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a11eya · 2 years ago

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TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 7

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

In retrospect, you’re not sure what possessed you to offer up your kittens for Ikeda’s plan.

Actually, you do know what possessed you: the urge to resolve things as quickly as possible and your impulse to be helpful. But somehow, your brain didn’t connect the dots between offering up your kittens for a PR scheme and Bakugou’s presence in your apartment.

You watch as Bakugou stands in the middle of your living room, looking disgruntled as Mikan tries to climb his way up his pants. You know it can’t be pleasant, those claw pinpricks up his leg. You just hope Bakugou doesn’t do something horrible like try to kick Mikan off; pro-hero or not, you’d fight him.

“So this is the dumb one,” Bakugou says, reaching out to grab the orange kitten.

You make a face.

“No kitten insults allowed in my house,” you tell him.

He rolls his eyes. After struggling a little with Mikan, those claws hooked into his pants tightly, he manages to pull the cat off of himself. He holds the kitten like he’s never held one before in his life. He probably hasn’t, is your guess.

Mikan, of course, begins to purr. Bakugou stares down at him.

“Thought it was just sound,” Bakugou mutters. “Didn’t know you could feel it. S’like a little motor.”

The purring, he means, you realize. Of the friends and family you’ve had over since fostering the kittens, Mikan always gravitates towards the people who don’t really like cats. It’s mysterious and a little hilarious.

Suppressing a smile, you say, “Some cats purr real quiet, you can only tell if you’re really close. Mikan’s a loud purrer.”

Bakugou looks up, making eye contact with you. You’re not sure what he sees in your expression, but he looks away.

“...Let’s get this over with,” Bakugou says, adjusting his grip on Mikan.

“Sure,” you say. “Should we use your phone or mine?”

“Yours. Send ‘em directly to Umeboshi.”

You furrow your brow. Who the hell? “Umeboshi…?”

“Yeah. She came up with this idea, she’s gonna deal with all the crap details.”

A lightbulb goes off for you. “Are you talking about Ikeda?” you say incredulously.

He gives you a look, like you’re dumb for not knowing what he’s talking about immediately. You give him a look right back.

“You call her Umeboshi?”

“Yeah.” A smug little expression crosses his face. “She’s salty and sour.”

He’s such a menace. You suspect, if she is as salty and sour as Bakugou claims, she’s that way because she has to deal with his attitude all the time. Prickly and pushy and grumpy.

“Right,” you say. “Do you have a preference for what you want your background to be? Like what part of my apartment do you wanna take the pictures in?”

“S’your apartment. I don’t care.”

You should’ve known better than to ask. “Okay. Let’s maybe move over to this corner, where there’s more sunlight and the background’s slightly nicer.”

You take Mikan from Bakugou. To your chagrin, the kitten immediately goes from limp and relaxed to squirmy; you struggle to keep a hold on him as you walk over to the spot you’d suggested.

“You’ll probably want to sit on the ground, let the kittens get to know you first,” you say, turning to him. “You know Mikan, he’s the orange purrer. Yuzu is the other orange boy. Natsu’s the tortie. After a bit, I’ll start taking some test pictures.”

Bakugou gives you a scornful look.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” he says, but he sits gingerly, trying not to squish Natsu, who’d snuck up on him, or Mikan, who’d wriggled out of your hands to investigate Bakugou now that he’s closer to the ground.

You kneel on the floor so you’re at eye-level with them, opening up your phone’s camera app.

“Act natural,” you tell Bakugou, and he scowls. You bite back a grin.

He’s soon surrounded by all the kittens; even Yuzu’d come out to see what all the fuss is about. They sniff him, investigating. Mikan climbs into Bakugou’s lap, tries to gnaw at his fingers. Natsu makes his way up the back of his shirt like a ladder. All the while, you snap some photos, trying to get some good shots. You try to take pictures that minimize any self-identifying items you have, like photographs you’ve hung up in frames.

As you swipe through your camera roll, reviewing the pictures you've taken, you notice that Bakugou, annoyingly, doesn’t have any bad angles. Even with the gremlin face he’s giving you—or the kittens—in half the shots.

After a few moments, you pause and say, “Do you want to, like, pose? Smile maybe? Act like you’re voluntarily fostering these cats until they find good homes to actually sell Ikeda’s story?”

Bakugou glowers at you. “Just take the damn pictures.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you tell him. He narrows his eyes at you, dangerous.

You give him an innocent smile and raise your phone, doing as you’re bid. You record a couple video clips too.

As you move around the room a little to get different angles, mindlessly tapping at the button on your screen, your mind strays to other thoughts.

You thought you’d be awkward, or nervous, somehow, about Bakugou being in your apartment. In your space. It’s something that you never imagined happening, and yet—he’s here, in front of you, playing with your cats.

What’s more, the dynamic that has naturally developed between the two of you via texts infuses your interactions.

Before Ikeda’s plan, you and Bakugou had been texting pretty often, you thought. But it’s nothing compared to what the past couple days have been like.

