor.

“You happy now?” He moves towards you to give you a chaste kiss on the lips, then another, and another.

“Are you?” You retort, genuinely confused by the sudden change in Katsuki’s behavior. Is he really okay with this? Are you okay with this?! Why does it feel so natural? Alright, it definitely does not feel natural as your heart is about to explode and run away to Narnia through Katsuki’s bathroom cupboard but…

“I think I like sharing a bath with you. I want to do this every fucking day.” Katsuki grins. He looks so happy and content in this position, cuddling into you from the side… you feel the urge to tangle your legs together but you try your best not to act on that urge; there is no way you can avoid touching his private parts in that position.

Not like you would mind…

Oh damn.

You need to take another deep breath then drink a lot of water when you get out. You seem to be a bit thirsty.

“Okay, let me wash myself and let’s get out before I combust.” Katsuki grumbles as he pours a bunch of shower gel on the puff again.

“Can I not help?” You pout at the blonde.

“Maybe tomorrow.” He WINKS and finishes as quick as it’s humanly possible while you gawk at him with mouth half open.

Yes. This man will certainly be the death of you.

… next chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- Sorry for the long wait, I swear I’m trying 😭 My new work schedule is kicking me in the ass. Hopefully, I’ll get used to it eventually, I’m already making some progress!

- I hope you liked this chapter, I had this idea in my head for ages and I couldn’t wait to finally write it down! I love this version of Katsuki so much.

Likes, comments and reblogs are more than appreciated! Send me your thoughts about the chapter in the comments 💜💥

TL:

@sixxze @iwannahaveaprettyaesthetic @hanatsuki-hime @cloroxisadelectabletreat @cheesenmax @coffeent @smolsleepybat @therealpotatobish @qardasngan @canarystwin @unofficialmuilover @nanamomo1 @mikestuffffs

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou x self insert #bakugo x you #shenanigansbypurplepotato #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #soft bakugou #pro hero dynamight x reader #dynamight x reader #dynamight

[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

[thecowboykatsuki-anon]

MDNI

————-

The first covert mission Bakugou goes on after you start dating is a rough one. He’s not allowed contact, he’s not allowed to check in, he’s barely allowed to tell you he’s going to be gone for a bit.

It’s two months of torture, and he’s never been happier to be done with something in his entire life.

The entire debriefing meeting afterwards, his leg is bouncing impatiently, arms crossed and checking the time every two minutes.

The second that he’s dismissed he’s heading to collect his personal items from storage, cursing out the idiot interns who didn’t bother to keep his personal phone charged while he was away. He doesn’t stop to change out of his hero uniform, either, not wanting to endure another hour without you.

He’s lucky not to have been pulled over with the way he speeds home, the lights of the city whizzing past him on his bike, too desperate to hold you again after so many days missing you.

His hands are shaking with excitement by the time he reaches the door to your shared apartment, cursing himself when he drops the keys not once, but twice, in his haste.

But it’s so worth it to see you standing there in surprise, a laundry bin perched on your hip, your hair haphazardly pulled back with a clip. You’re wearing one of his shirts, the faintest hem of your pajama shorts peeking out from underneath them and it’s all he can do to remember to close the door behind him before he’s on you.

His hands are everywhere at once when he pulls you against him and lifts you, mouth pressed hungrily against yours. He growls when your legs wrap around his slim hips, fingertips digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise as he walks the two of you to the couch, settling down heavily with you in his lap.

He barely lets either of you breathe, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, hands siding under your shirt to grip your hips.

You’re just as desperate as he is, though, tugging on those blonde locks, panting against his mouth. Even when you try to pull back, try to calm yourself and tell him you have time now, he chases you, pulls you flush against him again. He’s got you pressed right over the prominent bulge in his hero suit and gives a roll of his hips that has you whining into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.

He’s desperate to hear it again, his hands guiding you to grind down on him, his own hips following your rhythm. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and you can’t stop the streams of his name followed by ‘please’ and ‘don’t stop’ that flow from your lips when they’re not pressed against his.

His hands slide from your hips to beneath your shorts, grabbing handfuls of your ass as he plants his feet on the coffee table and adjusts his body lower, your clothed cunt now dragging entirely over his length, clit catching with every roll of his hips.

He stops kissing you now, both panting as he looks at you from his place beneath you, your eyes squeezed shut and hair falling around your face. Your mouth is parted, fingers digging into the material of his suit that’s bunched around his chest and he swears it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He wants to encourage you, wants to tell you to use him, let yourself go, but you don’t need it. He can tell by the way your pace is getting sloppy, the way your legs are beginning to shake around him that you’re close. He gives one more sharp thrust of his hips, and it’s all you need to fall apart, teeth clenched and body trembling and he can’t help himself, especially when you call out his hero name.