At first, it was a back and forth about logistics, setting a date for the photo shoot and deciding on your apartment as the location for convenience and the kittens’ comfort. You’d given him your address, alongside several emojis to express your exaggerated displeasure:

You: 😒🤨

You: 😩😠

Bakugou: You’re so goddamn annoying. Quit it

You: ☹️

But even after the details were hammered out, you found yourself reaching for his message thread at least once a day, sending him pictures of meals you cooked—

Bakugou: Fucking keep it up so you don’t kick the bucket

—keeping him updated on your workplace drama—

Bakugou: Your coworker sounds like a moron

—and asking about how his day went, about Kirishima, about what Bakugou likes doing when he’s not being a pro-hero.

Bakugou: Fine

Bakugou: He’s the same, stop asking

Bakugou: Why’re you asking, nosy

You: I’ll just ask Kirishima about your hobbies, then, next time I see him 🙄

Bakugou: Mountain climbing and shit

You: See, was that hard

You: Mountain climbing, really?

The other day, staring at a text he’d just sent, you’d been surprised. You found yourself thinking about how much you look forward to his messages. How often you realize you’re having fun, talking to him.

You understand now that he’s teasing, when he calls you names. His words are gruff because he doesn’t take time to mince words; he just says whatever’s on his mind. It’s something you admire, even. Not many people are as honest as he is.

Staring at Bakugou through your phone’s camera, you’re hit with an inexplicable pang of fondness. He may be a little bit of an asshole, but he really is someone you’re growing to like as a person.

A few more minutes pass by where you’re distracted, and the pictures you’re taking have gotten sloppy, hurried. And you can tell that he’s getting more and more impatient with the entire photoshoot. So you’re not surprised when he announces, “I’m done.”

As Bakugou stands, he sheds several kittens. They zoom around the room, infused with the random, hyper energy they sometimes get that you’ll never understand.

You sigh, rocking back onto your heels and standing with a quiet groan.

“Would you mind helping me catch them all so I can put them in my spare room?” you ask. “That way, they won’t try to escape when you open the door to leave.”

“Fine,” Bakugou says, grabbing Yuzu as he passes by and juggling him awkwardly as the kitten tries to escape, meowing in protest.

Between the two of you, you manage to catch Mikan and Yuzu and deposit them in your spare room without much fuss. You step into the room to toss a couple treats onto their cat tree so the both of them don’t try to make a run for it when you open the door. While they’re distracted, you slip back out of the room.

You find Bakugou standing right outside the door, grimacing, Natsu on his shoulder.

You snicker.

“Get ‘er off me,” he grumbles. He reaches up to try to lift her off, but she’s stuck fast on his shirt. Her claw gets tangled in a thread.

Laughing, you step forward and move his hands away. As you gently unhook the kitten’s claws from his shirt, your fingers brush against his neck. His lights have been so muted today, laying close to his skin, that it surprises you a little when they brighten for a split second. You figure you startled him and murmur an apology that he grunts at.

“C’mon sweetheart,” you say, smiling as Natsu takes a swipe at Bakugou’s hair when you pull her into your arms. “That’s no place for a kitten.”

You quickly open the door, gently tossing her into the room, and close it.

You turn, and find yourself somehow a little closer to Bakugou than you thought. You’re close enough that you can see details, like the cat fur stuck to his black shirt. His blond eyelashes, the swell of his biceps against his shirt’s fabric.

He’s looking at you, unreadable. His attention makes your thoughts fizz out, and your brain struggles, reaching for words. You’re flustered, and you’re not sure why. It’s the proximity, you think. You try to inch back to give him some room, but your back’s to the door.

“Do they still work?” Bakugou asks.

You blink, trying to get your bearings. “Do what still work?”

He jerks his head towards your living room. “The plastic shit for your couch.”

“Oh!” You brighten. “Yeah, the protectors are working beautifully! I was worried the cats would figure out a way around them after a couple days, but they’re still clueless.”

A little shy, you say, “Thanks again for them.”

Bakugou stuffs his hands in his pockets, looking smug. “S’ugly, but it’s better than the shitty setup you had before.”

You laugh. “No arguments there.”

The longer the two of you stand in your hallway, the more in your head you get. And you know you’re overthinking, but you can’t help it. If you’re not thinking of the distance between you, too close, you’re feeling bad about your hosting abilities. You’d been so caught up about him being in your apartment that you’d just let him in, didn’t even offer him water or tea or anything, and ordered him around. Made him corral your cats for you.

Biting your bottom lip, you say, “Hey… I feel bad that you came out here just to take pictures. Do you want to stay for lunch?”

Bakugou looks at you for a moment, then shrugs a shoulder. “I don’t have any place to be.”

“Any preference for takeout? Or we can go to a restaurant in the neighborhood.”

He shakes his head, looking annoyed. “Can’t chance getting photographed together again so soon.”

“Oh. Right.” You feel a little dumb for forgetting the whole reason he’s here in your apartment. “Takeout then? I can call and then go pick it up.”