The sight of you coming undone so completely over him, for him, without his cock pressed up inside you has him cumming, hips rising as he throws his head back and groans low in his throat, holding your cunt down against his length as white coats the inside of his thigh.

You lean forward to settle your head into the crook of his neck as you both come down, still panting as he presses a shaky kiss to your hair.

You force yourself to tilt up, eyes still hooded. “Did we both…?” You ask, cheeks red with embarrassment and he can’t help but chuckle.

“Yeah, sweet girl. Looked too damn pretty cumming in my lap,” he admits. He expects you to look disappointed but you don’t, shifting instead to press a much sweeter kiss to his lips than the ones before.

“Shower with me?” You ask quietly, biting on your lower lip as if you’re nervous that he’d ever turn down that offer, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“Oh, sweetheart, I plan on doing a lot more than just showering with you,” he promises lowly, silently vowing to make up for the last two months.

#Bakugou blurb #MDNI #mha #cowboy anon writes #thecowboyanon writes #t writes #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugou #bakugo x reader #pro hero dynamight #Dynamight x reader

[hoezhatelola]

bakugou, or dynamight, as he was known by you and other civilians, is the type of pro hero that knows how hot he is. he’s that brawny, hard-headed, explosive man that saved countless lives everyday. not to mention he was popular with the ladies, but he didn’t pay them any mind.

he only paid attention to you. your tight, short skirts and strawberry scented perfume drove him feral, and he’d do anything to get a whiff of it as you passed by. for a man so rough and aggressive, he loved your cute ponytails and the tiny bows that sometimes adorned your locks.

he enjoyed hearing your quiet gasps and sweet moans while he rutted his hips deep into you. there was something so hot that just turned him on about you being his stupid, quirkless little plaything.

your sex was always the best, bakugou using his quirk to gently heat up his fingers while he played inside of you, bringing you to cum on his hands countless times in a matter of minutes “you like cummin’ on these hands? huh? dirty fuckin’ slut.”

bakugou never wasted his time with you, often having to leave after randomly popping in to go do more hero work. he’d push a large hand onto your back, forcing you into a rather uncomfortable arch. he loved keeping your legs closed and just rubbing the tips against the line where your thighs met, feeling the plush of your skin under his fingertips.

he fucked you hard, melting in the way you cried his name over and over again. “f-fuck dyna- auhh, dynamight!!” you’d yell out, sweet cries filling the room. you fucking loved it when he’d take a hand to your neck and harshly squeeze, your pussy tightening around his thick cock and milking him of all his nut.

of course, you never relaxed together afterwards. you’d tangle yourself in the blankets, admiring his sweaty abs and muscular arms pulling his hero costume back on. you fluffed your hair out for him and adjusted his shirt.

“when will i see you again?” you muttered tiredly, his hands coming to hold your waist as he stood at the edge of the bed.

“whenever i feel like it.” he gruffly said, giving the side of your hip a squeeze. you placed a kiss on his neck as turned to walk out, slamming your door as he left.

you sighed. although you’d never admit it, you were hurting at the realization that you just can’t get into his heart. the most you could do was admire your favorite hero, dynamight, on television, and from afar- waiting for his tall figure to return in the middle of a random night, his arms wrapping around your figure in bed, feeding you his throbbing cock.

#katsuki bakugo x reader #mha smut #bakugou #bakugou smut #dynamight #dynamight x reader #katsuki smut #i love him #mha bakugou #bnha smut #smut #anime smut #mha x reader #bakugou drabble #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugou fanfiction

[shuckinbeanz]

warnings/notes: Tumblr decided to post this incomplete so I had to finagle it lmfao kudos to Google lens for copying the majority of this and saving me some grief. n don worry ur secrets w me nonny! 🥰 N E WAYZ 🥵 NSFW, I'm gonna say y'all are married here, Daddy kink, chubby gn reader, stretchmarks, squirting+overstim, standing full nelson, breeding kink if u squint, reader can get pregnant, Kats is so mean to you ab your insecurities (in a good way i promise) so degradation, dirty talk, teensy bit of thigh worship(partly me indulging myself bc i have thicc ones), some orgasm denial, praise kink with a little bit of humiliation kink if u squint, biting? soft nibbling more like, n mirror sex. Told in his POV kinda bc who doesn't love a King who's head over heels for his s/o--it gets wonky at some point im sorry 😭

I'M FINALLY DOONE 😭😭

~Masterlist~

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

Tags: @dynamightsdaydream

You were doing it again. Prodding at the dips of your stretch marks morosely. And quite frankly it was pissing him off. He knew that look from ten miles away. He knew what your deep sigh meant, and he'd be damned if you do it again. Having enough of glaring daggers your way because you stubbornly kept your current mindset-one insecurity after the other-he resorted to picking you up, princess style.

"Kats!" you gasp, your rambling about how heavy you were going in one ear and out the other as he carried you straight to the bedroom with one thing on his mind; dealing with your insecurities the best way he knows how, by fucking them out of you.

"I'm a Pro, sweetheart. Carrying ten of ya is an everyday thing for me, so nice try, dumbass." he throws you onto the comforters, making you squeal in surprise.

You huff and squint at him as you sit upright, glaring your cute little glare as he readies the mirror. "What are you doing?" you finally ask, offended he brought you into its reflection to the point of near tears. "I'm huge," you start as he makes the strides towards you, "I'm ugly, I don't wanna see m'smff--" cutting you off by firmly planting his palm under your chin and squishing your pretty cheeks. Your pretty hues go wide, your pupils dilating at his stern look, a flush painting your features.

You were gonna get punished.

"We'll see how long you keep this up. Stop being a fuckin' brat." he gives you a meaningful squeeze before releasing you. "Now strip." he commands, and you shake your head before opening your mouth to speak.

"Strip, or that's another one to the dumpster." he seethes, eyeing what you wore as he settled beside you. You wisely clamp your mouth shut, immediately springing into action, knowing his habit of ripping your favorite clothes to shreds. While the money he makes can fill your closet with new ones, you preferred the ones you've worn down.  "Not so hard, now, is it, sweetheart?" he rasps warmly, a stark contrast to his earlier demeanor. "Now, c'mere." he coos, beckoning you over when you've removed the last article of clothing, and you disobediently stay where you are. "Don't make Daddy say it twice, toots." he warns you, making your breath hitch as you squirm in place.

Katsuki is a patient man for his spouse. After several moments you eventually begin to cave, and you inch towards him. He pats his lap, watching you fiddle with your fingers apprehensively. "What did I say?" a growl escapes him, and you begin to stutter, your beautiful face much more lurid in hue; of embarrassment, shame, and arousal.

"Y-Yes, Daddy..." a meek affirmation escapes you as you turn around and hesitantly take your seat, gasping as he all but grabs them plump, pretty hips, and pulls them down onto his lap.

He purrs in satisfaction, his large hands engulfing your plush thighs. "There we go. Atta sweetheart." he praises, groping and massaging them. "I wouldn't've married ya if I didn't like everything you had to offer." he starts. "You know me, sweetheart, yeah?" giving them a particularly firm squeeze. "Yeah?" he repeats firmly when you hesitate, his voice making you nod.

"The juicier, the better." he says, pressing them together. "Press these babies t'gether after a li'l TLC, makes a mighty fine cocksleeve. Nice and slippery, drives me up the wall every damn time, never fuckin' fails." he rasps in your ear, making you squirm. "And here?" he lifts one of his hands to grope your stomach, making you jolt. "Here, I stake my fuckin' claim." "Kats--" "Would prefer t'do it inside, turn you into my pretty li'l cumdump, keep you stuffed full of my kids." he interrupts you, thumbing up your inner thigh, stopping just short of your sex.

He revels in your whimper, in the flush that grew to the tips of your ears and down your neck, creeping towards your shoulders. "Can turn 'em info earmuffs, too." he squeezes your thigh, the hand on your stomach traveling up to fondle your chest.

"These here are just the cherry on top, sweetheart." he says, flicking one of your nipples, making you gasp. He scoots back, holding onto you to keep you in his lap. "See that mirror? I'll have ya yellin' how pretty you are by the end of this, and that's a fuckin' promise. Daddy doesn't go back on his promises." he tells you as he manhandles you into a more comfortable position with ease, paying special attention to groping at your tummy and thighs-the areas you were most insecure about.

He'd have those thoughts long gone before he's done with you, your pretty little head filled only with him.

He takes your hands, first guiding them to your plump pretty rolls. "Remember what I tell ya?" he asks, as he guides your hands lovingly across your body. Incoherent sounds escape you, and he hums encouragingly. "Little louder, toots." he tells you. You're silent for several moments, shyly speaking up.

"...like cinnamon rolls..." your voice comes out small as you lift your gaze to yours and his reflection in the mirror, cheeks painted the prettiest color. "Mmhm, and?" he rasps coaxingly in your ear.