He gets that grouchy look you’re beginning to become familiar with and doesn’t answer. Instead, he brushes past you, striding over to your kitchen and pulling your fridge open. You’re bewildered, following him belatedly.

He scans your fridge, then turns to look at you. The look on his face is so incredulous, it’s a little funny.

“Why don’t you have any shit in here?” Bakugou demands.

“I do have shit in there!” you say defensively. “I just haven’t had time to go grocery shopping, so I’m a little low on stuff.”

“What’re you eating for meals then?”

“I grab something on the way to work for breakfast. There are protein bars and ramen in the break room at work, so sometimes I eat that. Dinner has been takeout recently, but I’m going grocery shopping this weekend!”

With every word you say, you see him get increasingly incensed.

“Stop judging me!” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Get your life together, then,” Bakugou says, snarky. He begins to rummage through your fridge, pulling out some things and setting them onto the counter.

You draw closer, frowning. “What’re you doing?”

“Gonna cook something.” He glares at you, as if daring you to protest. “Too much takeout’s bad for you. You’ll die prematurely at this rate.”

You blink, raising a brow. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

He levels you with another judgmental look. “Don’t tell me you can’t cook.”

“I can! I just… don’t like to do it often. Too much work and then you have to clean up after…”

“Sounds like laziness to me,” he mutters. “Excuses.”

“Hey!”

You watch as he pulls certain drawers and cabinets open, searching for your cutting boards, pans, spices. Part of you knows you should be stopping him. He’s a guest in your home; he shouldn’t be cooking. And it’s weird that he’s stomping around your kitchen like he pays rent here.

But the other part of you is curious. You’d never have guessed this side of Bakugou existed. He doesn’t seem like the type to be a good cook; you half-imagined his diet consisted of protein powder and painfully under-seasoned chicken breast. You want to see what he makes out of your admittedly sad fridge ingredients.

“What’re you looking for?” you murmur, and his gaze slides over to you. He tells you. You grab the things he hasn’t found yet and bring them to him, lingering beside him as he washes his hands and then some vegetables.

You glance at his face. His eyes are focused, his mouth set in a neutral line. He looks more relaxed now than he has the entire time he’s been in your apartment. You watch his hands as he chops greens, precise and controlled.

“When’d you learn how to cook?” you ask.

“As a kid. Growing up. Cooked with my dad.”

“Oh!” You imagine a young Bakugou, cooking alongside his father. The image is strangely charming. You wonder if he takes after his dad in looks, or personality, or both. Or neither?

A few moments pass, and you lean against the counter, feeling a little self-conscious that you’re hovering. You’re not sure what to do with yourself.

“You need any help?” you ask.

He turns and squints at you.

“Make the rice,” he tells you, “and keep your little nose out of my cooking.”

“You’re so rude,” you say, but go do what he’s asked.

The meal is simple, and it doesn’t take long to prep. As he works with the ingredients, you keep trying to sneak bites of things here and there. He bats you away when he catches you; you make a game of it. How many things can you snack on before he finishes cooking?

“Enough,” Bakugou snaps, finally. He sets the knife down, wipes his hands on a towel. He turns and it surprises you. He crowds you against the counter and plants his palms down on it on either side of you, caging you.

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest, surprising you. Your eyes widen.

He leans forward, into your space, eyes glinting. This close, you can smell his body wash, or aftershave, or cologne—whatever it is, it’s nice.

“Y’wanna eat lunch or not?” he demands, and your gaze flickers to meet his.

You nod. A moment passes, and despite the tension, you have the urge to bite back a ridiculous smile.

You know you’re supposed to feel intimidated. Maybe it’s because you’re home, where you’re most comfortable. Maybe it’s because you just watched Bakugou handle the kittens with gentle hands, despite the accidental scratches they gave him or the grouchy things he had to say to them. But you’re not intimidated at all. You’re not sure when you stopped feeling apprehensive about him.

And riling him up is fun. He reacts so candidly, never holding back.

Now you’re fighting off the urge to laugh. You have some survival instinct.

Something about your expression must give you away, that you’re not fazed at all, because Bakugou narrows his eyes and his mouth twists into a scowl.

“Stop being a brat,” he says, but there’s no heat to it, and he steps back, drops his arms, freeing you.

“Okay, okay,” you say, penitent. You turn away to hide the smile that breaks onto your lips.

“It’s delicious,” you tell him. “I’m impressed.”

“Y’should be,” he says, “Didn’t have shit to work with.” But his lights are soft around him, and somehow, you can tell that he’s pleased.

Author's Note: Please feast your eyes on this art of Bakugou and Mikan that @bbluesagwa made ✨✨✨

#bakugou and cooking always makes me so soft 🥺#and bakugou and kittens 🥺🥺🥺#i hope this chapter makes you guys feel as soft as i felt when i wrote it 💞#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #character: bakugou katsuki #fic: lights will guide you home #soul-lights #jess scribbles

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