"Y'could...gobble 'em up..." you go redder as his crimson eyes meet yours in the reflection, your own hues darting downward. "Damn right." he chuckles, giving a playful nibble to your neck, eliciting a soft gasp and shudder from you. "Can't convince me that's not what those bastards are fantasizin' when they stare at'cha a little bit too fuckin' long. Really pisses me off." he growls, "I like watchin' 'em bounce, too. They're for my eyes, only, yeah?" he tells you.

It was true. The hungry gazes you'd get from thirsty passerby was far from being a rarity or occasional, not that you didn't like it though. Your guard dog of a husband's protectiveness always did set a fire in your belly.

"And these?" he inquires, his large hands moving to your thighs, guiding them apart-but you stubbornly keep quiet. He bends, chuckling darkly. "Take your time, baby." he tells you, mouthing at your neck, his crimson hues dark and knowing. You try to avert your gaze, but one of his big calloused hands grips your chin, making you look back at the reflection, his other toying with your pulsing sex.

You wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer.

"Earmuffs..." you mumble shyly, trying to remember through the haze. "Th'juicier--th'better--" you gasp, unable to keep from squirming anymore as his finger teases your entrance. "Mhmm, and?" he encourages you, his voice husky in your ear.

"Ahh--oohh, Daddy, m'sorry--" you barely contain your moans, wriggling your hips a little, wanting nothing more than those thick fingers to fill you up.

“Don't be.” he tells you, his voice clear through the pulsing heat, “Don't be, baby.” he soothes. “From the crown of your head, down to your pretty little toes. Every fuckin’ inch, gorgeous.” he tells you, inserting one finger.

“Ya like t’keep spoutin’ nonsense, about perfection, about who's deservin’ of what.” in goes another as he continues-really, he’s too perfect for you-curling his fingers only just a tad, not quite enough to quell the fire.

“This whole damn planet don't deserve you.” he moves his hand, fingers pulling out in a slow drag, curled up against your spongy spots, “You know damn well y'can't convince me otherwise, sweets.” he whispers in your ear. You moan at the sudden onslaught; large calloused fingers pumping in and out of your heat at a dizzying pace, his palm rubbing against your sex deliciously.

You find rhythm with him, bringing your hips up for more, wantonly humping his hand. It's not long before your husband's skillful fingers are coated with your slick, and your teetering on the brink of orgasm.

He knew exactly how to drive you crazy. His voice in your ear, the strong grip he had on your chin. His skillful fingers bringing you up, and up, and up-only to suddenly stop.

You whine and squirm, reaching down to get that high, only for your hands to be swat away, his large palm covering your pulsing heat. "What'd I say, baby?" he pants in your ear, voice husky. He was clearly enjoying this. You could feel his hard cock straining against his sweatpants, pressing up against the meat of your ass.

And if you were going to be honest, you were enjoying this, too.

"Daaaddddyyy~" you whine, high pitched and desperate, closing your legs. "Nuh-uh." he grunts, pulling one of your legs in the hook of his elbow. "What'd I say, toots?" he asks again.

"I'm big, an' ug-ghoooh!~" you try, with a hint of squirmy sass, quickly cut off by his fingers plunging into your needy heat again. "Nope. Wrong answer." he growls.

You keen his name, legs trembling as he ravages your spongy bits, knuckle deep. He slows to a drag just as you're about to reach your high. "Last time, what'd I say...?" he rasps in your ear. You squirm and hump his hand as best you can, face hot and head fogging over, frustrated tears starting to prick your eyes.

Adamantly, you try to shake your head with him holding your chin, squeezing your eyes shut so you wouldn't have to look at yourself in the mirror anymore.

Because he's convinced you, like all other times. You're perfect. At this point, you were only being stubborn, but you refused to admit it easily.

The moment his fingers leave your heat, though; all that crumbles. "Nooo!~" you release a high pitched whine. It crashes and burns, your sweet, sweet release seeming even further away.

" 'm pretty! 'm hot! 'm sexy, I--" your voice cuts off as he eases his thick fingers back in, where you needed them most. "What else, toots?" he asks, voice husky. "Got sexy curves!~ Thick n' warm n' jiggly!~ Oohh, yes, Daddy please, right there!~" you keen as his skillful fingers pick up the pace, scissoring you open. "Keep going." he commands you.

" 'm thighs!~ Stretchmarks, too, they--they look, oh fuck, Daddy, Daddy, 'm coming!~" you squirt all over his palm, shaking your hips against his hand as best you could, riding your high.

You go completely limp against him, panting harshly. Slowly, sensually, you feel that same hand travel around the curve of your ass and up your thigh.

When you feel him reach behind you, between your bodies, and pull down his sweats, you can't help the pleasant shudder that escapes you.

"Daddy, 'm legs're jelly, I can't--" you try weakly, but he shushes you. "There's positions for that, sweetheart." he pants softly in your ear as he manhandles you into position to take his throbbing, red-hot cock.

Your toes curl in delight at the stretch, his cock all but filling you up. He pulls you into a full nelson, "Daaadddyyyyyy!~" you squeal in surprise when he stands, impaling you just right, making your hole gush.

"Didn't tell ya t'stop, did I?" his hisses hotly in your ear. "Nhooh~" you moan. "Touch yourself." he commands, and this time, he doesn't have to tell you twice; you snake your hand in front of you and start stroking. "Wanna hear your pretty voice, c'mon." he grunts, his strong arms keeping you fully secure as he proceeds to use you like a pocket pussy.

"Dad~dy~ I'm!~"

You sing hot praise to yourself in the mirror, getting lost in your own little world as your husband bounces you on his fat cock, encouraged by his lewd praises. This goes on until you're fucked stupid-until he's made you cum at least twice all over the mirror.

Only then would he have mercy, cleaning you up and tucking you in.

The next time you'd wake up, he'd already have your favorites prepared. Really, he's such the perfect husband for you. <3

#✨.nonnyhunny #💋.ask2smash.requestz #💋.k-katsuki<3 #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #bnha #dynamight x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugo smut #bakugou smut

[izvmimi]

bakugou realizes you're pouting a little more than usual after an outing with old and new friends, and eventually pokes and prods at you enough to find out why you're bitter and giving him attitude.

then it hits him -

"are you jealous?"

his voice is incredulous at first, just acknowledging that you could even fathom him directing his attention to another person in this lifetime. but then he switches to intense amusement, and finally laughter, a cackle that runs through his whole body, raucous enough that he doubles over holding his stomach.

"me? and them? over you?"

you can't bear the laughter.

"katsuki!"

he laughs for a good five minutes later that seems almost endless, and your face grows hot and unbearable, but soon he grips you by the chin, and pulls you to him, looking you straight in the eyes.

"hey."

you frown and he squishes your face.

"when you're around, no one even exists in that dimension to me. got it?"

you narrow your eyes, although your heart flutters just a bit.

katsuki still doesn't like that look and grimaces.

"are you doubting me?" he asks.

you backtrack, but it doesn't take long before he's got you bent over the nearest surface, fucking a reminder into you with deep and deliberate strokes -

that you are all he wants, and all he ever needs.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #dynamight x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: bakugou #mimi's notes

[keulixeutin]

Hard, Harder, Hardest

a/n: hi.

summary: during a hero panel, bakugou thinks about how he can’t help but orbit you and obey.  bakugou x fem!reader.  

cw: suggestive. 18+.  no pronouns used, but fem!reader in mind while writing + mention of female anatomy; also, reader wears lots and lots of pencil skirts.  bakugou pining after you and imagining the nasty.  sub!bakugou and dom!reader vibes (at least, i tried anyways lmao).  reader wears glasses.

word count: 2,183.

Despite the nonchalant way Bakugou was leaning back in the chair, anyone could see he was stiff and irritable: he was scowling and rigid, the curve of his back not quite following the curve of his seat.

He couldn’t help it though.  He was supremely uncomfortable.  He hated this shit, hated being on the stage, following some stupid itinerary, dealing with stupid activities and games to get people to see the “softer” side of him.  What the hell did people need that for?  Wasn’t it enough for him to do his job, protect the city, beat down the shitty villains, and be the fucking best?  Number two hero or not, he didn’t sign up for this stupid celebrity shit.  They could write a slew of articles complaining and criticizing him, but he hated sitting around in the spotlight.

You, his personal assistant, fucking knew this, yet you still, behind his fucking back, worked with his PR team (and that fucking Shitty Hair Hero) to accept the Hero Convention invite and add it onto his schedule (his schedule that you knew he didn’t look at because he trusted you to be good at your job)—and then to not even to tell him until ten minutes before he was supposed to get ready for it?  He had been fuming.

Bakugou’s leg shook underneath the table impatiently and irritably.  A woman dressed in a maid outfit with home-made Hawks wings stepped to the microphone and asked Round Cheeks about her martial arts usage in battles.  The next fan, someone with blue scales scattering across their face and arms, asked a question to a sidekick three seats away whose name Bakugou didn’t know and didn’t care to know.  Internally, he was pleased with this current line of questioning.  As long as no one addressed him, he could sit and pass the time with an annoyed glare until this whole thing was fucking done.

But, obviously, the universe loved dashing his hopes.  The next person that stepped up to the microphone was cosplaying an older version of the Dynamight costume, which was ego-boosting and cool to see, of course, but that itself wasn’t enough to make any of this entertaining or interesting.

“This question is for Dynamight,” the fan began.  “What would you consider your hardest battle?  Also, I’m your, um, number one fan…!”

It was an easy question.

People wanted to know battle specifics, but his hardest fight?  To date?  Currently?  

Controlling his fucking raging hard-on whenever you with your stupid perfume and your mean laugh entered the room.

Bakugou hadn’t wanted a personal assistant.  Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes stubbornly pushed their agenda onto him whenever they noticed at the beginning of the year that he had been swiftly losing control over his wildly hectic schedule.  Between the patrol, the agency work, the hero work, and the unending meetings—all just the tip of the iceberg—he had been struggling to find any time for himself, personally and professionally.  Despite his violent vehemence, Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes still strong-armed him by nagging him until they were red in the face and accepting applications on his behalf, narrowing it down to a set of five that he was to choose from.

He had picked you because you looked meek in your photo and you were soft-spoken in the interview; he figured that you’d run off after being on the end of his short fuse for a week straight.

But, by the end of that week, with him having just yelled about the type of tupperware his food was packed in, you had very softly and very firmly told him to watch his fucking tone, or you’d make sure that the only time he sat down for the next six months was on stage in front of an interviewer and audience with a fiercely binding contract that ensured he couldn’t skip without heavy monetary punishment.

(“I have my ex-lawyer-boyfriend wrapped around my finger,” you had said, your voice deadly calm as though you were telling him you had started a new hobby and not threatening your boss, the number two hero.  “I will make sure there is so little wiggle room in that contract—every single Hero Convention from here to goddamn China will have you by the balls for the next six months in the strictest legalese.  Do you understand me?”

He couldn’t lie—he was shocked into silence by how fucking hot that was, how fucking hot you were, wearing the tightest pencil skirt, shifting your metal glasses while you threatened him.

“Now eat your rice.  The leeks, too, please.”)

He couldn’t explain it.  Ever since then, things were—different.  He was hyper aware of you, of how far away or how close you stood near him, of how you were usually in some sort of skirt; his eyes were glued to your backside, to the sneak peek of upper thigh every time you shifted in your seat, mind wandering to how it’d feel to have that thigh pressed against his neck and his face. He was suddenly obsessed with how you spoke, realizing he had mistaken your quiet for meekness, for submission. You were soft-spoken, yes, but there was a weight to your words, one that required obedience from those you were speaking to.  Now he could see that your smile sometimes curled at the corners into a sneer, and that your eyes were sharp, narrowing with a finality he found himself unable to ignore.

Fuck, he was even aware of how you smelled.  He often caught himself inhaling deeply as you passed by, trying to preserve the smell of your shampoo inside his chest.  Whenever you leaned over to show him something on his calendar, he had to fight the urge to press his nose into your hair, to bury his face into your neck where your veins pulsed with perfume. Once, you had left your jacket at his place after a long night of explaining and rearranging the weekend itinerary to ensure nothing would be amiss while you were out of town. He had fallen asleep with his face pressed into the fabric the entire weekend, your scent lulling him into the most comfortable and serene sleep of his life.

Things got even harder when you caught on.  Quick, too, two months in.  The skirts got shorter; your shirts were unbuttoned enough for a heated glance of cleavage; and he frequently found you in compromising positions, bending over his table to grab something instead of walking around, or dropping things at his feet requiring you to lean over to pick up.  It was hardest when you used this newfound power of yours to get him to do things he didn’t want to do—like attend interviews or take off-days.  In his frustration and confusion in the early days, he had once furiously asked if you had a quirk he didn’t know about, to which you laughed wildly in your eyes but coolly said no.

“Dynamight?”  The host pulled him from the memory that had began to take over Bakugou’s attention—the one where, after getting caught in a heavy downpour, you had graciously changed in front of him and cruelly wouldn’t let him touch.

Bakugou was about to respond that nothing had been hard because he was too fucking strong, but he made the mistake of glancing to you, standing off to the side with your phone against your ear.  You were good enough at your job that you were able to efficiently multitask, paying attention to both the conversation on the phone and the Hero Panel.  As if you could feel his intent, you gave him a hard stare, your fine eyebrow raising expectantly at him, almost daring him to put one toe out of line in this nationally broadcasted panel.

The look boiled his blood—and the heat went straight down south.

Yes, things had gotten extremely bad when you had realized your effect on him.  

He was grateful for the table.

Bakugou gave an answer about a villain whose name he couldn’t remember but whose shadow soldier-producing quirk had irritated him the entire fight, and then he ended the response with a muttered thanks to the fan.

He glanced back to you, another mistake—“Good boy,” you mouthed.

Fuck.  He bit back a groan.

There was a mean glint in your eye as you held his stare; it wasn’t a long one, but it was enough to create a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach; it was enough to make his heart stutter and jump.  You turned away first, breaking the eye contact to finish the conversation on the phone, yet it felt like he was the one who had caved.

The rest of the panel continued with Bakugou scowling at a spot on the table or the wall behind the audience, but he participated more than he had originally decided to.  He answered the questions directed at him and remarked offhandedly on other people’s answers whenever he felt like it, eliciting laughter from the fans and eye-rolls and playful arm smacks from Round Cheeks. 

At the end of the panel, the heroes had twenty minutes to decompress before the meet-and-greet. Bakugou and the others were ushered off the stage and back into the make-up room to relax.  After the make-up artist checked that nothing needed to be reapplied, you appeared with a phone against your ear still and a tote bag over your shoulder.

“I’ll check his calendar and get back to you,” you said.  “By the end of tomorrow at the latest.  He’s currently doing the Hero Panel, but if I can find a moment to check and confirm, I’ll let you know earlier.”  

You paused, listening to the person on the other side.  Bakugou took the moment to rake his eyes over your form.  Your pencil skirt stopped inches above your ankle, but there was a slit over your left leg that traveled up—up, up, and up—to your tantalizing thigh.  Your skin was creamy and smooth with lotion or oil.  Whenever you shifted your weight in irritation at something that was said, the fat of your thighs rippled in a way that had his mouth watering.

 “…As I said,” you continued, “Dynamight is currently occupied with the Hero Panel.  If I can grab a moment, I will check with him and his calendar, but I’ll be sure to give you an answer by the end of tomorrow.  Yes, of course.  Yes, you, too.”

Your voice was light and polite, but dry and firm.  You hung up, and then your attention was fucking finally on him.  

You pulled several plastic containers out of your tote bag and set it on the table in front of him.

“Don’t scarf it all down,” you advised.  “But eat a little.  Regain your energy and pick up your mood so you can meet the fans.”

“Not hungry,” he grumbled, wondering if he could convince you to let him rip the slit a little higher.

“Eat the fruits at least,” you said, moving the containers around until the smallest one was on top and opened, revealing grapes and cut apples and mangos. 

“You eaten yet?” he asked.

“No, but I’m fine,” you said, but you picked out a grape anyway.  His eyes honed in on the way your fingers push the fruit past your plump lips.

Bakugou swallowed, neck tense, heart hammering in his chest.  He didn’t know when the leash had tightened so heavily.

“What?” you asked, noticing his gaze.

“Nothing.”  He averted his eyes.

“Oh, I see,” you said, amused, and he found that he hated your tone and simultaneously ached for it.  “You want a reward for earlier, hm?”

He didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to.  Despite his attempt at disgruntled nonchalance, his body was obedient to your voice in a way he couldn’t physically deny or control, no matter how much he dug his nails into his palms or ground his teeth.  There was always a twitch and shift in your direction; there was always a fiery red on his cheeks; there was always the need to orbit and obey.

“You don’t get anything for properly answering a question the way you’re supposed to, Katsuki,” you remarked.  

“Tch.  Whatever,” he grunted, suppressing the involuntary shudder at his name on your lips.

“But if you do well today”—you plucked another grape and then pressed it against his mouth—“maybe you can get a reward later.”

You slid the grape into his mouth, fingers lingering at his lips in a scandalous way that journalists would kill to capture.

His body was buzzing at your words.  He couldn’t help but hoarsely ask, “What’s the reward?” 

“Whatever you want it to be,” you answered, smug as if you could read his thoughts, as if you knew he was imagining you suffocating him with your cunt and thighs, as if you knew that he hadn’t been able to help himself on stage, looking to you as though he would’ve said anything to hear good boy again.

#╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ novae writes 」 #╰【 FILED UNDER … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ 18+ 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 no pronouns used 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ reader「 she/her 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ fandom「 bnha 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ character「 bakugou 」 #╰【 TAGGED AS … 】❖ ━━━━━ ❛ titled「 hard + harder + hardest 」 #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #dynamight x reader #bnha reader insert #bnha fanfic #bakugou fanfic

[msfantasy-anime]

Paybacks a Bitch

ExBoyfriend!Katsuki Bakugo x ExGirlfriend!Reader

Summary: Katsuki and Y/n have been dating throughout middle-school, Katsuki gives a brutal break-up on graduation day. The two meet again as adults

Warnings: Angst, break-up drama, regrets

Masterlist - Tip Jar

“So what if I didn’t get into UA?! That doesn’t mean we have to break-up!” Lip trembling, Katsuki pulls away from your grasp as teary blobs cascade down your red splotchy cheeks.

“You don’t get it. If that quirk-less loser Deku got in, then you should’ve too. You must be incredibly pathetic not to get in. I can’t have a girlfriend holding me back from my goals.” A sob escapes your lips as his ferocious words slam deep daggers into your heart.

“How can you say that?! We’ve been together for years and now-“

“And now I have finally opened my eyes to see you for who you truely were. A pathetic looser who’s holding me back. You’ve been an anchor in my life for long enough.” Overwhelmed with the Katsuki’s brutal words your tears turn off, you look blankly into his face. The face of the boy you had once gone, now scowling at you as if you were a nuisance. As if you were just some stranger causing irritation and ruining his day.

This wasn’t your Katsuki, this was a beastly teenage boy who had no love left for you. After all the time and effort spent in maintaining a relationship with this egotistical fool. But now that you think of it… why did you love Katsuki? Long ago were the days when he was kind, long were the days that he ensured your happiness came first. When was the last time he took you on a date? When did he last make you smile? When was the last time you smiled?

Sudden relief washes over you at the realisation that you were no longer bound to his mood-swings. His overbearing jealously that ruined your plans. His controlling nature dominating what you wore and who you talked to.

You can start a new, High School was just around the corner.

There was no need to waste your time any further.

There was no need to waste another breath explaining yourself.

You looked upon Katsuki’s emotionaless face, there was no need to waste another wasted moment with him.

———————————————————————————

“Y/n!” A voice calls, looking over your shoulder you see Midoriya holding a beer in one hand and waving ecstatically with the other.

“No fricking way! Your in charge of the tongs- I’ll be back.” You pass your friend the tongs to continue flipping the thin meat whilst you rush over to greet your old classmate.

“Izu! It’s good to see you!” You pull him into a bear hug which he gingerly returns.

“This is amazing! Look Kacchan- it’s Y/n!” You look to the person sitting across from Midoriya to see non-other than Katsuki Bakugo staring at you with his mouth open. You give a small wave from where you stood, knowing that he was never one for mushy greetings.

“Wow- I’d never thought that I’d see Suki drinking beer and eating barbecue with Izu.” Your signature grin spreading across your face. Midoriya pulls a chair out for you to sit.

“Since when did you call the nerd Izu?” Lips curl at the pathetic nickname given to his rival. His stomach turns seeing you look off the the side the way you did when you wanted to avoid a question. Irritation bubbles in his stomach as Midoriya changes the subject quickly.

“So what’s happening with you?!” His excitement was always infectious, it was a quality you had always admired.

“I had a lay-over in Japan, so I thought I’d catch up with some old friends, but I’m heading back to Australia for a bit. I have a new office opening in Sydney.” Midoriya hums excitedly grabbing your hand he gives it a light squeeze. Katsuki glares at your clenching palm.

“This is the 2nd agency you’ve opened right?! I’ve been following your accomplishments in the hero announcements!” Giggling, you shyly wave off Midoriyas’ kind words.

Katsuki hated this.

He hated how familiar you were both acting.

He hated how he didn’t know anything about you anymore and he hated that this damn nerd knew more about you.

He hated that you seem to be casting your full attention on the green grape across from him.

He hated how he was once your whole life and now is no longer privy to your life.

Katsuki had sworn that you were an anchor to his life. He discarded you thinking that you would hold him back, or drag him down.

Instead your travelling the world, building hero agencies and raking in millions in the process.

You achieved everything you’d hoped.

He achieved his goals- but at what cost?

You were Middle-Schoolers, you wouldn’t have lasted together anyway right?

“It was good to catch up with you both- but I can see my friends are needing help keeping up with the barbecue.” Katsuki gripped your wrist as you stood and blurted out a question that shocked your very ears.

“Do you ever miss me?” You shrug awkwardly, you churned words through your head to string together a kind sentence, but this is Katsuki, he appreciates bluntness.

“Romantically? I don’t. We were kids when we were together, I haven’t seen you since we were 15 years old. I honestly barely remember those times.” Your departure left Katsuki feeling cold.

You barely remember being with him? He remembered you vividly. He struggles to be with anyone else because of his stupidity, his ego ruined a good relationship.

That is a regret he’ll just have to live with.

#bnha imagine #mha imagine #bnha x reader #mha x reader #Katsuki Bakugo x Reader #Katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight x reader #Dynamight x reader #Kacchan x reader #katchan x reader #ExBoyfriend!Katsuki Bakugo x ExGirlfriend!Reader